I've dreamt of seeing the 'aurora borealis' many times. It's a rare, natural phenomenon where the sky turns into a full intergalactic rainbow.
I'm taking a different sort of northern mission and moving up to Sydney to work at a film festival, which takes place north of Newcastle. Filmmakers and friends Allanah and Stavros bought a property in Dungog on their return to Australia from London and were inspired by the creative community up there. So they started a festival. This year will be the 4th Dungog Film Festival (May 27-31) and I am excited to be part of it.
Having not lived in Sydney for a long, long time (last time was only for a handful of months), I'm very much looking forward to getting to know the city again. I'm going to continue to pursue my own projects, whilst helping to source and exhibit Aussie films at Dungog. Allanah and Stav are huge go-getters, they set up a distribution company and are pursuing their own film projects as well. I can't wait to be around that sort of energy.
Now it's taken me a while to re-find my voice here. I had a busy January with my various missions. But I also had a disaster and stopped talking to myself for a while. I was so angry that I could be so stupid.
This may sound like something less than momentous to some, but Collingwood football fans may want to skin me alive. And we all know that Pies supporters are the most committed of all!
Whilst on a Christmas clear up at the back sheds at my parents' home in Flinders, I found something I'd been dreaming of. Longing for. Wishing to see again. I unpacked an old suitcase and there it was - my long sleeved, VFL Collingwood football jumper from when Dad was President in the early 80s. It was signed by everyone in the team. All my old favourites were there - Tony Shaw, Peter Daicos, David Cloke, Mark Williams, Mike Richardson..... - and some that I didn't quite remember.
I hugged the jumper with glee. I was reunited with my very own, precious piece of footie history. I skipped across the lawn, with the detritus of my past lives littered everywhere and felt as though I was dancing on air. Seriously. A link to a past almost forgotten until my return to Melbourne last year.
For those of you who don't know, my brother's nickname for me is 'Joffette'. A rather snaggle-toothed, bleached blonde ruffian named Joffa heads up the Collingwood Fan Club and Hame is convinced that I'm destined to be his right hand 'man'! I have embraced all things black and white so much, that when offered the job in Sydney, the fact that I won't be in Melbs for the season almost made me turn the job down. Almost.
I hope to make enough money to fly back regularly for games. I will go and watch the ones I can't be at on the big screen somewhere in Sydney. I'll sniff out the best place to watch them.
So back to my old jumper. I packed it and other things I wanted to keep handy in an old trunk and forgot about them for a few weeks. Christmas, my birthday and new years eve all raced past at a galloping pace. It was the first Macdonald Christmas that we'd ever spent just the four of us (parents, brother, sister) that I can remember. We ate lobster, cleaned out the pond (Hamish of course threw me in the scum when there was one inch left) and played some golf. It was blissful.
Instead of celebrating my birthday on the annoying date of 30th December, I decided to have a gathering at the Balnarring picnic races on Sunday the 3rd of January. Dad took me out seriously early to nab a space (I am always rather grumpy at that time of the morning) and Mum cooked her heart out to make it a wonderful day. Friends and relations travelled from afar to have a bet, a sanger and a bevvie or three. It was a wonderfully relaxed, rural, delectable day.
So, the day after, I was feeling rather worse for wear. I was immersed in a film project all day and Mum insisted it was time to empty the trunk and air the clothes. Fair enough. She kindly offered to put them out for me. That night, as I was heading to bed, I simply couldn't muster the energy to bring them in. I though, oh well, the dew will do those musty clothes good. I'll grab them in the morning.
Ohmybloodygod NO! I woke up with a gasp at 6am with only one thought. 'Was my Collingwood jumper in that trunk? Oh god no. Please. NO!!!!! I have never got out of bed as fast as that morning. I moved like lightening and found two very surprised parents watering the garden. They hadn't seen me up that early for a long time. When I saw the black and white stripes, and the smudged signatures I cried like a baby. For hours. How could I be so lazy and stupid and idiotic and sloth-like not to have simply brought the clothes inside? A hangover is not a good excuse.
I have almost forgiven myself. Not really. But I'm trying to.
All those years in London, living next to Stanford Bridge in Chelsea and Emirates Stadium in the Arsenal, I could utterly empathise with the faces of jubilation and bitter defeat, dependent on the outcome of each game, as I watched the fans from my window. One of the highlights of 2009, has to be when Jack Anthony kicked that winning goal against the Crows. One of the bitterest pills was being beaten by Geelong in the semi-finals, yet again.
Our first preliminary season match is again the mighty Sainters, so it'll be a toughie, but we'll have Luke Ball and Darren Jolly. Two top, brand spanking new players. But St. Kilda will be out for blood after losing to Geelong in the Grand Final. It was an amazing match, but Geelong were simply too good.
So as I set off on the road again, almost exactly a year after my return to Oz, I promise once more to keep you closely posted.
Here's to Aussie film and to Aussie rules. Two great reasons (apart from my family and friends of course!!!) to be back in this wonderful country. We are truly blessed.
C'arn the Pies!
2010 is ours.
Lxxxx
