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.