It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us.
It was not the French Revolution. It was a gap year. It was 2009.
Amid learning about political implosion, consuming $7 champagne to the point of moral questionability, failing to learn Spanish, bartending, waitressing, wearing sombreros and hotdog suits to scoop ice-cream, throwing beer at the ceiling (most memorable first shift ever), obnoxiously singing Piano Man in public on a regular basis, feigning a hatred of all living things so as to repel the Space Cadet, sticker spamming strangers who were ‘doing it wrong’ at our favourite I-hesitate-to-call-it-a-nightclub, painting ourselves as cats on a semi-regular basis, procrastinating in bookstores, selling our souls to less than palatable political parties, drinking too much tea, lying about on floors, surviving off bacon and cappuccinos, playing chess on the beach at night, playing frisbee anywhere at any time, being nice to our friends only behind their backs, gaining an appetite for red wine, prancing about four continents and writing an embarrassing number of to do lists, we’ve somehow become friends and developed a language which seems to be a mashup of folk song references, sexual innuendo, egotistical ruminations, exaggerated spite, the word clearly, sitcom quotes, obscure references to a multitude of children’s books and some horrible new form of capitalised compound word.
TheEndOfGapYear meant we threw ourselves carelessly at two different cities, and so a blog to showcase our questionable wit was an obvious progression. Small and unpretentious, named for our carry on luggage rather than physical attributes and personalities, though we’d like to think that of ourselves too.
Sit down, make a nice cup of tea and prepare for a pretty serious dose of absurdity, the occasional Dickens reference, a bit of folk lyrics bingo, the systematic abuse of ReligiousFuck and the use of nouns as verbs, verbs as nouns and people who are adjectives.
Is it wrong to use the words Dickens and ‘fuck’ in the same sentence?
I hope not.
Note: When it first began I shared this site with my best friend, who lives in Melbourne. Jess is now rather busy with a bunch of new projects, though she still occasionally guest posts. You can find her on twitter, if you look hard enough.
This still exists as an about page because the girl writes beautifully and, well, I can’t help indulging in a little nostalgia. I’m Heidi. Inexplicably I live in Sydney and study law, but you can find me doing things I actually like at FBi Radio and Tunes For Change.