Hello friends,

If misery truly does love company then I was beginning to think it would be hard- pressed living in Sydney, Australia this week.

The weather has been perfect (again).

And the thing about something perfect is this: It is to be enjoyed, for as soon as you try to keep with it or obtain it, the more flawed you and your life becomes in comparison.

So as I sat down to write this letter, I have to admit I was feeling a tad pressured by the ‘perfect’ weather Sydney has been presenting.

Why? Because in the season where it is technically meant to be totally acceptable to express 'the winter of my discontent,’ how can you be when winter comes in the form of untouched blue skies that reach as far as the eye can see, the smell of jasmine, chirping baby birds, and a humpback whale frolicking in the crystal clear green harbour?

Only here would Pina Coladas be a winter drink.

Yup, it appears that spring has come early, and to be honest, I don’t feel ready.

Hell, this morning when I went to get some money out from my usual ATM, the homeless man, Ted, who is normally really angry and disgruntled and who once told me he wanted to "poke my eye out with a pin" (you see Miss McPhee, you’re not the only one) greeted me by singing, "The hills are alive with the sound of music.”

You got to love a bit of The Sound of Music at 8.15am.

And so with winter Down Under, the perfect thing the skies should be doing is in fact raining. Only Sydney-siders are not big on rain. Every time we have a splash people literally get down on their knees and scream at the heavens like they have been victims of an unwarranted attack.

Note to women who keep crapping on about the ‘man drought’: When it comes to droughts, men are the last of Australia's worries.

But still the air temperature is not too hot, not too cold, but simply the type of weather everyone likes (including me). Why? Because it’s quite literally perfect. And although beautiful, I feel a tad pressured by this.

Why? I don’t feel ready.

"I’m not quite thin enough, I don’t want to get out of bed this week, I want to hide under my covers," would be fine to say if it wasn’t so god damn lovely. You can’t sniffle and snarl when it’s a glorious day.

You can’t watch the complete DVD set of Laguna Beach on a Sunday when it’s bloody beautiful. You feel guilty.

And so, as I sat down to write this letter amidst the blue skies looking at me, (nothing but blue skies do I see) I felt a bit, well, intense.

Which is okay by the fire, but not so much by the beach.

Last week I had a home intruder; the week before Tootstar's birthday. This week was meant to be light-hearted which would have been ‘perfect' for spring.

But no, my mood feels like I’m an adolescent gothic sitting in knee-high Doc Martins, black stockings and a black dress in 40-degree heat on a beach date with a surfer who just wants to “watch the waves cause they are, like, cool and stuff,” while I can’t seem to stop myself from talking about foreign policy.

Is it just me or does that not sound like the spring range that would sell?

Spring is about lambs frolicking in a paddock and smelling buttercups before they are wrapped in a baby pink blanket and hand-fed a bottle of perfectly warmed milk.

It’s not about the fact that the lamb is going to end up at the abattoir (mmm, cutlets!)

Spring is not about focus, it’s about festivities and f*king. It’s about taking deep breaths of crisp, mild air and making love, not war. No one hates spring because it’s not too hot and not too cold. It’s not anything but pure perfection…

God damn it, why is spring rubbing itself in my face?

Fuck you spring (I don’t mean it really, I love you, I’m a spring baby after all).

But truly if you are living in a country that is tropical one day, perfect the next, then how can you feel anything but happy?

If you are feeling down in near-perfect surrounds then you must be a bloody psycho right?

Not much of a ‘fun in the sun type of person,’ but a more intense problem-seeker. The type that might bring up refugees at a dinner party or smother themselves in 30+ sunscreen.

God can you imagine life as that person? Oh shit that’s me.

Dear Mr Howard,

Does the fact I question the media and have more on my mind than a BBQ mean I’m un- Australian?

Love Tootstar.

Anyhoo, I was getting too much for myself so halfway through this I decided to take a break (grab a Kit Kat).

In the perfect weather I left the house. And what happened? Sydney was KO'd with a freak hailstorm and within minutes it looked like it had been snowing.

You’ve got to hand it to our weather; it’s even got a sense of humour.

So as everyone else was running for cover I was standing on the street dancing in the rain and laughing!

I guess the thing with perfection is this: It’s not true, it’s fake, so whatever moments you get of it are to be enjoyed for what they are - a fleeting illusion.

But it’s okay for us. The storm turned into a perfect burnt orange sunset and it’s back to blue skies tomorrow once more.

Not too hot, not too cold.

You know what? That does sound pretty good but don’t forget the people living here who love it but just don’t have the privilege of enjoying it from the same perspective.