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?
Sunday, 27 January 2008
Tuesday, 22 January 2008
the step back before going to the beginning (again)
Hello 2008. I don't know you very well. What say we have a quiet drink, get to know each other and then ramp it up as the year goes?
2007 was kind enough to give me a prelude to what 2008 could be. He (well, I had to give it a gender, didn't I? Heaven forbid if I describe "God" as a "He" for you liberal progressives out there) gave me a nice warm sunny holiday in Thailand with my family.
I hadn't been enjoying myself at the end of 2007 - there was the very cold weather (though I did get to wear my favourite duffle coat every day), my new job which I wasn't enjoying too much and a heap of other usual nit-picky things that can make or break your existence. Of course, being the over-reaching drama queen I am, lots of plates get broken.
It was brilliant to escape the London cold. Getting out of London was a breeze - the UK Gods clearly had had enough of me cursing them, as they gave me the benefit of an ON TIME train for the first time in a fortnight. Getting through the checkpoints at Heathrow was a breeze too - this is what happens when you're a control freak like me - I had already packed my 100ml bottles in a BAA-approved clear plastic bag already for quick inspection. Which gave me plenty of time to browse through duty free shops when I ordinarily hate Christmas shopping. Of course, when you've been given free samples of vodka, Baileys and chocolates at 10am there is a lot of Christmas cheer going around. I bought 6 pounds worth of Christmas biscuits in a hideously expensive gesture to my family and family friends who I was meeting in Thailand.
Getting off the flight was a bit of shock to the system - off came the scarves, jumpers, coats, gloves and beanies - I was sweating profusely as I made my way through the enormous new Bangkok airport. My mum/sister/brother were on another flight from Australia that had arrived minutes after my flight, so I was rather excited to see if I could find them. Alas, despite our baggage carousels being next to each other, I was the first to clear customs to meet my Dad. Then there they were - the rest of the circus straggling out. Brother - unshaven, unkempt, in thongs and tee breezed out like he had just drunk a jug of Pimms; sister - clearly in the aftershock of taking travel sickness pills (she's a bit of a poor traveller at the best of times), feet swollen and puffy eyes; and mum - struggling with suitcases she had insisted on pushing out herself.
It was nice to have the 5 of us together and I was talking non-stop - the effects of needing to relay 6 months worth of information before I decided that all I wanted was a cup of tea. Of course, being a Yiu, we can never sit still and do such leisurely things. Straight from the airport it was off to the floating markets in the outskirts of Bangkok which Dad and I had arranged.
The floating markets were a lot of fun, though a bit touristy. Seven people got into a single boat which one middle-aged lady was skippering by herself - an incredible feat to push all of us well-fed Westerners (erm... skinny Asian-Westerners) in a river which was getting more full by the minute. At one stage we were jammed in the middle of a scrum of boats with nowhere to go - but this little Thai lady was incredibly deft in steering us out. She sure put a shame to my driving skills on sealed urban roads. Paddling on we munched on guava and pomelo which we bought from boat-vendors (ok, "vendor" is a bit of a grand term for a poor Thai villager selling fruit from a leaky boat) and I laughed and laughed as we kept on getting stuck in the traffic jam, although I'm sure our captain was cursing our demands to "go here, no, over there! that direction! stop!".
Of course, being a family we had all emailed each other suggestions on what we wanted to do for the rest of the afternoon. Toby had requested a massage, and our family friends in Bangkok knew just the place to go. Toby was delighted - the venue was a 5-star day spa centre. I was secretly delighted, but had to agree with mum who wanted to go out exploring. So we compromised. A 2 hour massage was followed by a wander up and down the chaotic and steamy streets of Bangkok. But let me rub in the massage a bit (hee haw - groan). It was quite possibly the most painfully blissful experience in my life. The polite, demure, gentle Thai massage girl turned out to be brutal with the pressure points and her elbows. As Toby's masseuse explained, "hurt now, nice later". Bloody oath.
The brutal trip continued on with our flight down to Phuket with some family friends. I didn't think Phuket was anything special - the beach was nice, the people very friendly, but I felt that something was lacking. Quite possibly what was lacking was the tranquility with kids splashing about in the fabulous pool and creating a ruckus while I, the tired British civil servant, tried to read a book and drink cocktails in peace. The first day was spent mostly splashing about on the beach and the pool and spending some nice quality time with the family - a long forgotten feeling with the 5 of us wizzing around the world at breakneck speed. The second day, the Yiu family got bored of sitting around by the pool, carefully reapplying sunscreen every few hours (noticing that the people who were just as careful as us were other Australians) and we were off for walks along the coast and a set of golf lessons. One poor Balinese guy had the poor luck of having to teach 5 sports-challenged Chinese people how to play golf. He was hilarious however - he said that the 3 Yiu kids each had one good aspect of their swing that, when combined would be unbeatable. I didn't follow through properly, my sister had her grip wrong and Toby's backswing was too fast. "Be gentle!" he would say to Toby and I - "you are the man!". We laughed and thought about our day jobs.
Of course, with Thailand being so fabulously cheap, we managed to eat our way through an entire village's winter harvest in a few days. The food was oh so good. But what I did discover was coconut icecream. I have never been a fan of anything with coconut, but having decided to try something a bit different than the usual blueberry swirls or what have you (ok - i admit I blanched at the though of the purple Taro icecream). The spending of money continued with a bout of shopping for a tailor made shirt and suit and another massage. Oh. And another swim at the beach. Christmas Day was a bit strange in a holiday resort without the obligatory barbecue, but don't worry! don't panic! we managed to guzzle our way through crayfish, scallops and oysters anyway. I should be ashamed of my gluttony. But I'm not.
After 4 days of burning himself to a crisp by the pool, Toby decided he wanted to have some action, so we headed off to Phi Phi Island. We chartered a boat for the 7 of us which was great - it gave us flexibility to do what we wanted, rather than being forced to do everything under time limits set by tour operators with hundreds of other people. It was a bit of a trek to Phi Phi Island - but as we got closer, we noticed more and more boats speeding up behind us to join the absolute traffic jam of boats trying to get into the bays with the good snorkeling. We dropped in and out of some little bays (stopping off at one beach to feed the monkeys - well - we ended up just watching the other hoardes of tourists provoking the monkeys while we munched on pineapple which was cut up for us like corn-on-the-cob. The beaches and bays were so busy that we ended up going for an early lunch so that we could get out of the more busy areas and find our own way after lunch.
Phi Phi Island itself was crap. Backpacker tourists everywhere, touristy shops and just general overcrowding in the peak holiday season. Before we disembarked onto the main Phi Phi Island drag, we had passed an enormous boat so full of people that it looked dangerous. Toby, always having the most smart-arsed description for anything, called it the "refugee boat". And it actually DID look like it was a leaky old rustbucket about to capsize with too many desperate people fleeing from hell. Speeding past the refugee boat, Toby waved politely at the five hundred of them crowded on deck. Not one single person waved. So with all the dignity he could muster, he raised his third finger at the boat. I was mortified. I told him that I hoped that the refugee boat didn't dock at the same place we did.
Turns out that the refugee boat had booked out every restaurant for lunch. Talk about bad karma by association. After dodging the entire population of Queensland on the island, we settled on a small rather run-down eatery full of loud obnoxious Australians who loudly demanded that he wanted his tuna sandwich without mayonnaise. If the feral Aussie had been any more rude to the poor Thai waitress I would have pushed him underneath the refugee boat. I was sickened at how these backpackers, who loudly proclaim their cultural tolerance, carry on like they have evolved from under a rock. But back to our lunch. Being savvy travelers who travel a fair amount, we all ordered cooked food and cans of coke rather than bottles. Then the combination of the heat and hunger took its toll - Toby and I started to snipe at each other, escalating into a full-blown argument in the middle of the eatery. Now it was our turn for people to look at us - two similar looking Chinese boys nit-picking over the most mundane matters. Our parents even had to intervene. I felt right at home.
At the end of lunch it was off to find a nice snorkeling spot. We moored in a pristine and beautiful inlet, about 100 metres away from the beach. With not a single boat in sight, we attracted fish to the boat with bananas and got into the aqua water. While my siblings were pretty quick to dive in, I dithered about, fretting without having my glasses on and being completely blind in the water. With the stunning clear blue water now an enormous blur, I jumped in and paddled around. I relaxed and headed towards the beach. Then, terror struck. In front of me was what I thought was a jellyfish coming straight towards me. I flailed about in the water, taking gulps of seawater, making me gag, my snorkel filling with water and thrashed in a backwards direction. When I had managed to swim away, I resurfaced at the back of the boat - with the entire boat laughing at me.
I had swum past a plastic bag.
I really must look more carefully at those laser eye leaflets.
But it was time to head back to Bangkok for the Yius to split up again. Because Dad travels so often, we were upgraded to the executive suite at the hotel which was fabulous. It was a tough life, having high tea at the top level of the hotel. But it was back to reality.We were shocked to see that Benazir Bhutto had been assassinated - it is those moments when it only reinforces how privileged I am. To live in a democratic country where people aren't killed for merely turning up to place a piece of paper in a ballot box.
And then it was time to say goodbye to mum, sister and brother who were returning to Australia. Dad was flying to London for work meetings and would fly back with me. We spent the last day in Bangkok taking it easy, a slow breakfast with the papers, a wander through the streets, a simple lunch of noodles. Dad brought me along to meet one of his friends - an economic adviser to the Thai government. A chat about the Thai election turned into a Chinese dinner and a hunt for some cheap DVDs for me before it was time to fly home to London.
It was strange landing in London - I had massive deja vu of the feeling when I first arrived to live in London. And yet, I felt at home. Being back in my flat was reassuring, yet I couldn't get rid of the niggling feeling that this was someone else's flat.
Probably because of how tidy my flatmate had left it.
2007 was kind enough to give me a prelude to what 2008 could be. He (well, I had to give it a gender, didn't I? Heaven forbid if I describe "God" as a "He" for you liberal progressives out there) gave me a nice warm sunny holiday in Thailand with my family.
I hadn't been enjoying myself at the end of 2007 - there was the very cold weather (though I did get to wear my favourite duffle coat every day), my new job which I wasn't enjoying too much and a heap of other usual nit-picky things that can make or break your existence. Of course, being the over-reaching drama queen I am, lots of plates get broken.
It was brilliant to escape the London cold. Getting out of London was a breeze - the UK Gods clearly had had enough of me cursing them, as they gave me the benefit of an ON TIME train for the first time in a fortnight. Getting through the checkpoints at Heathrow was a breeze too - this is what happens when you're a control freak like me - I had already packed my 100ml bottles in a BAA-approved clear plastic bag already for quick inspection. Which gave me plenty of time to browse through duty free shops when I ordinarily hate Christmas shopping. Of course, when you've been given free samples of vodka, Baileys and chocolates at 10am there is a lot of Christmas cheer going around. I bought 6 pounds worth of Christmas biscuits in a hideously expensive gesture to my family and family friends who I was meeting in Thailand.
Getting off the flight was a bit of shock to the system - off came the scarves, jumpers, coats, gloves and beanies - I was sweating profusely as I made my way through the enormous new Bangkok airport. My mum/sister/brother were on another flight from Australia that had arrived minutes after my flight, so I was rather excited to see if I could find them. Alas, despite our baggage carousels being next to each other, I was the first to clear customs to meet my Dad. Then there they were - the rest of the circus straggling out. Brother - unshaven, unkempt, in thongs and tee breezed out like he had just drunk a jug of Pimms; sister - clearly in the aftershock of taking travel sickness pills (she's a bit of a poor traveller at the best of times), feet swollen and puffy eyes; and mum - struggling with suitcases she had insisted on pushing out herself.
It was nice to have the 5 of us together and I was talking non-stop - the effects of needing to relay 6 months worth of information before I decided that all I wanted was a cup of tea. Of course, being a Yiu, we can never sit still and do such leisurely things. Straight from the airport it was off to the floating markets in the outskirts of Bangkok which Dad and I had arranged.
The floating markets were a lot of fun, though a bit touristy. Seven people got into a single boat which one middle-aged lady was skippering by herself - an incredible feat to push all of us well-fed Westerners (erm... skinny Asian-Westerners) in a river which was getting more full by the minute. At one stage we were jammed in the middle of a scrum of boats with nowhere to go - but this little Thai lady was incredibly deft in steering us out. She sure put a shame to my driving skills on sealed urban roads. Paddling on we munched on guava and pomelo which we bought from boat-vendors (ok, "vendor" is a bit of a grand term for a poor Thai villager selling fruit from a leaky boat) and I laughed and laughed as we kept on getting stuck in the traffic jam, although I'm sure our captain was cursing our demands to "go here, no, over there! that direction! stop!".
Of course, being a family we had all emailed each other suggestions on what we wanted to do for the rest of the afternoon. Toby had requested a massage, and our family friends in Bangkok knew just the place to go. Toby was delighted - the venue was a 5-star day spa centre. I was secretly delighted, but had to agree with mum who wanted to go out exploring. So we compromised. A 2 hour massage was followed by a wander up and down the chaotic and steamy streets of Bangkok. But let me rub in the massage a bit (hee haw - groan). It was quite possibly the most painfully blissful experience in my life. The polite, demure, gentle Thai massage girl turned out to be brutal with the pressure points and her elbows. As Toby's masseuse explained, "hurt now, nice later". Bloody oath.
The brutal trip continued on with our flight down to Phuket with some family friends. I didn't think Phuket was anything special - the beach was nice, the people very friendly, but I felt that something was lacking. Quite possibly what was lacking was the tranquility with kids splashing about in the fabulous pool and creating a ruckus while I, the tired British civil servant, tried to read a book and drink cocktails in peace. The first day was spent mostly splashing about on the beach and the pool and spending some nice quality time with the family - a long forgotten feeling with the 5 of us wizzing around the world at breakneck speed. The second day, the Yiu family got bored of sitting around by the pool, carefully reapplying sunscreen every few hours (noticing that the people who were just as careful as us were other Australians) and we were off for walks along the coast and a set of golf lessons. One poor Balinese guy had the poor luck of having to teach 5 sports-challenged Chinese people how to play golf. He was hilarious however - he said that the 3 Yiu kids each had one good aspect of their swing that, when combined would be unbeatable. I didn't follow through properly, my sister had her grip wrong and Toby's backswing was too fast. "Be gentle!" he would say to Toby and I - "you are the man!". We laughed and thought about our day jobs.
Of course, with Thailand being so fabulously cheap, we managed to eat our way through an entire village's winter harvest in a few days. The food was oh so good. But what I did discover was coconut icecream. I have never been a fan of anything with coconut, but having decided to try something a bit different than the usual blueberry swirls or what have you (ok - i admit I blanched at the though of the purple Taro icecream). The spending of money continued with a bout of shopping for a tailor made shirt and suit and another massage. Oh. And another swim at the beach. Christmas Day was a bit strange in a holiday resort without the obligatory barbecue, but don't worry! don't panic! we managed to guzzle our way through crayfish, scallops and oysters anyway. I should be ashamed of my gluttony. But I'm not.
After 4 days of burning himself to a crisp by the pool, Toby decided he wanted to have some action, so we headed off to Phi Phi Island. We chartered a boat for the 7 of us which was great - it gave us flexibility to do what we wanted, rather than being forced to do everything under time limits set by tour operators with hundreds of other people. It was a bit of a trek to Phi Phi Island - but as we got closer, we noticed more and more boats speeding up behind us to join the absolute traffic jam of boats trying to get into the bays with the good snorkeling. We dropped in and out of some little bays (stopping off at one beach to feed the monkeys - well - we ended up just watching the other hoardes of tourists provoking the monkeys while we munched on pineapple which was cut up for us like corn-on-the-cob. The beaches and bays were so busy that we ended up going for an early lunch so that we could get out of the more busy areas and find our own way after lunch.
Phi Phi Island itself was crap. Backpacker tourists everywhere, touristy shops and just general overcrowding in the peak holiday season. Before we disembarked onto the main Phi Phi Island drag, we had passed an enormous boat so full of people that it looked dangerous. Toby, always having the most smart-arsed description for anything, called it the "refugee boat". And it actually DID look like it was a leaky old rustbucket about to capsize with too many desperate people fleeing from hell. Speeding past the refugee boat, Toby waved politely at the five hundred of them crowded on deck. Not one single person waved. So with all the dignity he could muster, he raised his third finger at the boat. I was mortified. I told him that I hoped that the refugee boat didn't dock at the same place we did.
Turns out that the refugee boat had booked out every restaurant for lunch. Talk about bad karma by association. After dodging the entire population of Queensland on the island, we settled on a small rather run-down eatery full of loud obnoxious Australians who loudly demanded that he wanted his tuna sandwich without mayonnaise. If the feral Aussie had been any more rude to the poor Thai waitress I would have pushed him underneath the refugee boat. I was sickened at how these backpackers, who loudly proclaim their cultural tolerance, carry on like they have evolved from under a rock. But back to our lunch. Being savvy travelers who travel a fair amount, we all ordered cooked food and cans of coke rather than bottles. Then the combination of the heat and hunger took its toll - Toby and I started to snipe at each other, escalating into a full-blown argument in the middle of the eatery. Now it was our turn for people to look at us - two similar looking Chinese boys nit-picking over the most mundane matters. Our parents even had to intervene. I felt right at home.
At the end of lunch it was off to find a nice snorkeling spot. We moored in a pristine and beautiful inlet, about 100 metres away from the beach. With not a single boat in sight, we attracted fish to the boat with bananas and got into the aqua water. While my siblings were pretty quick to dive in, I dithered about, fretting without having my glasses on and being completely blind in the water. With the stunning clear blue water now an enormous blur, I jumped in and paddled around. I relaxed and headed towards the beach. Then, terror struck. In front of me was what I thought was a jellyfish coming straight towards me. I flailed about in the water, taking gulps of seawater, making me gag, my snorkel filling with water and thrashed in a backwards direction. When I had managed to swim away, I resurfaced at the back of the boat - with the entire boat laughing at me.
I had swum past a plastic bag.
I really must look more carefully at those laser eye leaflets.
But it was time to head back to Bangkok for the Yius to split up again. Because Dad travels so often, we were upgraded to the executive suite at the hotel which was fabulous. It was a tough life, having high tea at the top level of the hotel. But it was back to reality.We were shocked to see that Benazir Bhutto had been assassinated - it is those moments when it only reinforces how privileged I am. To live in a democratic country where people aren't killed for merely turning up to place a piece of paper in a ballot box.
And then it was time to say goodbye to mum, sister and brother who were returning to Australia. Dad was flying to London for work meetings and would fly back with me. We spent the last day in Bangkok taking it easy, a slow breakfast with the papers, a wander through the streets, a simple lunch of noodles. Dad brought me along to meet one of his friends - an economic adviser to the Thai government. A chat about the Thai election turned into a Chinese dinner and a hunt for some cheap DVDs for me before it was time to fly home to London.
It was strange landing in London - I had massive deja vu of the feeling when I first arrived to live in London. And yet, I felt at home. Being back in my flat was reassuring, yet I couldn't get rid of the niggling feeling that this was someone else's flat.
Probably because of how tidy my flatmate had left it.
Tuesday, 18 December 2007
the end is down
People always ask me why I've come from sunny Australia to cold, grey London. I always tell people I wanted new challenges and to have Europe on my front door step. When I arrived I compiled a list of places which I wanted to see - Stockholm, Dublin, the French Riviera, Cinque Terre, Copenhagen, Croatia, etc etc.
The last couple of trips I've done I've had the pleasure of being able to travel with a companion. So it was great to be able to head out to explore the world again on my own - the lone traveller and his own two feet. Being the control freak I am and having little time to prepare for my trip, I decided to take the easy option and visit an English speaking country on my list. There were plenty of cheap flights to Dublin, and scored a 1 pence flight from Dublin to London! Unfortunately taxes and charges and everything else added to the cost, but still, better than paying 30 pounds for a flight.
As usual I was way too early for my flight from Heathrow, only to find my Aer Lingus flight (yes, I deliberately chose to fly the Irish flag bearer) sitting on the tarmac for an hour while the congestion cleared. I was non-plussed really - I just sat there and contemplated life and listened to the sweet sounds of Irish accents waft around me.
On accents. I just love the Irish accent. Their rolling "r" sound and the melodic sing-song is enough to make you swoon for hours. Though, I can confirm that "northern Ireland is more sing-song than southern Ireland". On the flight, two Irish lads sitting next to me were having a quiet conversation of mostly swear words. Amusingly, the "f this and f that and she's a f-ing b*" discussion sounded so friendly and upbeat with their Irish accents you could be forgiven for thinking that they were talking about the posies of flowers they were going to give to their mums for Christmas.
When discussing this with my flatmate, I have since been advised that my accent has gone slightly English. Aghast at this thought (but secretly pleased at my incredible assimilation), I asked her for proof. Apparently when I had been on the phone to the plumber (my tap broke), all my questions ended with a downwards inflection. I pondered over this on yet another delayed train journey. When Aussies ask a question, the inflection goes up. Asking "would you like a cup of tea?" in English English ends in a downwards inflection. And apparently my inflections are now heading south. Admittedly, I do mix between the two - when introducing myself as an Aussie I do nasal it up a bit. And when talking to the Brits my modulation is increasingly "how now brown cow".
As is the manner in which I speak. "How bloody bizarre" is now replaced by "how very odd". "How are you" has been killed off with "Alright?". And "that'd be great" chewed up and spat out with "I should be most grateful". Yes, I should be so grateful that this brown cow is slowly turning into a ponce.
But back to Dublin. After getting an enormous green stamp in my passport, it was off to wander the streets. Dublin is an incredibly compact city. After walking for about 2 hours, I had done the complete circle and thought to myself "what next?". So I ended up backtracking and going into a few buildings such as the National Library and wandering around the very pretty Trinity College grounds where I felt like an interloper amongst the young crowd. I tried to get into the Irish Parliament, but to my annoyance discovered that you could only visit by appointment. So much for open democracy. I visited the National Photography Gallery where they had an incredibly beautiful exhibition of B&W photographs done by an Irish photographer. Pictures of the most mundane things like the wood planks on a jetty can be absolutely magnificent in black and white.
By happy coincidence, my old mate from Uni Liam, happened to be in town as well that weekend and we arranged to meet up for a bite to eat and a drink. At dinner I had an Irish stew which Liam seemed to enjoy more than I did, and I had my first Irish Guinness! It's probably not something I would ever choose to drink again - a very heavy and creamy lager, but I was glad for the experience. We wandered around the rather touristy Temple Bar area which is a series of cobbled lanes of arty shops and pubs blaring out quaint Irish music. We ended up at a nice bar and had a yarn with the friendly barmen and was introduced to the rather mellow Kilkenny lager which was more to my liking.
Back at the hostel in my 12-bed dorm without the usual necessities such as lockers or having more than 1 shower or toilet for 12 people, I met an American girl who talked and talked and talked at me for over an hour. She was lovely, but I barely had a chance to open my mouth to ask what her name was. Upon meeting nameless American girl from San Francisco the next morning at breakfast I was relieved to find that her chatter was drowned out by a very loud and most unbecoming Aussie surfer girl who was such a "get-up-and-go-and-get-my-vegemite-true-blue-bonza-she'll-be-right-hooley-dooley-maaaaaaate-no-worries-sheila" that I almost renounced my upwards inflection right then and there. It was almost as bad as the Aussie bloke who was parading around his "CATS CATS CATS CATS CATS" scarf around Dublin airport. Dude. There is no need to parade around your allegiance to Geelong.
My final hours in Dublin were spent wandering around O'Connell St, reportedly to be one of the widest streets in the world. There was a street market down one lane where all I could hear was market stall proprietors yelling "forrrr for a tenerrrr". Sorely tempted, I stopped myself from buying 4 tins of chocolates for 10 euros which i would have needed to lug all the way back with me. I wandered by Dublin's largest cathedral, the Christ Church, but decided that I only had the funds to pay for entry into one church. So I decided to go into St Patrick's given its famous Irish namesake. There wasn't anything particularly special, but it was nice and peaceful. Lunch was an expensive affair where I gave up from trying to deal with the cold and found a crepe shop where I settled in with a 5 euro crepe (oh my lorrrd!) and a copy of The Irish Times. Bliss. Nothing better than hot food and a broadsheet newspaper at a communal table - in other words, no lonesome table for 1.
But it was back to London on my 1 pence flight where I had to keep telling myself that for one pence I would be able to put up with the rude Ryanair staff. Of course, the Ryanair gates were in the old basement of the newly refurbished Dublin airport, and of course Ryanair "forgot" to load the catering trolleys on to the flight. Not many happy campers on that flight.
And talk about stamina. Upon landing at Gatwick it was straight on the train to head north to Camden to celebrate David's birthday. Alex was there too which was great, and we had a nice Indian meal with David's friends in Kentish Town. By then I was knackered and had no energy for another Kingfisher beer - so it was back down south to home.
I'm off to see my family over Christmas (not in Australia though, so you'll still have to visit me here), so I've come to the end of the road for my 2007 blog. In December 2006 I would never have thought that I would be sitting in my lovely flat in London writing about my travels to Dublin. With all the usual ups and downs and one step forward two steps back, I'm optimistic for a great start out of the blocks in 2008.
Hoping that everyone has a wonderful and safe festive season. And now, given how little money I have, I am now going to make my lunch for tomorrow. Gone are those hot lunches at the Rialto - in comes the salami, cheese and rocket baguettes. Alright, the baguettes are slightly more expensive, but at 30 pence you can give me a bit of credit. What a bloody difference a year makes for sure.
See you in '08.
The last couple of trips I've done I've had the pleasure of being able to travel with a companion. So it was great to be able to head out to explore the world again on my own - the lone traveller and his own two feet. Being the control freak I am and having little time to prepare for my trip, I decided to take the easy option and visit an English speaking country on my list. There were plenty of cheap flights to Dublin, and scored a 1 pence flight from Dublin to London! Unfortunately taxes and charges and everything else added to the cost, but still, better than paying 30 pounds for a flight.
As usual I was way too early for my flight from Heathrow, only to find my Aer Lingus flight (yes, I deliberately chose to fly the Irish flag bearer) sitting on the tarmac for an hour while the congestion cleared. I was non-plussed really - I just sat there and contemplated life and listened to the sweet sounds of Irish accents waft around me.
On accents. I just love the Irish accent. Their rolling "r" sound and the melodic sing-song is enough to make you swoon for hours. Though, I can confirm that "northern Ireland is more sing-song than southern Ireland". On the flight, two Irish lads sitting next to me were having a quiet conversation of mostly swear words. Amusingly, the "f this and f that and she's a f-ing b*" discussion sounded so friendly and upbeat with their Irish accents you could be forgiven for thinking that they were talking about the posies of flowers they were going to give to their mums for Christmas.
When discussing this with my flatmate, I have since been advised that my accent has gone slightly English. Aghast at this thought (but secretly pleased at my incredible assimilation), I asked her for proof. Apparently when I had been on the phone to the plumber (my tap broke), all my questions ended with a downwards inflection. I pondered over this on yet another delayed train journey. When Aussies ask a question, the inflection goes up. Asking "would you like a cup of tea?" in English English ends in a downwards inflection. And apparently my inflections are now heading south. Admittedly, I do mix between the two - when introducing myself as an Aussie I do nasal it up a bit. And when talking to the Brits my modulation is increasingly "how now brown cow".
As is the manner in which I speak. "How bloody bizarre" is now replaced by "how very odd". "How are you" has been killed off with "Alright?". And "that'd be great" chewed up and spat out with "I should be most grateful". Yes, I should be so grateful that this brown cow is slowly turning into a ponce.
But back to Dublin. After getting an enormous green stamp in my passport, it was off to wander the streets. Dublin is an incredibly compact city. After walking for about 2 hours, I had done the complete circle and thought to myself "what next?". So I ended up backtracking and going into a few buildings such as the National Library and wandering around the very pretty Trinity College grounds where I felt like an interloper amongst the young crowd. I tried to get into the Irish Parliament, but to my annoyance discovered that you could only visit by appointment. So much for open democracy. I visited the National Photography Gallery where they had an incredibly beautiful exhibition of B&W photographs done by an Irish photographer. Pictures of the most mundane things like the wood planks on a jetty can be absolutely magnificent in black and white.
By happy coincidence, my old mate from Uni Liam, happened to be in town as well that weekend and we arranged to meet up for a bite to eat and a drink. At dinner I had an Irish stew which Liam seemed to enjoy more than I did, and I had my first Irish Guinness! It's probably not something I would ever choose to drink again - a very heavy and creamy lager, but I was glad for the experience. We wandered around the rather touristy Temple Bar area which is a series of cobbled lanes of arty shops and pubs blaring out quaint Irish music. We ended up at a nice bar and had a yarn with the friendly barmen and was introduced to the rather mellow Kilkenny lager which was more to my liking.
Back at the hostel in my 12-bed dorm without the usual necessities such as lockers or having more than 1 shower or toilet for 12 people, I met an American girl who talked and talked and talked at me for over an hour. She was lovely, but I barely had a chance to open my mouth to ask what her name was. Upon meeting nameless American girl from San Francisco the next morning at breakfast I was relieved to find that her chatter was drowned out by a very loud and most unbecoming Aussie surfer girl who was such a "get-up-and-go-and-get-my-vegemite-true-blue-bonza-she'll-be-right-hooley-dooley-maaaaaaate-no-worries-sheila" that I almost renounced my upwards inflection right then and there. It was almost as bad as the Aussie bloke who was parading around his "CATS CATS CATS CATS CATS" scarf around Dublin airport. Dude. There is no need to parade around your allegiance to Geelong.
My final hours in Dublin were spent wandering around O'Connell St, reportedly to be one of the widest streets in the world. There was a street market down one lane where all I could hear was market stall proprietors yelling "forrrr for a tenerrrr". Sorely tempted, I stopped myself from buying 4 tins of chocolates for 10 euros which i would have needed to lug all the way back with me. I wandered by Dublin's largest cathedral, the Christ Church, but decided that I only had the funds to pay for entry into one church. So I decided to go into St Patrick's given its famous Irish namesake. There wasn't anything particularly special, but it was nice and peaceful. Lunch was an expensive affair where I gave up from trying to deal with the cold and found a crepe shop where I settled in with a 5 euro crepe (oh my lorrrd!) and a copy of The Irish Times. Bliss. Nothing better than hot food and a broadsheet newspaper at a communal table - in other words, no lonesome table for 1.
But it was back to London on my 1 pence flight where I had to keep telling myself that for one pence I would be able to put up with the rude Ryanair staff. Of course, the Ryanair gates were in the old basement of the newly refurbished Dublin airport, and of course Ryanair "forgot" to load the catering trolleys on to the flight. Not many happy campers on that flight.
And talk about stamina. Upon landing at Gatwick it was straight on the train to head north to Camden to celebrate David's birthday. Alex was there too which was great, and we had a nice Indian meal with David's friends in Kentish Town. By then I was knackered and had no energy for another Kingfisher beer - so it was back down south to home.
I'm off to see my family over Christmas (not in Australia though, so you'll still have to visit me here), so I've come to the end of the road for my 2007 blog. In December 2006 I would never have thought that I would be sitting in my lovely flat in London writing about my travels to Dublin. With all the usual ups and downs and one step forward two steps back, I'm optimistic for a great start out of the blocks in 2008.
Hoping that everyone has a wonderful and safe festive season. And now, given how little money I have, I am now going to make my lunch for tomorrow. Gone are those hot lunches at the Rialto - in comes the salami, cheese and rocket baguettes. Alright, the baguettes are slightly more expensive, but at 30 pence you can give me a bit of credit. What a bloody difference a year makes for sure.
See you in '08.
Sunday, 9 December 2007
the acceleration
The rush towards Christmas becomes more hectic each year. There's always Christmas drinks and parties and get-togethers. A celebration of the festive season and a celebration of the fact that we've all survived the year and can enjoy some time out with our families and friends. A time to look forward to barbecues in the sunshine. Of sitting in the sun with a nice breeze and a glass of chilled white wine. Of thinking of what presents you're going to give. And receive of course. I just need to remember to practice my "I'm very pleased with this shit that I got for kris kringle" face.
This Christmas I'll be meeting my family in Thailand for a short holiday. Not quite the white Christmas I was looking forward to, but some sun and sand will have to suffice for now. What a shame. I mean, really.
It has been a bit of a wild ride the past few weeks. I said goodbye to the Ministry of Justice to start a new post at the Health Professions Council. Just as I was getting comfortable at the MoJ and enjoying the company of my colleagues, off I went again to start afresh. And to have all the stresses of trying to make a good first impression and learning new processes and names. I don't shy away from the fact that it's been heaps stressful, but I figure if I don't drop dead now, that I'll be able to handle far bigger stresses when I finally push everyone else off the corporate ladder so I can enjoy some time being the big cheese and earn mega-bucks and act like I'm superior to everyone else.
My first week at the Health Professions Council has been interesting in a myriad of ways, and so far the people have been pretty friendly with the new interloper. I've already been out for drinks twice, and whether that's indicative of me turning into an alcoholic or something far more sinister bubbling below the surface, I won't speculate. Two points of order, Mr Speaker. I've enjoyed for the first time in my life having a tea-lady in the office who makes me a cup of tea at 10am and 2.30pm every day. I could get used to this. But then, my brother has had his own secretary from day 1, so I guess I have some way to go to catch up. The other great thing is that people play their i-pod in the office, and while I'm not usually a fan of music at the office because it can be distracting, I'm liking that I can listen to music I would not hear of ordinarily.
Went to check out Oxford last weekend which was a nice little breather away from London. Oxford is a grand old dame of England, with uppity old buildings and the like. Beautiful in the sunset, not so beautiful in the drizzling rain. I learnt some interesting things on the "official" tour, such as Oxford University not having one single campus, but a university having a multitude of colleges. The guide pointed out that people wearing "University of Oxford" tees are less likely to be students at Oxford as students' allegiance is to their college first, rather than the whole institution. I wondered how I would have turned out had I managed to study at such an exemplary institution where you have 1:1 teaching in your subject. I'm not sure how I would have coped with such intensity, but the chance to talk about politics for hours on end would have been incredibly inspiring. Understandable then how important Oxford is in terms of its prodigious output - Prime Ministers, literature, scholarly thought.
Little wonder I didn't graduate from Oxford. Poor old Melbourne University is perishing in its own thoughts of me being a member of its alumni.
My parents sent me a care package in the post this week. I was thrilled that in the package was a pile of newspapers with all the analysis of the Australian election. I know i labour on politics a lot in my blogs, but I've come to realise how much my interest in politics forms such a part of my life.
He says the man who would never dare to run for public office himself.
This Christmas I'll be meeting my family in Thailand for a short holiday. Not quite the white Christmas I was looking forward to, but some sun and sand will have to suffice for now. What a shame. I mean, really.
It has been a bit of a wild ride the past few weeks. I said goodbye to the Ministry of Justice to start a new post at the Health Professions Council. Just as I was getting comfortable at the MoJ and enjoying the company of my colleagues, off I went again to start afresh. And to have all the stresses of trying to make a good first impression and learning new processes and names. I don't shy away from the fact that it's been heaps stressful, but I figure if I don't drop dead now, that I'll be able to handle far bigger stresses when I finally push everyone else off the corporate ladder so I can enjoy some time being the big cheese and earn mega-bucks and act like I'm superior to everyone else.
My first week at the Health Professions Council has been interesting in a myriad of ways, and so far the people have been pretty friendly with the new interloper. I've already been out for drinks twice, and whether that's indicative of me turning into an alcoholic or something far more sinister bubbling below the surface, I won't speculate. Two points of order, Mr Speaker. I've enjoyed for the first time in my life having a tea-lady in the office who makes me a cup of tea at 10am and 2.30pm every day. I could get used to this. But then, my brother has had his own secretary from day 1, so I guess I have some way to go to catch up. The other great thing is that people play their i-pod in the office, and while I'm not usually a fan of music at the office because it can be distracting, I'm liking that I can listen to music I would not hear of ordinarily.
Went to check out Oxford last weekend which was a nice little breather away from London. Oxford is a grand old dame of England, with uppity old buildings and the like. Beautiful in the sunset, not so beautiful in the drizzling rain. I learnt some interesting things on the "official" tour, such as Oxford University not having one single campus, but a university having a multitude of colleges. The guide pointed out that people wearing "University of Oxford" tees are less likely to be students at Oxford as students' allegiance is to their college first, rather than the whole institution. I wondered how I would have turned out had I managed to study at such an exemplary institution where you have 1:1 teaching in your subject. I'm not sure how I would have coped with such intensity, but the chance to talk about politics for hours on end would have been incredibly inspiring. Understandable then how important Oxford is in terms of its prodigious output - Prime Ministers, literature, scholarly thought.
Little wonder I didn't graduate from Oxford. Poor old Melbourne University is perishing in its own thoughts of me being a member of its alumni.
My parents sent me a care package in the post this week. I was thrilled that in the package was a pile of newspapers with all the analysis of the Australian election. I know i labour on politics a lot in my blogs, but I've come to realise how much my interest in politics forms such a part of my life.
He says the man who would never dare to run for public office himself.
Monday, 3 December 2007
the little things
Some things never change. The satisfaction derived from dunking Tim Tams into a cup of tea after arriving home from work (and now that I'm living in England, the satisfaction of doing that doubles automatically). Enjoying a walk in the cold air listening to music.
And new pleasures. Watching the Thames from my bedroom window. Choosing which museum to go on the weekend. Last weekend it was the Victoria and Albert Museum - a powerhouse in the breadth and depth of its design collections. Writing in my blog and thinking back to what I've done and where I've been. Playing pool with my cousin in Chinatown and giving puzzled looks to Chinese gang-sta boys running around with British accents. And receiving puzzled looks when these British Chinese boys hear our Australian accents. Sadly, my ability in ensuring the cue hits the little white ball at the correct velocity and angle has been found wanting. David 2. Taffy 0.
Of course, when you move to a new city everything isn't always beer and skittles. There are the days when I just want to close my eyes and wait for the blackness to recede. But the end of the blackness only shows you that there's no other option but to push on. As my mum said to me before I left: breathe. smile. relax.
In my darkest days there is the joy of having friends so close, yet so far away. Truth be told, I'm not sure if I would ever survive without technologies such as skype and messenger. Maybe Telstra was a force for good after all.
Of course, the thing that has changed the least has been my appetite for politics. I was insatiable in devouring news of the election. For the first time in many years I missed watching the ABC and the count, but had to make do with a radio broadcast on the internet.
Vale the Australian Democrats. Your scrutiny of legislation in the Senate will be missed by the Australian people. But it's time to open a new chapter for progressive politics in Australia.
It's time for the sun to come out.
And new pleasures. Watching the Thames from my bedroom window. Choosing which museum to go on the weekend. Last weekend it was the Victoria and Albert Museum - a powerhouse in the breadth and depth of its design collections. Writing in my blog and thinking back to what I've done and where I've been. Playing pool with my cousin in Chinatown and giving puzzled looks to Chinese gang-sta boys running around with British accents. And receiving puzzled looks when these British Chinese boys hear our Australian accents. Sadly, my ability in ensuring the cue hits the little white ball at the correct velocity and angle has been found wanting. David 2. Taffy 0.
Of course, when you move to a new city everything isn't always beer and skittles. There are the days when I just want to close my eyes and wait for the blackness to recede. But the end of the blackness only shows you that there's no other option but to push on. As my mum said to me before I left: breathe. smile. relax.
In my darkest days there is the joy of having friends so close, yet so far away. Truth be told, I'm not sure if I would ever survive without technologies such as skype and messenger. Maybe Telstra was a force for good after all.
Of course, the thing that has changed the least has been my appetite for politics. I was insatiable in devouring news of the election. For the first time in many years I missed watching the ABC and the count, but had to make do with a radio broadcast on the internet.
Vale the Australian Democrats. Your scrutiny of legislation in the Senate will be missed by the Australian people. But it's time to open a new chapter for progressive politics in Australia.
It's time for the sun to come out.
Monday, 19 November 2007
the diversity and similarity
A quiet Friday afternoon in an open plan office is generally never that controversial. Except, for when colleagues, unaware that an Australian interloper, sitting in their midst, are giving their views on Australians and its respective cities. Of particular note was the shellacking given to our dear Melbourne. It is "nice" and "cosmopolitan", but full of people who are "so far up their arses" and "pretentious" and "boring". Why, I disagree with you, kind sir. It's only because we live in a more liveable city than London are we allowed to become "up ourselves" about our little city. So Melbourne has its flaws such as being rather boring at times and irritatingly insular when the football season is on, but I'm damned if I'm going to sit here and cop a beating on behalf of my fellow Melburnians. I will rise up with courage... and write about it in my blog.
Whimper.
Now that I am unsure what else to write in my blog, I will fill it with inane chatter about the weather. (In fairness to me however, an English friend has told me that it is absolutely a cultural trait of the British to talk about the weather when filling in gaps in conversation).
There are some beautiful chestnut trees just inside the gates to the residential complex where I live. In the autumn, little soon-to-be-hooligans would throw fallen chestnuts at each other, and I've watched the trees turn into a magnificent mass of yellow leaves. More and more, the yellow leaves would scatter itself around the ground, until this morning, the frost shrivelled up the leaves and left the ground bare. In defiance of the cold, I have now unpacked my thickest winter jacket, and discovered that I have a ridiculous number of jackets. I have the jackets which I had brought with me from Melbourne which are laughably inadequate for an English autumn. In addition, I have 2 new jackets which I bought - 1 which would only survive an early autumn here, and another which would survive a late autumn. Some people collect stamps (Err... me circa 1990). Some people collect bags. And I collect jackets. (And speaking of clothing, I have since been informed that referring to "pants" here means underwear. So when I said to someone about me wearing black pants, I was certainly not referring to my underwear. 'Scuse me. My black trousers.)
But enough of the weather and pants/panties. Last week after having a coffee with Rob and his girlfriend, we decided to go for a walk and found ourselves at the red-carpet launch of a movie at Leicester Square. I dare say it will be my first and last time I ever join the throngs of stupid people to go to watch crowds of stupid people taking pictures of crowds of stupid people. Screaming girls, screaming older women, screaming older women complaining about screamings girls being hoisted on the shoulders of screaming girls, moronic "I'm so fabulous that I'm on the red-carpet" hosts on big-screen TVs, crowds of tourists jumping over barriers, etc etc etc. Horrendous. I am living in the land of Shakespeare (yawn) and Churchill - and this is what I get?
And speaking of democracy, I have finally been sent my postal vote ballot papers in the mail. I will sit down with a nice cup of tea and mark all my Senate preferences below the line. All 68 of them.
In another beauty contest, I was able to catch the National Portrait Gallery's exhibition of The Photographic Portrait Prize one evening before a nice Chinese dinner with my cousin and aunt. I quite enjoyed the small exhibition, but given the narrow terms of reference - that is - you take picture of a person to enter the competition - there was a limit on what there was to see. What was not limited however was the diversity of issues and types of people that were captured in these photos. In one review of the Exhibition, the critic noted that there seemed to be an abundance of ginger-haired people in the photos. Perhaps the judging panel at the Photographic Portrait Prize had the same thinking like the rest of us 20 million Australians. We're going to replace a short, glasses-wearing, nerdy, economic conservative with another short, glasses-wearing, nerdy, economic conservative.
A somewhat tenuous link, I know. And just for the record, the short, glasses-wearing, nerdy, economic conservative does not refer to me. If only.
Whimper.
Now that I am unsure what else to write in my blog, I will fill it with inane chatter about the weather. (In fairness to me however, an English friend has told me that it is absolutely a cultural trait of the British to talk about the weather when filling in gaps in conversation).
There are some beautiful chestnut trees just inside the gates to the residential complex where I live. In the autumn, little soon-to-be-hooligans would throw fallen chestnuts at each other, and I've watched the trees turn into a magnificent mass of yellow leaves. More and more, the yellow leaves would scatter itself around the ground, until this morning, the frost shrivelled up the leaves and left the ground bare. In defiance of the cold, I have now unpacked my thickest winter jacket, and discovered that I have a ridiculous number of jackets. I have the jackets which I had brought with me from Melbourne which are laughably inadequate for an English autumn. In addition, I have 2 new jackets which I bought - 1 which would only survive an early autumn here, and another which would survive a late autumn. Some people collect stamps (Err... me circa 1990). Some people collect bags. And I collect jackets. (And speaking of clothing, I have since been informed that referring to "pants" here means underwear. So when I said to someone about me wearing black pants, I was certainly not referring to my underwear. 'Scuse me. My black trousers.)
But enough of the weather and pants/panties. Last week after having a coffee with Rob and his girlfriend, we decided to go for a walk and found ourselves at the red-carpet launch of a movie at Leicester Square. I dare say it will be my first and last time I ever join the throngs of stupid people to go to watch crowds of stupid people taking pictures of crowds of stupid people. Screaming girls, screaming older women, screaming older women complaining about screamings girls being hoisted on the shoulders of screaming girls, moronic "I'm so fabulous that I'm on the red-carpet" hosts on big-screen TVs, crowds of tourists jumping over barriers, etc etc etc. Horrendous. I am living in the land of Shakespeare (yawn) and Churchill - and this is what I get?
And speaking of democracy, I have finally been sent my postal vote ballot papers in the mail. I will sit down with a nice cup of tea and mark all my Senate preferences below the line. All 68 of them.
In another beauty contest, I was able to catch the National Portrait Gallery's exhibition of The Photographic Portrait Prize one evening before a nice Chinese dinner with my cousin and aunt. I quite enjoyed the small exhibition, but given the narrow terms of reference - that is - you take picture of a person to enter the competition - there was a limit on what there was to see. What was not limited however was the diversity of issues and types of people that were captured in these photos. In one review of the Exhibition, the critic noted that there seemed to be an abundance of ginger-haired people in the photos. Perhaps the judging panel at the Photographic Portrait Prize had the same thinking like the rest of us 20 million Australians. We're going to replace a short, glasses-wearing, nerdy, economic conservative with another short, glasses-wearing, nerdy, economic conservative.
A somewhat tenuous link, I know. And just for the record, the short, glasses-wearing, nerdy, economic conservative does not refer to me. If only.
Monday, 5 November 2007
the non-stop fireworks
Tis the season for fireworks.
In the lead up to Guy Fawkes day, Guy Fawkes day itself and now the aftermath of Guy Fawkes day, there have been non-stop fireworks going around London. Being conveniently located on the banks of the Thames, we have prime views of fireworks that people are lighting up across the Thames. On Saturday night we could see literally the entire north side of the Thames light up with about 4 lots of fireworks going on. At one point we couldn't decide where to look - east? west? east? - it was ridiculous the abundance of fireworks going on.
I think I have now been way overexposed to fireworks. I can hear enormous ka-booms happening all around, and I sit here at my table with the curtains drawn, ignoring the festivities outside. Yes, I have been incredibly spoilt. I guess you need to be here to understand why I find fireworks rather boring now.
With London getting colder and a growing inclination to hibernate indoors with a glass of red and a good book, it has been an achievement every time I force myself out of the house to do the grocery run or gasp! go and check out what London has to offer. Frances and I went to see Ratatouille on Saturday afternoon which was great fun. Highly recommended - it was very cute and very witty, and being the sap I am, I love a happy ending. Only in movies mind you - I'm way too bitter and twisted to enjoy such sacharine nonsense outside of reality.
Of course, there were plenty of good morals for children in the movie - don't steal, be loyal to your friends, have a good attitude to life, keep your mind open, etc etc etc. Worthy sentiments. What was not so worthy were the little shits that were running up and down the aisles during the films. Disgraceful. As I complained to my boss today, I didn't yell at them, lest I get stabbed in the back. It's quite bad nowadays where people are fearful of standing up to disrespectful youngsters behaving antisocially - everyone is afraid of being attacked with a knife.
Anyhow. Back to frivolity (hang on, this dried up old prune is going to check out the ENORMOUS fireworks that are happening outside my window). What made me almost cry with laughter however was the short Pixar animation before Ratatouille started. It was about a little green alien sitting a test for spiriting away a human to their UFO. The expression of the examiner and the sweaty desperation of the alien candidate had me in hysterics. Another Pixar great (along with the "For the Birds" short which is also worthy of your viewing).
To prevent my brain becoming pickled I went to the Imperial War Museum on Sunday to check out a new exhibition they have - "Weapons of Mass Communications: War Posters". It was a fascinating collection of posters used to spur people to join the army in World War 1 and 2 - displaying not just British posters, but German and French and Austrian posters as well. The collection interestingly also contained anti-war posters of today to provide a balanced viewpoint.
The Ministry of Justice also keeps on sending me out into the field to continue my education of the justice system. I was sent to meet the Chief Inspector and Duty Prosecutor of the Newham Borough police station today which was another eye-opening experience. Unfortunately most of the time was spent in meetings, but I do intend to go back to tour the station and to meet with some of the officers to hear their views. I am quite privileged to be able to gather different viewpoints on what makes the justice system tick. Are defendant witnesses being looked after adequately? How does the relationship between the Crown Prosecutor and the Crown Court assist to get the case to trial? What can the department do to better equip information sharing between different justice agencies?
These are all questions that deserve time and effort and I finally feel like I can help to make a difference. And it's a good feeling.
Just like watching a brilliant display of fireworks, really.
In the lead up to Guy Fawkes day, Guy Fawkes day itself and now the aftermath of Guy Fawkes day, there have been non-stop fireworks going around London. Being conveniently located on the banks of the Thames, we have prime views of fireworks that people are lighting up across the Thames. On Saturday night we could see literally the entire north side of the Thames light up with about 4 lots of fireworks going on. At one point we couldn't decide where to look - east? west? east? - it was ridiculous the abundance of fireworks going on.
I think I have now been way overexposed to fireworks. I can hear enormous ka-booms happening all around, and I sit here at my table with the curtains drawn, ignoring the festivities outside. Yes, I have been incredibly spoilt. I guess you need to be here to understand why I find fireworks rather boring now.
With London getting colder and a growing inclination to hibernate indoors with a glass of red and a good book, it has been an achievement every time I force myself out of the house to do the grocery run or gasp! go and check out what London has to offer. Frances and I went to see Ratatouille on Saturday afternoon which was great fun. Highly recommended - it was very cute and very witty, and being the sap I am, I love a happy ending. Only in movies mind you - I'm way too bitter and twisted to enjoy such sacharine nonsense outside of reality.
Of course, there were plenty of good morals for children in the movie - don't steal, be loyal to your friends, have a good attitude to life, keep your mind open, etc etc etc. Worthy sentiments. What was not so worthy were the little shits that were running up and down the aisles during the films. Disgraceful. As I complained to my boss today, I didn't yell at them, lest I get stabbed in the back. It's quite bad nowadays where people are fearful of standing up to disrespectful youngsters behaving antisocially - everyone is afraid of being attacked with a knife.
Anyhow. Back to frivolity (hang on, this dried up old prune is going to check out the ENORMOUS fireworks that are happening outside my window). What made me almost cry with laughter however was the short Pixar animation before Ratatouille started. It was about a little green alien sitting a test for spiriting away a human to their UFO. The expression of the examiner and the sweaty desperation of the alien candidate had me in hysterics. Another Pixar great (along with the "For the Birds" short which is also worthy of your viewing).
To prevent my brain becoming pickled I went to the Imperial War Museum on Sunday to check out a new exhibition they have - "Weapons of Mass Communications: War Posters". It was a fascinating collection of posters used to spur people to join the army in World War 1 and 2 - displaying not just British posters, but German and French and Austrian posters as well. The collection interestingly also contained anti-war posters of today to provide a balanced viewpoint.
The Ministry of Justice also keeps on sending me out into the field to continue my education of the justice system. I was sent to meet the Chief Inspector and Duty Prosecutor of the Newham Borough police station today which was another eye-opening experience. Unfortunately most of the time was spent in meetings, but I do intend to go back to tour the station and to meet with some of the officers to hear their views. I am quite privileged to be able to gather different viewpoints on what makes the justice system tick. Are defendant witnesses being looked after adequately? How does the relationship between the Crown Prosecutor and the Crown Court assist to get the case to trial? What can the department do to better equip information sharing between different justice agencies?
These are all questions that deserve time and effort and I finally feel like I can help to make a difference. And it's a good feeling.
Just like watching a brilliant display of fireworks, really.
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