Freya Hill

Stories

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‘We’re not tourists…We’re just in between homes.’

‘It’s ok, we’re not tourists’ smiled my friend, Liv, to the bemused young guys on the 333 bus heading to Bondi.  Each with a large suitcase, and that ‘I’ve been travelling all day’ look, it was a reasonable assumption that we might yet another pair of young tourist tripping out to Bondi. ‘We’re actually moving’…

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Faux Hippies on Fantasy Island

I didn’t want to tell Sarah, but secretly I didn’t mind Crowded House…but this wasn’t the time or place for truths like that. For her, hearing ‘Weather With You’ through the floorboards at 3am was a special kind of torture, and I certainly wasn’t wildly impressed myself.  The flippys had got us again. A New…

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Redhead on the right
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Ummm thanks: On How to Properly Receive a Compliment

    My name is Freya Hill, and I have red hair. What more is there to say- it’s an objective fact. I was, in the words of Lady Gaga, born this way. I don’t spend much time thinking about the colour of my hair, and occasionally when I see photos of myself I think-…

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Movie Moments

I almost died the other week, in the most undignified way too. And most peculiarly, had I bit the dust then and there, my dying thoughts would have been of Robin Williams, dressed in geriatric drag. I’ll back-track a bit. I adore the mid-90’s film Mrs Doubtfire. It has so much going for it- educational messages…

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Proof of Life

A friend once told me ‘I know the exact moment we became friends’. She went on to describe how, when we were both exchange students in Leeds, newly minted to the country and bonding over discovering the joys of studying in the UK, she came with me one day to help sort out a phone…

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Welcome to the Vacuum

I am currently in a vacuum. I’m in the murky stage where something is almost, tantalisingly, nearly complete, but yet not quite. My masters thesis is in its final draft stage, printed off and gone to my supervisors, and I sit here in my rather comfortable vacuum, thinking about things I could be, but am not…

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Tingo Lingo

Our  105 year- old dear lady of a house has finally had her roof redone, which is of course fantastic. The pack of buckets we’ve accumulated can be rehomed or released into the wild, and items of furniture can be placed anywhere in a room without having to take into account possible water-damage.  But the…

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Made With Love

I have never been so happy to see the beaming, smooth-skinned face of Nigella Lawson as I was last Thursday night.  In a hotel room in Dunedin without internet, I felt both cut off from my own life and usual means of communication, and overexposed to the news coverage of the Christchurch earthquake.   The…

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Empire of the Mind

Every six months, I meet up for a coffee and a chat with a gorgeous friend of mine. I’ll natter about university, work, my latest exciting recipe or purchase, and in return she’ll modestly regale me with tales of saving rainforests in Brazil, internships in Geneva, orphans in Madagascar and hot summers in New York….

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Superman’s Bad Day

This post really should be titled ‘The Power of #failure’, but that sounded too much like the title you’d see for some kind of wacky TV self-help show which you accidentally end up watching in those insomniac hours between night and morning.  Plus I rather liked the photo, taken outside a museum in Berlin. The…

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