And I don’t mean that in the whole “we’re not friends because there’s too much sexual frustration in the road for us to just be cool” way, either. I just don’t care for you. I tried, okay? My sister moved to you a few years ago and I went for the ride with her (literally, to get her car down there and keep her company) and we had a day of being tourists and we found Newtown (your best suburb; the only good one?) and just last week I went back to give it another go, a longer go. Five nights I spent in you, Sydney, and I’m comfortable in saying I’m done with you.
I walked all over you. Your city, at least. Five days of walking up and down the city streets, looking for adventure. I found shades of grey. Okay… okay. Look, the Rocks is charming. It’s gorgeous. I found some cobbled alleys there with delicious coffee and oh my god, the macaroons - I don’t even have a massive sweet tooth but THOSE MACAROONS - and a couple of cute little bookstores. Glebe is okay as well, actually, for these same reasons (I particularly liked the little café where my table marker was a BRACHIOSAURUS). So there’s Newtown, the Rocks and Glebe - BUT THAT’S ALL. Plus, I’ve seen them now, I’ve been there and done that.
Next time an international band or two is playing, I’m going back to Melbourne. I’m sorry, Sydney. It’s not me, it’s you. No… it’s us. There’s not meant to BE an us. I’m ending this before people think you mean something to me, because you don’t.
CO SIGNED.
And I have to go back to Sydney TWO TIMES in the next few weeks. I’m hoping the people I will be spending time with will make up for Sydney’s giant clash with me.
MELBOURNE + BRISBANE = BEST TIMES
Sorry Sydney.