Tightened Policy

Now on a need to know basis... :P

So. On Friday evening we went for a drink, got lost, had another drink, got lost again, had dinner, and another drink, and walked across half of London (I love how interconnected this city is) on the way home. Drink is such a silly word when you say it too often. But I have learned that a G&T is best if made with Bombay Sapphire and 3 pieces of lime, and that the London bar staff need special instructions on this...

Saturday it was a trip to Richmond for fish n chips. We walked a couple of miles along the river, chilled in the park, went to a biergarten and had a nice meat and cheese platter, travelled back into town, got lost, and then saw Ocean's 13 which was very retro-modern, sophisticated, and surprisingly funny in parts.

1) Getting lost can be fun if it's with someone you like.
2) Taxis are helpful for becoming rapidly unlost, though.
3) Especially if you've both left your maps at home.
4) Being picked up and dropped off at my door is the way it should be done. It is a particularly American habit that would never catch on here for reasons I don't need to specify.

Sunday...take a guess? He came by for lunch and ice cream at a French cafe in my neighbourhood before reluctantly going to a work function nearby, and then texting from there to say it was boring and that he'd MUCH rather be spending time with me. That was such a lovely thing to say.

Much packing I got done this weekend! And my Americanisms are coming back. I ought to try some of 'em out on y'all sometime. ;)

Small updates

Just thought I'd slap together a blog before I leave the office, as when I go home I will be shredding shredding shredding, and filling black bin bags with rubbish/clothes to give away, and filling suitcases with things. I aim to have all things tucked away by the 13th because that is when a prospective new "guest" will come to look at my room and I want it looking its best so that she will want to move in and not run away waving her arms in the air :)

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And to think, when I started this post I had no idea what to write.

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Ooh, if you haven't been following the saga from the previous post, I will be texting somebody my number tonight. I have never chased anyone's number before, so...I don't know where that burst of proactivity came from.
Fingers crossed, ok?

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I enjoyed a wonderful Japanese lunch again, of wakame salad, takoyaki, and shrimp tempura maki sushi. They were happy to see me again. Next time I will try a different combination. Keep up, people, I have blogged about this place before...

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After lunch, I stopped in the discount bookshop and bought 4 heavy books. PLEASE make me stop buying books. Since working in this area I must have bought at least 15...my mother will kill me if we haven't enough space. You see, we might ask Dad to ship out the other half of my library...oh the horror, the horror...

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Tomorrow I am going to a big dinner event at Taratai, one of those Pan Asian restaurants that was opened amidst fanfare with big names in attendance. Apparently their motif is the lotus and the menu is taken from destinations along the old Silk Trail. How romantic. I suppose I will be blogging about that next.

American Escapade

I have met so many people over the past month that the conversations are getting muddled in my head - who lived/travelled/worked where, favourite towns/foods/music, studies, stories, siblings...whew!

So anyway, Friday night housemate G and I went to the Embassy party at the Marines House and I had a wonderful time (although she is English she worked there last year). I had not been there since we applied for emigration. Somebody paid our entrance cover, which gets you a Marines stamp on your hand for the bar. I had forgotten how interesting international Americans are. I felt like...I was..."back home" BUT also that I was at all the college parties I had never been to (our university was Catholic and had no Greek system). The only difference here being that everyone was well-behaved and no one was noticeably drunk despite the drinks being free, and it was all over by 1am. No one even paid attention to the "last call"!

The bartenders were Marines and looked like grown up frat boys, but they were considerate in that they did not put too much alcohol into my drinks, they said so :) Hehe, Malibu and coke...which brings me to my next point - the loos, as I had to go quite often :)
You may laugh, but I couldn't help but notice that, after a while the M and F toilets were soon in use by both sexes, but what amazed me was that everyone without fail closed the toilet lid before leaving. I began to wonder if that had become part of basic training or something.

G and her ex-colleague J introduced me to a guy called R, highly attractive in a preppy ex-Army sort of way. (I've never met an American who served in Iraq before.) Also, I did not know I could have anything in common with a boy from Tennessee but I found that I do! Catholic uni education, Italy, art, psychology, intelligent conversation. I have to take notice of someone who compliments me for using the word "dichotomy". It's funny how when you're at a buzzing party, what people say just falls out of your head later on. He hadn't explored "downtown London" yet and mentioned that he wanted to go to the Tate Modern. Said something about the Marine formal ball, and embassy cars being fun! Argh!

All I know is, I wish I had given him my number when I thought of it. I keep learning, when you think of something, never hesitate or you will miss out. (G wouldn't stop asking me if I liked R, and observing how straight down the line he seems. Yes.)

I had also forgotten that well-educated southern boys were brought up to be such gentlemen. I would not know most of this because in Texas I was only ever friends with them. But a day after I told G, "He was like the grown up version of all the boys I knew at university" I slapped myself because I realised that they were all very lovely boys! Some of you may remember how excited I was about the Aussies. Well, now I am all excited about Americans. Ha, as if I didn't spend enough time over there. So to be finally treated like a woman worthy of notice by one....I was absolutely impressed.

After the party, the four of us went back to J's flat - gosh, the embassy puts its people into some lush properties - in our neighbourhood there are lots of Americans because of the American school, so you can imagine how nice it is. This place was impeccably decorated, with original artworks and sculptures. Couldn't see too much as it was dark and I only found the bathroom light switch after I left, hehe! But even in the bathroom there was a ship in a bottle on the window sill. All so picturesque.

We collapsed on the comfy sofas and fell asleep watching Seinfeld on DVD (I hadn't remembered it was SO funny, I thought I was going to turn inside out). R was out like a light as he'd been up since 5am the day before. G and I snuck out at 2am and walked the few minutes back to our house. :))

Next day my mother (yes I tell her all the gossip) in short, said, "Why didn't you do all that when you were at university?!?!?"

Silly exchange

This sort of exchange irritates and frustrates me. The essence of it trickles down into every facet of the organisation. Despite the early rant, I am in a good mood today :))

(Boss - 5pm Wednesday)
Hi there, just checking if IT responded to the email you sent? I know A**** is away until next week and really don't want to leave it switched on until then! So if you could make sure someone has a look at it that would be great...

(Me - a few minutes later)
Hi
I asked, they logged it, I asked again, and then they called, but they haven't been up yet...
I will ask again tomorrow though.

(Boss - 8.38pm Wednesday night)
Thanks, if you could pursue that would be helpful

(Boss - 8.39pm Wednesday night)
sorry, just thought that it would probably be worth having a look at it in the morning before getting in touch with them again in case its turned itself off! (though they might still need to check it anyway I guess).

[Turns out it was a general network problem and everyone else had the same issue.]

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Now why is it a gay guy can shower me with compliments an hour after meeting me the way no straight man ever has? (I was at a going-home party for a gay Aussie friend of mine.) If he were straight I would think he wanted to marry me right there. Should have seen his face when I said I was single. Scandalised, it was. Said the men were blind. :) He is Spanish. He said, "Go to Spain, they will loooove you there."

We texted today, he said he would love to get to know me better - keeps saying I have a lovely soul (so does he) - so we may meet up again soon for a drink or a meal.

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My lunch today was wonderful. Have you ever eaten food that made you feel like you had been blessed? There is a tiny Japanese sushi bar nearby on a modest market street full of cafes and sandwich bars and the like. You would totally miss it if you didn't spot the menu just inside the doorway because the restaurant itself is downstairs. The staff are adorable in their Japanese way, always smiling and sweet.

The last time I was there, I had been feeling down but after my miso soup, mixed sushi (maki and nigiri) platter, and a delicate hot sweet mochi (daifuku), my tum was happyyyyyy. And so was I.

Today I was already pretty chipper, owing to my growing collection of good experiences, which is why after I ate there I felt not merely happy but blessed.
I ate the yummiest wakame salad ever, a plate of warm octopus doughballs (takoyaki), and a plate of tasty softshell crab maki (rolled) sushi. The flavours are all so distinct, the ingredients so fresh and perfect. I am never going to a chain sushi restaurant again!

The wakame salad, with seaweed, cucumber and beansprouts was in the most sublime dressing, just the right sweet and tart because the vinegar was balanced by sprinkled sesame and sesame puree (yum!) which lent a fine toasty-nutty flavour to the mix. I wanted to drink it afterwards.

The takoyaki, well, you have to like octopus because it is a warm ball of fried seasoned loose dough and there is a piece of octopus in the centre. The next to last ball contained a nice row of tentacles. These balls are sprinkled with takoyaki sauce and shredded bonito (smoky flying fish flakes). Very comfy food that and I am amazed I managed all 6.

Finally, my 4 softshell crab maki sushi were most delicious, with the texture and flavour making a harmonious blend. I love the way the fish roe rolled on the outside pops in the mouth.

I was too full for mochi :(

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And tonight, I am off to a BBQ at the US Embassy, yep yep!

The Last May Bank Holiday [updated]

I started this blog two days ago on Blogger and saved it, only Blogger decided not to save it after all *sigh*

So I am here at work, and starting again - on Yahoo.

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Only...what did I say?

After a glorious warm May, our second bank holiday of the month turned out to be rainy and cold, as cold as February. All I wanted to do was hibernate, but I got out and started the weekend with a cozy birthday bash with Adie and two of her uni friends.

Sunday it rained like nobody's business and I stayed in and did laundry. Monday I was supposed to go to dinner at a friend's house, but they were just back from holiday and had caught a cold. What's new?

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Jojo in Australia, who has been reading my blog for over two years and seen all my ups and downs, insisted that I tell you this:
British men are all lame for not going out with Olivia.
He says, "Come to Perth, you won't be single for long."
Isn't it funny how only the people I know tell me these things, and the people I am trying to date just don't get it?

By the way, if anyone is looking for a curly-haired lad with a cheeky smile, ask for Jojo :)

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And then I got a wonderful e-mail from my Dad, who rediscovers my blog every few months:

Baby,

I have been wandering around your Blog.

Absolutely fascinating the way you describe simple things and events with such illumination and enthusiasm.

I know one thing about my baby: she exudes love and caring in all she does....which makes her Daddy very proud, because love is 'the essence' of the universe.

The astrophysicists are welcome to seek the 'absolute truth', 'The Theory of Everything' and 'The Grand Unification Theory', but I am convinced that the ultimate common denominator will NOT be a waveform, particle, string or worm, but an emotion called "LOVE".

It's been around so long they can't see it.

Praise from Dad is like manna from heaven and I am grinning like a fool even now.

I don't know how he found it after this length of time, but the post he is referring to is either this one from March 2006:

I can follow the Volcano post!

Or this one from March 2005:

Snow and castles and the universe

Both posts show a side of me that hasn't been seen on this blog for many months, a facet I have neglected of late, but something my father nurtured in me from an early age. When you click on the links, be brave, be brave :)

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UPDATE:

After everyone's lovely comments, I called Dad this afternoon to tell him I love him, and of course he did that wonderful laugh of his and I said I missed him and he said he'd come visit before he end of the year (Yay! To see mum and me in our apartment?) - and he said he didn't know I had blogged about those theories I mentioned. He was recalling a conversation he and I once had on the long drive between Houston and Dallas, about string theory. (I vaguely recalled it, and I don't remember when it was, but I know it was the first time I heard of it! I mean, goodness...the first time he introduced me to parallel universes, I was definitely under 10. I love how he never underestimated what I could understand.)

Tagging, tagging...tagged!

I. Thank you ML for tagging me. I will do my best!

7 Things that happened to me as a Teen:

1. I turned 13 on our 2nd year of US residency and went into 8th grade (when the going gets tough). The schoolwork was SO much harder than what I was used to, even at my private school in London, plus the culture shock of a co-ed school in a new country, and added to that the mess of hormones as I crept into puberty, I cried so many afternoons when my mother picked me up from school.

2. So of course I didn't understand this whole "will you go out with me?" thing. By grade 8 I was totally nonplussed, having had a juvenile hall guy mock my innocence the year before, and had no idea what to say to whom. But there was this really cute boy called Kevin in my drama, art and honors English classes (yes 3!). He was preppy, in chinos and horn-rimmed glasses (hey it was 1990), and he was trying to be my friend and was really being very nice, but I kept telling him to leave me alone, and if he didn't I would get in the plane and go back to England. Way to go Olivia for overdoing it. I still wish I could apologise to him...

3. I remember feeling suddenly terrified at the end of 9th grade, of the level of work we would begin in 10th grade. Just a moment I remember, as we were driving out of a parking lot, and I absently focused my eyes on a newspaper dispenser, and had that thought.

4. When I was 14 we bought a silky chicken (small, black with white fluff not feathers, a powder puff on legs). She started out ugly and hairless, then sprouted stubble which eventually went poof! She was our darling and would come into the house, select the best chair to lay an egg on, with us running around behind her to lay a cloth wherever she chose to lay her bum. Anyway, one day she disappeared and I was devastated and cried buckets. I put a poster up on the fence, and a couple of afternoons later a boy whose route to school took him past the house knocked on our door. He said he had taken it because his aunt kept silkies and he thought it had strayed off. So we drove to their house over a mile away to pick up our Silky. We knew her because she was prettier than the others and she came to us when we called.

5. Only three more to go! In 11th grade French class we learned two dances: a Haitian thingummy (I don't remember what it was called) and a Bach minuet. I like the minuet, the measured steps, the graceful motions. Plus I couldn't do the Haitian one. My book bag was so heavy and being on one shoulder, it had put my lower back out of alignment and it caused the most amazingly sharp pain in certain positions. So I couldn't lift my leg to do the ragdoll-style steps of the Haitian dance. In fact, one day I sat down bouncily as you normally do on the edge of your bed to put on a sock, and it jolted my sore spine into a spasm. I couldn't dress any further and ended up sliding to the floor and crawling about for a few minutes.

6. In 7th grade I used to get student of the week/month, and then student of the year - awarded at a ceremony by the mayor of our town, who went on to the state Senate and then US Congress. In 10th grade I received a Presidential Academic Fitness award with Clinton's signature on it, and the next year, one with the elder Bush's. I was a sickeningly good student, which is why I am not an entrepreneur today and hence not a millionaire.

7. In 11th grade Calculus class, one of the boys in the baseball team passed me a note asking for my number and if could he see me after class. It was the time of year when everyone was preparing for Prom. I wrote on the other side of the note that I did not give my number to boys. I was mortified at the thought of a boy calling my house and asking to talk to me. Fool! My parents would have been thrilled but I was damned self conscious. I am no longer shy, but is it any wonder the pattern continues today? There must be a sign not visible to me written on my forehead. Of course I don't know what it says..."No trespassing" or something..."Violators will be prosecuted". Hahahah! Oh can you think of any??? This is funny!

Sorry...got off topic there.

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I've also been tagged by Um Naief (the blogger formerly known as Tooners) who seems to back on full blogging form now that her baby son has settled in.

II. 10 Simple Pleasures

1) The wafting scent of a rose garden in June.

2) Getting bunny kisses.

3) Eating homecooked food.

4) Watching hummingbirds fight over a feeder.

5) That perfect cup of tea.

6) Birdsong in the evening.

7) Contagious laughter.

8) Reaching "the view - it'll be worth it" after a long, steep hike.

9) That nice feeling you get when you are just drifting off to sleep.

10) A Big Warm Hug.

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By the way, I put a deposit down for the modern luxury flat last week...

Did I miss any tags?

House Hunter

I went to see house number two from the previous post - the cute cream stucco one. It is not a houseshare.

Most large houses in London have been split into flats but you may not see that from the outside. Sometimes there is an addition with an entrance to a part of it, like that on house 2. Sometimes instead of one large original door, there are two doors, one to the ground floor flat, and the second has stairs to the first floor. And most houses now have had the basements and lofts converted into flats too. London houses have always had steps down to the lower ground floor (basement) entrance from the days when that's where the kitchen and scullery were, and where grocery deliveries were made - tradesman's entrance I guess. When a LGF flat is called a "garden flat" it means the tenants in the basement have sole use of the back garden.

In addition, in grander neighbourhoods, there are mews conversions. Mews are the old stables and workshops from the days when wealthy families living in the houses fronting the street owned a horse and carriage and kept household staff. Mews are cobbled alley ways behind the residential streets. I find them much cuter and desirable than the overly high-ceilinged homes they once served. Mews houses feel more cottagey, or they are sometimes completely refurbished into great contemporary open spaces. You still need to put down a million to own one, though.

So, who wants to hear about the cute house on Byron Hill Road (cute name eh?)

When I walked in I said "wow". The entrance is tiled with slate, and off to the left is a cloakroom (half bathroom). To the right is a pair of steps - one going up, and one going down. Here's the worst bit. The part that goes down is partly subterranean, a half basement, and there is damp in the wall. The estate agents are waiting for money to come through from the landlord to have it "cured" and repaired, and it will be a big job as they will need to tear out the downstairs bathroom too. (Funny enough, the landlord is moving to Houston, but lived in that house for 10 years.) So the second bedroom is downstairs and a very good sized one for an English house. The bathroom is ok and has a mixer tap.

Taking the second steps up you enter the wow space. The ceilings are so high you couldn't reach with a ladder. There's a lounge with two couches, dining area with table and six chairs, and open kitchen. Big American fridge. Very big living areas for over here, and hence the practical side of me says it will be difficult to heat in our bone-chilling winters, which are colder on the hills, mind you. All the warmth will rise to the heavenly ceiling and we will pay for it.

Off the lounge area there is a spacious master bedroom with double bed. What amazed me was the opposite wall covered with doors of all shapes and sizes, behind which are shelves and closets for storage, and then one narrow door at the end houses a ladder to reach it all! Another wow.

Were it not for the damp and the high ceilings, I would take it. Also, the long walk to the station. Yesterday, my mother said she will start driving over here and get a car, and drop me off...Oh my. I said we'd cross that bridge when we get to it. She hasn't driven here in nearly 20 years, but fortunately, Harrow on the Hill is not as manic or relentless as the rest of London. Some streets up there don't see a car in motion for 5 minutes at a time, maybe even more!

Tomorrow I am going back to Platinum House to see some larger apartments. I was comforted by the fact that water, gas and heating are included (and use of all those great facilities) in rental price except for electricity, phone, and council tax. Hopefully the slight hike in price of the places I am seeing will mean the kitchen comes out of the closet into an open plan, and gets us more floor space for the boxes we have...

I'll keep you "post"ed.

:P

10 Green Bottles...

...Sitting on the wall...And if one green bottle....Should accidentally fall...there'll be 9 green bottles...sitting on the wall.

Who remembers that song???

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Soooo let's see what I did this week.

Monday...viewing.
Tuesday...viewing.
Wednesday...

You get the picture.

And rather than checking blogs (you may have noticed I was not about), I have an array of constantly open Firefox tabs with properties that I plan to book for viewing.

Next week I shall put off the property viewing for a couple of days, and start the week with social activities. On Sunday I will go to see my grandmother in SW London, where I will do a dinner of duck legs, courgettes (zucchini), potato croquettes, followed by carrot cake.

Oh, and how will I spend my Saturday? Seeing a few properties of course (with an old friend who lives up there). Yes, London is so all-consuming that some estate agents stay open all week. Makes sense, as some people work 50 hour weeks. They must do all their grocery shopping, laundry, errands, and sleeping (it's true!) on weekends.

And where have I set my heart on living? Why, near where I used to go to school...An historic hill town just half an hour outside the centre of London on the tube. It still feels like a village but it's not even on the end of the line. You Londoners probably know exactly where I mean now, with all the glaring hints.

Off to peep at a couple of blogs now. Will it be yours? Who knows?


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Saturday Update:

Went to see a couple of properties in Harrow with my old friend Angela. I am sorely tempted to go for the luxury block - the flat was small but it had two bedrooms and two bathrooms (a big deal in the UK), and is furnished in contemporary style. It has a designer (albeit compact) fitted kitchen with Neff appliances and granite counters, air conditioning, long balcony, solar activated blinds, roof gardens, concierge, and for residents use of a small gym, sauna, steam room, jacuzzi...It is 5 minutes walk from the station, which is important as it's further out of London, about 20 minutes into the almost-centre.

On second thought, it is more like a kitchen in a cupboard. I kid you not, my walk-in closet in our first apartment in the US (before we got back into 4-bedroom houses) was bigger than this kitchen!

It's not a bad-bad area, I've been in worse, but I didn't feel that great walking about in the shopping centre. I got stared at a lot for some reason and it does feel a bit ghetto. Surrounding this block there are some ugly 1970s office blocks that look like they are about to be converted too. Well, at least it's not an ex-local authority block - they are in depressing 1960s and 70s slabs or towers, and are still pretty dire. Even when refurbished they look sad, and are only slightly less expensive than private "purpose built" blocks.



So there's that. Or a few minutes away in Harrow on the Hill proper is this 2 bedroom, 1.5 bathroom flat:



Which is a part of this house:



(see it's tucked into the right side there and the other photos show it has some surprisingly large spaces.)

Or just round the corner there's this 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom cottage:



Only downside is the two pretty places (haven't booked to see yet) are about a 20 minute walk from the station....Or the bus takes about 5 minutes, but you have to wait up to 15 minutes for it. Ha!

The whole area of Harrow on the Hill is like a village. London is made up of villages, but the ones farther out such as H-on-the-H, Hampstead and Highgate have been able to retain some of their identity and all three are on hills, raised above the grime of the city. The two latter are a bit closer to town and very exclusive as quite a few celebs live there. Harrow on the Hill's claim to fame is the renowned Harrow Boys School which is the second best public school in the UK behind Eton, of course. Old Harrovians of note include Winston Churchill, James Blunt (the singer), Cary Elwes (yes, the actor), more actors James and Edward Fox and Benedict Cumberbatch (mentioned him in a previous blog), Lord Byron and a host of other titled nobility including other former prime ministers and politicians, Jordanian princes, Earl Grey, a Rothschild and two Earls Spencer, some of the Queen's cousins, lords, marquesses, viceroys, dukes, loads of writers, Indian P.M. Nehru, adventurers, spies, industrialists, and so on...I have radar: It always turns out that the actors I find cutest are ex-public school boys (like Elwes and Cumberbatch)...!

It was quiet up there today. I think they were all down in St John's Wood at the cricket test matches.

The lettings agents say I am working with a pretty good budget for outer London, but still, I know that a few hundred more per month would get me more than I can choose from, even closer into town. As it is, I can find a very limited number of fairly decent properties at this distance. If money were no object...ah, but this is London.

So many people in their 30s live at home with their parents because they can't afford their own place, or even sometimes a houseshare. But I don't have that luxury anymore, and my mother is essentially homeless. We give up. We cannot live apart anymore. Independence is overrated, and all we have is each other - we have always been best friends. Even my cousins are disappointed in me for giving up my independence - well, they left home before 18, for many reasons. I, on the other hand, am different. And in the absence of a relationship and little prospect of one on the horizon (God knows I've tried), what else can I do? I am tired of the lonely struggle in the big city. We make each other laugh like no one else apart from my father does, and he is thousands of miles away and rarely calls. I can't have both of them that far away. Like I said, I am tired, and I know my mother is too. In my heart of hearts, I reproach him for putting us both in this very difficult position. Money was never, never, never an issue until our family split up.

Our relationship is such that we impart confidence to each other, and after all we have both been through since the divorce, we haven't lived together. I think we need to do that, so we can heal together too, at last.

Wednesday Wonders

On Sunday morning as I was waking up, I had the distinct impression that it was actually Tuesday, and that I should have finished an assignment that would be due on Wednesday. Probably because I had been sleeping facing my bookshelf with all the art books on it...

I haven't been a student for nearly 3 years now. It was a familiar feeling, but I don't know where it came from. It has just occurred to me that perhaps I anticipated an email I got on Monday for an interview on Wednesday afternoon, for something requiring a little knowledge...time for me to brush up on some terms, eh?

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I have been looking at properties and it is a mighty tiring business. So many listings, so many areas, so many estate agents. So many fine lines between an area that feels good and one that doesn't...

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So I was in another Porsche today, black this time. Surely a lettings agent doesn't make all his potential clients get into it to drive them from the office to the property - he nearly had to come over and get me out - and then dropped me back off at the station. It is good exercise. It's so low, he said extra low. It was like sitting on the floor grazing your bum on the road.

Also, I had to guard my facial expressions (I know, I am particularly expressive) because he read them and replied as if I had actually said something - and spent not enough time looking at the road. And then when we parted he squeezed my hand too hard. Oh yea, squeezed not shook. I think I will have a small bruise tomorrow where his thumb went.


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Went to a coveted interview today at one of the auction houses. Ahem. I never know how well I do but I left feeling somewhat unhappy. They liked the fact that I am a bit of a perfectionist, with attention to detail, analytical, and in possession of a psychology degree, but...I didn't get to say as much as I would have liked because the director of a related department who sat in on the interview did most of the talking. The specialist who interviewed me seemed a bit shy, but studied my CV in detail whilst his older colleague waxed loquacious. They didn't even ask about my interest in the objects in question, so I got that in myself, though they did ask if I was interested in learning about them...But they also asked if I have a drivers license; as I have a US one I don't think they were too put off by it, but that could count against me despite my willingness to convert it.

Plus I was the first person they saw, is that a good or a bad thing?

I will let you know in two weeks or so what they decided...fingers and toes and eyes crossed!

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OOH guess who I saw opposite the Houses of Parliament yesterday?




Laurence Llewlyn-Bowen, the style and fashion guru and interior designer (whom some of you may originally know from Changing Rooms) - and his wife Jackie. The reason I spotted them is because they were standng at the side of the road and she was tying a scarf over her hair.
He is known for his trademark visible cuffs - the pair seen in the pic above are subdued. When he was first on the scene they were very frilly, as were his neck ruffs. He was like Lord Byron leaping off a horse. But yesterday I don't think I saw any cuffs...

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The other day I heard complaints that the global warming debate is just a British ploy to force the rest of the world to talk about the weather.

Gettit?

So yes. It's positively chilly here for May. Or maybe it's as it should be, and the past few springs have been so warm that this feels cold. Grey, drizzly, breezy. Fairly mild, but still not good enough though the sun when it does break through the clouds is surprisingly warm (ah there's the greenhouse effect). We are two and a half weeks away from June...

'Night all.

Song of My Heart

Another tag from Selba:

This tag is a nostalgic one which really does bring back the old memories.

Here are the rules:
1. Go to http://www.popculturemadness.com/Music/Number-One-Songs-90s.html
2. Pick the year you turned 18
3. Get yourself nostalgic over the songs of the year
4. Write something about how the song affected you
5. Pass it on to 5 more friends

I turned 18 in 1995.
Back then, I paid no attention to current music, preferring to flop on the couch on Friday after school and immerse myself in Beethoven.

However...a few years later, I heard the following song of 1995 (the only one I recognised from the list provided on the website), and thought it touchingly beautiful.

Have You Ever Really Loved a Woman - Bryan Adams

To really love a woman
To understand her - you gotta know her deep inside
Hear every thought - see every dream
And give her wings - when she wants to fly
Then when you find yourself lying helpless in her arms
You know you really love a woman

When you love a woman you tell her
that she's really wanted
When you love a woman you tell her that she's the one
Cuz she needs somebody to tell her
that it's gonna last forever
So tell me have you ever really
- really really ever loved a woman?

To really love a woman
Let her hold you -
till you know how she needs to be touched
You've gotta breathe her - really taste her
Till you can feel her in your blood
And when you can see your unborn children in her eyes
You know you really love a woman

When you love a woman
you tell her that she's really wanted
When you love a woman you tell her that she's the one
Cuz she needs somebody to tell her
that you'll always be together
So tell me have you ever really -
really really ever loved a woman?

You got to give her some faith - hold her tight
A little tenderness - gotta treat her right
She will be there for you, taking good care of you
You really gotta love your woman...

Then when you find yourself lying helpless in her arms
You know you really love a woman
When you love a woman you tell her
that she's really wanted
When you love a woman you tell her that she's the one
Cuz she needs somebody to tell her
that it's gonna last together
So tell me have you ever really
- really really ever loved a woman?

interlude

Just tell me have you ever really,
really, really, ever loved a woman? You got to tell me
Just tell me have you ever really,
really, really, ever loved a woman?

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That is really and truly a song for women, and it has a beautiful and seductive Spanish touch.
When I first heard it, the lines that really stood out for me were:

You've gotta breathe her - really taste her
Till you can feel her in your blood
And when you can see your unborn children in her eyes
You know you really love a woman

(I mean....wow...)

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I tag...
1) Anyone
2) Who
3) Has
4) The
5) Time

Freaky Friday

Bloody hell. Have you ever posted a personals ad online? And depending on the site, got absolutely nothing except on the first day or two when you turn up at the top of the new members list, or a flood of everything the opposite of what you asked for? Including some pretty naff-looking guys, despite their well-written responses. Or one-liners like Joey's "How you doin'?". Or a reply in text-speak from someone who calls himself educated, u no wot i mn. Or barely legible English.

I don't think they actually read my ad...Probably zero in on one phrase, one word, or just the pic.

So what happens to all the smartly turned out cuties I pass in the street?

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And have you noticed I'm not averse to discussing the obstacle course of dating now? Some people dedicate their entire blog to it. I'd never do that to you. It would not be cool.


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Have you also noticed how in old spy thrillers, the baddies conveniently have no peripheral vision so the goodies can get away with doing stuff in it?

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Saturday Update:

So, a day after the ad posting plus a second slightly different one, these are the results:

1) foreigners with barely a smattering of English probably playing a numbers game as they send out a few terrible lines with their phone number and a photo that looks like it was taken in 1983 - either that or some overly sentimental claptrap
2) a copy and paste of their own personals ad, rather than an email to ME
3) a photo with merely the line: if u like this mail me bak
4) old guys who look old
5) English guys with barely a smattering of English
6) more guys playing the numbers game who have sent the same cut and paste reply to both my ads, probably not even realising they replied to the first one
7) one who said it's a shame he was in another country but would think of me when playing with himself
8) hate mail for anything or everything I've said

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Oh, and I never hear back from the ones I am really interested in. This is not new, it has been happening for years, and it happens whether I am on my best behaviour or just being myself.

I cannot tell you how fed up I am of the world and everyone in it.

Not neglecting you

Very odd. Someone in France Googled these two words: gilgamesh olivia. I doubt that those two words have been placed together before.

Do you ever wonder sometimes...?
Who is out there looking for what, and did they mean to find you? And if not, then what?

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Oh, and the Queen's state visit to America. Interesting that the last time she visited, G H W Bush was president, and now she has chosen to visit his son. Not the next president next year or the year after, but this one.

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At work I helped run an event on Tuesday at the Royal National Theatre hosted by an artist having a conversation with a government minister's secretary about art and climate change. Hope I don't get googled for this one. Then today it was an international project board, but my attention wandered throughout, even though I had to take notes. I found myself looking at the features and accents and matching them with the names on the list that I hadn't caught at the beginning. People from the offices oop north were very different from we southerners - and everyone in the room was British, and 90% were white.

So by today I am tired. It was interested to see that of all the sandwiches made to feed 55 people at the Theatre event, not one slice of white bread was to be found. All brown. The sandwiches at the meeting today were only white flour because they were soft Italian buns.

The rest of this week ought to be quiet, but fortunately we got the two events out of the way as the rest of this week will rain. It started when I was on my way back to the national office from the meeting today at the London office. It's a good space, but something annoyed me. Every entry and exit door could only be opened by pressing a big metal plate in the wall. Disability accessibility. This org is very PC and have taken it to the max in this building, which is in a very nice modernised warehouse, so you get brick arches set at random in walls. The office I am in, the same doors just open automatically.

There was a puzzling feature in the meeting room we used. Under a skylight, painted on the white wall in big colourful letters were the words:

Women:
search all over the building
dressed as

Then followed the names of 5 notables, one of whom was Salvador Dali. I have forgotten the rest, though only one was unfamiliar.
And below each name hung a costume on a hanger, looking much like what each might have been found wearing.
Dali's was a purple silk jacket over an embroidered floral waistcoat. I could very easily see him and his little moustachio in it. I am pretty sure another was Ernest Hemingway because I remember a woollen cable fisherman's jumper under an oiled canvas coat.

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Oh, what I did on Saturday, the only decent day out of the whole 3-day weekend: Went to Woodland Wonders, the country fair at Kew Gardens.

Katja blogged about it here.

Maybe I will tell you about it tomorrow...but here is a teaser:

TWTWTW

A Thought On Nicolas Sarkozy: How did a conservative, pro-American sympathiser win the presidency of France, a nation "bitter at American dominance"? Not only that, but he has a tough anti-immigration stance, and his victory caused little stir in the banlieus.

Although, I did note the irony of France reflecting the USA again*, in the first occurrence of a female and a minority running for president in both nations.

*Cf. French revolution inspired by the American one.

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Yes, pigs fly, Olivia has mentioned politics in her blog. Well...I don't usually like the vehemence of the discussions, that's all. I don't mind debate, but some people really take this stuff personally.

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The busy past week:

At the start of the week I discovered that another, possibly more distinguished academic organisation wants to interview me for their same department that I am in at the arts org. International Strategy - and it's from a totally different agency as the one that put me here...what a coincidence. So, interview possibly middle to late this week, as the head of the department is away.

The week at work will start off stressfuly, as there are two events, which have remained muddled in my mind for the two weeks I've been there. Friday afternoon was tough because my boss left as she always does, at 4pm, leaving me to allocate money for an event from a budget even she couldn't find on the system, and the London office had no idea. So I just went through and (carefully) PICKED ONE that looked somewhat related to the department and the purpose and had enough funds available, and emailed all concerned, including one of the budget holders...who approved it a few minutes later, to my immense relief, as it was nearly 6pm on the eve of a long weekend.


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Wednesday I met up with some bloggy friends and acquaintances at the bar under the Soho Curzon cinema. Or movie theatre, just to wind some people up...

Thursday, though...now that was a night to remember. I went on a [should I admit it?] dinner dates event at Gilgamesh in Camden. Good Lord. You've been to a palace, and you've been to a restaurant. Well, this restaurant was more of a palace. Come to think of it, no detail was overlooked, but then that was the way at the turn of the 20th century in the "pleasure palaces". That thought has only just occurred to me. Take for instance the Egyptian-themed Cafe Royal on Piccadilly. The ceiling is of gilded papyrii..sorry - off topic.

Have you read the Epic of Gilgamesh? (Wiki summary here / Online text here.) You should, it is the oldest written legend.

Ian Pengelley's Gilgamesh (the venue) leaves no surface untouched. Every wall is made up of carved and sculpted friezes of curly-bearded Mesopotamian warriors and camels and palm trees. It was like being at the Assyrian section in the British Museum. The tables are inlaid with brass foliage. The chairs, that's another story. They are like small thrones, plush, velour, damask. The arms really are arms with hands that wrap around the front legs which come up to arm level and end at a knop. Were it not for the knop, the throne would fit under the table and we girls wouldn't have to sit on the edges of our immensely comfortable seats. The DJ music was chilled and never overpowering. The only thing that disagreed with me was the LED lighting on a continual slow cycle of pink, green and indigo, which hurt my eyes.

Not a morsel of middle eastern food appeared on our set menus. We had chopsticks from beginning to end as apparently the menu is Pan-Asian (my fave!), starting with salted edamame, shrimp tempura sushi, Thai green curry chicken, and finally fruits and dessert. Every dish was truly delicious. Edamame is pretty foolproof, so I'll skip that. The sushi was delicious, and they provided pleasantly light soy sauce, rather than the usual dark salty one. I think I will buy light soy in future. I usually avoid Thai green curries as I find them too heavy on the coconut milk and too light on the fragrance, but this one was just right, and spicy too. They used pea aubergine and egg aubergine. (Both shaped like their namesakes.) Even the jasmine rice was perfectly steamed, not too sticky, and fell apart with the right pressure. The dessert was cleverly done. Large sharing bowls of totally exotic fruits sliced into finger food sizes: dragonfruit, starfruit, kiwi, pineapple, melon, passion fruit. In addition, small boats of banana and peanut butter crumble. Yes, you read right. Banana and peanut butter, and it was delicious.

Now on to the dinner guests. We had assigned seating with placecards, alternating males and females. Across from me was a very cute and pleasant young lady, who I am sure received a lot of interest the next day. At the head of the table to my left was an intellectual and talkative young man in advertising. He knew a lot about the sorts of things I can talk about, so we got on well, except he talked too much about it all. You know, he could tell me all about the history of the Persians' beards and the whole Spartan mentorship of young boys, etc. Just wouldn't let me get a word in edgewise about it, so therefore didn't realise I knew almost as much. So, intelligent, but a bit too much so and as a result a fringe-nerd.

On the other side of me was a fellow with whom I had only one exchange after shaking hands, and that was when he ID'd my surname as being Greek. Other than that, he was a sap with a terrible lisp, and he talked mainly to the other side of the table. Across from me next to the other girl was the guy I had chatted with during the drinks reception, something to do with telecommunications and living in Kensington.

The guys make the swap before the dessert course. Name cards are flipped over, but unfortunately someone messed with ours whilst we girls were on loo break. I was disappointed that the guy who was assigned to my left had been moved opposite but one because I found that he emanated so much kindness - I don't believe in auras but am sure he had one. I don't think I have ever said that about anyone. He was Serbian, born and educated here, tall and fair, and really easygoing and just really nice.
I was stuck instead with a calm guy who made no impression on me whatsoever (unfortunately he was interested in getting my number the next day), and then on my right a fit and compact type-A high-powered banker who was a bit drunk (obviously buying beer apart from the half-bottle wine allotted to each guest) and kept hitting on me. He asked me three times in the space of 15 minutes: a) what's a beautiful girl like you doing at an event like this? I said I wanted to expand my social network; b) why haven't you got a boyfriend? I said I could not answer that; c) Why don't guys chat you up? He answered that one himself. He said guys don't chat up girls like me because they're cowards.

After a while he realised we were not on the same wavelength, what with him being drunk and all, and started apologising profusely for offending me or having any other unsettling effect on my sensibilities. Not his words, but that's what he meant in a roundabout way. The calm guy on my other side took him - hehe - very calmly - even did his cufflinks up for him on his giant cuffs that came below his cashmere jumper sleeves (get the idea?). Apparently many of the guys know each other from previous events, and go skiing together and the like.

The reason I said earlier that the dessert was cleverly done was because we had to share 3 small banana crumbles between 5 people. Somehow the Serb offered to split with me. I dished out a bit at first, and he did that comfy thing that nice people do where he winked and wrinkled his nose and nodded in that kind way, whilst indicating I should take more. So I did, and we joked about the shape of the little boat being suitable for sliding the dessert out like an oyster, to which he replied he had had oysters the day before. Oh la.

When first introduced, the drunken banker had started off on the wrong tack with the Serb, with a reference to the old Yugoslav conflict, and the poor guy had to rebuff with nearly the exact thing I would have said, that basically that is so passe and that the new baddies are [from another part of the world]. I agreed and said that bringing that up was such a 90s thing anyway.

So, the 4 hours passed quickly, and I made my getaway at midnight, after everyone had moved to the bar and drunken banker had come over to me again and said we were being "continually thrust together". Sheesh.

Would you believe that to sit at the bar tables there is a minimum spend of £250? And all the tables were full. AND this is not Mayfair or Chelsea, it is Camden.

When I got outside there was a young homeless fellow ending a passing comment with two men who had left the restaurant about sinking and rising and heaven and hell...then attempting to bring me into it, he said how can you sink lower if you're already in hell/rise if you're not in heaven (I forget which). Walking slightly ahead of me as I went at a purposeful pace, he asked if anyone was bothering me (yes, him); I said no. He said, Would you like me to walk with you? I said no thanks. He said, If anyone tries to bother you just holler and I'll come. As he departed he said, "Homeless people can be nice you know." I would have liked to say that I didn't doubt him, but that I didn't need protection from anyone - as he was the only person on the street directing attention towards me - and that I had just spent the last 4 hours talking non-stop and didn't need another person to deal with...


Anyway, I have booked the next event at Taratai (where I nearly booked my birthday!).

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TWTWTW = that was the week that was. Did you guess?

Ding Dong

On the way from work - Big Ben chimes, just for you London lovers out there:



And then I went to the bar at the Curzon Soho cinema where I met up with a few bloggy peeps I know.

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Speaking of which, Pandy and I met up for dinner in London - with Reading nowhere in sight. We ate lots of yummy dim sum and sushi at Ikkyusan (recommended) - in fact, Pandy had her first sushi, helped by the fact that salmon is not as fishy as some others.

The Tube is insane

Interesting thing about my job. Casual dress code, lower pay, flexi hours, but these arts org people are just as heads down as they were at the capital investments firm with their snazzy outfits and high wages.

On the other hand, the staff at both solicitors' offices I've worked at were very chatty.

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According to Doctor Who, the Daleks built the Empire State Building.

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Funny things I read on the message boards on Fridaycities London (Note: I did not write these):

A discussion on the irrationality of commuters' behaviour during train delays and other annoying travel incidents.

-- I’m sat on a delayed tube train in a station, the doors are open and every now and again people go
outside and look down towards the front of the train. What are they
expecting to see? A traffic jam?

-- the moment when people are running for a train and the doors start to
close, so rather than chalk it up as a missed train they jam whatever
body part is nearest into the door to hold it open. Then follows the
moment when everyone wishes the driver would drive on with them trapped
in the door, instead of the prolonged battle by the person to lever the
door open to escape or enter

-- Once, and this is the God’s honest truth, the beeper noises started on
the Metropolitan Line train and half the Circle line train sprinted
over. I stayed where I was because I was comfortable and a bit pissed,
and suffered the glances of smugness from the M passengers. Then the
Circle Line doors beeped and shut, and off we chugged.

-- If you’re ever on a train which stops for more than a minute, you’ll
get updates every 5 – 10 minutes from the driver. Even if it’s only “We
still don’t know how to move the wildebeests from the track” it’s
calming to know that someone, somewhere is in control and feeding you
information.

Who's had the longest delay on London transport.

-- The Silverlink is the slowest, most ponderous & life-draining form of transport known to man ... (I believe it’s called Silverlink, cos customarily that’s the colour of
your hair by the time the twatting thing’s arrived where it’s meant to
be going)

-- Not terribly spectacular, but two hours ten minutes from Stoke
Newington to Soho this morning, including the amount of time taken to
walk the last half mile, the bus having given up totally on Gower
Street.


Did you know that Tube trains have horns?

-- this evening when I was standing on the southbound Northern line
platform at Stockwell, the (delayed) train pulled in and beeped twice.
It was a quite piercing horn. Anyone heard this before?

-- They were installed after a group of mice lobbied parliament…But the thing I can’t understand are the indicators!

-- And the steering wheels.

-- The Met Line’s horn sounds really pained. Like it’s just travelled over
a nail or something. I always feel sorry for it. Poor thing.

-- From the heading of this thread, I’ve now got this picture in my head
of this new London event, “The Running of the Tube Trains”,.. locals
and drunk tourists getting gored as they run along narrow windy streets
pursued by a stampede on wheels. It would explain the indicators and
steering wheels, sort of…

Mouse sightings on the tracks, all over London.

-- I want to know which tube stations have mice running around by the
tracks that I can look at. I haven’t seen any in ages, and I do miss
watching the little loves scurrying around while I wait for TFL [Transport for London] to sort their lives out.

-- There are some at South Kensington that don’t so much scurry as swan.

-- wesbound Central Line at Oxford Circus. I once saw a mouse carrying a chip that was twice as long as its own body there.

-- They say that in London you’re never more than 1 metre away from
someone who’ll tell you that you’re never more than 1 metre away from a
mouse.

-- Have you thought about getting one as a pet instead? There’s one in my shed that you can have for nothing.

Catchup

On the Tube on the way to work yesterday, I stood opposite a young man who was picking his nose with great gusto, vim, and vigour. He was relishing it greatly. And this was a somewhat crowded carriage. His nostrils were capacious, so I imagine they had collected a lot of furniture. (My mother calls nose-picking "moving furniture".)

I make light of it now, but I nearly gagged then and forced myself to stare at the floor whilst I could still hear him sucking his fingers and knuckles. *shudder* As I stared at the ground, I thought to myself, I do hope he is not a parliamentary clerk...and what do you know? When I got out at Westminster, he went through the passholders' private entrance...right into the Houses of Parliament, the cheek!

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So, this job I am doing. It's very involved, and I got thrown in the deep end on Monday morning. They had no idea so much needed doing within the first two hours.

But it settled down and the department director thinks I am picking it up rather quickly. Maintaining links with people who had got used to the persons I had replaced - the first moved upstairs and the second, a temp, got a job two weeks after starting. It is a huge international project that is winding down in the next couple of months, and I'll be there till then, I guess.

One thing I don't understand is my odd change in attitude. While being rather amiable before, yet hesitant with phones, I have noticed this week I have become unusually reserved face to face, but suddenly pretty good on the phone. What is that all about???

Anyway, first day on the job I took minutes at a 2-hour strategy teleconference between London and Brazil - no idea what anyone was going on about, but I wrote stuff down on 8 pages, and before I lost my hold on what they were going on about, condensed it into 3 pages of bullet points. The director checked it over today, said she had no idea how I got it down to that, and then I sent it out to everyone. A reply came back from the other London attendee: "Blimey, that was swift, thanks!"

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I took an hour's walk today, from Westminster along Millbank to Chelsea Bridge Road and then to Victoria. This room temperature weather is awesome! Lunch in the park was also pleasant, specially as it was a very neat toasted Mexican tortilla wrap stuffed with slow-cooked pork, refried beans, sour cream, cheese, and spinach, and topped with guacamole. I say it was neat because despite being a wrap, nothing fell out and it only dripped twice. I think sometimes wraps don't need to be as overstuffed as they are.

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Sunday, I walked to Camden where I joined my aunt, cousins/hubby and kids at Marine Ices, a friendly family restaurant that is 75 years old this year. Pizza, pasta, and ice cream. Well, I had zabaglione. They didn't have any semi-freddo.

I like Camden. It's funny that I can say that after living in St John's Wood for the past 3 years because I hated it when I lived in Hackney. :)

Anyway, my cousin Mich said to her son Zack (he's 6), "I'm relying on you to help me with the twins." (They just turned 2.) And Zack said, "But I'm not relying on myself."
He's funny.

It was on the agenda that I would explain to Zack how trees make oxygen for us, so while I explained it, Mich wrote the chemical formulae for oxygen and carbon dioxide on a piece of paper for Zack to see. (Seriously.) He said, "Why is there a 2 after the O?" and Mich replied that it was because there are two oxygen atoms attached to the carbon atom. I love how she tells him everything! That is how I want to be with my children.

Impressions on a day...

...In Belgravia

It's nice to drive through, walk through, pop in and out of...but working there felt uncomfortable. Like Conrad's "whited sepulchres" in The Heart of Darkness, London's land of embassies is not conducive to residents. And yet, people who are not affiliated with an embassy insist on living there. Today I worked for a solicitor in a big house off Belgrave Square where she lives with her husband, and both work from home. There were attendance notes dealing with the acquisition of a holiday villa in Barbados (they've just spent 3 months there!), with related fees for golf membership, grounds maintenance, seasonal rental, housekeeping, etc. I also typed out the villa inventory.

And just when I started wondering how long they had lived in the house, she asked me to type up a letter to the Grosvenor Estates (holders of the land on which Belgravia sits) about some dispute with the required colouring of the building and joinery. They bought it in 1997 in a state of disrepair, which apparently was the case with much of the non-diplomatic property in that amazing neighbourhood. Imagine, the people living there now are sitting on fortunes.

Still, I thought they had lived there for decades because of the moth-eaten mish-mash, down to the worn corded tassel in the basement loo, the mismatched threadbare antique chairs, the old red pile carpets so thick I tottered on my heels.

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Speaking of heels, I was told to dress smartly this morning, so I did. Black heels, black tights, black skirt with wraparound chain belt, and cotton paisley blouse. I don't usually wear heels with skirts for work, preferring flatter heels, though I do attempt them with trousers for some reason. Anyway, it got me groped on my way out of the Tube station this morning. Was passed by a black guy who seemed to be jogging, and before I knew it my rear end had been grasped. I was too shocked to exclaim because nothing like that has ever happened before, not even in Italy. What is the point of it???


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So, what did I see today? When I went out for lunch I walked through the gigantic Belgrave Square, where behind nearly every door there sits an embassy, and the only colour against the backdrop of cream and white are the many flags above the porticos. Also, it is the only time I have ever seen a Neoclassical grocery store. I went in there for my very very yummy sandwich: malted grain bread filled with mashed onion bhaji, cucumber, fresh red onion, mango chutney, mint dressing, and fresh coriander leaf. MmmmMMMmmMMmmMMmm, do try it sometime if you live here.


Waitrose at Belgrave Square

When I was leaving, I saw a black Mercedes pull up in front. The driver got up and ran round to let out a typical casually westernised Mideastern lady, you know, with the sunglasses in her hair, tight jeans and pointy snakeskin shoes, and as she strode into the store he literally trotted behind her, leaving the car right...where he...left it... I nearly laughed out loud at the scene. I am sure she didn't carry her own basket, oh no. I imagine she is the wife of one of the ambassadors lurking in the neighbourhood and lifts a finger for nothing.

Behind that Merc was another, and then behind that was a gorgeous gunmetal grey Rolls Royce Silver Cloud, purring as it awaited an opportunity to ooze into the stream of traffic.


The 40-50 year old classic Rolls Royce Silver Cloud

I walked back to the solicitor's house, around the square rather than through it, as this is one of the London gardens reserved only for keyholding residents. No way through that wrought iron fence for me, not like at St James's Square...


Homage to Leonardo in Belgrave Square garden.

She let me sit in the garden. Let me describe this typical London space. It is a patio actually (which is probably why residents need a garden in the square). There are trellisses against the fences, overflowing with all manner of creeping vine and vegetation. There is a deck table and chairs, an outdoor heater like the ones on restaurant terraces, a koi pond, and at the very end the impression of a nymphaeum with a classical statue standing before three mirrored arches. Looking back towards the house with its doors and windows was a black painted iron staircase spiraling down from the first floor, and a juliet balcony on the third (or vice versa). All this in an area about 12 ft by 24 ft, and that's one of the larger London patios!

I prefer a garden ANYDAY. Although quite pretty, this entire house and garden felt like a gilded cage. I think I have been living in the garden suburb of St John's Wood for too long...! And I have never lived without a garden before.

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Another reason I dressed smartly is because I was on a standby list for entry to the famed Chinawhite club, but didn't get the call, so after work I took a couple of stops west to Knightsbridge and went shopping at Harvey Nichols. The Food Hall carries an astounding "kick yo' ass hot" snack mix from Arizona. Habanero pepper, say no more. I love it, and have been meaning to go back for more.

I also needed to get my cousin (the charity director) a birthday gift. As she has everything and is quite fussy...I didn't know what to do. I settled on a lead-free pewter jam spoon that hooks onto the ledge of the jar. It very organic and not like anything I have seen recently, but I do think the Baroque metalworkers would appreciate it.




(I think I got her the shell one...)


The gift wrapping was complimentary, and I had a choice of occasional paper or classic silver and white Harvey Nicks with a silver bow. I thought that would complement the spoon nicely, so I chose that. I also had her wrap the book (signed by the authors!) I bought in the Food Hall for [someone I have just realised reads this blog]. I will send that for her [special occasion].



Right, you will hear from me after the weekend. I have a dinner on Sunday and day one at the A.C. on Monday...catch you then!

This just in

Good news, Good news!

I've just got off the phone with my consultant who has been trying to get me into the Arts Council for over a month now, and she has me starting there at the international strategy office on Monday at 10am, for an indefinite number of weeks.

I love how she goes into chatty detail about how she gets people to pick my CV over others.

Tomorrow, however, I will be busy helping a solicitor who works from home in exclusive Belgravia, next to Buckingham Palace and embassy land. Get that, her home (not office). For those of you who do not live in London, that is like living off 5th Avenue and the Upper East Side, or in the 7th and 16th arrondissements of Paris.

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BELGRAVIA

Walk Emperor March

Hey, remember what I said yesterday about walking in the springtime?

Vanessa sent me a link to an article: Bored? Lonely? Take a Walk, by Garrison Keillor, he of Lake Wobegon Days fame on America's National Public Radio. Even if you are British, you will know his gently rumbling voice from the Honda ads, yes indeed!

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She also sent me this hilariously wicked French Canal+ TV ad:

Week in Limbo

OK, I am bored. I have hit one of those weeks when I ... am ... waiting ... waiting ... for ... all ... sorts ... of ... things ... to ... happen ...
I can't stand weeks like this. There is a lot of clock watching, email checking, phone holding...Ugh.

However, the fact that it is spring and beautiful, and not winter and not hibernation-inducing is a great help. I don't want to curl up under the duvet, I want to walk in the park.

So this afternoon I put on a skirt, no tights, and went out. I watched the little blossom petals sliding over each other on the pavement beneath the trees on my street. I noted how the trees in the gardens and the trees on the verge were old enough to arch over the pavement the way they usually do over the road. I took a big sniff as I passed the hedge being trimmed outside the portered mansions. I listened to the blackbirds singing at all hours, not just in the evening.

I spoke to my mother in New York last weekend and she said it was freezing. At that moment, I was about to break into a sweat because it was 24C (75F). That day in London was even warmer than Houston, which was only 20C (68F).

Now, however, she is in Guyana for the first time since she left in 1971, and she will be there for 5, yes five, weeks (!). Some of you may remember the cousin I mentioned who moved back there because of her husband's business. This was my mum's very cute email to me today:

Hey Ba, I am so happy here with Andrea and the children and Ray. The
wind is so fresh and cool most times and the rain comes and wash away the dust and we get so sleepy after an hour sitting on the balcony. So we eat, sit out, sleep and go bathe. The fruits are so fresh and so is all the food. I am taking some pics of the pomegranate, pineapple, mango, psydium and everything else. I will send them in Picasa when I get back.

I am going to the market now and I want to see if I can do some fruit shopping. Andrea's maid is so sweet and so are her watchmen, they are like family. I wish you could see here for a week or so. When I go to the UK we can come to NY then come here for a while, it takes 6 1/2 hrs to fly from NY. I love you and think of you all the time I'm eating or enjoying something.

Ah bless her. I know I told her to take photos of everything but I didn't mean the things I already know, although I have never heard of psydium before...


Mum is in Skeldon, near Corriverton on the eastern coast - they grew up here on a sugar estate, but are originally from Port Mourant, near New Amsterdam further west.

Skeldon is a 4-hour drive from the capital Georgetown, the Garden City of the Caribbean.


Georgetown city hall, in front of St George's cathedral, the tallest wooden structure in the world