Check out Karl Lagerfeld’s library. Not jealous…much.

I have never been one to fawn over stars (rock, movie, aussie soap etc),  fashionistas or A/B/C grade celebrities. Particularly the fashionistas. Reading the Devil Wears Prada is about as close as I have ever come to reading Vogue magazine. So I can’t say I have ever been interested or intrigued by Karl Lagerfeld, or King Karl as he is apparently known by those in the know, apart from wondering how someone who is steeped in so much fashion mystique, revered by fashionistas worldwide, can be happy to get about looking like a cross between a skunk and Herman Munster.

Anyway, for Christmas Ali gave Lissy a book called The Selby is in your Place, a collection of photos of creative people in their personal spaces that this guy called Todd Selby takes. Check out his website theselby.com. So I was flicking through it last night and I came across the shoot he did of Karl Lagerfeld’s place. I think I actually said “Oh My God” out loud. For those of you who read my blog about wanting to have my own library, check out the photo below and you will understand why.

Excuse the dodgy photo (didn't do Todd Selby proud with that reproduction, and have probably just broken some international copyright laws or something).

Very cool library Mr Lagerfeld. Because I am a sticky beak and detail freak, I did take a closer look at his book collection and saw that he has several copies of the same title. I’m not sure what that’s all about – hope it means the books are not just for show. But is it feasible that he has even read half of these books? Maybe he has the same book buying addiction as me. Although it would be a lot easier for him to feed his addiction since he also owns the book store next door. Very handy.

Not jealous much. I think my interest in fashion just went up a few notches.

Did someone put sleeping tablets in the Christmas Cake?

I think I've been drugged. It's the only conclusion I can come to for why, for the past three days, I have spent most of my time yawning, snoozing, wishing I was in bed, talking about being tired, sleeping or saying "I don't know why I'm so tired". Either someone slipped something into the Christmas cake or Dad is piping some sleeping gas through the air con. Which, come to think of it, might not be such a bad idea with two wet-weather-housebound kids running around. Don't tell family services.

It's like that feeling you get after you have just finished Christmas dinner, when you have eaten enough to feed a small animal (like a baby elephant....for a month), and you just want to lie on the couch but instead have to tackle the washing up for 12 people who also ate enough to feed the rest of Noah's ark. Christmas lunch lethargy. Only mine started a day early.
If it's not the sleeping gas, that it must be the last four years of expending 110% effort as corporate girl finally catching up with me. I can only hope it doesn't last too long. Even typing this blog I keep wanting to let my head have a wee little rest on the keyboard. It's going to be a long six months if this keeps up.

This rain, on the other hand, is welcome to keep up. This is good, stay-indoors-and-write kind of weather. As opposed to stay-indoors-watching-movies-under-the-doona kind of weather, which would be procrastinaction and Christmas lunch lethargy combined at their worst. It's all about the writing, Kathryn. Repeat after me, it's all about the writing.

I can also only hope that this weather is not replaced by hot, sunny days when I might be found sunning myself on the beach with the feeble excuse of doing research for that very important beach scene. Bring on the floods! The less reasons I have for leaving the house, the better.

My first day on the job as a full time writer

It has been 24 hours since I walked out the front doors of AECOM's Brisbane's office and into my new life as a full time writer (unpaid, unpublished, living at home with parents).

Did I feel sad walking out the doors? Hard to say really. I can't say I comprehended it. Even when I handed over my former lifebloods (my blackberry and laptop) it didn't feel like it was really happening. Even when I said goodbye to my bosses Frank and Lorraine. Sitting in the bus on the way home I kept saying to myself "This is the last time you will have to wear these heels for six months" but even that didn't sink in. Maybe because I know it is going to go quickly and I will be walking through those doors again in no time. Or maybe because the overriding thought running through my head was "I've done it. SHIT. Now I actually have to stop talking about this book and actually write it".

D-Day has arrived.

Here is a quick snapshot of what a day in the life of a full time writer has consisted of so far:

7:30am Wake up and play Nintendo Wii with five year old nephew and Dad.
8:00am Beat Dad at ten pin bowls by scoring a Turkey. Take pride in fact I am excellent online sportsperson since so uncoordinated in real life.
8:30am Eat two Weet Bix.
9:15am Walk to ferry with Mum, Brother-in-law Damian, and nephews Will (5) and Ed (2).
10:00am Arrive at ScienceCentre. Spend approximately two and a half hours putting together Rubik's cubes and cheering for Ed as he did the 25m sprint challenge about 50 times in a row.
1:00pm Arrive home at Bulimba. Eat hot dog.
1:30pm Snooze on couch following extended and exhaustive cheering efforts for the 25m sprint.
2:30pm Older sister Elissa and soon-to-be brother-in-law Jules arrive from Sydney.
3:30pm Quick dash to Coles for last minute Christmas day essentials i.e. tonic for the gin.
4:30pm Crack open first bottle of champagne (Moet) to celebrate Liss and Jules engagement.
5:00pm Crack open second bottle of champagne (Veuve) .
5:05pm Robust discussion on whether Moet or Veuve is better. General consensus = Moet.
5:55pm Fire up computer to write a blog entry
6:00pm Realise that using alcohol to get the creative juices flowing is not that effective. Just causes lots of spelling errors.
6:15pm Come to the conclusion that Christmas Eve should not be considered a prime example of a day in the life of a full time writer.

I have signed an imaginary contract in my head that states that the full time writing gig starts next week. For now I am going to write a few blogs, spend some time with my family, catch up on some sleep, eat a few rum balls and drink a bit too much champagne/gin and tonics. Next week it is 2,500 words a day, come inspiration or not. Does that make me nervous? Yes. But excited too. Best go and have another glass of champagne - apparently it is a very good relaxant.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Saying goodbye to the A-Team

I love my team. I do. If I could somehow take the whole lot of them with me into my new role when I return to corporate life, I would.

On Wednesday they organised a farewell for me. At about 10:30am I was sitting at my desk absorbed in some exciting report or other when I heard a lot of heavy breathing behind me. When I turned around I laughed so much I cried. A cliche but a true account of what happened. Check out below to see why.

This photo was taken after I had put on the t-shirt they made me, which featured all of their faces enshrined in love hearts - that's me in the middle. That's David second from the right, the one who has an apple logo sticker on the front of his Dell laptop.

They wore these shirts around the office all day.  I think people thought it was some kind of a flash mob - the marketing team promoting some new campaign. People were still talking about it on Friday - which may or may not have had anything to do with the massive 'I HEART KT' poster hanging next to my desk. They were probably just wondering why I love myself so much that I hung up a poster about it.

Even though I have quit my role, got a new one, hired my replacement, rented out my apartment and moved in with my parents, this was the first day that the reality of what I am doing really sunk in. The last four years in this role have been a sometimes dizzy mix of challenging and rewarding - I have hired and fired, given warnings about phone bills and good news about promotions. I started with two staff and say goodbye to 12. I have made hundreds of cups of coffee with this crew. Do I feel sad about moving on? Yes, I do.

I just want to say - thanks team (since I know that a few of you have now discovered my blog - thanks DT). You are the best team a corporate girl could wish for. When I need a flash mob to promote my new bestselling novel, you will be the first people I call. 

As a creative person, is having a Dell like turning up for work as Fashion Director in the Vogue office wearing Payless shoes?

With the end of my job comes the end of my work sponsored laptop. So a few weeks ago I started the extensive task of researching laptops. It went something like this:

1. My detailed analysis of creative people has led me to the assumption that 99% of them use Macs.
2. I am trying to look like a creative person.
3. Therefore I should get a Mac.
4. Ask girl at work how much she likes her Mac.
5. She loves it.
6. Ask her what price she paid.
7. I don't love that so much - or more specifically, my new I-won't-be-earning-an-income-in-three-weeks budget doesn't love it so much.
8. Look online at Dell laptop.
9. Purchase Dell laptop for $800.
10. Say goodbye to vision of sitting in cafe typing novel on Mac looking like trendy creative person.

Seems I am too sensible on the budget front to be too worried about whether or not I look the creative part. But is this creative suicide? As a creative person, is having a Dell like turning up for work as Fashion Director in the Vogue office wearing Payless shoes?

Get over it, says my back pocket. I just hope my lovely new Dell computer is as full of creative juices as the marketing people at Apple have so easily convinced me a Mac is.

My shiny silver Dell arrived yesterday. My tech savviness is about on par with my athletic ability, it just took me two hours to work out how to connect to the internet. In the end Dad had to work it out for me, which is quite shameful considering he is retired and nearing 60. I don't think he could handle the swearing and whingeing that was going on. And that was before I discovered that apparently CD drives don't come as standard on laptops anymore. My customer satisfaction levels are rapidly nose diving. I am sure they are going to hit rock bottom this weekend when I try to transfer my i-tunes over - a task in my mind that is about equal in effort and difficulty to running a marathon. I wonder if the guys on the IT Help Desk at work are open to bribes.

I think I am in love with Ken Follett

I had never heard of Ken Follet until I read an interview with him on Booktopia. But I think I am now in love with him. Not because of his distinguished good looks (without being ageist, see photo below - he looks a little like Santa's less hairy brother) but because of an answer he gave in his interview



When asked what advice he would give aspiring writers he only said "Be a perfectionist". A man after my own heart! I have no idea if I can write a novel, no idea if I have the discipline to commit to writing a minimum of 2500 words a day, but a perfectionist? Now that I have well and truly mastered.

A few months ago I was on the receiving end of some 360 degree feedback at work. A confronting exercise at the best of times, always full of things that both warm your heart and make you go red in the face with strenuous denial. In the area of perfectionism, my scores skyrocketed. This was not news to me - my poor family, often on the receiving end of my perfectionist tendencies, had been gently and not-so-gently suggesting this to me for years. My leadership coach, the same one who told me I was a sucker for procrastinaction, kindly explained that being a perfectionist was not necessarily a good thing before handing me a copy of a book called "Perfectionism: A sure cure for happiness". I didn't even try arguing that correct punctuation makes me deliriously happy.

And so I discovered that perfectionism is not a good thing in the work place. Or so I thought. A couple of weeks later, in my annual performance review, I raised this with my two managers, who had both scored me about 11/10 on the perfectionist scale. I asked them what advice they had for curing this undesirable trait, to which they responded "We don't want you to fix it. That's why we hired you". It turns out one of my bosses had another Somerville House graduate work for her years earlier, who was also a perfectionist. So when Lorraine saw my CV and glimpsed the words 'Somerville House' she sent for an immediate interview and I was hired within a week. Perplexed, I asked why they had then scored my perfectionism as a negative behaviour in the feedback. They simply responded that I just needed to work on perceptions. My perfectionism made me work long hours. Rather than telling me to get a better work/life balance, they simply said that if I wanted to continue writing emails at midnight that was fine, but maybe just save them to my outbox and send them first thing in the morning.

Perhaps this blog should be called an ode to work/life balance - or how not to do it. Starring Kathryn Tyrrell.

It seems quite ironic really that the reason I am taking time off work to write my book is because I am a perfectionist, yet this is the quality Ken thinks I need to have as an aspiring writer. Either way, it seems that I don't need to kill of all of my perfectionist tendencies just yet. Which is a relief because I hadn't quite figured out the absolutely best way to go about doing it.

Answers to the TOP 10 questions I am being asked, right here in one handy list

I have found in recent weeks that there seems to be a common theme to the questions I am being asked so I thought I would jot them all down in a list. This way my friends and family can just read my blog and not have to talk to me, which some of you may prefer. It would also suit me as then I can save my voice in preparation for appearing on Oprah’s book club. I can also just print out a copy of this blog post and hand it out when anyone asks a question. Don’t know why I didn’t think of this before.

I have considered the fact that maybe people are only asking me these questions to be polite, but I quickly dismissed it. Surely there could be nothing more interesting for people to think or talk about than me?

So, here they are (in reverse order, to build the anticipation towards number one):

10. When are you moving out? Thursday (see previous blog post)

9. What are you doing with all your furniture? As well as their middle daughter, Billy and Naz are getting a garage full of furniture, which I am sure will come in handy when they need a third fridge.

8. When are you finishing work? Last day the office is open before Christmas - 23 December. I envision I will be doing a lot of work that week.

7. Are you insane? No, not that I am aware of.

6. Have you won lotto? Ditto.

5. Have you found your replacement yet? Yes, Kay starts on 20 December. I am sure she must be the only person in Australia starting work the week of Christmas, but when I was asked if I would be willing to come back in for a few days in the New Year to do a handover, I contemplated it for about three seconds and said no.

4. Have you started writing your book yet? Yes and No. Is that non-committal enough for you? Started writing but now have fantabulous new idea that I want to write more. Busy writing it in my head at the moment, preparing to commit it to the page.

3. When do you leave for London/have you booked your flight yet? Probably early February, only tickets booked yet are for flying by the seat of my pants.

2. Can I come with you? All welcome, but only if you are quiet and non-distracting.

And the number one question I am being asked (drum roll please):

1.   Are you getting excited? I think there is something wrong with me. I am one of these weird people who doesn’t get excited for a holiday until my plane has landed at the destination. I didn't even get an adrenalin rush from sky diving. I think I am disappointing people when they ask me “Are you getting excited?” and I look at them with a blank expression and say “Ah, not really”. I will soon, when it all feels a little less surreal.

And there you have it – Kathryn’s top 10. Any others, send me a text, email, blog comment , leave a voice mail, employ a sky sign writer or send me a message in a bottle. I will add it to the list.

Plaster teeth and other random things I have found while packing

So here I am. Sitting on the couch. Just me, my laptop, a lot of boxes and a gecko on the wall. Only a few loose items remain to be packed – a bowl for breakfast, a glass for water....and maybe one for wine. You know, just the essential stuff.

Some of the random things that I have discovered in my packing:

-     Old video tapes including Cher fitness videos, my high school formal, and Dirty  Dancing.

-     Set of plaster teeth at the back of the bathroom cabinet from when I had my mouth guard made.

-     Mum and Dad’s phone charger from three years ago (sorry about that, just add it to the bill)

-     Three penis shaped twisty straws from Emma’s Hens lunch. I thought about keeping them for my nephews as I’m sure they wouldn’t know, but it just seemed a little wrong.

On my right are boxes full of stuff from the kitchen. It is amazing how much kitchen stuff I have for someone who doesn’t cook. And kitchen stuff I don’t even know how to use, like a Mortar and Pestle. Why would anyone still use a tool in the kitchen that requires manual labour? I have always loved the idea of being a good cook – unfortunately the cooking genes went mostly to my older sister Elissa. I cook more like my Nan, who is infamous for her Sunday night special where everything leftover from the week gets made into a casserole. I still have fond memories of a casserole about 20 years ago that featured cheerios and ruffles chips.

On my left are boxes full of books, and these are just the ones from the living room. There are more in both bedrooms upstairs. A good cook I am not, a devoted reader I am.  

And then of course the boxes where I have just stuffed those things into that I have no idea what to do with, but am sure I will figure it out when I open the box in 12 months time. Mum said she had a few of those when we moved up from Canberra when I was 11 – after not opening them for 20 years, she eventually threw them all out when they moved to Bulimba. I asked her what was in them and all she could remember was old shoes.

So the packing is 95% done. Removalists are booked for Thursday. Tenants move in on Saturday. Only two more nights in Red Hill before the hard work adventure truly begins.

A huge thanks to Billy and Naz for all of the packing and cleaning efforts to date, and those yet to come. Without you around to beat the packing boredom, I would probably have died from sniffing too much packing tape, my hands black from wrapping glassware in newspaper print. Your reward? Me, living in your house for the next 12 months. Lucky you. But you are getting the flat screen TV as an added bonus.

Is there anyone alive who actually enjoys packing?

Packing is one of those activities that you do for hours on end, then look around and realise you have hardly made a dent. For a two bedroom townhouse I have accumulated a lot of crap over the past three years to build on the crap from the 30 years before that. Boxes of the stuff. But even  though I know it's crap I still can't seem to get rid of it - sentimentality insanity. In 50 years time will I really care that I saved my Christmas cards from 1992? Will I ever need inspiration from 100 back issues of outdated Real Living magazines?

When I was a kid I spent hours with my baby sister Alison pretending we were librarians - getting all of our books out, writing out book loan cards (computers were still the size of a small house back in those days), loaning them to imaginary people. When we got sick of that we would wash Dad's 1982 Commodore, pretending it was the Queen's Rolls Royce. Maybe because we didn't understand the concept of working and chores at that stage, they seemed grown up and fun. Maybe I just need to channel that again - fly Alison in from Sydney and pretend that we are professional house packers. The problem is that now I am a grown up, and I understand the reality of chores and work. And being a professional house packer must be in contention for the title of world's worst job. 

You know who I do have respect for? Those people who manage international moves - the ones who walk into your house, glance around and estimate you have 1.4556 40ft shipping containers worth of contents to ship. How do they do that? I can't even accurately estimate the number of boxes - I never get enough. I looked around a few days ago and thought "20 boxes should just about do it". I have nearly used them up and haven't even left the kitchen/dining yet. Not to mention the amount of newspaper. After digging into the stash I have for Roary's kitty litter (is that bad? It feels a little tainted because of it's initial intended purpose), I have already progressed to the tea towel drawer and now the linen cupboard to source wrapping for my breakables. Haven't had to succumb to toilet paper just yet. 

I'm looking forward to the troops (Mum and Dad) arriving on Sunday morning to sort me out. We moved house what seemed like 50 times before I was 10 - and all in the same suburb, which in hindsight is kind of weird actually - so they are seasoned experts at this moving and packing business. Clearly one gene I did not inherit.

Better get back to it....or maybe just a quick nap on the couch first.....