During the day today, it was reported that Pope Francis's condition has become critical, and from media reports, I sense that he will soon die. I'm not sad about this, but I'm also not happy. The way I feel is frustrated that I can't be in Rome or the Vatican to be a part of it all. I can't afford to go, and even if I could, both Mum and Rebecca have told me it wouldn't be the wisest use of money. See, I think it would be. It is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to observe historical protocols and see what happens in a situation like this.
I often refer to the Catholic Church as a criminal organisation, and in many ways, I think it is—but I have this deep curiosity about it. I think it's because there are so many spin-offs, yet the Catholic Church is the true foundation of Christianity. I also like the fact that the Catholic Church claims to have the bones of Saint Peter. Maybe they do. There would be no way to actually tell, but I think it's possible. I bet they've got all sorts of treasures hidden away in the dungeons of the Vatican.
It's a shame they don't share these relics with their faithful—or with the public in general, who might have an interest in them.
Apart from learning about the Pontiff’s impending departure from this world, I’ve had a low-key Sunday. I watched as Mum got ready for an "Afternoon Teal," a gathering she attends every year to raise money for ovarian cancer.
Mum asked if I wanted to come along, but I declined simply because I never really know what to say to the sorts of people who would be there. They are a group of fabulous, successful women, but I always feel a bit out of place in those situations. This year, in particular, it’s even harder to explain where I am in life, given that I’ve taken the year off to focus on my book.
Another thing I struggle with in groups of women is the fact that I don’t have children. It’s something I hope to get over one day.
Every year, Mum brings pies, pasties, and these gorgeous cupcakes as her contribution to the fundraiser. Below, you can see the cupcakes.
There was another older Australian woman who found origami later in life and became extremely passionate, even obsessed with it. She could be really annoying when she was teaching me something. For example, one day we made this complex box, and when I had finished mine, she took it from me, undid everything I'd done, and said, "Now do it again." I never get angry at anyone, but I think when she did that, I expressed extreme annoyance. At one point, this woman—who I will call Louise—went through a stage of making origami dinosaurs, and they looked amazing.
I used to go to these events at the museum called Night Lab, which are themed parties held on Friday nights, where people dress up, and activities are set up throughout the museum. There is also a cocktail bar, which I like to indulge in. They are such good fun. I haven't been for a while but would like to get back into it this year.
I got a notice about an upcoming Night Lab that was dinosaur-themed, and I told Louise she should teach people how to make origami dinosaurs at the event. They usually have someone doing origami at Night Lab, so I thought it would be fun if she volunteered her time. I'm not sure if I actually said "volunteer," but I made it pretty clear that was what I meant. I have a contact at the museum, so I sent her an email telling her I knew someone who made exquisite dinosaur origami and could volunteer at the event. She put me in touch with a man named Tyson, and he contacted me, asking if Louise and I could meet him for coffee at the museum to discuss it.
Throughout my dealings with the museum, I made it clear that Louise would be a volunteer, and I said I could assist her in the same capacity. I arranged a day for Louise, Tyson, and me to meet at the museum for coffee. I met Louise earlier, and we walked around for a while. She told me she was nervous. I sort of laughed, but I didn't understand why she would be nervous about meeting with Tyson for a volunteer gig. I let it go, and when the time came, we met him at the coffee shop.
Tyson bought us both a coffee, and Louise whipped out her folder with examples of her origami. To be honest, it was overkill, but that’s just what she’s like, so I didn’t think anything of it. I talked to Tyson a bit, and it turned out he knew a friend of mine, a well-known geologist in those circles, so we established a rapport. Then, Tyson said something about a stipend, which I think he meant to cover petrol or parking, but then Louise said she usually charges $80 an hour for her services.
I looked at her like, "What the fuck?" but she just looked at Tyson, who was being really nice about it. He said he could do that, but I was absolutely livid. I don’t think I actually said "volunteer," but I made it perfectly clear that was the spirit in which she would be working at the museum for Night Lab. I can't explain it—I have never been so angry about something in my entire life. I know the museum said they would pay her, but the way she went about it was like she was trying to make a quick buck, and I was ashamed I had brought her there.
We finished coffee, and Tyson gave us complimentary tickets to the Wildlife Photographer Of The Year Exhibition, which was on. Louise and I walked through the exhibition, and I held my tongue. When I got home, I wrote an email to Tyson, apologising that Louise had asked for money, and he wrote back, saying it was fine—they often pay people for their services. I wrote back and said, "That might be right, but that is not how I do business."
I went back to origami classes once after that, but then I just couldn’t stand the sight of the woman and stopped going. I wasn’t going to confront her about it—there would be no point. In her own mind, she had done nothing wrong, but to me, that was a despicable act.
