busy busy weekend, which passed in a flash.

i bargained my way out of a traditional “hen’s night” (thank god) in lieu of a girl’s night out with angela, clare, pasadi, and sue. getting to clerkenwell was a mission and a half, with the southern part of the northern line out of commission. i had to take a bus to earlsfield, take a train from earlsfield to waterloo, take the northern line to king’s cross, and the metropolitan to farringdon. hung out at the three kings pub (site of last year’s infamous nye party, where i drank, danced, puked and snogged) until closing, then headed down the street to the “evergreen party” at the amazing tardis venue. set behind an anonymous wooden gate, it’s half open air/half train trestle alcoves, with candles and trees and a live parrot (how angela always seems to find these places set in train trestles, *I* don’t know!). it’s been ages since i went dancing, and was sorely missed – we partied til after 3 and i rolled home very tired and tipsy, which is surely the sign of a good night out.

up early saturday morning to do some errands, one of which was getting j’s wedding ring re-sized (i ordered it from the states, due to the very favourable exchange rate, but got the wrong size). absolutely certain i remembered where the shop was, we spent ages wandering knightsbridge saying “hmmm, this doesn’t look familiar, do you remember this?” finally found it (all the way down at green park!), grabbed some sushi, and headed home, so j could go meet up at his friend’s bachelor party in covent garden. i spent the evening reading, and j fell into bed sometime in the wee hours of the morning a bit worse for the wear.

up early again sunday for an obligatory visit with the very sweet but extraordinarily garrulous Aunt Muriel (nickname “Topsy”). She’s my grandfather’s cousin, who lives in Piddington-on-Oxford, and when we last visited in the summer, she kindly served the most atrocious homemade Sunday dinner ever massacred in the history of kitchens. Luckily, this time, she offered to take us out to the pub, and invited along several other relations of her deceased husband for a relaxed and convivial roast dinner at the local. it was a very nice afternoon, all in all, with some lovely people, but with nearly 2 hours travel time each way, a very long day. came home and crashed out with some “west wing” to recover sufficiently for the beginning of a new work week.

some pics of topsy & co. below

linda and rob

muriel and john

muriel, jen, and jonno

linda and john

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Another Monday rolls around. For those of you following the countdown, only 3 and a half weeks before we leave for our wedding trip to South Africa. The weekend itself was pretty quiet – trying to give the wallets a rest until our trip. We did, however, go out for drinks and Yahtzee with Kerryn, Tracey and Chris (ever try to throw dice in an ashtray?), a decidedly more sophisticated twist on just drinking to fall over. Saturday and Sunday were very quiet, just doing some shopping and cleaning.

Anyway, there are many things I love about London, but seeing as how this is Monday, and I just had to brave the moving sardine can which is the tube, I’ve got a few gripes to rant about. None of these are new peeves, and I’ve probably already written about them here before, but if you can be a self-indulgent whinging loser in a blog, where can you be?

In no particular order:

1. Mixer taps – where hot and cold *come out of the same tap*, providing a delightfully endless variety of shades of warm. They exist in all the bathtubs, why not sinks? This is not a newfangled technology, folks. Since I have very cold-sensitive teeth, and the alternative would send my nerves into painful overdrive, I get to start every morning running my toothbrush under hot water. Perhaps sterilising one’s toothbrush prior to use is a good thing, but it’s about as appealing as drinking a cup of cocoa in the middle of a desert.

2. Reality shows – the endless fascination with these is unbelievable. Where reality tv had it’s heyday in the States about 3 years ago, the trend continues unchecked here, like a demented runaway train. Big brother, couples competing to renovate flats, celebrities trapped in a jungle, celebrities competing to become chefs, celebrities competing to see who can take best (or worst)care of a fake infant, celebrities swapping wives. The only thing bigger than reality tv is reality tv featuring celebrities (and I use that term very loosely indeed). There seems to be no end to the list of contrived reality shows they are willing to foist upon the viewing public.

3. The tube – what passes for transportation here, is in fact, the most poorly run public service I have had the misfortune to ever encounter. Half of the ire is due to the service, or lack thereof. Trains constantly delayed, reduced, or missing altogether when drivers fail to show up for work. In the face of ever increasing fares, we are constantly apologised to for signal faults, staffing shortages, and weather delays. I pay £3 every day, with a) no guarantee that the train will be running at all, and b) that it will get me anywhere on time. It’s like the lottery – you buy your ticket and you take your chances.

The other half of my ire is directed at the massive failure of the Brits to grasp even the basics of crowd etiquette. The tube, surprisingly enough, is shaped like a tube. Which means the trains are very narrow, yet curved at the outside. The people who get on first, get seats. Fair enough. The people who get on after the seats are taken, all congregate by the doors. This is because they are afraid when the train gets more crowded, they will be uable to get off, if they are in the middle. Which means that the people who get on subsequently, are also required to bunch up at the doors. After a few stops, the people sitting, or brave enough to stand in the middle of the carriage, have all the space in the world. Whilst the ever-increasing pressurised logjam at the doors, means that people are literally fighting to cram themselves on, as otherers are fighting desperately to get off. This creates further panic, meaning people are even more reluctant to move towards the middle – it’s a frightening catch 22 which gets worse every day. And due to the curved outward shape, it is possible to squeeze on a number of people who were never meant to be able to get on – as long as you are willing to hunch yourself into a doubled-over face-to-ass position, you can squeeze into a space no human was meant to stand in. By the time we get to my stop (not even yet approching the centre of the city), there are people on the platforms who sit and watch train after train go by, fully rammed to the gills. Which creates crowded platforms – a dangerous situation that london underground staff remedy by creating holding areas at the turnstiles. When these get too full, they creating waiting areas outside the tube station.

You can show up, wait to get inside the station, wait to get through the turnstiles, wait to get on a train, smoosh for a 30+ minute journey, and still arrive at work late. All this for the affordable equivalent of $6 US, per day.

Okay, that’s enough for today. Here’s hoping your week is off to a better start than mine.

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In honor of American Thanksgiving this past thursday, I invited nine friends over for a big traditional turkey feast on saturday night. The magnitude of cooking such a giant bird with all the trimmings for such a large group, singlehandedly, meant I spent weeks leading up to it procuring all the perfect ingredients and plotting like a woman possessed.

Friday night, got a haircut after work, then went and had a drink with some colleagues. One drink turned into two… and it was only the fact that I had to get home and bake pies that kept me (relatively) sober. Got home, and sliced, diced, stirred and seasoned late into the night, until two unorthodox-looking, yet otherwise traditional pies were produced.

Saturday was more preparation. I undertook this event with all the strategy and planning of a general leading his troops into battle. Everything was pre-peeled, pre-cubed, ready to pop into the oven at pre-ordained times, to be ready at precisely seven. Surprisingly, it all came together (that *never* happens!), and as everyone began to arrive and nibble, everything went off without any major glitches, save fighting with the smoke detector next door (british ovens being too small for an 8 kilo turkey) and spilling some wine.

Then, in finest american tradition, we stuffed ourselves silly – turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes *and* yams, beans, squash, rolls, gravy and pie. and as usual, like clockwork, once the triptophans hit the system a few hours later, everyone was ready to nod off, and filtered home full-to-bursting.

Sunday was all about picking at leftovers, drinking wine, watching movies, more wine, more movies, and playing a rousing hard-fought game of chess.

I have a lot to give thanks for this year – being able to share it with so many friends was just the ice cream on the pumpkin pie.

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hmm, what to say about the weekend? friday was bonfire night here in the uk, to celebrate guy fawkes day. which basically means everyone and their brother runs around shooting off fireworks for two weeks prior and one week after. i adore fireworks, so we went to watch the display in wimbledon. got there late, and there was a huge queue to get into the park, and we thought we’d missed it, so we were headed to the tube station, when suddenly music starts blaring and big blooms of fire start lighting up the sky. we wandered down a tiny side street and had a wonderful view of everything. fairly impressive, considering it was just a local show.

after the fireworks, we headed out for drinks til late. ugh – too much for my newly healthy immune system to handle!

saturday was a chilled day, doing errands in preparation for j’s family’s arrival. sunday was more of the same, buying pillows and such. did a nice long run though – 10 miles. hopefully we’ll be well enough prepared for this half marathon next weekend! only time (and knees) will tell…

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The London weather this summer has been bollocks – dreary, grey and cool almost every weekend, so when the sun made an unexpected celebrity appearance this weekend, our mission was clear: to spend every possible second drinking in some well-missed warmth and vitamin D.

Our assignment began in earnest Friday evening, as we headed over to Abbey Mills in Colliers Wood to enjoy some open-air music and relax with friends and a few drinks. The evening air was balmy, and the blues cover band was good, so we drank and danced on the picnic blankets for a few hours. When the music died down, we headed over to see our friends at a pub in Tooting Bec, having some celebratory birthday drinks. As the pub closed, no one was quite ready to head home, so we walked over to their house, and continued the merriment with improvised cocktails, snacks and general silliness (the breadsticks would later be used as a means of map measurement, and it is two breadsticks from johannesburg to london, but only one breadstick from j’burg to Sydney), until we rolled home at 2:30.

Since J has quit smoking the past few days, he has been waking up ridiculously early, which ensured that we made it to the Balham Tup early Saturday morning for the kickoff of Tri-nations rugby, s.a. vs australia. In typical bostonian fashion, I was supporting the underdog, and ultimate losers, the rsa springboks for my initiation into the rugby world. Despite an early lead, the boks let it slip through their grasp, but everyone agreed that it was a good match overall.

After the rugby, we got some picnic food, and headed out for a drive to the “beaches” of eastbourne – or what passes for beach in most of this country. Pebble shores and cold murky water, but the sun was nice and we chilled and strolled and pretended we were at a proper beach. Heading home, we counted the number of roundabouts en route back to London, and totalled up a staggering 39!! The Uk is roundabout crazy – wherever a four-way stop or a merge would do, they plonk down a roundabout. Dizzy by the time we got home, we relaxed with some japanese takeaway and a movie for the remainder of the evening.

Sunday was originally designated for climbing, but after J awoke at 7:30! And we witnessed a glorious day outside the bedroom window, we couldn’t bear to be indoors on the wall. So J made me sweet (not savoury!) french toast, and we jumped back in bruce and made a beeline for Bournemouth.

English seaside towns are really an odd little curiosity. They’re kitschy and corny and each is a pale imitation of the next, but the brits love them, and flock to them like heat seeking missiles at the first hint of sun. Bournemouth is actually a reasonable size town, and fairly modern, with a real sand beach, but there’s still something a bit sad about the desperation to pretend it’s more exciting or better than it actually is. In any case, there was real sand, so we had some lunch and lounged in the sun for a bit, basking like seals. J made the brave plunge into the cold water, while I got lots of sand in my underwear. After a while we decided to head back, and I decided to practice driving again. Which would not have been so bad except for the massive traffic. I actually drove the whole way into Central London, quite pleased with myself that all the sideview mirrors made it home intact through the narrow parked-up little streets. Chilled at home the rest of the evening in front of the telly like sunburnt slugs.

I’ll add some pics to this post a little later.

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ugh. london tube was on strike today. I was lucky enough to be able to walk to work, but some people faced commutes of 2+ hours. lots of people didn’t even bother. the tube carries about 3 million passengers a day. now there’s talk of a retaliatory boycott. given the number of people i saw walking and cycling today, a series of rolling tube strikes might be a good way to get londoners in shape. forced fitness: the new central government initiative. I can see it already.

my walk to work, however, was considerably slowed by the fact that i made the misguided decision to play squash again last night. i don’t know how long it will take me to figure out a) the ball doesn’t bounce and b) the walls are stationary. accidentally slamming the racquet into a wall is frustrating and not good for the health of the racquet. deliberately slamming the racquet into the wall out of sheer frustration is not good either. not to mention the prevailing law of physics of squash: when the ball doesn’t bounce (as it doesn’t) and the legs will not move (as they wouldn’t) the ball will, as a rule, thump leadenly and roll to the farthest corner of the court (as it does). it then becomes not so much a game of squash, as a game of “let’s see how frequently jen can accidentally kick the ball away from her in her clumsy attempts to fetch it”, which is definitely not as much fun.

happy birthday to nick! who is sporting a kick-ass tan from her recent holiday in greece (which I was meant to go on). i have decided, in honour of her birthday, to suspend my determined anger with her, over the fact that she is leaving me to return home to new zealand in just 15 short weeks. don’t say i never gave you nuthin’.

elsewhere on this crazy little dust mote we call earth:

truckers as government spies (do i even need to point out how simultaneously ridiculous and scary this is?)

the plight of the black superhero (i’ve had many a conversation about this, surprisingly)

that’s enough for the mo’. talk atcha later…

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Hmmm. Well the weekend was a bit of a mixed bag.

Friday night I met up with J for a work drinks thing (supposedly something of a belated leaving so for J as well, since he changed buildings at his job). I was all prepared to be chatty and social and cute. Except that for the entire two hours we were there, almost all his old colleagues failed to even acknowledge our presence! It started out kind of strange, and got progressively wierder the longer we were there. They all stood around drinking, looking like they were enjoying a root canal, talking about work, whilst studiously avoiding glancing at anything other than the depths of the drink in front of them. After two agonizingly long pints, J decided he’d made enough of an effort and we went home and had a lovely sushi dinner. Mmmm. You gotta love edamame – like nature’s little bubble wrap. Satisfyingly poppy and entirely addictive. And eel, ugly as sin, but tasty as hell.

Saturday morning was downright dreary, putting the kibosh on my plans for a run down to the river, so instead I decided to intoduce J to the uniquely american delights of mixing the sweet and savoury on the breakfast plate, in the form of cinnamon french toast with maple syrup and bacon. Why this seems so stomach churning to the uninitiated, I’ll never understand, but after skeptically sampling a bit, J seemed to come around. To work it all off, J decided to introduce me to the game of squash. He warned me as we were heading to the courts that I would be tired and sore, but I dismissed his cautions as exaggerated. Spent the next hour and a half running absolutely ragged, chasing maniacally (and very ungracefully) after a little hard non-bouncy ball, slamming into walls, and sweating like a pig. I used ass muscles I didn’t even know I had. Came home and spent the evening chilling (well, immobile, more accurately) with a movie and dinner.

Sunday morning, we got up and got ready for rock climbing, gathered our gear, headed out to Bruce (the car)… only to find the window had been smashed and the radio stolen. Argh. Spent the better part of the morning calling in a police report, checking insurance policies, calling autoglass repair places. Bah humbug. Since our morning plans were trashed, J decided to make french toast *his way*. With garlic and ketchup. Definitely savoury – it’s good, but a little disconcerting, as my brain kept expecting a different taste than what my mouth experienced. It’s good, but it takes a little getting used to. Went to Sydenham and got some perspex put into the window (the glass won’t be in for a day or so), went and had a pint down the street (vandalism does tend to dampen one’s spirit a bit, but we enjoyed thinking of cruel and unusual ways to exact our revenge), and J made a lamb roast for sunday dinner.

may you die a long, slow, painful death, you stoopid thieves…

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it’s been exactly a year that I’ve been in london now! i remember dragging my stuff to my new flat like it was yesterday.

it’s been dramatically crazy and surprisingly eventful and stuporously boring and achingly lonely and excitingly adventurous and wrenchingly heartbreaking and tooth-and-nail hard and unbelievably fun.

if i had known exactly what i was in for, would i have still gotten on (or off) the plane? of course. i wouldn’t trade a second of it.

this is what i wanted, all of it, the whole experience. if i wanted predictable and steady and innocuously pleasant, i could’ve stayed my home and saved myself the rollercoaster ride.

but i’ve always enjoyed rollercoasters. they remind you that you are alive.

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the random news:

wouldn’t it be great if the guv’ner of texas turned out to be gay?
“sex and the city” ends in the us tonight. nobody tell me!!! the final episode doesn’t air here til march.
the man with 18,000 lives, ozzy nearly died twice in last year’s accident.
an amish reality show?!?!?
wonder where new catchphrases come from?
love him or hate him, you can count on nader to run in an election year.
is that a pang of sympathy i’m feeling? spot dies.

pondering earlier today…things i have adapted to quite easily:

turning everything into a question (e.g. “can you not?” “did you not?”, also saying “i did do”)
spelling (i.e. eradicating “z”, throwing around extra “u”s with abandon, putting “r” before “e”, comes from writing all those government reports!)
no snowboots and mild winters (coulda saved a lot of space on sweaters in my suitcase!)
four weeks holiday (well, duh!)
the art of drinking on schoolnights (and it *is* an artform)

things i still cannot seem to master:

running a bath (always too hot, too cold, spilling over and leaking through the bathroom floor…)
cooking (okay, i admit, this is primarily an excuse for my laziness)
the difference between lagers and bitters (this is practically sacrilege, but i am now at the point where i am too embarrassed to ask!)
metric in general (i think i am just deficient in that gene… okay, another excuse for laziness!)

things i will never understand:

the advanced technology exists to *mix* the hot and cold water *from the same tap*, why not use it?
the switches on plugpoints and the “standby” mechanism on televisions – what purpose do they serve?
the topless women in the daily newspaper (not a *good* paper, mind you, but still…)
bagging your own groceries (trying to juggle money, bags, change while you hold up the queue and they sit there and watch you [quite possibly laughing behind your back as you leave] seems so very inefficient)
indiscriminate use of butter on all sandwiches
how to keep the mass quantities of heavy change from ripping the lining of your pockets (*sigh*, time to drag out the needle and thread again…)
why is there nothing open after 11:00?!?!

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if I ever get arthritis, i’ll have to shoot myself.

after last night’s rock-climbing, i have no manual dexterity whatsoever. my hands have become weak misshapen claws. attempts to plait my hair this morning were a cruel joke. and i could really do with one of those sticks you attach to your forehead to type. but i love it. iloveitiloveitiloveit. we went up one climb using only our feet, no hands, and even though you’re tethered, being 30 feet up and hanging on to a wall with just your toes is heartstopping and exhilarating. everything about it challenges you to conquer that nagging voice in the back of your head that says “are you insane?!? a) you’ll never be able to do that and b) get down!!!”. and somehow you do it anyway, and the sense of accomplishment is indescribable. but by the end of the evening, i couldn’t have tied my shoes if my life depended on it.

so, i have a new layout, thanks to the (theoretically) simple beauty of css. i still have some tweaking to do to make it pretty, but i think it’s a huge improvement overall. and i still have to do the photo pages.

i am finally going to get to do glassblowing! a six week course starts 24th feb at city of westminster college. unfortunately my firewalk has been postponed for a month. which means that from 18th-22nd march i’m goggling over italian men in rome, 26th i walk on hot coals, and 27th-29th i celebrate by overindulging in illicit substances and mass quantities of liquorice. busy busy busy two weeks.

I seem to have somehow agreed to sign up for the tough guy challenge in july. 8 miles of obstacles and mud. recommended training includes jumping into cold lakes. should be fun.

oh, and I am going to see the pixies! only 16 weeks, one day!

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so one of the first things you have to get used to about living in london: you’re on candid camera. all the time.

seriously, everywhere you go, there are signs proc;aiming “cctv in operation”. on the tube. in the cornershop. in bars and restaurants. on public streets. from the time you venture out your front door in the morning, you are almost continually being watched, in the name of fighting crime. one camera for every 14 britons.

which is a little bizarre, since london doesn’t generally have very much crime to begin with, especially when you compare it to most major metropolitan u.s. cities. i’ve travelled all sorts of places at all hours of the day (generally whilst inebriated), and never once felt unsafe. sure, they have petty crimes like thefts and vandalism, and even some not-so-petty crime like assault or rape. but for the most part, you are statistically pretty damn safe.

it’d be pretty easy to attribute it to all the surveillance, right? people don’t commit as many crimes because there’s a greater likelihood of being caught on tape. and after a while, you kind of do away with the notion of personal privacy anywhere outside your home, and all the little cameras start to fade into the background noise. most people are willing to give up personal freedoms for a measure of security. and you come to understand that you are *not* presumed innocent just walking down the street minding your own business, you are constantly a potential criminal.

the problem with that theory, is that it doesn’t hold water. in my experience, londoners *don’t* feel safer than say, new yorkers. perhaps even less so. i never had as many people warn me to be careful in my seven years in new york, as i have in the less-than one year i’ve been here. in spite of all evidence to the contrary, londoners seem to feel very much threatened.

and the problem is, the cameras don’t deter crime. a recent study shows that “security cameras were effective in tackling vehicle crime but had limited effect on other crimes. Improved streetlighting recorded better results.”

so next time you see a cctv sign, smile and say “cheese” – you may not be any safer, but you are a lot more photogenic…

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had to take the bus home today, and ran into this poor american woman who had just moved here yesterday and was hopelessly lost and couldn’t find her house. i think i pointed her in the right direction, but who knows, since she lived on a little mews i only vaguely remember walking past once. then i advised her to buy a “london a to zed”. (for those of you who don’t know, the “a to zed” is a londoner’s bible, and lists every teeny little yard, mews, court and close in the city. london is even more illogically laid out than boston.)

funny, i remember what a big deal it was for me the first time i ventured out without it! and i was just thinking on the bus ride that i finally felt like i was starting to get a grasp on this city.

30th march will be a year I’ve been here (excepting my two months of unwilling exile, which in true “jen logic” i have decided don’t count). the older I get, the faster they go. remember when you were a kid and you couldn’t wait for the year to be over? now i want to stall time, rein it in, and make it slow to a speed where i can appreciate things more fully. you don’t get it back.

yes, the times they are a’ changin’: looks like come may, gay couples will be having full legal marriages in massachusetts. sadly ladies, I am already spoken for, since jo has been trying to get me to marry her for some time now. at least we won’t have to go to canada!

interesting experiment: While sitting in your chair, lift your right foot slightly off the ground and move it in clockwise circles. Now draw the numeral “6″ in the air with your right hand. Your foot will involuntarily reverse direction. like trying to sneeze without closing your eyes – you just can’t *not* do it.

hate those supermarket “loyalty cards”? here’s a place to protest, as well as some interesting insight as to what happens to your personal information. scary. but you already knew that. (thanks, tina)

who knew comic strips could be so deep? “Peanuts” and Sartre’s existentialism. i personally think that’s stretching it a bit though.

the pixies are coming to paris! which hopefully means they’ll also be someplace in london this summer! in paris they’re opening for the RHCP, whom i have officially given up on as major sellouts, but what the hell, i’d still pay to see anthony kiedis in a tube sock.

sidenote: it was ridonculously warm out today 15C (60F!). apparently winter in london is only slightly longer than summer…

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>ooof. my ribs ache.

i am well an truly pissed with the city. last night I was late to rock climbing because there were delays on the tube, and this morning, a full 36 hours later, there were still delays on the trains. it’s beyond ridiculous. c’mon, get your act together! (hint: there’s a new miracle invention called “salt”.)

so rock-climbing did not get off to the most auspicious start. i was late, one of the hottie instructors was out. we learned a technique called “bouldering”, and there was one particular problem in the cavern that i *wanted* to solve (involving hanging kinda upside-down and swinging and catching a hold just out of reach), just because no one could get it. i must’ve tried it ten times. which was stoopid, because i wore myself out, so that by the time we went back to the vertical walls at the end of the night, i was knackered. my shoulders were trembling, and my hands were like spaghetti. i had no strength. i got halfway up and felt myself getting ready to fall, and knew i wasn’t going to make it.

i had to come down. i was so mad with myself. i’m used to being able to make my body do what i want, and i just couldn’t. and i *know*, i’ve had the flu and should cut myself some slack, but it was not the note i wanted to end the evening on.

so this week i go back to doing pushups. blech.

and despite my best efforts, there is still chalk under my fingernails this morning.

but i kinda like it.

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it’s positively mind-boggling.

a major metropolitan city can be so well prepared to deal with *bombs* (thanks to the IRA in the 80s), but so ill-equipped to deal with a naturally occuring phenomenon such as snow.

more than 12 hours later, roads are still crazy, trains are delayed and cancelled, schools are closed.

you’d think it was practically the end of the world, but it all amounted to less than an inch in London.

astounding.

i am soooo over the snow in london thing now. it causes more chaos than it’s worth.

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It’s snowing in london!

Click the photo for larger view

I feel like i’m eight years old again.

of course, the city is freaking out. they consider this “severe weather”.

ha ha ha. i laugh in the general direction of their severe weather. except when it means my trains don’t run on time. then i don’t laugh at all.

more snowy pics here

late breaking update:

in the space of a few short hours, the lovely snow has become transformed into a ridiculously thick sheet of ice over everything, and upon which, i will very probably bust my ass tomorrow.

*sigh*…i knew it couldn’t last.

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not so much politics today – too tired. except to say that a) the president sucks ace, and b) there has always been something I didn’t quite trust about howard dean. and this just cements it. face it. he’s a loon. interested in figuring out who to cast your vote for? try this.

oh, and if you don’t vote, don’t even bother to complain to *me* about anything. talk to the hand. I gotta remember to register for an absentee ballot.

okay, so i lied about no politics. sue me.

things you can do at the british post office:
buy mobile phone cards
pay your car MOT
renew your tv licence
pay your utilities
buy home insurance
cash traveler’s cheques
open a bank account
get stuff notarised
get your government benefits
take out a loan
play the lottery

which is all fine and well and good. except when i waste a whole lunch hour trying to mail a packet.

surprise, surprise! it’s raining again! surprise, surprise! rain tomorrow! although given how small this country is (as compared with giving the weather forecast for New England or the tri-state area) you would think they could give better meteorological advice. all they ever say on the weather here is that it will be “fresher”. what the hell does that mean? colder? wetter? lemon-scented?

in my world-traveller diaries, looks like all my threatening has finally worked! alex and I are actually going to rome in march! I should work for the mob – i could put the hurt on people. alex is clearly scared of me.

the russians have their priorities straight.

because I missed MLK day in the states monday, here’s a belated tribute, which i find particularly apropos:

“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”
- Dr. Martin Luther King (1929-1968)

peace out, y’all.

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so em came to visit me for a whirlwind weekend in london. sooo much fun was had. she got in to stansted from montpellier (flying the luxurious ryanair) at 10:00 thursday, and immediately realised, upon hitting the immigration checkpoint, that aside from my phone numbers, she had no other info.

immigration officer: “what’s the purpose of your visit?”

emily: ” i’m visiting a friend.”

i.o.: “where does your friend live?”

e: “ummm… i don’t know. somewhere in london.”

i.o.: “is your friend british?”

e: “no, she’s american.”

i.o. “is your friend a student?”

e: “no, she works.”

i.o.: “what does she do?”

e: “ummm… i don’t know. i know she doesn’t like it.”

all very fishy sounding, but finally they let her through, because well, she just has one of those believable faces and she’s tiny and cute. (if it had been *me*, i think we all know what the ending to *that* story would have been.) the stoopid stansted express was doing “engineering works”, so we raced to catch the last train, but missed it, decided “screw it, if it’s going to take hours anyway, at least we can get good’n lickered-up”, whereupon we had a much-needed drink at the very fashionable Stansted O’Neill’s Pub. em had her first (of many) stella artois. took positively ages to get home, but finally reached chez moi about 2 am, and crashed out.

unfortunately, i had to work friday, but snuck out early, and i *cooked* dinner for us. well, sort of. pre-prepared fish, couscous from a packet, and salad from a bag. tasty. em was sick with a cold and still really tired, so we went to a few local-ish pubs in clapham. missed meeting up with nick in balham, so after last call, we headed home.

saturday, we got up, had traditional british crumpets and not-so-traditionally-british dunkin’ donuts french vanilla coffee (dee-lish! thanks kate!), and went to hampstead heath, where emily was able to pay homage at the keats house, we sloshed through ankled deep mud along the foggy moors, and refreshed ourselves with some very fancy french pastry and “white coffee”. then we walked, and walked and walked to camden, browsed the markets, bought tacky junk and a fun shirt, hit a pub for some drinks, then decided to go eat. my infallible sense of direction provided us with a long and extremey circular walk around old street, then we went to soho for some yummy indian (de rigeur), went to the snooty “o bar” for a few cocktails, then “yo! below” for a few more cocktails, where there were lots of slutty looking pudgy british girls, no neck massages, and some tantalizingly hilarious karaoke which petered out abruptly.

sunday morning we headed for a lovely late breakfast/early lunch down at southbank, braved the hurricane winds of the thameswalk, then perused the sometimes-cool, sometimes-puzzling tate modern. suddenly it was time to go, so i dropped em at liverpool street station with 7 minutes to spare and we bid adieu.

the weather was crap (as to be expected) but i have now had opportunity to practice my hosting skills – we only got lost once, emily left my flat alive and only a little bit worse for the wear, so it looks like jen’s b & b is open for business and taking all future bookings… hint, hint

see what kind of crazy fun could be yours for the asking

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