Tuesday 14th April – Byron Bay.

The good doctors of Byron Bay have finally been able to figure out the mystery of my funky eye. Thats right ladies and gents you heard me, I feel like I have been given the key to Narnia where I can go and frolic with the good sited Mr Tumnus. Finally I have an answer other than “hmm….” and I am now back on the road to recovery. I wont bore you with the details, or the painfully long name, that I cannot for the life of me remember, only that it had the word ‘optics’ somewhere in there, which was how I knew she was talking to me.
Needless to say I have another combination of creams, and pills to take which I am promised will sort me out once and for all. This either means I finally have the right medication, or they have decided to put me out of my misery, unbeknownst to me and my shrivelled eyebulb. Fingers crossed for the first one.
Ill keep you posted, naturally.
1 week and 4 days since I gained my new status as yoga teach, yet still I sit here in our damp ant filled (as I have discovered most places in byron bay are) room, at our ‘not quite as wobbly as before’ desk tippy tapping away, waiting to hear back from one of the hand picked ‘places I would like to work’. I have thrust my freshly printed Curriculam vitae into the hands of many managers with my best ‘hire me, im reliable’ smile plastered across my face whilst trying not to show off my weird eye, and now comes the painfull, laborious wait.
In the Top 5 at the moment is a hairdressing salon Manik, that one of my fellow house mates works at. Sonia is a very sweet but heavily footed, German girl who shares the bedroom next door to ours. She is a fellow hairdresser and is leaving in 1 week. She encouraged me to “give it a go” tho I am a little sheepish as I haven’t worked in an official salon for quite a few years, I think it would be a fun challenge for me tho and quite like the idea of sharpening my skills again. Fingers crossed then and wish me luck.
Mine biciclet has been thoughtfully and slyly stolen from right under my nose. Bastards.
I had chained my beloved 1980’s mountain bike to our tree (a big fat tree too, not a skinny one by any means) outside our house and when I awoke, as i pottered bleary eyed, scratching my head and yawning widely, into the bathroom and peeked out of the window to see if the rain was ever going to stop, I noticed that the tree was bear. Bugger.
The suitably lovely bike man at the shop where I purchased my dream machine took pity on me. Hamish is, as my beloved boy has just reminded me “a guy I dont want to ever forget” and how could we? He is perfectly adorable and is completely ageless, as any facial tell tale signs are covered by his luscious thicket of a beard that converges somewhere around his ears with his equally healthy main of dark curly locks. He rides an old postmans bike with a matching red helmet and always sports humorously bicycley themed tshirts with verses such as “ride it like you stole it” printed across the chest. Anyway, Hamish came to my rescue and leant me a beautiful bike that he called “scraping the barrel with this one” but I as usual fell in love with the rusty, red 10 speed with its padded black leather seat that was miles to low for my 34” legs, but still I took it and now ride it with pride. I have a feeling I may have to purchase it now as I have become severely attached, and have even picked out the ultramarine blue plastic flowers I am planning on strapping to the handle bars. I think its fate.
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