And that would be about 1 minute of the 5 minutes down – Pauline Gill

And that would be about 1 minute of the 5 minutes down! Bloody mac! Took far too long to load up. Or is it just my impatience? As my dad would say “You’re like the bad doctor – you’ve got no bloody patience!!” He could be right…

So here I am. In Melbourne. My beloved “hometown”. Place of real vanilla slices, where the sacking of the Collingwood coach would usurp any mention of World War 3’s outbreak on the front page of the “little paper”. Where there are 4 seasons in one day – today’s season is exceptionally fucking hot, dry north wind summer. The Vic Market, sensational doughnuts from the American Doughnut kitchen (always get the double jam) and where ugg boots and moccasins abound.

But I’m here in Carlton (Go Blues!!!!!), at La Luna Bistro. And I’m not eating (well not at the moment). I’m here in a room full of strangers and we’re all writing. It is silent apart from tapping of keys, the wrinkling of paper and the scratching of pens. We’re at a “Gunnas Masterclass” with the infamous Catherine Deveny – who may or may not be fatter in real life! She’s wearing a bright green, Joan Kirner-esque spotted dress and a bright shade of red lipstick. There’s a little green clip in her dark hair and a cherry necklace around her neck. It reminds me of 1950’s understated glamour.

We’ve gone around the table and we’ve introduced ourselves.   It’s taken a couple of hours. And now we’re writing. There are a lot of “PhD’s” here. (I hope that you’re reading this as fddds). We’re all here for a variety of different reasons. Some of us are professional writers, some of us are academics, some of us are looking to unblock creative constipation, others want inspiration. I’m here because I play piano in a whorehouse. Actually, I don’t do that, but my day job is far more embarrassing and it’s a much more interesting thing to say that you do, n’est-ce pas?

I’m Senior Legal Counsel in Wealth Management at the *&()^%% Bank. I hate being with that Bank. I loathe financial services. I loathe financial planners who are dodgy product floggers with as many scruples as Dracula in charge of the Red Cross Blood Bank.   It makes me sick. And then there are my everyday clients in the business who are like recalcitrant children who never listen to their mummy. And I’m a good mummy! I warn them of the risks, I tell them the rules. I set out all of the bad things that could happen, I give them options but I leave the decision up to them. Then they go over the edge. They go too far. Then they tell me “it’s like you have an 18 year old son who has just got their driver’s licence and a car. You don’t just tell them they should get car insurance.   You make them get car insurance!”

Actually – no. Your job in the business is to make your own decisions. My job is to give you information and advice to use in making those decisions. If you don’t take that advice, well that’s your fucking problem not mine.

Everyday, I get up – a la Dolly Parton – “I roll myself out of bed and pour myself a cup of rendition…” Is it rendition or have I just stuffed up the words and kind of “Alex the Seal-ed/ Our Lips Are Sealed” by the Go Gos, Dolly?   I think I’ve stuffed up. Rendition makes no sense… but then lots of things are nonsensical.

I put on my non-iron Leona Edmiston “frock”, my shiny stockings and slip into my ballet flats. The hot heels come later… I put on my battle mask (supplied by Mecca Cosmetica), grab my 2 and a half year old daughter and jump into “Blanche” – my trusty white Corolla. We drive to Artarmon, where I take Phoebe to Nicky’s Kidstown Daycare. We go past the McDonald’s at Gordon. Phoebe points it out and says she loves “chippies”. By 7.30am, I’m at daycare and drop Phoebe off. Then I park Blanche and walk down to the train station.

There I join the sea of commuters. Those soulless zombies boarding the train heading off to work. I think of TS Eliot and “The Wasteland” and wonder how “death has undone so many”.

I am one of those dead. I approach the modern glass buildings in $%^&*( Street.   They shine and gleam in the morning sun. They don’t look like glass prisons.

My stomach lurches and I head into the building. I pass through the barrier gates, hoping that the jaw like gates don’t slam on me. I was always a bit nervy about that when I was pregnant. I get into the lift and I proceed to our floor. We work in activity based working. This is modern day code for we only have enough desks for 80% of our staff. People don’t have regular workspaces. There are no places for photos or mementos that might suggest you are not a worker bee, that you may be an individual and that you may have a life outside of work. Each desk must be left vacant every night. Clinical.

There are some good people at work. There are people I trust. Some of my clients are really nice. Sometimes we have a laugh.

Then there are the other people. The narcissistic psychopaths, the backstabbers, the meeting attenders, the “influencers”, the blaming clients, the clients who just will not listen…

Oh the frustration. When I go to work, I do my best. I use my considerable intellect, I think outside the square, I solve problems and, I give of myself. I give of myself and it is never, ever enough. They always want more.

I am tired. I am not happy. I want to be happy. I don’t know how to get to happy.

And then I saw the Gunnas Writing Masterclass on Facebook the other week. And I knew. I just knew. It was the right thing. It was something that I had to do. For some months now, there has been a voice bubbling away inside of me. It’s been rearing its head in strange places. Observations of people, situations, places. Words that long to be written. Sentences strung together and for meaning to pour out. I have to write.

The class has ended now. I’m sitting at Melbourne Airport drinking bubbly water and typing on the Mac. I’m reflecting on the day. The food was great! The class was practical, amusing with lots of good tips to just frigging do it. You know it was a lot like Michelle Bridges’ 12WBT. It was about just putting it out there. About murdering the myth of motivation and promulgating the power of action.

So where to now? Well aside from the plane back to Sydney and then going to Gold Class to see “Star Wars” with my hubby tonight, I’m not sure.

But that’s ok.

A story has a beginning, a middle and an end.

Today was my beginning.