Hi. I'm Hayley, I'm 21 and I love Ducks. I've also just moved to Sydney from a small country town.
I guess that my first full day of being an official Sydney resident is as good a time as any to start writing an extremely biased and highly boring account of my life. I'd say that I hope no one ever has the misfortune to read it, but I guess that would make this blog redundant, so instead I'll say that if you are reading this, sorry for the (insert amount of time) minutes of your life that you will now never get back.
My misadventures began yesterday afternoon when I took a quick trip to the nearest Woollies to grab some dinner, and this led to fight with my GPS, a she can never tell me where to park. When I had figured it out for myself, I discovered that you have to park on THE ROOF. Not only do you park on the roof, but you have to PAY to do so. $1 for the privilege of doing my grocery shopping and parking on the roof (which I guess is pretty exciting, but the boom gates tend to instil in me a sense of fear rather than joy.
I returned to this shopping centre/amusement park again today, and as I had already conquered it once, I thought I knew what to expect. Which I did, until I realised I needed a trolley. Trolleys are not a scary thing back home, because they're exactly that... trolleys. Apparently in Sydney though, they're coin trolleys. I have a question Woolworths; how am I supposed to make off with your trolley when I am parked ON THE ROOF?!! And what if I didn't have a coin? Then I'd be the crazy girl using the self serve checkouts to withdraw one. dollar. Trust me, I did that enough in Uni, those days are behind me.
Oddly, this was not the only thing different about my new city trolley, because right there on the handle was a cup holder. A cup. Holder. I know that 7/11 and Slurpees are a big thing in the city, but I never realised that they were so integral to Sydney-sider's identities that they required their icy, sweet support, hands free, while they did their groceries.
I survived. Without the cup holder no less, and moved on to my first Westfield, with a car park so large that I couldn't find the shopping centre once I got out of the car. I eventually made my way in and conquered the Thursday night crowds to buy myself a rubbish bin and a new pair of tights, and also identified a bakery and a candy shop. There was also a clothing store called "Hipster," which sold clothes that I I've only seen on every girl ever. I guess they were mainstream before it was cool to be mainstream.
One day in, and I think I need to take some camouflage classes, because I'm pretty sure there's a piece of invisible straw hanging out of my mouth, but everyone else can see it. On the bright side, if country chic makes an appearance this season, I'll be set.
Litte Duck, out :)
P.S, if by any chance my Chicken owning, chilli hanging, emphysema suffering neighbour is reading this, please cough your lungs up elsewhere tonight, as I would like to sleep. Thank you.
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