In my dream last night, I was put on detention in high school for going on a winery tour. Unsurprisingly, I was arguing very loudly with Lindsay Lohan (who was putting me on detention) that it was perfectly acceptable for me to be on a winery tour because I was over 18. (No doubt my teenaged self would have mocked my thirty-somethinged self for going on a winery tour, in youthful ignorance about the benefits of someone else driving.)
Anyway, I got emailed one of those ‘advice to my teen self’ things the other day, which I deleted as I always do. But this morning I was thinking about being a teenager and how the only piece of advice I’d give my younger self is to learn a language in high school. That’s it. I wouldn’t do anything differently, because then I wouldn’t be me, and I think I’m pretty damn good. (And modest, clearly.)
I’ve lived in more crappy sharehouses than John Birmingham, but I’ve got some funny stories to tell. I’ve had some shitty boyfriends, but that’s a learning experience that helps you recognise shit when it’s in front of you.
When my Nana died, my sensible siblings used the money she left us to buy mortgages. I used it to put myself through journalism college and go overseas twice – to Uzbekistan, and on the Trans-Siberian Railway, through China, Mongolia and Russia.
I drank a lot of alcohol.
I bought a shitload of cds.
Did I mention I drank a lot of alcohol?
I had fun.
And isn’t that what’s most important?