Letters from America These letters are my glamorous aunt’s posts on her adventures and her life and times as a ♦ mature Sydney escort ♦
Friday 28 February 2020
As usual it’s been good to be in the old neighbourhood – I am getting used to it being my second home now, not my first. And I’m in good time for the white peaches of late summer, which I love.
And also in time for plane trees shedding everywhere, which I love not so much.
Harris Farm, Potts Point
The white peaches are so fragrant and the place is overloaded with them The sign says “imperfect” but white peaches and ïmperfect” do not go together lol.
Eating a white peach perched on the El Alamein fountain surround – where are the resident white ibis?
Plane trees are definitely one of my favourite Sydney street tree. The archway of plane trees over Ocean Street is especially beautiful. Only problem is when they shed late summer it does terrible things to your nose and eyes.
Plane tree shedding , El Alamein fountain
Close up, look at all that chaff, El Alamein fountain
Late summer this year has also brought on a new swimsuit buying thing for me. I suppose in part it’s because I do not fit into any of my old swimsuits right now lol. (Better by far to go with no swimmers at all :-).)
I can’t believe though, that I haven’t exercised properly for 18 months – I really ought to be in a lot worse shape! Just goes to show how much genetics controls all these things. Working out in the gym is great if you love it but no need to get too cut up about the self improvement industry – there’s always time to like yourself just the way you are (so says your glamorous aunt anyway lol)
Another new swimsuit – brilliant blue with flowers on shiny skin and shoulders
More of the same 🙂
I seem to be having a bit of an intense blue, pink and white theme going here. When I went for coffee early today this is what I got, probably the cutest takeaway coffee cup there is:
This coffee cup with galahs even goes with my shirt. Maybe it’s especially colourful in anticipation of Mardi Gras tomorrow
Letters from America These letters are my glamorous aunt’s posts on her adventures and her life and times as a ♦ mature Sydney escort ♦
Tuesday 4 February 2020
This is just a few words on business housekeeping practicalities, scheduling, advertising and so on. It’s way more words than usual and somewhat bla subject matter, but it has to be done.
I mentioned in a post at the end of 2018 that I had a stalker during the year who had really taken the shine off my happy escort life and so I would be doing more outside escort work. Well it is true, all through 2019 I have been more focussed on other things, and if I turned my mind to it (which I tried not to), feeling very flat about the stalker situation.
The good news is that the identity of the stalker emerged at the end of November 2019. It was really a bit of an accident. The identification only happened as a result of the stalker became very active when I was moving to the country. The stalker got very excited and wrote more letters than usual. The letters were longer, more detailed and as always, spiteful, menacing and more. But this over confidence meant the stalker left unmistakeable traces which led back to them. With some confirming information from various places, the identity of the stalker was clear. The ridiculous thing was how obvious it all was once the links had been made. And when the identity of the stalker was discovered, the only real power the stalker had (cowardly, predatory anonymity), was lost.
I never once for a moment even remotely thought that the stalker was anyone who personally knew me. And I certainly never thought it was a client, I just don’t attract anyone like that.
Sure enough my original intuitions were right. It’s just a woman who doesn’t know me at all who has her own serious issues (understatement), it has absolutely nothing to do with my happy life. The police are involved now so I don’t have to worry anymore. Although I have been uncomfortable unlocking the small Twitter account I’ve been keeping, so it just stays locked. Since so few people use Twitter it isn’t a big issue for me.
The practical effect of all this is I am free to do more MG in 2020. But the catch is this: while I was busy focussing on other things last year, I got busy! And I decided to move to my place in the country to focus on my various other ventures from down there. So MG time is restricted again for this year, but it’s for a good reason, not because the stalker has put me off and made me flat, but because it’s all happening :-).
So the long and the short is that I am going to have an evolving routine for being in Sydney. A couple of times a month I will have arrangements to be in Sydney with an incall. I will be staying in my old stomping ground in the Eastern Suburbs. I expect it to become an established routine of a couple of extended stays in Sydney every month. I have already done one off visits and trips outside the routine and that’s fine, I will just need to be organised to meet special requests :-).
The current schedule will be kept on the front page of the website as usual.
So far as advertising goes, I am sorry if I had a link in one of my posts to a Scarlet Blue ad that is no longer active. That’s a bit rude of me! I only ever use Scarlet Blue occasionally so the link has not been active all the time. I am about to put my Gallery page back up on this website though, so you will be able to see whatever images it was I had on the Scarlet Blue directory anyway.
As many of you know from your own experience, I don’t advertise in the mainstream much, I just rely on my website. I have found that perfectly suitable for me. Plus, you would not believe how much people pay for advertising, literally $1000s per month, advertising across up to seven or eight directories and websites. I can’t bring myself to do that. Not only are most of these escorts _not_ getting enough work no matter how hard they advertise (it’s a recession and a flooded market), but they are also working to attract exactly the sort of client (on the whole) I don’t want to see – so more power to them :-).
Also, just one further thing on business practices: my rates. Be aware I keep my rates very reasonable for a number of reasons. One reason for instance is that if I have much higher rates I will attract only the clients who can afford those rates. And that is not the right threshold filter. Those people are not necessarily the the right people for me to see.
OK, so now all that is out of the way, here is a January selfie of me lying around in bed one morning in Sydney after a bushfire evacuation from the country the day before.
Morning after a fire evacuation. Bushfire malaise in pink silk pyjamas.
Letters from America These letters are my glamorous aunt’s posts on her adventures and her life and times as a ♦ mature Sydney escort ♦
Saturday 2 November 2019
I went to the Banksy exhibition at the Entertainment Quarter. If you go, it’s better not to buy tickets online – they are a much better price at the door. Also, to avoid walking around looking for the exhibition hall, go straight to the end of the main entrance road off Lang Road (I walked all around the place before I figured it out :-)).
Even though the Banksy images are such well known street art there was nothing “old” about the look of the show – mostly original stencils and various prints. Here are some of the street images from Google:
flower violence
art for the burbs
a trusty Council contractor
The organiser of the exhibition was manager/accomplice to Banksy for many years, Steve Lazarides. Banksy himself is still unidentified.
One of the best things about the exhibition was the use of videos – streaming on loop around the hall between the exhibits. They told the story of the extraordinary rise of the guerilla grafitti artist with his witty, anti-consumerist themes. It was a very well done story and made the exhibition a really coherent experience.
There was film called “Exit Through the Gift Shop” mentioned in some of the commentary of the exhibition, a film I’d never heard of. In the evening when I was home I looked it up and found a copy on youtube to watch.
The film was an extended commentary on the consumerist art market hype that Banksy parodies (and was itself a clever hoax). It started out purporting to be a documentary on Banksy, being made by a dotty French American amateur photographer/film maker. This character had, according to the film, doggedly followed Banksy for years on his secret missions trespassing at night to plaster his distinctive stencil posters and do his grafitti on buildings and signs all round the UK and both sides of the US. When it becomes apparent about half way through the film, that the quality of the documentary is hopeless, Banksy enters stage left (appearing simply as a dark hooded figure – no face – being interviewed) and persuades the film maker to become the subject of the narrative. So he does, and somehow sets about to transform himself into a grafitti and print artist (like Banksy) with a huge output (none of it displaying any talent or skill whatsoever). The reconfigured “documentary” then follows the film maker’s hugely successful first exhibition in Los Angeles (playing to the cynical undiscriminating art market hungry for the next “thing”). It’s done with a light enough touch though, to make it excellent fun to watch.
It reminded me of a documentary (but not a parody “documentary” at all), about Andy Warhol’s protegee, David Basquiat, who perished very young, apparently a victim of his own success. From the wrong side of the tracks, with no training, he suffered trying to cope with the hype of his spectacular conquest of the contemporary art market at a very young age. His tragic fate perhaps an outcome, at least in part, of the social realities that are the focus of Banksy’s work. Here are some images of Basquiat’s pictures – in a heavily worked totemic grafitti style.
And here is a link to the documentary film about Basquiat, which turned up in my internet searches when I was getting these images of his paintings: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6ibOFlSM6o I think the film features (the real) Andy Warhol and (the real) David Bowie.
Letters from America These letters are my glamorous aunt’s posts on her adventures and her life and times as a ♦ mature Sydney escort ♦
Sunday 3 March 2019
At the end of Victoria Street, where the road ends and becomes a paved pathway a little lane way joins up with the path. It’s a dead end that meets the last apartment blocks on St Neot’s Avenue (which you can get to only by sandstone stairway). It’s a charming part of the Potts Point neighbourhood. A local wit has added some cats to the traffic sign in the lane way.
And this is a view of the lane way with the sign in place (well it’s a bit obscured in the hedge), looking across to the City. It’s not the best photo of all time but it’s still a lovely evening outlook.
Letters from America These letters are my glamorous aunt’s posts on her adventures and her life and times as a
♦ mature Sydney escort ♦
Sunday 26 August 2018
Following a recommendation I braved windy William Street Darlinghurst and went down to the Australian Design Centre where I saw a remarkable collection of miniature streetscapes made by Joshua Smith. They were fine works of craftsmanship recreating the patina of urban decay in the shopfronts of poorer neighbourhoods. Here is a photo of one of them:
It reminded me of the dioramas that used to be in the War Memorial in Canberra, which were battlefields recreated in miniature – tiny toylike scenes made for adults.
Letters from America These letters are my glamorous aunt’s posts on her adventures and her life and times as a
♦ mature Sydney escort ♦
Saturday 9 June 2018
Sometimes I get the luxury of a little fireworks fatigue. I see a lot of fireworks from the balcony. There would not be a week that goes by without some fireworks near the City. So would it be possible to have anticpatory Vivid fatigue? I don’t even get to see much Vivid detail – the projections onto the Opera House are on to the West facing sails. But I do see some of the sky lit up by the Vivid festival lights, and then there is the Bridge which gets heavy neon treatment, such as this aqua tone for example:
And this year, trying to avoid being a bit grouchy about the ever present bread and circuses feel of the Vivid festival, I took myself off to see some of the sights including a visit to Luna Park at Milson’s Point, where the ferris wheel was looking exceptionally pretty.
And visiting Luna Park reminded me of the short time I worked there – a while ago now – an impoverished student bravely manning the fairy floss cart in my little french navy uniform in all weather. I didn’t do that job for long, but long enough to remember being reprimanded by management for wearing glasses (it was pre laser surgery so I was stilling wearing bookish specs), and for being too generous with the serves!
Letters from America These letters are my glamorous aunt’s posts on her adventures and her life and times as a
♦ mature Sydney escort ♦
Saturday 10 March 2018
Recently I made a new friend who is an Australian living and working in the US. We talked about America and he asked me where I had visited. One of the places was Detroit where I visited for work quite a few years ago now. My new friend immediately asked whether I knew Shinola watches (which I didn’t). Shinola is all about the best in Detroit’s legacy of quality industrial design and processing.
I later spent time enjoying the Shinola website. I really appreciated learning about this venture. Here is a fine example of what they are about:
And here is a version for women that I like:
When I visited about 10 years ago Detroit it felt a city with a great past and great past wealth. The most striking thing first up was the miles of abandoned houses in what must have once been affluent suburbs. It was the closest thing to a culture shock I have experienced, just for a few moments, in the Anglo world.
When I first visited Detroit I had just finished reading a novel called Middlesex by Michael Eugenides which was set in part in Detroit, including Detroit during the civil unrest and race riots in 1967.
So when I arrived my conception of what had happened in Detroit was a work of my imagination based on this novel. And as I was driven from the airport into the centre of the city through these abandoned suburbs I could not believe what I saw. Street after street of empty boarded up overgrown and burnt out houses – a living testament to a disruptive modern historical event, a bombed out war zone that the survivors had never rebuilt, but had just been abandoned there for 40 years. And the houses were clearly houses that had formerly been grand. There was an established well heeled life that went with these streets, and it was visibly wiped out. It was just inconceivable to me that this could be part of a modern peace time consumer city culture.
I searched the internet and found photos of the once splendid houses in those abandoned suburbs. The photos I have included here show the houses all overgrown with green. This is what it looked like to me because I visited in summer.
I recently saw a 2017 film by director Kathryn Bigelow simply called Detroit. It deals with a key incident that occurred during the race riots of 1967 and is quite a harrowing watch. I had heard about this film long before I saw it, in a radio documentary about the process of depicting living history. The documentary had remarkable interview material from people who had lived through the violence 50 years before.
Detroit already had problems by the time of the unrest in 1967 – the chief being declining manufacturing sector and car industry.
Sadly the GFC brought more disruption to the political geography of Detroit when the collapse of mortgage securities enterprises Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac saw more houses abandoned in outer suburbs, with owners forced to walk away (literally) from their untenably financed houses.
But there is often talk of rebuilding Detroit – with high tech, the film industry and similar ventures. First stop Shinola watches. Thanks to my new friend for telling me about them.
Letters from America These letters are my glamorous aunt’s posts on her adventures and her life and times as a
♦ mature Sydney escort ♦
Sunday 25 February 2018
In the background of one of my selfies I must have included the part of my loungeroom wall that has a scroll of Chinese characters hanging on it. I say this because I had the pleasure of meeting a man who had taken the time to get a translation before we met. He had read the characters from one of my photos. I also had the pleasure of hearing from him an interpretation of the words on the scroll which was a totally new to me and quite different from any interpretation I had thought of.
The scroll itself I had made about 4 or 5 years ago. I had found a beautiful Zen saying entitled Subtlety. I searched about and discovered a Chinese scholar who worked at Macquarie University who was skilled in calligraphy. He agreed to do the calligraphy. He also recommended a man who could mount the work in traditional Chinese paper and fabric form. So the calligraphy was done and the work taken to the scroll maker, and in time I came to own this lovely thing:
The translation of the Zen saying is as follows (reading down first the column on the right, then down second the column on the left):
Entering the forest, he moves not the grass;
Entering the water, he makes not a ripple.
I had, and still do have, a fairly literal interpretation in mind. But my new friend had another interpretation, thus: when you enter the forest you are so small in such a great expansive world inevitably your presence does not create any special disturbance. And the same with water. When you merge with the ocean you do not disturb the huge body of water, you become part of it. You cannot disturb it. And following on from this my new friend drew another parallel – the difference between the city and the village. In the city your conduct will not be noticed but in the village everything will be the subject of judgment and comment. And we both agreed how grateful we were that we lived in the city. In the village we would not be so free to meet.
Yours MG xx
PS On another subject altogether, I give you this week’s before shot:
Letters from America These letters are my glamorous aunt’s posts on her adventures and her life and times as a
♦ mature Sydney escort ♦
Sunday 7 January 2018
It’s the New Year and I don’t do resolutions so much as I find myself somehow embarking on various new projects, generally a bit domestic. This New Year it seems to be Rejuvenation Grout.
Well I have bought the product and I am hoping it will transform the tired tiles of the bathroom into something a bit more, hmmm luminous may be :-), or just a bit whiter would be ok.
It’s been a nice start to the year otherwise. I had a lovely unexpected visitor on Saturday afternoon. I don’t often get magpies up on the 12th floor so it was a treat to hear that melodic gargling sort of song so close by.
I drove back from the country on Saturday and listened to the radio on the way – as a lot of you know, I love the radio. On this trip the ABC was rebroadcasting a feed from the US National Public Radio (NPR) and I had a couple of treats. One was a show on bluegrass which was an excuse for me to rummage around for favourite modern blues music when I got home. Here is a link to a performer composer I really like and who is a great blues hero for souls who live rough. It’s Chris Whitley with his melancholy guitar:
Letters from America These letters are my glamorous aunt’s posts on her adventures and her life and times as a
♦ mature Sydney escort ♦
Sunday 26 November 2017
I had the pleasure of looking at some photos just recently, that one of my excellent ostensible nephews had taken of the three parrots he is responsible for – all of them beautiful ringneck parrots. In discussion about the birds, a consensus emerged, that I should devote a post to my own beautiful native parrots, the lorikeets. It would be the right thing to do because they are a lively presence in my daily life, and while they have had a little walk on role in a couple of posts, I have never given them their very own post.
I looked through some of my photos and found way more than I need to illustrate my long and lively relationship with these boisterous little guys. So I have included just one snap taken about Christmas three years ago. This pair were right inside the apartment eating at the table. I posted the photo to facebook and a Czech girlfriend asked me, first, were they real and second, were they dangerous (they being Australian animals people always have to ask – thank you Bill Bryson). I told her lorikeets could be dangerous to your sleep if you are trying to sleep in lol.
Fortunately the lorikeets who visit me now are a lot less noisy than they used to be. There was a period when they would arrive just after sunrise in waves of competing pairs to sit on the balcony and yell at one another. That noisy yelling period passed though. And now there are fewer pairs who visit. Some of the territorial arguments must have been resolved.
I usually feed them outside, in their own plates, a mixture of warm water and dissolved honey. I should feed them just once a day but often I will feed them two or three times – they ask so sweetly with little churring sounds. They are nectar eaters so the spiky little beak is for tearing flowers and stems more than it is for cracking nuts. When they feed you can see the nectar gathering tongue working hard – a feathery but hard looking thing that dabs up the honey mixture.
Every season I see a new crop of baby lorikeets. They always make a huge racket fluffed up, quivering outstretched wings, demanding to be fed beak to beak.
Every season I also see some courtship rituals. There is a particular dance which involves craning and arching the neck, bobbing rhythmically and slowly snaking around in front of the target female, punctuated by little sneezings. This year I seemed to attract some courtship attention myself. I recorded part of the episode, so you can see for yourself.
With warm regards as always
especially to those of my excellent ostensible nephews who are bird fanciers
