All I Know...

I'm new to this people, so bear with me...

I'm a 29 year old from Sydney who, for the last 9 years, has devoted her life to the 'behind the scenes' of the Australian music industry. At 21 I became assistant entertainment booker at The Metro Theatre - one of Sydney's most popular live music venues. It was my dream job, and for the next 4 years I learned about the industry, music, life and love, saw the best bands and DJ's the world has to offer, frequented many a sophisticated party, aftershow, festival, and made way too many friends - all of whom I am forever indebted to and am constantly thinking of.

However wonderful this life was I began to feel an itch; a stirring; a calling if you will. As I deemed this job my life's destiny I threw myself into it hook, line and sinker, eventually able to do it with both eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back (do excuse my horn-tooting). I was ever aware of how lucky I was to have my job - one that I enjoyed, excelled at, was full of perks, and had wrangled my way into with no formal qualifications or university degree. So I had quite the crisis on my hands when I realised it was boring me to tears.

Deciding to leave the position to someone who desired it I fled far and wide to Guatemala, Central America, and spent just over a year bumming around, working in bars, touring Mexico, Honduras, and generally lazing about. But alas, there comes a time in every backpackers life when they run out of money. However fortune smiled upon me once again and I was faced with 2 options: the first coming from my current job in La Antigua at Mono Loco (the crazy monkey). My lovely bosses offered me the position of head bartender and party planner after one of my drunken ideas - a 'Mr Mono Loco' male beauty pageant - came to fruition and was a roaring success. Considering I got my job at Mono Loco by falling asleep drunk on a toilet (fully clothed, seat down, I might add...), this offer was a gift from the gods by any means. But as fate would have it a call had been received from Sydney around the very same time from one of my previous employers, The Annandale Hotel. I'd moonlighted there as a door girl whilst working at The Metro and saving money to go away. The owner/operators - The infamous Rules - now informed me they were looking for a venue booker and would cut me a sweet deal if I came home. Torn between my leisurely lifestyle as a Guatemalan party planner with a looming credit card debt (which I still have to this day), and another crack at my dream job, I donned my sensible cap and returned home to book my very own venue.

Coming home was amazing. The day I got back the Tigers won the NFL Grand Final, as a result The Dale was pumping, all my friends were there, everyone was plastered, Mum had no idea of my return and nor did anyone else, so my homecoming was nothing short of spectacular. Drinks were drunk, intoxicants were taken, kegs were checked, there was kissing, hugging, dancing - it was heaven. Of course all this faded to black 2 weeks later, as post-traumatic-travel blues and the fact you have returned to reality sets in, and you long to be anywhere else. Don't get me wrong - seeing all my family and friends and having such a fantastic job to return to was great. And once again I was doing what I loved - booking and seeing bands, partying, schmoozing, pushing paper, sending worksheets to bands that never got read, listening to endless demo's of which 1 out of 100 were good - the rest having been recorded by tone deaf, fingerless mutes - staring at a screen all day, fighting with bands, promoters, WiFi routers, printers...

Yep. You guessed it. It was the return of... the itch! How could this be?! How could the job I loved so dearly and had strived for since the age of 15 be tormenting me so? How had I become so complacent?

The time had come once again to do a runner. The only way to justify it this time was to head to merry old England as all Australian's do and try my hand at the music biz over there. If I enjoyed the work in a different location it was the city of Sydney driving me mad. If I enjoyed the re-location and still hated the job, career-wise, I was screwed. So after 3 months of heaven travelling the USA and visiting all my friends from Guatemala, I arrived in London with a Working Holidaymaker Visa and £20. I got a bar job the day I got here and set about cracking the English music scene.

That was February 2008. It is now January 2009 and I'm in much the same position as I was then. I work 3 jobs - 2 bar (Hammersmith Apollo and Brixton Academy), 1 retail (HMV) - and like everyone in London, am eternally broke. Don't ask me how, I have no idea. I have tried time and time again to enter the London music industry but to no avail, and to be honest, it doesn't much bother me. I'm having the time of my life making new friends and unforgettable memories, and love the city of London. Other than that, I'm stumped.

I know I don't want to go home.
I know I don't want an office job.
I know I've recently started writing... A LOT.
I know I want to play guitar.
I know I want to learn languages.
I know I want to travel.
I know I'm sick of being broke.

That's all I know.