Not even a month into 2008 and I'm already tired. NYE's eve saw me flying into London at 6am, where Dad and I set a cracking pace (well, Dad set a cracking pace, I just limped along) at the end-of-year sales on Oxford St. I've only visited Selfridges twice in my life before, and was never able to afford a single thing. But I couldn't believe how good the sales were. I was feeling pretty good having picked up some what I thought were some damn fine looking items, including some cool Paul Smith jeans (hard to resist with purple and green stitching and different sized buttons) and I finally succumbed, about 5 years too late, to a salmon-pink button-down tee. Both sound like horror haute couture items, but it is time for summer! Paul Smith was also the order of the day with this really funky navy blue tee with the fishing chair and tackle. Oh happy days.
It's been a very civilised past couple of weeks, with civilised activities ranging from spending sunny weekends scrubbing my scary shower curtain to lah-di-dah nights at the ballet and orchestra. I've never been to the ballet before, and London is as good a place to see the classic, Swan Lake. Deciding that this was an event worthy of dressing myself up, I actually ironed my good shirt, found my dressy jeans and shoes and unwrapped my good overcoat and boarded the lovely South Eastern train service with people placing their muddy feet on seats. I was glad that I had dressed up - many patrons had dressed up in shirt and tie. And of course, there is the odd minger who rolls up in their oldest tee and jeans and opens packets of crisps in the middle of the silence.
I myself was a bit worried that I was going to get bored with 3 hours of ballet, but I pleasantly surprised. I guess it helps that the English National Opera is one of the premier ballet companies in the world, and it helps even more when you recognise some of the music. My flatmate gave me a quick rundown of the plot beforehand, so I guess I found it easier to follow what was happening. I was impressed with the dancing - much respect for the sheer athleticism, especially for the guys who did the lifts and still managed to prance around with such grace and agility. In many ways, ballet dancing is far harder than kicking around a football (of any code) - you need strength, agility and rhythm to be able to be able to run away without getting mugged by the fat ugly bullies behind the sports equipment shed, let alone end up being the principal dancer.
The next weekend David, Frances and I tried to get to see the London Philharmonic in action (again, causing much panic to discover that I needed to find a clean and ironed shirt). Unfortunately we found out at the door that tickets were sold out! Fortunately, being in London there was enough cultural stuff to share around without anyone being able to be too greedy. We decided to see what West End shows were still available and walked to the West End from Waterloo (crossing my favourite bridge in London with its very pretty views of the London Eye, St Pauls, Westminster and my South Eastern trains trundling along). Along the way we discovered that the newly renovated St Martin in the Field church in Trafalgar Square had a Mozart Requiem night for a bargain 6 pounds. The only catch was that you couldn't actually see the orchestra or choir - you had to sit in the stalls facing other people across you. In hindsight, our reasoning for choosing these seats was fine - we figured that we were there to listen to music, and that we didn't necessarily need to watch bows moving up and down. Let me say that I wouldn't do it again. It was rather unsettling to hear the music like it was on the radio, yet be forced to stay still and quiet, desperately trying to avoid catching the eye of people sitting directly in front of you on the other side of the church. At one stage I closed my eyes and had a nap, letting the opera waft over me, although it was a tad difficult to nap when the tenor and soprano singers threatened to shatter the newly plastered ceiling with their thunderous voices. The sounds of 'bravo!' jolted me up, and I gratefully joined in the chorus.
It has been a busy few weeks. Drinks with my mate Liam from Uni, yum cha with some new friends (although I do wonder when the waiter took us downstairs to the furthest most corner to sit as if they were embarrassed we had chosen their establishment to eat). A friend cooked me a three course meal, I cooked lunch for Rob to entice him out to the depths of Woolwich (the poor boy thought that trains to Woolwich came every 5 minutes like the Tube), and last night I cooked a wicked prawn and chilli linguine for Frances and I to eat while we watched Shawshank Redemption. I had never watched Shawshank Redemption before, and I was glad that Frances made me watch it. I must say I was moved - and a good reminder for me to maintain my friendships at home, despite the distance between London and Melbourne.
Speaking of Melbourne, I am thinking that there is something in the water that I need to get my hands on. Over the past month I have been delighted to hear that a few friends have become engaged, which means that I might/may/perhaps/possibly be travelling home to Melbourne for some weddings. So my congratulations to Di and Matthias, and to my great mate from school Waz, who I've known since I was 9 who has clearly set the bar high by proposing to his Jess in Paris.
But enough of the mushy boo hoo stuff. I myself open a new chapter (though, I must admit that while my blog entries get longer and longer, the time between jobs is getting shorter and shorter). I've been offered a new post with the National Health Service Counter-Fraud Unit where I'll be working as a Policy Officer. I'm excited and yet scared again - I'll be leaving a great bunch of colleagues at the Health Professions Council. I guess it helps that when your colleagues are your own age, but I've been lucky too in how welcoming and friendly they have been. It's always a bit hard when you're not in a permanent job, as I find that I leave when I'm just starting to get to know people and pick up popular phrases - my favourites being "it's well [insert adjective here] and "go on then". I guess it's a matter of when in Rome. The only problem being that Rome changes so bloody often.
So as the effect from my blissful morning of sitting in a cafe in peaceful solititude reading the Observer recedes, I am off to bed to face a new week. It's going to be a big one. Budapest this coming weekend, and then straight after than I launch into my new job.
I'm getting out my bat and ball. Game on?
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