2 posts tagged “impressions”
Fine. It's been a while but I have been insanely busy.
As a result I'm adding a third, oddly popular, 'impressions' post. It's Sunday afternoon and James has wandered off to M&S to get dinner (tuna salad and more scotch) so while he's out of the house I am forcing myself to post.
Forcing myself because a column in today's Observer freaked me out a little. In particular the lines "Every time something did happen, Mark got a column out of it and in essence made it seem as if it had all happened to him..."
Now, James is less of a self-centric, attention seeking, shrill, awesome show pony than I am and I wonder if my keeping of a record (largely for my own enjoyment) of our move to London does the same thing to him?
Whatever. I'm not going to bring it up. He can start his own blog. I'll just mention him more often from now on.
Haywards Heath
Caught up with Phil down in Hayward's Heath last weekend. This represented my first trip out of London and whilst it was great to catch up I just don't think it was far enough away to be interesting.
Phil's workplace is actually in the owner's large farm house just outside of town. That was probably the highlight. A working English farm! With trees and green grass and other vaguely New Zealandish things.
Tate Modern
Okay, so it was only the gift shop. That's all we had time for as I had a job interview to completely bomb later in the day.
But still. It was awesome. This is where all your Christmas gifts will be purchased. They might actually be the one gift just sent to heaps of people.
Thames Walk
The day of the bombed interview improved greatly as we dined in Borough and then walked along the Thames to tower bridge.
We arrived on the bridge just in time for it to open... Which was an absolute blast. Apparently it's lucky or something (I got that from a recent episode of Bones rather than a guidebook so make of it what you will).
Once across the bridge we walked back up the Thames past the tower -and traitor's gate. Traitor's gate really struck me. Because we've been so busy we haven't really done anything remotely fun so this was the first place I could point at something and say "ooh! I know things that happened here!"
The Queen
Wednesday was a day of many interviews. The first one was outside London in Surrey (see below) which necessitated catching a national rail train from Victoria.
As usual I got us into the station preposterously early on a rainy Wednesday morning.
We actually hadn't seen Buckingham Palace yet and it was just around the corner so I figured a little looky-looing would kill some time.
Off we trot through the sea of black umbrellas (it looks just like London! Oh, wait).
I'm anxious about how wet I am getting as I have to look presentable for my several interviews. And then as we walked along the side of the palace to the main gates I started thinking about the Queen and the troubles with her leaky roof and not having enough money to repair it.
And then I started to feel a little bit of sympathy regarding the roof issue.
Think about it:
If there was another government building in Britain where an 82 year old, female war veteran was forced to live (it's not like she can leave) with a leaky roof then there would be a red top uproar. Surely the money can be found in a country as over-taxed as this one.
It was in the middle of these noble, lofty thoughts that the footpath beside the palace collapsed under me and my right leg sank up past my shin in filthy, muddy, rain water. I'm pretty sure the large flagstone was somehow floating on it -that's how gross it was.
My noble thoughts vanish.
Screw the roof! Fix the frikking footpath!!
Surrey
Ah, Surrey. Now forever associated in my head with maths. Here's why:
The string of un-awesome interviews continued. For this one I actually had to leave London and sit an aptitude test.
Here's something I learned from the test:
I can no longer do long division.
Seriously. It's impossible. I can work it out in my head almost instantly, which means I can't actually 'show working'. I have completely forgotten long division.
Other than that, the interview was for a great job that I hope to get called back on -assuming my maths scores aren't too dismal.
Note the actual job will be based in London (thank god).
Ikea
I thought I would be happy to finally have access to this soul-destroying, planet-destroying, multi-dimensional brain trap again.
I mean, we managed to furnish our entire room (and I mean furnish) for 212 pounds... It looks like an ikea commercial.
But Family Guy said it best when they said ikea had won the contract to rebuild Iraq... It's almost like you can't live up to your own furniture's brand promise:
Wine
Getting used to the wine thing is proving difficult. It's laid out in the supermarket by region/country rather than by variety because of the frog custom of doing the exact same thing.
Which is fine except that I only really know Bordeaux and.... 'other'.
Now, I want to be "about" French wine in the same was I was "about" NZ wine when living there... And Australian wine before that.
So not twenty four hours ago I was whining to anyone who would listen (James, Abbie, flatmates) that I need some kind of Idiot's/Beginners/Women's Weekly guide to being aspirational middle class by only buying French wine in supermarkets and still thinking that I will get an adequate understanding of it book -and that this book does not exist.
When Lo!
Guardian to the rescue with this handy series of booklet inserts about just that! It's probably even a bit handy on the other side of the world.
There's some Antipodean stuff in there, as well, but I can just ignore that.
Once across the bridge we walked back up the Thames past the tower -and traitor's gate. Traitor's gate really struck me. Because we've been so busy we haven't really done anything remotely fun so this was the first place I could point at something and say "ooh! I know things that happened here!"
The Queen
Wednesday was a day of many interviews. The first one was outside London in Surrey (see below) which necessitated catching a national rail train from Victoria.
As usual I got us into the station preposterously early on a rainy Wednesday morning.
We actually hadn't seen Buckingham Palace yet and it was just around the corner so I figured a little looky-looing would kill some time.
Off we trot through the sea of black umbrellas (it looks just like London! Oh, wait).
I'm anxious about how wet I am getting as I have to look presentable for my several interviews. And then as we walked along the side of the palace to the main gates I started thinking about the Queen and the troubles with her leaky roof and not having enough money to repair it.
And then I started to feel a little bit of sympathy regarding the roof issue.
Think about it:
If there was another government building in Britain where an 82 year old, female war veteran was forced to live (it's not like she can leave) with a leaky roof then there would be a red top uproar. Surely the money can be found in a country as over-taxed as this one.
It was in the middle of these noble, lofty thoughts that the footpath beside the palace collapsed under me and my right leg sank up past my shin in filthy, muddy, rain water. I'm pretty sure the large flagstone was somehow floating on it -that's how gross it was.
My noble thoughts vanish.
Screw the roof! Fix the frikking footpath!!
Surrey
Ah, Surrey. Now forever associated in my head with maths. Here's why:
The string of un-awesome interviews continued. For this one I actually had to leave London and sit an aptitude test.
Here's something I learned from the test:
I can no longer do long division.
Seriously. It's impossible. I can work it out in my head almost instantly, which means I can't actually 'show working'. I have completely forgotten long division.
Other than that, the interview was for a great job that I hope to get called back on -assuming my maths scores aren't too dismal.
Note the actual job will be based in London (thank god).
Ikea
I thought I would be happy to finally have access to this soul-destroying, planet-destroying, multi-dimensional brain trap again.
I mean, we managed to furnish our entire room (and I mean furnish) for 212 pounds... It looks like an ikea commercial.
But Family Guy said it best when they said ikea had won the contract to rebuild Iraq... It's almost like you can't live up to your own furniture's brand promise:
Wine
Getting used to the wine thing is proving difficult. It's laid out in the supermarket by region/country rather than by variety because of the frog custom of doing the exact same thing.
Which is fine except that I only really know Bordeaux and.... 'other'.
Now, I want to be "about" French wine in the same was I was "about" NZ wine when living there... And Australian wine before that.
So not twenty four hours ago I was whining to anyone who would listen (James, Abbie, flatmates) that I need some kind of Idiot's/Beginners/Women's Weekly guide to being aspirational middle class by only buying French wine in supermarkets and still thinking that I will get an adequate understanding of it book -and that this book does not exist.
When Lo!
Guardian to the rescue with this handy series of booklet inserts about just that! It's probably even a bit handy on the other side of the world.
There's some Antipodean stuff in there, as well, but I can just ignore that.
Sorry for the delays but it has been insanely busy with the job interviews and looking for houses, etc. None of the fun stuff has really started yet and I get back too tired to do anything but crawl into the nook and sleep on the pile of outdoor furniture cushions that functions as a bed.
But it's ALL good!
Hence, without further things...
Borough Markets
Went to Borough markets on the Saturday... And it was excellent.
We found the coffee and chocolate brownie that Tom suggested (superb calls on them both) as well as a whole bunch of vegetables I had never seen before... and pate in a can!
Typical British customer service. It doesn't open till 9am despite doing its absolute hardest to pretend that it is a market that services the hospitality industry. (Flemington trades from 4am.) This means that if you order breakfast in a cafe or market you can basically guarantee that your 'fresh' food is more than a day old.
But, you know, we soldier on.
There is some pretty good video from this day but I haven't cut it together yet... I haven't even transferred it to the Mac. To put my general time-poor-ed-ness into perspective I contemplated not shaving for my job interview this morning because I didn't really think I wanted the jobs she had going.
The Thames
After the markets we wandered along the river... And along. And along.
We bought some second hand books/plays at the BFI Southbank -which is the newish name for the British Film Institute... Then saw some sights, the Tate Modern, Millenium Bridge and other locations from the film Love Actually.
Then, of course, there was the London Eye. We didn't go up it because we were too cheap/not bovvered but we did get almost robbed by...
Gypsies
This was some ingenious pickpocketing. The second I pulled the camera out this woman appeared and handed me a little flower with its stem wrapped in al foil. She then asked for a donation "for charity". Ingenious, right? Because my hands are occupied taking the flower she is shoving in my face.
(I could see this coming. I've been to Mexico.)
Anyway so this is how the exchange went between her and James.
James: A donation for what?
Gypsy: For charity.
James: What charity?
Gypsy: It's for children.
James: What kind of children?
Gypsy: <eyes narrowed> Gypsy children.
So James gave the woman attempting to rob us two pounds and we carried on across the bridge to Westminister.
Where more gypsies (with about seven pickpocketing children instead of two) were attempting the flower con.
Once again, the second I opened the camera a new woman appeared and attempted to shove a flower in my hand. This is how it went:
Gordon: Nah, I've already been done.
Gypsy 2: Where?
Gordon: London Eye.
Gypsy 2: Where's London Eye? (note it loomed large behind her. We might even have still been in its shadow.)
Gordon: Fuck off.
So as we were waiting to cross the road towards the tube -still on the bridge with the gypsies about ten metres behind- we overheard the (Australian) guy behind us laughing and calling one of his friends, saying he had just been robbed blind out the front of Westminister by some gypsy kids holding out flowers.
He was laughing because it was only a few travellers cheques, etc so he was fine, but yeah. The more you know.
Note you can see the bridge in this shot. (Also not mine. The weather was better for us.)
Westminister
Gypsies aside, it's really just a bureaucratic building... It's not crap or anything, it's awesome, it's just not... magical. In fact, I much preferred the statue of Boudica because it was something I studied and still have an interest in.
She is, of course, classically executed, pretty and European-looking. The reality of this warlord was that she was a scary, giant, fat cow who was carried into battle in a litter.
But she was real and was a national hero and , to be perfectly honest, it's nice to see statues of women in places of power. They are few and far between.
The Tower
Now, the tower impressed me. It was the first time in London I was properly struck by the antiquity of the place. The tower itself is only 900 or so years young, and we had just walked along the remains of the Roman wall in the city, but the tower has more... Mana. That's the word I want to use.
The afternoon we walked by (we still haven't done anything properly touristy because we haven't had the time or the inclination to part with our money whilst no more is coming in) there was a really fruity jousting reenactment going on.
Unfortunately the battery was flat in the camera because... Seriously. This was fruity. All the Knights' armour had been buffed up and was bright enough to almost hurt your eyes in the bright sunshine. And the tents were brightly coloured.
It was like a parade but with less lesbians.
Clapham
Caught up with the lovely Paula in Clapham. The town has a holiday feel to it. But that may have been the thousands of Australians (who live there) wandering around, dressed identically in beige cargo shorts, slides, grey t-shirt and baseball cap.
Here are two of them in the shorts I found in a few seconds online. It was weird. A lot of people tend to dress the same in any given area for a variety of socioeconomic reasons. Clapham was a step further than that.
But we ate at this cafe that had salads that were good enough to cross the river for. So I will definitely be back. Right after I get changed out of these beige shorts.
Househunting
Oh. Your. God.
This has been painful and weird. The day before yesterday I arranged an appointment with a really pushy Polish real estate agent to have a look at a one bedroomer in Stoke Newington -which is where Heidi lives and is just up the road from us right now.
We hadn't even got inside before she (Sylvia) said "this place no good. I show you one much better. You can only tell when you see people in the face what they like." So off we went in Sylvia's tiny, smoky car to Highbury to see a place that was still occupied (the girls were at work). Sylvia showed us the place and then accidentally locked us all in because she slammed the front door too hard and twisted the dead bolt.
A quick break-in upstairs to our prospective new apartment to get a butter knife to jimmy the lock and we were outside again. The landlord "is going to fix that", by the way.
'Luckily' for us this place was 270 per week. The exact amount I told Sylvia on the phone that morning when she rang me for the third time was the maximum I could pay.
Anyway, it was much nicer but it's too far out and we can't justify spending that until we're both employed. So we've decided to look at some share houses.
My First London Club
One of the recruiter meetings I had yesterday was in my first ever London club. It was a tiny silver door and a buzzer one block back from Leicster Square.
I hit the buzzer. Nothing happened.
I hit it again. Nothing.
Then a drinks delivery guy opened the door on his way out and I snuck in.
It was like the Qantas Club but with staff everywhere. And I am a fan. The rest of the city is absolute madness. You can see the benefit of having a place you know isn't going to be crowded to do meetings/interviews etc. Somewhere where they know how to make your coffee and your martini that has free wireless and toast for one pound.
So I'm a convert. And I may join the Soho Club (it's a more adverfag-centric one) if I end up working in the area.
Islington
Love, love, love the area. It's where we're looking most heavily but there's some saying about beggars not being able to choose who they give flowers to at the London Eye... Or something like that. It will come to me.
What it means is we may be living nowhere near it. But there are a reasonable amount of friends in the area so one hopes so.
Physical State
Tired, may have broken a bone in my foot, extremely fatigued, skin breaking out from the filth, losing weight like an AIDS patient, craving fresh food and a big people's bed that I can sleep in without being in someone's room or hallway.
In fact, in the interest of giving our gracious hosts some personal space, we may find somewhere cheap in town to overnight.
Ciao!
Typical British customer service. It doesn't open till 9am despite doing its absolute hardest to pretend that it is a market that services the hospitality industry. (Flemington trades from 4am.) This means that if you order breakfast in a cafe or market you can basically guarantee that your 'fresh' food is more than a day old.
But, you know, we soldier on.
There is some pretty good video from this day but I haven't cut it together yet... I haven't even transferred it to the Mac. To put my general time-poor-ed-ness into perspective I contemplated not shaving for my job interview this morning because I didn't really think I wanted the jobs she had going.
The Thames
After the markets we wandered along the river... And along. And along.
We bought some second hand books/plays at the BFI Southbank -which is the newish name for the British Film Institute... Then saw some sights, the Tate Modern, Millenium Bridge and other locations from the film Love Actually.
Gypsies
This was some ingenious pickpocketing. The second I pulled the camera out this woman appeared and handed me a little flower with its stem wrapped in al foil. She then asked for a donation "for charity". Ingenious, right? Because my hands are occupied taking the flower she is shoving in my face.
(I could see this coming. I've been to Mexico.)
Anyway so this is how the exchange went between her and James.
James: A donation for what?
Gypsy: For charity.
James: What charity?
Gypsy: It's for children.
James: What kind of children?
Gypsy: <eyes narrowed> Gypsy children.
So James gave the woman attempting to rob us two pounds and we carried on across the bridge to Westminister.
Where more gypsies (with about seven pickpocketing children instead of two) were attempting the flower con.
Once again, the second I opened the camera a new woman appeared and attempted to shove a flower in my hand. This is how it went:
Gordon: Nah, I've already been done.
Gypsy 2: Where?
Gordon: London Eye.
Gypsy 2: Where's London Eye? (note it loomed large behind her. We might even have still been in its shadow.)
Gordon: Fuck off.
So as we were waiting to cross the road towards the tube -still on the bridge with the gypsies about ten metres behind- we overheard the (Australian) guy behind us laughing and calling one of his friends, saying he had just been robbed blind out the front of Westminister by some gypsy kids holding out flowers.
He was laughing because it was only a few travellers cheques, etc so he was fine, but yeah. The more you know.
Note you can see the bridge in this shot. (Also not mine. The weather was better for us.)
Westminister
Gypsies aside, it's really just a bureaucratic building... It's not crap or anything, it's awesome, it's just not... magical. In fact, I much preferred the statue of Boudica because it was something I studied and still have an interest in.
She is, of course, classically executed, pretty and European-looking. The reality of this warlord was that she was a scary, giant, fat cow who was carried into battle in a litter.
But she was real and was a national hero and , to be perfectly honest, it's nice to see statues of women in places of power. They are few and far between.
The Tower
Now, the tower impressed me. It was the first time in London I was properly struck by the antiquity of the place. The tower itself is only 900 or so years young, and we had just walked along the remains of the Roman wall in the city, but the tower has more... Mana. That's the word I want to use.
The afternoon we walked by (we still haven't done anything properly touristy because we haven't had the time or the inclination to part with our money whilst no more is coming in) there was a really fruity jousting reenactment going on.
Unfortunately the battery was flat in the camera because... Seriously. This was fruity. All the Knights' armour had been buffed up and was bright enough to almost hurt your eyes in the bright sunshine. And the tents were brightly coloured.
It was like a parade but with less lesbians.
Clapham
Caught up with the lovely Paula in Clapham. The town has a holiday feel to it. But that may have been the thousands of Australians (who live there) wandering around, dressed identically in beige cargo shorts, slides, grey t-shirt and baseball cap.
Here are two of them in the shorts I found in a few seconds online. It was weird. A lot of people tend to dress the same in any given area for a variety of socioeconomic reasons. Clapham was a step further than that.
But we ate at this cafe that had salads that were good enough to cross the river for. So I will definitely be back. Right after I get changed out of these beige shorts.
Househunting
Oh. Your. God.
This has been painful and weird. The day before yesterday I arranged an appointment with a really pushy Polish real estate agent to have a look at a one bedroomer in Stoke Newington -which is where Heidi lives and is just up the road from us right now.
We hadn't even got inside before she (Sylvia) said "this place no good. I show you one much better. You can only tell when you see people in the face what they like." So off we went in Sylvia's tiny, smoky car to Highbury to see a place that was still occupied (the girls were at work). Sylvia showed us the place and then accidentally locked us all in because she slammed the front door too hard and twisted the dead bolt.
A quick break-in upstairs to our prospective new apartment to get a butter knife to jimmy the lock and we were outside again. The landlord "is going to fix that", by the way.
'Luckily' for us this place was 270 per week. The exact amount I told Sylvia on the phone that morning when she rang me for the third time was the maximum I could pay.
Anyway, it was much nicer but it's too far out and we can't justify spending that until we're both employed. So we've decided to look at some share houses.
My First London Club
One of the recruiter meetings I had yesterday was in my first ever London club. It was a tiny silver door and a buzzer one block back from Leicster Square.
I hit the buzzer. Nothing happened.
I hit it again. Nothing.
Then a drinks delivery guy opened the door on his way out and I snuck in.
It was like the Qantas Club but with staff everywhere. And I am a fan. The rest of the city is absolute madness. You can see the benefit of having a place you know isn't going to be crowded to do meetings/interviews etc. Somewhere where they know how to make your coffee and your martini that has free wireless and toast for one pound.
So I'm a convert. And I may join the Soho Club (it's a more adverfag-centric one) if I end up working in the area.
Islington
Love, love, love the area. It's where we're looking most heavily but there's some saying about beggars not being able to choose who they give flowers to at the London Eye... Or something like that. It will come to me.
What it means is we may be living nowhere near it. But there are a reasonable amount of friends in the area so one hopes so.
Physical State
Tired, may have broken a bone in my foot, extremely fatigued, skin breaking out from the filth, losing weight like an AIDS patient, craving fresh food and a big people's bed that I can sleep in without being in someone's room or hallway.
In fact, in the interest of giving our gracious hosts some personal space, we may find somewhere cheap in town to overnight.
Ciao!
