It's always interesting where work can take you - people will cry out: opportunities! overseas travel! laptops! free dental care! - but it was a pretty safe bet that I would never have pictured myself standing in a solitary holding cell in prison on one Friday morning.
As part of the research we are doing on a large piece of policy, we were sent off to a prison to meet and greet staff at a young offender's prison outside of London. It was one of the most interesting sticky-beak experiences that I have had, and because we were on government business, we had a chance to view some of the cells and more secure areas of the prison. Surprisingly (and yes, I did flinch), we mingled with some of the young offenders (the majority of them under 21) while they were being served lunch, and I was shocked to see how baby-faced some of them looked. The atmosphere inside the open areas of the prison was more akin to a school camp (a good thing for rehabilitation and for breaking down barriers) and I sometimes forgot that we were actually in a prison and that there was a reason why the young men were locked inside.
I was impressed with the work that the staff did too - many of the young men have obviously come from harsh backgrounds, and the sheer work the prison managers do to reduce the chance of the young men from re-offending once they are released is phenomenal. I won't give more details, but in such an environment, I can't help but think that the prison managers deserve gold medals for the work they do in handling very very difficult and sad cases.
But of course, all good things must come to and end, but in my case, the good things merely continued the next day as I flew off to Barcelona to meet Di and Matt who were on a European holiday.
Barcelona is a beautiful city, pity about the lack of customer service and the (mostly) unfriendly people. I don't know whether the Spaniards were tired of hoardes of Englishmen descending on their shores every August, but there were times where I wondered whether Barcelona deserved the acclaim that it sprouted in every Lonely Planet guide published since 1992.
We had sangria, we had tapas, we even had a siesta. What we didn't realise was that siestas weren't just an afternoon occurrence - they happened all the time. On 2 separate occasions, our bus, full of passengers, stopped in the middle of nowhere where the driver had a cigarette break and a conversation on his mobile. Another time I stood waiting to get served my food while the staff talked amongst themselves. At a burger outlet, 4 staff waited around while 1 person served a line of 15 people. When we asked people for directions the best we got was a shrug. It was then that I wished for the brutal, cold efficiency of the Austrians!
But I digress.
The architecture was stunning and the weather was perfect. We went to a lookout point and swam in the blue blue waters of the Mediterranean with our eyes. At night we danced away at a huge club with 4 levels and go completely lost amidst the beat of Spanish pop. We marvelled at the Gaudi sculptures in a UNESCO heritage park, only for me to run away in embarrassment when a mainland Chinese tourist stood on top of a UNESCO Heritage Sculpture while yelling at his wife to take a picture. We ate tapas which was priced according to how long the toothpick which held the tapas together was, we got slightly tipsy on sangria (ok, i lie, I got mega-drunk on sangria), strolled down Las Ramblas and then we got sunburnt.
So now I'm reasonably up to date, and now that i have the internet at home (which incidentally keeps on disconnecting every 10 seconds - literally - I should be able to update the blog somewhat in real time. Not that you read this in "somewhat real time" but meh, them's the break.
Thursday, 26 July 2007
the record
This is going to be my pre-Barcelona post, given my lack of updates for the past couple of weeks.
I have nicely settled into my new abode and am really starting the enjoy the flat. I cook, I clean, I iron, I wash. But at the end of the long working day, it's nice to sit back and look at the views of the city and watch the commuter ferry dock outside my flat. The only problem is that my landlord has stuffed up the measurements for my balcony curtains, so the 19.10, the 19.40 and the 21.10 commuter ferry passengers coming off the gangway can see me scoffing icecream (19.10), burning my dinner (19.40) and hiding the empty bottle of wine (the 21.10 mob) as I sit in my flat in my best tracksuit pants.
But aside from that, I've also managed to get out of the flat too.
Visited the Millennium Dome. Enough said. Enjoyed the best of British planning at the local square where some Ghanian (or Senagalese or Namibian or some African nation) festival was on - in the middle of a construction zone. There was a lovely Ghanian singer crooning to some African pop, but all I could hear was lalala-GLUNG-GLUNG-GLUNG-GLUNG-GLUNG-laalaaalaa-GLUNG-GLUNG-GLUNG-GLUNG-GLUNG. I applauded the jackhammers, threw roses and ran.
The National Portrait Gallery has now overtaken the Museum of Modern Art in New York as my favourite museum. I spent a few good hours on a rainy Sunday afternoon browsing through a display of black and white photo-journal of the Blair Prime Ministership during the period just where Prime Minister Blair made the decision to go to war. It was touching and distressing at the same time to see their furrowed faces etched deep in the photo forever, about to make a decision that would cost countless military and civilian lives.
I've received some emails from you lot complaining how cold it is in Melbourne. If I didn't live on the wrong side of Greenwich Mean Time (and yes, the actual place where they measure GMT is about a 10 minute train ride from my place), I would shout from the rooftops that you aint seen cold yet. Let me tell you: it's the middle of summer and the English are abandoning ship for Spain, and this morning I wore my WINTER jacket to work.
Now that I've got internet access at home I can stop lining up at the local library to get my free 15 minutes of internet access. All complaints about my lack of blog updates may be directed to the British Civil Service whose government secure internet ensures that I don't while away my time updating the status on my facebook.
For the record:
Taffy is: drinking tea.
And a postscript to my previous blog: I did manage to meet the Lord Chancellor and Secretary of State for Justice the other week. I was so nervous that I fluffed my rehearsed lines and he shuffled away, with note to self that those lax immigration laws need to be changed.
I have nicely settled into my new abode and am really starting the enjoy the flat. I cook, I clean, I iron, I wash. But at the end of the long working day, it's nice to sit back and look at the views of the city and watch the commuter ferry dock outside my flat. The only problem is that my landlord has stuffed up the measurements for my balcony curtains, so the 19.10, the 19.40 and the 21.10 commuter ferry passengers coming off the gangway can see me scoffing icecream (19.10), burning my dinner (19.40) and hiding the empty bottle of wine (the 21.10 mob) as I sit in my flat in my best tracksuit pants.
But aside from that, I've also managed to get out of the flat too.
Visited the Millennium Dome. Enough said. Enjoyed the best of British planning at the local square where some Ghanian (or Senagalese or Namibian or some African nation) festival was on - in the middle of a construction zone. There was a lovely Ghanian singer crooning to some African pop, but all I could hear was lalala-GLUNG-GLUNG-GLUNG-GLUNG-GLUNG-laalaaalaa-GLUNG-GLUNG-GLUNG-GLUNG-GLUNG. I applauded the jackhammers, threw roses and ran.
The National Portrait Gallery has now overtaken the Museum of Modern Art in New York as my favourite museum. I spent a few good hours on a rainy Sunday afternoon browsing through a display of black and white photo-journal of the Blair Prime Ministership during the period just where Prime Minister Blair made the decision to go to war. It was touching and distressing at the same time to see their furrowed faces etched deep in the photo forever, about to make a decision that would cost countless military and civilian lives.
I've received some emails from you lot complaining how cold it is in Melbourne. If I didn't live on the wrong side of Greenwich Mean Time (and yes, the actual place where they measure GMT is about a 10 minute train ride from my place), I would shout from the rooftops that you aint seen cold yet. Let me tell you: it's the middle of summer and the English are abandoning ship for Spain, and this morning I wore my WINTER jacket to work.
Now that I've got internet access at home I can stop lining up at the local library to get my free 15 minutes of internet access. All complaints about my lack of blog updates may be directed to the British Civil Service whose government secure internet ensures that I don't while away my time updating the status on my facebook.
For the record:
Taffy is: drinking tea.
And a postscript to my previous blog: I did manage to meet the Lord Chancellor and Secretary of State for Justice the other week. I was so nervous that I fluffed my rehearsed lines and he shuffled away, with note to self that those lax immigration laws need to be changed.
the fireworks
It feels weird, that even after moving in to my new flat that sometimes all i want to do is crawl into my comfy bed at home (in Melbourne) and just sleep and read a book and eat chocolate.
But I'm glad to say that I've finally unpacked, opened the windows for fresh air, filled up my side of the cupboard with food and even lugged an ironing board all the way from the Isle of Dogs to Woolwich.
Despite the several trips back and forth moving stuff (much of the odds and ends very kindly donated by my old flatmate in the Isle of Dogs who was also moving out the same day as I was - she is on to bigger and better things in Beijing with a new job), i've managed to set up base. Then the fun begins when you realise you have a tin of soup you want to heat up for lunch, yet have no can opener. Or that you have no hand towels for the kitchen.
I went slightly insane at the supermarket buying stuff for our new flat - i eventually had to be reined in by my new flatmate, Frances. Our very first step was to buy a aerial for the TV, rearrange the furniture in the living area (and then rearrange everything back the way it was originally after discovering that our arrangement was NQR (not quite right). And then putting the finishing touches with a footrest and a stool in between our chairs! We both slumped down and almost fell asleep, only for both of us having to go back to our old places to pick up more stuff.
As Frances decided to stay in her old place for one last night, i had the place to myself which was great, except for the fact that we don't have curtains yet and that everyone going past on the Thames can see me standing in the kitchen with my old trackies on. For some reason there were fireworks on in the city centre, and our place had great views of the fireworks! It was so exciting that I felt that the fireworks were put on especially for me.
I'm off to organise a phone and set up the ironing board. Back to work tomorrow, but all I can finally say is:
Land in London: check.
Get a job: check.
Find a flat: check.
Get out there!: pending.
Update pending. Catch you later.
But I'm glad to say that I've finally unpacked, opened the windows for fresh air, filled up my side of the cupboard with food and even lugged an ironing board all the way from the Isle of Dogs to Woolwich.
Despite the several trips back and forth moving stuff (much of the odds and ends very kindly donated by my old flatmate in the Isle of Dogs who was also moving out the same day as I was - she is on to bigger and better things in Beijing with a new job), i've managed to set up base. Then the fun begins when you realise you have a tin of soup you want to heat up for lunch, yet have no can opener. Or that you have no hand towels for the kitchen.
I went slightly insane at the supermarket buying stuff for our new flat - i eventually had to be reined in by my new flatmate, Frances. Our very first step was to buy a aerial for the TV, rearrange the furniture in the living area (and then rearrange everything back the way it was originally after discovering that our arrangement was NQR (not quite right). And then putting the finishing touches with a footrest and a stool in between our chairs! We both slumped down and almost fell asleep, only for both of us having to go back to our old places to pick up more stuff.
As Frances decided to stay in her old place for one last night, i had the place to myself which was great, except for the fact that we don't have curtains yet and that everyone going past on the Thames can see me standing in the kitchen with my old trackies on. For some reason there were fireworks on in the city centre, and our place had great views of the fireworks! It was so exciting that I felt that the fireworks were put on especially for me.
I'm off to organise a phone and set up the ironing board. Back to work tomorrow, but all I can finally say is:
Land in London: check.
Get a job: check.
Find a flat: check.
Get out there!: pending.
Update pending. Catch you later.
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