ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
Two years ago, Frankie Dearden left our desert community in search of purpose.
Feeling directionless and afraid that time was marchimg on despite her protests, she applied for a Youth Mobility Visa and threw caution to the wind.
Upon arriving in London, she caught the Paddington express in from Heathrow and that was the last time she was seen wider than Fare Zone 2.
“I found a room in a nice place in Fulham with some girls I knew from Brisbane,” she said.
The 30-year-old arrived back in town yesterday night and she’s returning to her old at Betoota ABC next week.
“And I found a job in like my first week there at the BBC, which was awesome! I made so many good friends!”
A typical day in Europe’s most overrated city saw Frankie rise at 6, go for a run down on the Thames past Fulham Palace down to Putney Bridge then back up to her sharehouse off Homestead Road. A quick shower and a bite of toast, followed by podcasts all the way from Parsons Green to Oxford Circus with a change at Victoria.
“On the weekends, we either just stayed around Fulham or we went to like Notting Hill or Camden. We’d go away for weekends like to Amsterdam or Berlin. The City Airport is so convenient,” she said.
When asked if she ever went to hell holes like Kent or East Ham, she said not but some of her friends did and didn’t enjoy the experience.
“My housemate’s boyfriend used to wear a stab-proof vest under his puffer vest whenever he had to go to like Stratford or Brixton to watch the football,” she said.
“That’s a bit hectic. You can go to any street in Australia and not be stabbed. People might throw rocks at your car or take your wallet but no stabbings. Stabbing people for no reason is heavily frowned upon in Australia but in parts of London, it’s basically an informal greeting!”
Frankie picked up a butter knife form the table and pretended to stab herself in the tummy.
“Oh ‘ello there, mate! ‘ave you got any fags?” she said before thrusting the blunt blade toward herself.
“Ouchies! Sorry mate, don’t smoke. Please stop stabbing me or else I’ll be late for work!”
“Ok sorry, bud! Cheerio! Gosh, I think it’s punctured my liver! I’m probably going to die! Cheerio!”
Our reporter gave Frankie a double thumbs up and thanked her for taking the time out of her busy morning of sleeping to speak to The Advocate.
More to come.
