Cornwall

Alright, I have no class. I may be ever girly and feminine, as evidenced by the giant suitcase that on day 3, I already hate, and I also realise that the region's name long pre-dates Beavis and Butthead and MTV, but I can't type or say Cornwall without snickering. I blame it squarely and entirely on the influence of my older brother and my late father. I love gross humour. Cornwall. Hehe.

Incidentally, I just spent two hours writing about my trip so far and my laptop crashed without saving any of my work. Really hate that. So, I'm now typing furiously, trying to remember what I typed :P

I'm enroute now to Exeter and I've said goodbye to the beautiful beach, the lovely seafood and the Cornish ice cream . I really hated to leave the beach, but the adventure continues.

So, to continue on with my journey from last time, after I enjoyed that scenery for the rest of the train ride on Saturday, I arrived in Cornwall and made my way up a giant and steep hill, only to discover that I was meant to go down another very steep hill. Realising that if I was wrong and my hotel wasn't down there, I'd have to come back up the hill, I discovered a rental home manager type guy standing nearby and I went over to ask him if he knew where my hotel was. There was a queue, but I waited patiently and of course, yes, my hotel was down the hill. I'm still glad I asked.

I'd booked this hotel because my first choice - one of the top rated hotels in St Ives - was only available for my second night. This other hotel that I'd booked got very mixed reviews. The views were fantastic, everyone said, but the hotel itself had issues. My only choice was to book a dinner inclusive rate, which was a bummer because I loathe hotel restaurants, but oh well. One less decision to make for the trip.

But, the point of this whole trip was to see more of Britain and this hotel was at the other end of the town from the other hotel...and that counts, doesn't it? In both hotels, I'd booked seaview balcony rooms and was very much looking forward to all beach, all the time for the weekend.

So, as I came around the corner, having navigated the hill by putting myself in front of The Suitcase and bracing it behind me, so as to keep it from arriving at the hotel decades before me and possibly killing a small child, I saw the hotel. A giant yellow Southern American plantation style building. It looked promising so far...

A man who'd been washing the steps came racing over to take The Suitcase (and I think he probably hates me now) and we headed into reception. Strike #1 on the hotel: arriving at 3:01, my room wasn't ready, despite a 2pm check-in. But, being in that relaxed I’m-at-the-beach-so-who-cares mentality, I was pleasant about it and they got it ready quickly.

So, the poor stairs washing guy and I headed up to my room and when the door opened, I was a bit taken aback by my “seaview balcony” room. It looked out, fullface, on a beach that was only 50 feet away. And it was a proper balcony with a patio set. The only awkward aspect was that it – and all the balcony rooms, I later discovered – looked directly over the hotel bar, which had a glass ceiling. But still, it was a rather amazing view and when the man left, I sat out there for a very long time, taking in the beachyness.

I wasn’t quite in holiday mode yet and I felt I should be doing something productive, so I went down to that hotel bar I’d been peering down into and had a gin and tonic…and I felt very productive really, I’d done something.

Finishing that off, I wandered out to the beach with my book and read for awhile, being interrupted every so often by the urge to people watch and the need to dodge beach balls that were trying to bonk me on the head.

But, despite the gorgeous view, I was reminded that I was in Britain and not some tropical paradise, and I was eventually becoming unsuccessful in battling hypothermia, even with a jacket on, so I went back to my more sheltered balcony for awhile, until it was time for dinner.

The hotel restaurant had been one of the things that was unanimously booed about in the reviews, so that, coupled with my own disdain for hotel restaurants didn’t bode well for their chances with me…but I’ll admit it was rather nice not to have to go anywhere for dinner. But alas, it was mediocre at best. My venison had some weird sweet spice in it that I didn’t really care for and service was friendly, but slow.

But, they served coffee and chocolates in the now dimly lit bar and it was nice to sit and relax and listen to the surf.

I left my balcony door open that night and fell asleep to the surf crashing outside…heaven.

The next day, breakfast was much the same – mediocre food and ridiculously slow service, I waited 45 minutes for my breakfast to arrive. And, after waiting another 45 minutes for the taxi the hotel said they would call for me, but didn’t, I was off to hotel #2. It was diligently raining and still very cold, but I had delusional hope that it might stop raining and warm up.

Upon arriving (very early), I was immediately greeted in what felt more like a living room than a hotel lobby and was offered coffee and scones. Scones! Who cares about a room when there are scones to be had?

So I settled down into a comfy leather couch and munched on my scone, watching the rain outside….but when the rain eventually slowed down, I bundled up and headed nearly next door to what was said to be the top beach café in the UK and the #6 seafood restaurant in the country…and the seafood was, in fact, divine. Huge oysters (possibly the best I’ve had yet), perfectly cooked fish…but alas, none of the desserts seemed tempting and I was more than full, so I headed back to the hotel, where my room was ready.

What the second room lacked in spectacular views, it gained in cuteness. The room was pink, firstly, which I don’t think I need to explain gained megapoints with me. But I actually knew that part ahead of time, the hotel’s website has photos of each of its 10 rooms. But it was also quite large, which I hadn’t really expected, with a couch against one wall.

After getting settled in and doing the obligatory veg-on-the-balcony for awhile, I went down to the beach and out for a walk…but soon enough, it was time for my 85 minute hot stones massage back at the hotel. If I need to explain that the whole 85 minutes was pure heaven, then you need to have your brain cell count checked :P

But alas, after staggering down to my room afterward, in my uber-relaxed state, I planned to veg for 30 minutes or so…and as I was doing this vegging, my stomach began to turn on me. Perhaps it was the mass quantities of food in me, perhaps it was just bad luck…but I couldn’t help having flashbacks to the dreaded Edinburgh end last year. And even with my upset stomach, I was still longing for my carefully planned dinner…and debating about whether I could really eat it or not…it was that tortured feeling where the thought of food grossed me out, but the thought of missing that dinner seemed beyond tragic. I didn’t actually officially become sick, I just felt like I was well on my way.

Thankfully, just in the nick of time, my stomach recovered and I had my lovely dinner. As I’d walked to the restaurant, I noted that the pathway was beautiful, with the surf crashing just off it below…but was also a bit eerily dark. It was okay walking to dinner, as it was still early, but I worried about the walk home. And sure enough, it was very eery and creepy to walk home. I’m sure it was perfectly safe, but as I walked along the completely dark and deserted path, I walked faster and faster, increasingly freaking myself out.

But, of course, I reached the hotel without incident and settled in for night #2 of sleeping with the balcony door open, listening to the surf.

Waking on my last morning at the beach, I didn’t want to leave…but, the rest of Britain beckoned, so arise I did and after a lovely breakfast with organic this and homemade that, I checked out and set off for more exploring. And I walked to the very edge of town to what I later learned is “the island,” a huge jet out of land from the rest of the town that gives you unobstructed views across the Atlantic. I didn’t think I had time to walk across it, so I just took photos from one end, but it looked gorgeous.

So, after one last yummy seafood meal, with lovely harbour views, I made my way back to the hotel, collected The Suitcase and went off to the train station, bidding farewell to the beautiful beach, the beautiful food and, of course, the lovely Cornish ice cream.

So, stay tuned for the next update, all about Exeter.

Off to See Britain!

As I type, I'm sitting in a train seat, just leaving dear old Paddington station and my beloved London for 2 weeks, to see the rest of Britain.

I've lived here now for 2 years and 12 days (but who's counting?) and I decided it was time to see more of this crazy little island. Casual conversations always lead to the question "so where else have you been in the UK?" And sadly, I have only a few places to list...and I always follow that list with "but I really want to see more." So here I am, getting ready to see more.

This trip was meant to be a celebration of getting my visa, but I wasn't sure it would be approved yet by the time I went on the trip...but hoorah, of course, it was :)

So, I and all my fellow passengers are barrelling along to Cornwall...a weekend at the beach! Well, for me anyway, I don't know where they're all going :P

If I've not become a horrible lazy blob whilst on this lovely holiday, I'll write about my adventures...11 cities in 15 days. After I spend a lazy weekend in Cornwall, I'll head Northeast up through England to Scotland and then across Scotland before I take a 9 hour train ride home.

I didn't plan the route very well! I started booking things before I'd fully planned the route, so rather than going in a proper circle and making the best use of my time, I'm going in a haphazard zigzag, ending up quite far Northwest in Scotland by the end. Oops. Oh well ;)

Work has been utterly mad for the last 3 weeks and at its culmination, I was getting up at 4:30 and hitting the pillow again at midnight....working most of that time. The craziness is over now, for good we all hope. But the beautiful and wonderful thing about British (and European) culture is that a holiday is a holiday. No one will expect me to call in, no one can call or email me (nor would they if they could). They'll just leave me to "turn off" as they call it...to relax.

And I think that's true in some cases in America, but mostly, you're still expected to check-in every so often, people might call you with questions...you never get to shut off and relax. And, of course, you get a tiny amount of time to go on holiday anyway. I do miss some things about America, I miss my friends and family terribly (you fools could come visit anytime you know :P)...but I don't miss American work culture at all. For the last year, with the small chance in the back of my mind that I might not get my visa extension, I wondered what it would be like to move back.

I knew I would be devastated to leave London, but I also knew it would be lovely to see my family more often...I haven't seen them since Christmas! I'd get to see friends I'm slowly losing touch with. But then, I'd also have to work in America again, with 2 weeks of holiday a year...and instead of a uniquely hellish 3 week period of working way too much, I would always work that much. It wasn't a pleasant thought.

So, whilst I'll admit that I do miss some things from America, I'm not a workaholic and I never will be...and I love the work culture here, enough to stay here forever if they let me :)

Anyway, back to the trip. It's started off a bit chaotically, but I guess trips often do. I'm being my usual silly girly self and I'm being punished for it...my suitcase weighs a small ton. I've got 6 pairs of shoes, a different outfit for each day (in a couple cases, 2 a day). I am an idiot. I'm going to a different place nearly every day, so I could have easily worn the same thing more than once...it's not as if anyone will see me in that same outfit again! But that seemed gross and not very fashion conscious, so I soldiered on with my giant suitcase. I don't have far to take it in most places, so it should be okay. Lol, I'm stuck with it now!

And then, in my usual neurotic mode about timings, I got to the train station 45 minutes early. I grabbed a bagel, sat down to read...and suddenly realised that I didn't have my laptop power cable. I had the laptop, but no cable. Being an American laptop, I'd be unlikely to be able to find a replacement cord and my battery is down to about 45 minutes. With 33 minutes to my train, I went dashing across the station, hauling my giant suitcase behind me and asked a cab driver if he could get me to my street and back in 30 minutes. "Sure," he shrugged, as though it was easy peasy. So off we went. "forget your passport?" he asked. "No...my laptop's power cord, I'm going away for 2 weeks, I can't deal with not having it!" So after one small detour due to a closed street, he had me at my door in 9 minutes. Dashing inside, grabbing the cord and leaping back into the cab, we were back at the station with 16 minutes to spare.

All my friends here tease me for living so central, but that right there is why I love that I do. My forgetfulness cost me £12, but still, I have the power cord and I still made my train!

So, the scenery seems to be getting interesting now and I think I'll sit back and relax for a bit :) Going to the beach!

Three more years!!!

I found out this afternoon that I've been approved for my visa extension...and I can stay in the UK until 2012 :D

This has been a very long 13 months...I've spent many an hour wondering what on earth I would do if I had to leave my beloved new home. I imagined, with dread, flying back to DC on a one way ticket, leaving London possibly for good...and I hated that thought, it seemed incomprehensibly awful. But it also began to feel like a real possibility, worry being my middle name and all ;)

So, I tried not to let myself plan or think about anything beyond August...I didn't want to get my hopes up and plan for the future when I didn't entirely know where that future would be.

But now it's over. I get to stay in my home. It's funny, I thought that the moment I found out would be this huge emotional moment where I would collapse with joy and cry. But this life in London gets pretty hectic sometimes ;) And the moment I found out was during a 30 second break of a whole day of frantic meetings...so whilst I was manically elated for the rest of the afternoon, I had to switch gears back to life almost immediately and there wasn't time for any melodramatic celebrating. But I spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of relief and relaxation that I don't think I've felt in over a year.

I love this city and this country...and I get to stay. And I still can't believe I really get to stay.

And the next big adventure? In a little more than 2 weeks, I get to visit 11 cities around the UK in 15 days...a whirlwind celebration of my new visa and a chance to see more of this crazy little island. I can't wait :)

The Long Silence and The Year in Review

So...it seems I've become terribly lazy about my blog and it's been nearly 7 months since I've posted. All is still well in lovely London and I guess I should post a review of the saga that is my life in this rainy and fantastic city :)

January and February: I started my then-new job at the beginning of the year and went from all-free-time-all-the-time to no-free-time-any-of-the-time. So basically, there wasn't much of a life happening...but nevermind, it was cold and dark 25 hours a day, so I don't think I even noticed :D

March: It started to get not dark and cold and I had my very first American visitor. I think my love of food may just have terrified him to the core, I dragged him around the culinary mecca that is London and we ate everything in sight ;) And best of all, his visit meant that I finally got to go to the mahvelous champagne brunch at the Landmark hotel. Whilst I've spent 2 years trying to convince friends to go, I knew that if anyone was up for unlimited champagne and a very posh unlimited food spread, it would be an American!

April: I went on what should have been a 60 mile bike ride to Brighton, but was actually a 20 mile circle around Surrey. 4 people + 1 map + no sense of direction does not equal a trip to Brighton. But nevermind, it was fun anyway and, having borrowed a bike for the day, I went out the next weekend and bought one - inspired to finally start cycling around London and *maybe* cycle to and from work eventually.

May: My landlord decided he wanted to redo my bathroom, so I decided to finally go to Italy whilst the work was being done...after spending much of April feverishly planning the trip, I set off to 3 days in Rome and 3 days Florence. And a wasted afternoon in Pisa...the town with a messed up building and not much else. Otherwise, the sights were lovely, the food fantastic and it was a lovely week to be had :) Then, upon my return, with the bathroom work taking longer than expected, I played tourist in my own neighbourhood for the week, staying in hotels. But, once it was completed, I was - and still am - in heaven. The bathroom is gorgeous and well worth the wait :D

June: With the end of my current visa looming, I spent much of the month getting my ducks in a row and getting my extension application organised and sorted...and with summer upon us, there were many picnics and lazy weekend afternoons in the park :)

July: This month has been consumed with work, sadly...but nevermind, it pays the bills! The rest of my life has been filled with more summer dos and feverish planning for the next trip...with my passport now indefinitely in the hands of the lovely people in immigration, I'm stuck on this tropical island. Where values of stuck = I love it here and now I have at least a temporary excuse not to leave :D So, in late August/early September, I will be travelling to 12 cities in 15 days...starting in the very southern part of Cornwall and heading up to Scotland and back down again...I'm beyond excited about the trip and late August can't get here fast enough!!

But meanwhile, I'm still in love with London and I am anxious and hopeful for my new visa, so I can stay here for another 3 years, soaking up all there is in Blighty and trying not to get killed by buses, taxis and whatnot whilst cycling around London ;)

An as always too quick American adventure

A belated Merry Christmas to all...I'm back from my stateside visit, my second one in less than a month. I don't think I blogged about my trip back at Thanksgiving, but the very short report is that it had been more than six months since my last trip to America and, for the first time since my big move, I felt like a foreigner in my own country.

My vocabulary was all wrong, I kept forgetting that they add sales tax at the till (register) and the whole time, though I loved seeing my family, especially my mother, I couldn't wait to come back to my beloved London. It was a very odd feeling. The only caveat being that since I went to Boston to see extended family (whom I love dearly), I didn't see my brother and his family, nor did I get to see any of my friends.

So, not 3 weeks later, I was soaring back to America for a slightly longer visit to DC for Christmas week. And, having had that weird foreigner feeling so recently, I was preparing myself for a weird week, for 7 days of wishing I were in London...7 days of trying not to be that annoying whiner who wishes they were somewhere else.

I did have a somewhat busy week planned and whilst my trip to Boston had been almost completely unstructured, my trip to DC included plans for most of the week, with what seemed like a comfortable lull at the end of the week. So it wasn't exactly dreadful.

So, landing at Dulles, I felt my usual post-flight grossness...whilst I am eternally grateful that I've accumulated enough miles to almost always upgrade to business class, the reality is that zooming along at 35,000 feet for 8 hours hurts, no matter how comfy your seat is.

And, for the first time since my move, I landed in America with no mobile (cell), as the family share plan my mother and I had had for years expired and we decided not to renew it...and I'd discovered during my Black Friday shopping spree that pay-as-you-go phones are stupidly expensive in America - $200 when all was said and done, so I'd chosen to just do without.

So. Before I left London, I made specific plans with my mother for when and where to meet at Dulles. The plans, of course, got royally screwed up. And I, of course, became foaming-at-the-mouth grumpy, quite literally like a little kid who'd been awake for too long. It didn't help that when I walked out into the night, coatless because a recent email from my mother had included a "neiner neiner" tale of 70F/21C, I was met with instant hypothermia.

I don't know what had happened to the tropical paradise, but DC was back to its freakishly frigid December self...so, frantically pulling out my coat, I grumpily trudged to the complete other end of the airport where, having discovered via a pay phone, my mother was waiting.

Shortly thereafter, we arrived at the hinterland of the family's horse farm and home and my brother et al were there, as my brother was fixing a Christmas Tree Catastrophe involving a cracked stand and seas of water on the hardwood floors. Oops.

My dog was mildly happy to see me, but my nephew was super excited to see me, which made my decade. I'd been worried, egotistically, that since he hadn't seen me in 7 months, I might have fallen off his not-quite-7-year-old radar. However, my elation at still being his "favourite person," as he often calls me, was soon marred by the realisation that he thought I was back in America for good. Ugh.

He looked at my one suitcase and said "how'd you get all your stuff in here?? I thought you'd have like 4 suitcases!"

My brother exchanged a sideways and silent "uh oh" look and we explained that the rest of my stuff was back in England and that I was only visiting for a week. The explanation was met with a sullen "oh" from the kid and my heart was immediately ripped out of my chest.

Moving right along, I visited with the entire family until after midnight and finally hit the pillow nearly 24 hours after I'd left my bed in London the previous morning.

Jetlag never ceases to confuse, annoy and amuse me...logic would have you think that if you stay awake for 24 hours straight, your body will recover by sleeping extra long afterwards...or at least for a normal night's sleep, ignoring whatever body clock it thinks it's on. But no, there is no logic. Having fallen asleep at nearly 1 AM, I woke up, wide awake, at 5 AM...10 AM in London. Cute.

I'd been astonished and proud of myself that, despite my usual last minute start on Christmas shopping, I had done almost all of it before I got to DC and only had a couple of things to run out and get on my first day in DC.

I'm not sure if it was a foreigner moment or simply my global lack of direction, but for my first fun event of the week, I was meeting a dear friend and former colleague for dinner at a restaurant I thought I knew how to find. Famous last words. With no phone to call and watching the gas tank creep lower and lower but not wanting to take the time to get gas, the minutes passed and I became later and later for our dinner. Finally arriving an hour late, I burst into the restaurant with frantic apologies...but it was all fine. Except I realised how incredibly necessary and nice a mobile is. After a very lovely and long dinner, we said our goodbyes and I rolled across the street for gas/petrol. The car took 18.38 gallons and the tank is 18.5 gallons. Oopsy.

For day 2 of Christmas in DC, I was meeting another friend and former colleague for lunch and was going to my old office to meet her. There were more twilight zone moments when I arrived and everything in the office looked different. I said quick hellos and hugs to a few former colleagues I knew and my friend and I went off to a very lovely lunch across the street...upon returning with her to the office, I made my rounds to say "quick" hellos and had the great fun of surprising several former colleagues and getting to go on and on and on (and on) about London. Until it became seconds before my parking meter was set to expire and I went darting off to my oldest and dearest friend's house.

And we had a nearly 12 hour visit that was still too short, where her 4 year old daughter treated me to a full and detailed tour of her playroom and the laundry room and we, the adults, discovered that one of her dolls is Chucky's bride because it was giggling entirely on its own. Repeatedly. The adults were far more bothered by this than the children, incidentally. And a visit with the B family would be entirely incomplete if her husband and I didn't get to bring up the "barf sweater," from 13 years ago, which we did. I'm sure you're all dying to know what in God's name that story is. The short version is, it involves our collective first semester of uni/college, a frat party, way too much alcohol, an occupied-by-someone-else bathroom, his sweater and my being a lightweight. And somehow, 13 years later, we have yet to decide whose fault it was and we are still stupidly amused by it. Or. Well. I am. Anyhoo, in lovely timing, I also got to see my friend's younger sister and again, the London tales continued.

Bidding everyone adeiu, I drove back to the hinterland and had a lovely two days of Christmas festivities with the family where we somehow managed to be nice to each other for, I think, the entire time. I'm nominating us for a collective Nobel Peace Prize. I'm one of the fortunate ones who actually enjoys family time and am extremely close to all of them, but still. That much time with anyone makes you turn homicidal. And we didn't. So yay. I had stupidly volunteered to make a birthday cake for my nephew's birthday and had grand plans for the Perfect Cake.

But, come Friday morning, with my jetlag mostly gone, I slept too late for the actual perfect cake and I had to make do with all-purpose flour, rather than cake flour. The horror. My mother and I then amused ourselves for nearly 90 minutes drawing SpongeBob Squarepants on the cake with various candies and icing. It was more like SpongeBob Squarepants Very Special Cousin, but we tried. We all went out for my poor nephew's day-after-Christmas birthday, a curse he will carry for all of his days. And I got to have actual, ooey, gooey American pizza, which was quite possibly the best moment of my entire trip. I'm endlessly amused that this fantastic pizza is in the hinterland and I have to allow that it makes the hinterland borderline cool. And I am happy and proud to announce that my nephew approved of our Special SpongeBob Squarepants. And everyone loved the cake :P

Saturday, my last day stateside, was the best day of all. Though it wasn't quite the same as being back for good, I spent the day with my nephew. We went to one of his favourite restaurants, Bob Evans, for a plastic breakfast and then it was off to the museums for a bit. I was excited that the American History museum (my favourite) had just reopened after a two year renovation closure and had planned to take him there, with promises of Kermit the Frog and Dorothy's ruby slippers being there. Only, when we drove by, there were 507 people outside, who all had the same idea.

It was a comical and amusing realisation of how much he's growing up that he read me the directions to drive to the museum, called my brother when we got lost anyway (via a mobile borrowed from his mother for the day) and, as we drove past the heinous line whilst searching for parking, we both agreed that the American History museum wasn't worth waiting in that queue/line and we went to the next door Natural History museum, which had no line.

"They have a GIANT squid," I said, "And a whale hanging from the ceiling." Well, that was more than enough to win the now 7 year old boy over and off we set. I'm proud to announce that we spent a good 4 hours there and he was massively intrigued and interested the whole time...and he can read frighteningly well. Oh, and perhaps most importantly, the giant squid is still there and it is still totally gross.

Having taken in most of the exhibits and seen a 3D IMAX movie on dinosaurs where a T-Rex type dinosaur bit our heads off, we set off to meet up with his parental unit at the zoo, which had a night time Christmas lights thing. We left the car in downtown DC and took the metro up to the zoo, because I'd promised him we'd take the train.

Due to his current obsession with SpongeBob Squarepants, we spent most of our time in the sea exhibits joking about SpongeBob and his friends. So, as we walked up the hill to the zoo after our train ride, I continued the discussion and noted that we never did find the pineapple in the museum (SpongeBob lives in a pineapple).

There was a pause and, in a quiet and concerned voice, my astute nephew said "you know, SpongeBob isn't real..."

And it was all I could do not to sit down right there on the sidewalk/pavement and giggle hysterically. Instead, I chose to save my dignity as best I could.

"I know that," I said. And err, that was my whole retort.

So, we finally met up with the parental unit and the kid was becoming tired and cranky so, though it was cool to see the zoo at night for the first time in my life, we didn't stay long and - after a collectively cranky search - we stopped for dinner before saying goodbye and taking both cars back to the hinterland.

My brother ditched me on the freeway and, having returned the borrowed mobile when we left DC, I had another helpless foreigner/idiot moment, I got lost briefly right in the heart of where I lived for 5 years, where I still own property. Eventually arriving back to the farm, I called him briefly to say both that I was alive and that he was an idiot and I went to bed.

Taking the day flight back, morning arrived too quickly and it was time to head back to my beloved London. I got to fly the new business class back, which I was stupidly excited about and loved...and I learned that the day flight is dangerous because the free-flowing alcohol is at the end of the flight rather than the beginning of it. And so, with a drunken hello and Happy New Year to the immigration occifer at passport control, I was back in my beloved city...ready to enjoy my last week of freedom and realising that maybe a person can love two places at once.

Happy New Year!

An end to the torture (working title: Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus)

Well, I'm late in telling you, but I am employed. Or, soon to be anyway. When I start my new job next month, it will have been 6 months, minus a few days, that I was unemployed.

Nearly like a deja vu moment, I was offered the job just before I left to visit the states for Thanksgiving...last year, it was the night before I left. This year, it was 45 minutes before I boarded the plane.

It took me over a week to accept the offer, racing frantically to get a few other interviews in first...but I did accept it and I'm glad I did.

It's not a marvelous job, I'm not falling over myself excited at its location or the job itself. But the company has been extremely keen to hire me...I was very flattered to be offered the job at more than market rate, less than 24 hours after my interview. And it isn't a *bad* job, it's just not my dream job and the pay isn't dream pay.

But it's a job. A very stable job. And in this crazed and depressing economy, that is all that matters. I'm getting news from my fine American friends that the recession is "just now" hitting the UK.

Err, well, no. I think we'll have to chalk that up to the sheltered and skewed media coverage in America. We've been hurting for awhile...London more so than the rest of the island I'm sure, due to this being the financial centre. But for months now, and in increasingly disturbing numbers, there have been layoffs. By the thousands. Daily. I have several unemployed friends, the recruiters say that hundreds of candidates apply for 1 job, it's bad.

There are drastic attempts to bolster the economy...mortgage help, a sizeable VAT (sales tax) decrease, adverts on TV, the radio and the street announcing "recession busting" sales...we are very much effected by the downturn.

So, I am just eternally and utterly grateful to be working...to be just squeaking in with enough points to get my visa extension this coming summer.

As I watched the Olympics festivities earlier in the year, I felt incredibly bittersweet...it was fun to be right in the middle of things, to feel the energy and excitement about the 2012 games, but it was also sad that at the time, it was becoming an increasingly real reality that I might not be here for those games.

And there is still no guarantee that I will be...but things are definitely looking up. So, the lessons learned these past 5 hellish months are this:

1) I have wonderful, fantastic and amazing friends on both sides of the pond and if I haven't said so personally lately, I love all of you.

I already knew I was lucky in that regard, but it's times like these that I really realise it.

2) Living in the most central area of the most amazing city in the world with endless "free time" does you no good when your job hunt consumes 25 hours a day and 8 days a week.

I wish I could say that with all my time off, I've seen every corner of London. But sadly, there were entire weeks where I did not have time to leave my flat. At all. I kid you not.

3) Just when you think things can't possibly get any worse, they do and tenfold.

There were weeks when recruiters weren't calling, when the job listings were dwindling with alarming speed, weeks on end when I literally could not watch the news because it was just too scary...and I'd think "Well yeah, okay, this is bad...but I'm handling it, I'm cool, it's fine." And then there would be love troubles on top of all of that and I would just sit here and wonder why. Why is life so complicated? Why is my life so complicated? Why is the sky falling and why is it falling on me? But somehow, I survived. And though the love troubles are currently the worst they've been in a very long time and I honestly don't think I will ever get to enjoy the happiness of marriage and family, life will go on.

4) You have to enjoy the small happinesses in life.

I have always hated making myself feel better by remembering those who have it worse than me. I mean, first of all, that's kind of obnoxious. It's basically saying, "well, so and so has a crappier life than I do, so I'm happy." But second of all, I'm a perfectionist and I'm greedy...finding happiness in mediocrity does not make me feel better. BUT. Sometimes, that's all you have. Sometimes life really is crumbling all around you...and if you can make yourself happy for 5 minutes a day, you just might stay sane. So I learned to find happiness in a night out with friends, to be happy with a funny episode of a random sitcom. To be happy that I could still afford food. I learned to be happy with mediocrity.

5) None of us realise how our lives affect others and we say and do things without realising the power of our ways.

Facebook was often the most evil and depressing aspect of my life during this awful time. I would log on, desperate for a quick respite from my endless job hunt, and I would be faced with sickeningly happy status updates from friends. In the week of my most painful love troubles, 2 of my Facebook friends got engaged. I wanted to be happy for them, I wanted not to hate them. But hate them I did, those status updates made me sick to my stomach...sick that everyone's lives seemed to be plugging along happily except mine. That they had everything I wanted and couldn't seem to get.

Other times, I'd get well meaning emails asking if I'd found a job yet...which only served to make me worry more that I did not, in fact, have a job yet.

But the reality is that the world does not revolve around little old me ;) My Facebook friends' engagements were just happy events that happened, they did not get engaged to make me unhappy ;) The well-meaning emails were just that, well-meaning...I doubt anyone realised that asking that dreaded question only made things feel worse.

6) Lastly, I love this city and this island more than I ever thought I could or would.

I guess it's that old adage that you don't know what you have until it's gone...and I feel like I nearly lost my beloved island. And the complete utter sickness and sadness I felt at the possibility makes me realise that after 16 months here, I only love it more than I did the day I got here.

Though it was nice to see everyone, I felt like a foreigner when I was back in the states at Thanksgiving...this is my home now and I don't want it any other way.

This has all just been another crazy chapter in this crazy adventure of living in a foreign land...and I survived. Maybe even a tad stronger for it.

Someone recently said that this will be an amazing story that I'll tell to my grandchildren someday. I'm not sure those grandchildren I want so much will ever come to be, but this will be an amazing story that I tell someone, someday :)

And for now, I am finally over a weeklong cold - a rather rudely timed ailment, given that I have several weeks of guiltfree free time ahead of me - and, having enjoyed an exhibit at the V&A Museum this morning with a friend, I'm off to enjoy some random part of this fantastic city.

I don't even mind that it's 15:45 and getting dark. Or that it's frigidly cold, American style. Or that it's raining. I just love that London is right outside my window. It's the little things that make you happy...

Still plugging along in Jolly Old England...

I've been terrible lately about posting, but I'm still here! I am, sadly, not re-employed yet...but that's partly by choice.

I've turned down an offer or two because they just didn't feel right...but I'm hopeful that something will come to fruition soon! :)

In the meantime, I'm trying to remind myself to get out and about, enjoying this fantastic city...and I do, often enough.

Life's been busy in both good and bad ways and I'm trying to see all of this as one of those life-learning moments...a life-learning moment that hopefully won't mean the end of my residency in the UK!

I'll be making my first visit back to the states in a few weeks, to visit extended family in Boston for Thanksgiving...I'll be happy to see everyone but, as usual, even happier to get back to the country I love.

Hopefully my next post will be an ecstatic "yay I have a job" post :)

Happy Birthday to me!

Well. I'm old. Once AGAIN, my carefully crafted plan to celebrate the 1st anniversary of last year's birthday has failed. It seems I am not celebrating the 1st anniversary of my 30th birthday, I'm 31. Life is just utterly cruel. CRUEL.

But, to commiserate this horrific day, I will be pigging out rather continuously. If I have to be old, I might as well be well-fed and old. I'm off soon to begin my eating and wandering ;) The wandering, of course, counts as calorie cancelling and will mean I don't have to feel guilty for my pigging out.

And so begins a lovely day wandering my beautiful foodie city, a small respite before the manic week of interviews next week. Tragically, summer is over and it seems there are jobs to be had :( ;)

Yet another summer comes to a close

It's been eons since I've written, when you discount the Olympics post where I cheated on its posting date ;) (see the 24 August 08 post, which was actually posted earlier today)...and I'm still unemployed, but kind of enjoying it.

I'm a little stressed out, worried about what this might mean for my visa extension, because me being me, I don't trust that the points add up and that it's fine. I'll worry until next year, when I have the visa extension ;)

But otherwise, I rather love the unemployed life. I go through spurts of being a lazy hermit, only to eventually feel guilty for not seeing more of London, for not using my time more wisely, which catapults me into running around looking for things to do.

Over the last couple of months, I've discovered that I love to wander down to the river...it's weird how you can turn out of the hubbub of Embankment and Charring Cross and as soon as you're along the river, everything and everyone slows down. It's always a nice respite to do a bit of that slow wandering...I always seem to be in a hurry when I'm walking around, zooming through little crowds of tourists on my way here or there and yet when I get down to the river, there's nowhere really to go than to just stroll.

I discovered that there's a river taxi thingie that, among other stops, goes out to Greenwich, where there's a lovely market and, of course, the maritime museum. So, that's on my to do list...but being a zone 1/Central Londoner, the thought of going out to the hinterland of Greenwich is daunting ;) I'm a little more motivated upon discovery of the river taxi because not only does it sound kind of fun, it's quite a bit more direct than the train. So we'll see, hopefully I'll do that soon.

My London life has been otherwise foodcentric lately ;) I know you're all shocked and surprised :P I've been making my way around to all the different food markets...partly to feed my new obsession with cupcakes. I have no idea where it started and it is in addition to my long-standing love of ice cream, not instead of it ;) But, the Brits are rather obsessed with our American cupcakes and cupcake bakeries are popping up everywhere here, many of them just stalls at the various food markets...and they must be visited! I'm rationalising all of my cupcake visits with the plan to use them as research to create my own recipes ;) Someday. For now, it's just fun to eat them :P Incidentally, American cupcakes are different than British fairycakes, but I'm not sure how yet.

Oh and also, the only Cinnabon in the UK recently opened in Piccadilly Circus and it had to be visited last week...ooey, gooey, gross, processed Amnerican yumminess! in London! My favourite food in my favourite city! The only thing that might make me happier is a Taco Hell in London. I really am a food snob, I promise. I just. have. weaknesses. The good news though, is that now I don't have to keep trying to cram a visit to Cinnabon in every time I visit the US. The bad news is, I really do not need those calories so close by. Oh dear.

So, there you have it...I still love London and have my fingers, eyes and toes crossed that I have many more years of London (or at least British) enjoyment ahead of me :)

On a not-really-related note, I have finally organised my various travel photos and will be posting them soon...flickr is being uncooperative, but I'll persevere! I've posted pics from Brussels, my long ago trip from last fall:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/28376720@N06/sets/72157607452818324/

Horseman's Sunday

I don't remember how I came across it, but on Saturday afternoon, I happened upon the details for "Horseman's Sunday," an annual event held at a church just outside Hyde Park.

It looked interesting enough and was a short walk from my flat, so I figured I'd go see what it was about...motivated in large part by the unseasonably warm and beautiful weekend we were having in London.

Lol, I'm not sure I need to elaborate any more than to just show you the photos:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/28376720@N06/sets/72157607455585219/

It was a refreshing little event...I love London, but I love it for very different reasons than I thought I would when I decided to move here. I know I've said it before, but London is incredibly cosmopolitan, incredibly international and very much not British anymore. Or, at least, not the Central core that I call home. So, when one comes across actual British people and actual British-type events, one must relish in these things.

I'm often teased by friends here for the fact that I live so ridiculously central, for the fact that I live amongst the tourists. But I love living this central (mostly) and I plan to stay put for awhile.

But the things I do miss are the traditionalism I wanted to see when I decided to move here...and the sense of community. I barely know my neighbours and that's just the reality of city life. If I lived farther out, I'd miss out on being so near all the activities in London, but I'd know my neighbours. Decisions, decisions.

Anyhoo, I digress. My point was that the very point of this little event was to celebrate a little bit of London's history, that of its long-standing relationship with horses...and to celebrate a London that once was (and still is, just a teeny bit).

I love that when I'm wandering along in Hyde Park, there are horses plodding along right next to me...it's a strange feeling to be right in the middle of chaos, yet feel like you're in the middle of the countryside. It's a nice feeling that somehow, the old London and the new London can exist together.

The other thing that was kind of cute and nice about this little event was the sense of (albeit very very posh) community. People knew each other, they knew the vicar and they seemed quite content in their little pocket of Central London.

It was just a little reminder that Central London hasn't completely changed. Besides, what other city on earth is irreverent enough to house a vicar who - though he doesn't ride - will get on a horse in full regalia? A highly amusing note to my weekend :D

Goodbye 2008, Hello 2012

I trudged out into what was a stereotypical London day, a cold and rainy morning, to Trafalgar Square, to watch London's part in the closing ceremonies of the Olympics from the big screen TV that had been in the square throughout this year's games.

I kept feeling guilty that I hadn't gone to watch any of the games from Trafalgar Square and I was even more gutted that I'd completely spaced out and had missed the opening ceremonies completely, so rain or not, I was determined to be a little part of history and watch London's big moment from London's very centre...with, I thought, a bunch of other Londoners. There was a huge party in front of Buckingham Palace and though the tickets were free, there were a limited number of them and I didn't discover the party until too late, so oh well. Trafalgar Square seemed like a perfect alternative :D

But, as I arrived an hour early to Trafalgar Square, thinking there would be gobs of people, I arrived to a nearly empty square and met the friend I'd planned to meet up with...slowly, both the sun and the people came out and it turned out that my plans to beat the crowds weren't all for naught. We had a fantastic view, but I literally didn't move for nearly 4 hours. Though my friend got bored and bailed after awhile, I forced myself to stay for the entire thing, not wanting to miss out on this little bit of history.

I even have photos for once:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/28376720@N06/sets/72157607452033040/

And as I stood there, I found myself very hopeful that I'll still be here in lovely London in 2012, to watch the real thing.

I ended the day, sunburned, oddly enough, and content that I was making the most of my London adventure :D

A year ago today, I was....

Just arriving to Jolly Old England at right about this time, I was trudging through Heathrow with The Suitcases, trying to get my bearings and trying to convince myself that this wasn’t a visit, that I wasn’t a tourist…that I had moved to another country.

A year later, I think I’ve changed quite a bit! From little things, like my spelling, to bigger things like my sad understanding that Americans don’t know much about the rest of the world (myself included). I still have to apologise on at least a daily basis for America, but a year later, I still find it stupidly flattering when a Brit decides to like me, despite my Americanness.

It’s been quite a year…there have been stolen purses, a broken heart several times over, two flats, a cool sounding job only to lose what turned out to be not such a cool job, and great friends in a city that can be frighteningly anonymous.

And so, here I sit, on the one year anniversary of moving here. I’m still unemployed, but I’m far less freaked out about it…somehow, everything will work out. I have far bigger worries, like how a year later, I’ve gotten too comfortable living here and I’ve become one of those city dwellers who never does anything in their city. Due to my unemployed bum status, I had the chance to watch the opening ceremonies of the Olympics on a huge screen in Trafalgar Square. But. I am a moron and I didn’t realise the Olympics were starting already, I always thought it was later in August. I spent all day doing nothing in my flat.

I’m slowly getting on my own case about my laziness…I’ve plans to be out and about, enjoying this fantastic city, for nearly the entire next week. I'm off to enjoy this fantastic city, hopefully making more friends as I go.

But I guess it just goes to show, it doesn’t really matter how hard something seems, how exciting it may once seem. Eventually, you get used to it and you get comfortable…and you get bored. And so help me, I refuse to be bored in London!

This is a fantastic city…and I live here :) I intend to spend the rest of the summer enjoying my unemployed bum status, wandering London and enjoying the sites.

A year later, I’m a local. The Suitcases are packed away, I’ve got most of the lingo down and people seem to think I’m a local. Now, if I could just find a paycheque somewhere, I’d be all set…

But anyway, Happy Anniversary to me!

A Bump in the Adventure

Well ok, straight to the punchline: I'm unemployed again. Quite unexpectedly at that.

Last Friday at about 2pm, I was just cranking away at really boring documentation at work, happy that it was Friday afternoon and planning to spend my weekend researching online retailers to finally buy herb* plants, when my phone rang.

It was HR asking me, cheerfully, to come up to the video conference room. Now, everyone knows HR rarely summons a person with good news...and the fact that it was the video conference room meant that either my boss or his boss were going to be involved, as they're both in the company's US office. So I already knew the cheery tone had to be fake.

So, as I climbed up the stairs two floors to join them, my mind raced as to what on earth was going on. But the reality is that that was only about 4 minutes, so by the time I plunked down in a chair and greeted both the HR lady and the head of my department, who turned out to be the one on the video screen, my brain was still going "whaaaaa?"

Not wasting any time, the head of the department told me that due to budget cuts, blah blah, they were canceling my project and I was being made redundant. British speak for laid off. I was assured, several times, that it was completely unrelated to my performance...and though, due to my short time with the company, they weren't obligated to give me any severance, they did.

The conversation that followed is really a total blur, because it was then that I realised that they were asking me to leave immediately. I get the business reason - it's general corporate policy, when you let someone go, not to give them time to be messing around on their computer, taking information, etc. But it was mid-afternoon and, typical of British offices, there are no cubes, just desks.

And so it was that the HR lady and I went down to my desk and I began collecting my things while she (kindly) chatted with someone and left me alone. After I'd chucked huge piles full of papers into the bin, barely even looking at what I was tossing, my deskmate asked what I was doing.

"Leaving." I said, managing to say at least that much without crying.

"Leav - what - what do you mean?" He said.

With a useless deep breath, I opened my mouth to respond and started crying.

"They've canceled the project and I no longer work here."

After a few very kind words on his part and an offer to help in whatever way he could, I scurried out quickly, trying not to draw too much attention to myself.

And so it was that I walked away from my office for the last time, carting a bag of random things and feeling the shock mount in my brain.

Not 20 minutes earlier, I'd been gainfully employed and planning a happy and mundane weekend. And suddenly I was unemployed, terrified of what this meant in terms of both my visa and well, my bank account.

I spent the next 4 hours texting, emailing and talking to a few friends and crying, the crying part being rather hysterical and nearly nonstop.

On the very sage advice of one of those wonderful people, I managed to pull myself together long enough to talk to a recruiter I knew from last fall...who expressed her own shock and sympathy and who has since been very encouraging.

Hanging up with her, I promptly went back to my nervous breakdown until a friend arrived to assist in getting me very very drunk :P

We went out to dinner, though the last thing I remember is the main course and I woke up Saturday morning, in the wee hours. After trying, to no avail, to remember how I got home, I got up and got myself going for the day. I still spent most of the day freaking out, but I also spent much of it getting my CV updated and looking at jobs.

I don't have the same luxury I had last fall...a year later, any extended gap in unemployment might mean being rejected for my visa extension. And having to move back to the US next year would be utterly devastating, I'm trying to not even consider it. I don't have nearly as much in savings as I did last fall, so I'm also a bit terrified of what tomorrow will bring!

But. A week later, I've calmed down quite a bit and I've seen the silver lining, at least a little bit. The reality is that I was very frustrated and unhappy at work, I didn't feel like anyone cared about my project. And funny enough, I guess I was right.

I'm not obsessively career-minded and I never will be. But I hate failing and I did want to see that (@!$) project through...I've been lucky in life and, frankly, I haven't failed at much...nothing this catastrophic at least. I've never been let go before, I've always quit...on very good terms on all counts. As I wandered around in those first couple of days, I felt like I'd failed in this whole adventure. I kept coming across landmarks and buildings that reminded me of my very first days here...and it suddenly seemed like I'd screwed it all up.

But a week later, I'm starting to see that - if I do it quickly - I can learn from this and come out of it even better off. Everything in life is a lesson. Some of them hurt like heck, but there's something to be learned from everything...and what I've learned from this is that you have to enjoy life for what it is...and you have to realise that if you try hard enough, you can get through anything.

I have fantastic friends. I have a promising interview next week. I have other prospects in the wings. And, impoverished or not, I'm free to enjoy the city I love again - in between all that job-hunting!

I had the very happy opportunity to cook for someone Tuesday night and I absolutely loved that I could actually cook everything fresh, because I was home all day. Speaking of that lack of career-mindedness, I loved that I could devote my day to what - in my world - really matters.

Though a recruiter cut my visit short, I went to the Victoria and Albert Museum today, which I hadn't visited yet...and got to see the fashion exhibit before I had to leave, which was fantastic.

And almost every morning, I've gone running in Hyde Park...with the park blissfully quiet and empty.

So whilst I'm still utterly terrified, I have hope that everything will work out. I'm hopeful that something better will come along and this will just another hoop I jumped through on my big, crazy adventure to move to another country and stay there.

*Please note, my fine American comrades, "herb" has an h and is pronounced phonetically. It is not erb. Thank you for your attention to this very important matter :P

Happy 4th!

Happy Independence Day, my lovely American readers...I am at work as I type – a very, very weird feeling. The 4th of July has always has been that oddball holiday where, as a kid, failing being a geek or hoodlum who was in summer school, we were already on holiday on the day and it didn’t really seem that different than the rest of the summer – except for all the fireworks and parties of course.

But then we hit adulthood and the dreaded world of jobs and no summer vacations (except for you lucky impoverished teachers!)...and so then the 4th becomes this fun holiday that often hits annoyingly mid-week, but still means a day off, a day to pig out to the enth degree, to watch fireworks, to bask in summer. And, you know, honour America’s “independence*”

It is, next to Thanksgiving, the most American day. It’s one of those things we forget that the rest of the world doesn’t acknowledge ;) I mean hellooo, shouldn’t the whole world bow down and shout hooray for us? Duh.

So, whilst you fine people stuff your faces and blow your limbs off with homemade fireworks, I’ll be here wearing black, slaving away at work and properly mourning and apologising for not letting the English just keep our silly little country all those years ago.

But fear not, whilst it pains me to no end to think of the endless food I’m missing, I fully intend to visit for the other end-all-be-all food day in November :D

*Just a reminder that according to the Brits, we didn’t “win” our independence, they just got sick of us and left. Whatever, we have better food than they do ;)

Please Excuse the Silence!

Well, I was reprimanded recently by a loyal reader for the fact that it’s been eons since I last wrote...and I guess I’m just too busy enjoying the glorious British summer to have much to write about ;)

The days are 18 hours long and the temperature hovers between 70F and 75F…and though it’s currently rainyesque outside, we’ve had many many beautiful sunny days – I was even sporting a bit of a sunburn recently. But I’ll stop gloating now ;) Unless hell has frozen over and miracles have happened, I expect poor DC is drenched in a typical summer – triple digit temperatures and hellish humidity…I miss you fine people, but I do not miss DC summers! My flat doesn’t have air con (the odd phrase used here to refer to A/C) and I haven’t even noticed.

But how quickly one adjusts…it was probably close to 80 yesterday and I joined right in with the moaning at work about how disgustingly hot it was. Mercifully I think that horrible heat was short-lived ;) I don’t even mind that the weekend is slated to be chilly and rainy. Lol, anything but horrendous heat is good enough for me!

Aside from the weather, I've also been in seventh heaven of finally having my kitchen things with me...a few broken items, a bunch of "missing" things that I wish I hadn't tossed last summer. But I got to cook a whole dinner for the first time in way too long last week...and the recipient is still alive, so I suppose it was a success ;)

As much as it killed me to do so, it was only a 2 course meal because "dessert should be a treat, not a standard thing and it's just a weeknight." *Sigh.* Misguided Brits. Dessert, as we Americans know, is the answer to everything. But I digress.

We had:

Portobello mushrooms stuffed with kalamata and green olives and pancetta to start and

Steak pinwheels with Boursin, spinach and sun-dried tomatoes, with mashed potatoes.

And I discovered a wine genius at the wine store near my flat, who suggested what was a lovely Cabernet Sauvignon.

Oh how I've missed cooking!!

For all my constant gloating about my five weeks of holiday a year, I’ve only used 4 days! Where on earth has the year gone? I desperately need to plan some holidays...and whilst Italy and Spain are very, very enticing, I think I may also very well just take some time to explore my beloved London, I’ve found myself forgetting how fantastic it is to live here. Forgetting how many millions of different things there are to see and do. Not that I can’t do those between dreaded work times, but it’s that annoying thing about how when you live in a city, you never take advantage of all the things in your city. So perhaps I need to go on holiday at home ;) Without the hotel cost but with all the wonders of London.

But, though I lazied out of Oktoberfest in Munich for my 30th birthday, I really think I’ll go for my next birthday*...and though I doubt there are any hotels left, the idea of camping actually sounds quite fun – not all holidays have to be posh, right? It's quite an ungirly thought I know, but it does kind of fun. So I suppose I should start rounding people up to go, as Oktoberfest is not at all a solo holiday type thing! Going to Munich would break my rule about not going back to the same city twice – I had the wonderful pleasure of visiting Munich before I lived here – but it’s for a very good cause: a giant alcohol-focused party in one of the friendliest cities I’ve ever visited. How can that be missed? And yes, I do know it's a beer focused thing and I don't drink beer - but if I'm going to be ungirly, might as well go all out right?

I'm still dying to go back up to Scotland too, so many places to see, so little time ;)

So that’s all for now kids. You Americans enjoy your holiday this Friday, I’m a little bitter. You’ll all be enjoying a long weekend, celebrating your hard won independence from the fine British people** with giant burgers and yummy desserts and mountains of other foods…and I’ll be here working, dieting and paying for your sins. You’re welcome you hedonistic losers :D

*Please note: I am not turning 31 in September. I will remain 30 for, you know, ever. Whilst somehow my plan to celebrate the first anniversary of my 29th birthday, rather than turn 30, failed last year, I have much hope and confidence that the same plan will work this year. So, I will be celebrating the first anniversary of my 30th birthday on 25 September, not turning 31. Thank you for your attention to this very important matter, I'm glad we've clarified things :P

**I have been told, by two different Brits, that Britain did not lose the Revolutionary War, they simply got bored and left. But whatEVER. They're just mad because they have to work on Friday :D

Scotland Recap Part Two, Edinburgh (subtitle: I’m sorry London, I found another city(ies) to love)

Day Three, continued

Walking into Glasgow’s Queen Street station, which is nearly literally next to the Carlton George, I lucked out and the 10:30 train bound for Edinburgh was leaving very shortly. I’m still somewhat new to this whole train thing and I’m an idiot in general, but I did note that my ticket was good for any train that day. So, double-checking with a station staff member that this particular train had a first class carriage, I boarded. Or so I thought. There were actually two separate trains on the same track and thankfully, I realised my mistake soon enough...who knows where I was almost carted off to. Boarding the correct train, I felt a bit silly for having booked first class because I was the only one in the carriage. But really, it was nice to have the quiet, because standard class was loud and packed. I’ll even forgive that when the kitchen guy came by and asked if I wanted tea or coffee and I said “coffee please, black,” he brought me tea. He also brought a blueberry muffin (which was surprisingly moist), so I decided to save my Glasgow pastries for later.

It was a quick, though pretty, trip down to Edinburgh and making my way through the station, I tried to get my bearings. I can’t recall if I mentioned, but I was to be staying at The Balmoral, quite a treat to myself and also a consolation prize for having had to say goodbye to Glasgow. I was wholly unimpressed with the Carlton George and knew that The Balmoral would be a much better experience. So whilst I was looking for signs for the exit out to Princes Street, I’d hoped to see a sign or walkway directly to the hotel, since it’s literally at the station. But no luck...and it turns out you have to walk up a very long staircase to get up to street level and the hotel. Oh well. But as in Glasgow, I could hear bagpipes playing and I really loved the aura it created. Plus, it was as beautiful out in Edinburgh as it had been in Glasgow, so that was a lovely treat. Whenever the sun shines in Britain, one must relish it.

So, having caught my breath from the excursion up the stairs, I walked up the (few) lovely steps of The Balmoral and was warmly greeted immediately at the door by a porter who took my suitcase and chatted with me while we waited at the currently very busy reception desk. I was struck by the genuine friendliness of all of the staff I could see...it wasn’t the forced, curt friendliness of any 5-star hotel, it was actual friendliness. I couldn’t go up to a room yet, as I was quite early checking-in, but they took both of my bags and my mobile number, with a promise to call me when my room was ready.

As I turned to leave, I learned just how friendly and attentive the staff at The Balmoral are. I’m not usually one to rely heavily on the concierge, I like to figure things out myself and even though I’m paying for those very services, I feel guilty for being a pest. But I’d barely made eye contact with him and he smiled and asked where I was off to and did I need any assistance. When I mentioned I was off to an early lunch at the Mussel and Steak Bar, he gave me very precise directions and – as I’d already read online – said the mussels were fantastic.

So, with that info and a quick chat with the extremely friendly doorman outside, I set off for the restaurant, on Grassmarket, with a map. After being in a little awe of the beauty of what I saw of the Royal Mile, I found the restaurant on the second try and was their first customer of the day, and was very warmly greeted.

Grassmarket is, I think, usually a big quad type area with many bars, shops and restaurants, down quite a steep winding hill from the Royal Mile. But they’re doing major improvement works and currently, it’s a bit of a construction mess – which was part of why I couldn’t find the restaurant. Well, that’s my excuse anyway.

Sipping the only white wine by the glass on the menu, I ordered half a dozen chilled oysters to start and a kilo of mussels in pesto with chips for my main. Lol, the server seemed a bit shocked that I wanted an entire kilo and not a half, but I assured him I was hungry. I wasn’t really thinking that 1 kilo = 2.2 pounds. Many mussels. Oops. Everything, including the bread, was delicious and several other customers poured in as I ate…my server was lovely, offering more bread which he excitedly suggested I dip in the mussel sauce (which was yum!). I think they screwed up my sauce though and used the shallot cream sauce, not pesto…but it was still delicious. Having to decline dessert due to my overzealous kilo order, I made my stuffed way back up the steep hill to the Royal Mile.

As promised, the hotel had called whilst I was at lunch to say that my room was ready, so I headed in that direction to get settled. Upon my return to the hotel, the doorman, who had asked where I was off to earlier, asked how lunch was. It became a theme throughout the weekend that he and I would chat for several minutes every time I left or came back, which was quite lovely...and upon entering my room, I was amused that my bags hadn’t just been brought up to my room. My suitcase was laid out on the luggage stand, facing the correct direction so it could be opened and my laptop bag was carefully sitting in the desk chair. Perhaps I’m nit-picky, but I really love attention to detail like that.

With a little quick organising, I was back out the door to head back to the Royal Mile...assuring the ever helpful concierge that I just wanted to wander, with no set plans. It was already 14:00 or so and I was anxious to see Edinburgh :) I headed up the hill toward the castle, slowly strolling and seeing the sights. I discovered this crazily narrow and steep side path called a “close,” which I would later discover were side streets where people lived back in the Middle Ages…the Royal Mile is surrounded by them because at one point, nearly everyone in Edinburgh – poor or wealthy – lived along that one mile. As I made my way up to the breathtaking St Giles Cathedral, there was a wedding party having photos taken and the bride’s dress was gorgeous (and there were many kilts, lol). I stopped and watched for a few minutes, snapping my own photo and goofily daydreaming of what it would be like to be married there. I’m a girl, I can’t help it :P

Eventually, I kept going up the hill and as I got closer to the castle, the Royal Mile forked, and the path became much narrower and steeper. There was a guy who appeared to be an actor (based on the conversation I was overhearing), dressed in battle get-up with blue paint on his face…I stopped for a few minutes to watch him pose and take pictures with tourists, as he was quite amusing. Lol, he offered to show his tattoo to some poor American lady and she didn’t think to ask where it was before agreeing to see it, lol. It was on his derriere! The woman was a good sport, but she seemed utterly mortified. I suppose I lack class, but I was laughing so hard I had to walk away, lest I catch the actor’s attention and become his next victim.

As a side note, perhaps due to the many direct flights from the US, the marathon being held that weekend or simply the fact that it was also a long weekend in America, but Edinburgh was overrun by Americans. Lol, you people were everywhere, it wasn’t nearly as fun to be American in Edinburgh as it had been in Glasgow, but there were far more kilted men in Edinburgh, so that helped balance things :P

Walking up to the castle, I was amazed at the view and since there was a weddingesque horse and carriage waiting outside the castle, my silly wedding daydreams started again. Lol, how cool would it be to be married in the castle? I decided not to do the tour and just wandered about for a bit, snapping photos of various things. Spotting an ice cream truck outside, I decided I deserved ice cream, bought a cone and headed back down the hill.

There was another couple having wedding photos taken at St Giles when I passed it again and, of course, I had to stop again. I’m easily amused I know.

I headed back out to Princes Street to check out what looked like a lovely park – Princes Street Gardens. It stretches from the Balmoral nearly all the way down Princes Street and, as it turns out, it’s gorgeous. So I walked along slowly, people watching and soaking in the sights. With my horrendously poor sense of direction, I didn’t realise that Princes Street – and the park – parallel the Royal Mile and when I saw a “gorgeous huge house” on top of a cliff, I didn’t realise it was the castle. Duh. But in my defence, it doesn’t look castlelike. But anyway. After um, more ice cream, I turned around and headed back toward the hotel, passing the National Gallery as I got to the end of the park – which is a beautiful Greek-style building.

After a quick stop at the hotel to rest for a few minutes, I decided to brave Calton Hill. I didn’t really know what it was, but it had been suggested by one of the people back in London who’d made the fantastic suggestion of Rogano in Glasgow, so I figured I’d give it a go. So off I went and when I finally figured out where the path was to walk up, I started on my way. As afraid as I am of heights, it’s not a scary walk...there are steps usually, but those were closed, so everyone was walking up the road, dodging cars as we went.

At the top, there are a few cool monuments scattered about and the view, in several directions, is amazing...you’re above nearly all of Edinburgh with a view beyond the city out to the water. I couldn’t bring myself to get too close to any edges, but I did get some great photos. So, feeling like I’d seen everything I could, I felt deserved of a drink in the hotel ;) I made my way back down the hill and, arriving back at the hotel, flopped down in the Bollinger bar and ordered a glass of Moet et Chandon Rosé...the very Rosé I’d tasted at the Moet house in Reims, I even have a bottle of it at home :) I sipped it and flipped through the cocktail menu out of curiosity. The Balmoral has two bars – this one, which is a more refined and proper hotel bar and is mainly focused on champagne...and the Balmoral Bar, which is less formal and more of just a bar. I decided to order a strawberry liqueur and champagne cocktail, having long-since finished my glass of Moet, but I wasn’t actually that impressed with the strawberry thing...it was kind of bland. Oh well. It was getting quite late, so I headed out to dinner...after much debate earlier with the concierge about where all my meals should be for the weekend, I decided on the Café Royal Oyster Bar for dinner, it was nearly literally across the street from the hotel and in addition to the concierge’s recommendations, it has a ton of good reviews online. So, with a cute chat with the doorman, where he apologised for sounding like a father, but really wished I was taking a coat because it was cold, I set off for dinner.

The Café Royal Oyster Bar is quite an old building, it may even be a historic landmark, and it’s really beautiful...it has high gothic type ceilings, with decorative paintings all over the ceiling. The restaurant is “next door,” divided by a not-quite-ceiling high stained glass partition. Plunking myself down at the bar, I ordered a Gin and Tonic and my beloved half a dozen chilled oysters and people watched. The staff were fun and friendly, though the bar was packed, so they were also insanely busy. After an hour, having had a second G&T and finished my oysters, I wandered next door for dinner. The restaurant side is quite small, but the staff on that side are equally lovely. I suppose I’m boring, but I ordered mussels for my starter, even though I’d just had them for lunch...they were served in a cream sauce with salmon and cashews, which sounded really yummy. I ordered a mysterious looking seafood platter for my main, with a side of chips and Bearnaise and munched on their delicious bread and a glass of Muscadet (I think) whilst I waited for my food.

The mussels arrived and were a huge portion...but I bravely/piggily finished the entire bowl and prayed that my main was less generous. Mercifully, it was...the seafood platter was a variety of tapas-sized portions of various shellfish (including a lobster claw) and three different types of salmon...everything was delicious and I guess I must be repressing my sweet tooth again, because I’m pretty sure I had dessert, but I don’t remember what I had :( Settling the bill, I wandered back to the hotel, filling my doorman friend in all my adventures as I went...it was late and I was stuffed and tired, so I called it a night.

Day Four:

Once again being responsible, I got myself up early and was down at breakfast in the hotel by 9ish...not surprisingly, the hotel’s breakfast buffet was quite impressive...hot and cold items everywhere and everything was delicious. There are a la carte items available as well, but even piggy me saw no reason to order anything additional. After a leisurely breakfast with the morning paper and feeling quite happy that I’d get to have the breakfast a second time the next day, I headed upstairs to plan my day. I decided to check out a tour through one of the closes, that I’d seen online the night before, and also wanted to brave climbing Arthur’s Seat, the other high elevation point in Edinburgh. So, setting off back to the Royal Mile at a leisurely pace, I happened upon the tour, the Mary King’s close tour, and wandered in…though I’d originally planned to do it later, they had a tour starting in a few minutes, so I figured I’d join that one. It was really fun and interesting, with a bit of spook thrown in! I’m a complete baby about being scared and I was wishing I had someone with me, lol. But I survived and learned much about the closes and the history of Edinburgh, I highly recommend the tour...it took about an hour and seemed a bit more off-the-beaten-path than things like the castle.

Somehow feeling peckish again, I decided to scout out lunch...again through my own research and further validation by the concierge, I made my way to Creeler’s, which is widely considered the best seafood in Edinburgh and is just off the Royal Mile. I was their first, and oddly, only customer and settled in with a bunch of pamphlets about Scotland that they had by my table. Ordering a glass of white, I ordered the “trio of salmon,” to start and scallops and pancetta in cream sauce for my main. Everything was divinely delicious and though the servers seemed perplexed that I was their only customer, they were all lovely toward me. I had room for dessert and had earlier been very excited to see strawberry crème brulee on the menu, but was a little bummed when the server said it was actually raspberry that day...but, lol, I ordered it anyway. It was a perfect portion and was quite delicious. Settling the bill, I went on my way, heading back to the hotel to rest for a bit.

Eventually, I headed back out with my sights on Arthur’s Seat. Consulting my doorman friend on the way, I set off. I was totally turned around and didn’t realise that Holyrood Palace and Arthur’s Seat are at the other end of the Royal Mile from the castle...so after I walked all the way up to the castle and realised my mistake, I headed in the right direction.

Ambling my way down the hill, I was a little struck by the cruelty of the topography...the Royal Mile was taking me down, down, down and I was to climb what I’d read is a dormant volcano...a climb people “prepare” for and one that takes an hour. So it seemed mean that I was basically making my climb more strenuous with each step down the hill. But given all my pigging out, I figured it was probably a good thing. I wasn’t really worried about the height of the Seat because Calton Hill hadn’t seemed scary. On my way, I passed a fudge shop and there was a guy outside advertising free samples...turning him down with a laugh that I’d just had “a gigantic lunch,” but was on my way to climb Arthur’s Seat and would be back in a bit, I carried on down the hill.

Finally reaching the clearing at the bottom, I saw the Seat and basically thought to myself “gaaaaaaaaah.” It looked very impressive...and terrifying. But ever determined and dumb, I soldiered on and figured out where the path starts. I stood at the base for awhile, forcing myself to start walking, lest I always regret not doing it. But sadly, lol, I chickened out...having climbed about 10 feet, I changed my mind. Firstly, the path is quite loose and uneven and it really isn’t meant to be attempted in a cute dress and cute shoes, as I was wearing. Secondly though, you walk right along an open drop…which is eventually quite a drop!! I just couldn’t do it. Someday, when I have some big guy next to me, I might brave the Seat. But with a defeated sigh, I made my way back up the Royal Mile.

Approaching the free fudge guy, he chuckled when he saw me and said “you didn’t go up, you’re back too soon.” “No,” I said sullenly, “I chickened out.” “Ah well, you deserve sympathy fudge then.” And, heading into the shop, I had a bite and continued on my way back up the hill. I wandered Grassmarket for awhile and noticed two restaurants that looked quite interesting. Then I sat in the regular bar at the hotel for awhile and savoured two Gin and Tonics. Eventually researching the restaurants, I decided to have oysters at one and dinner at the other because the latter had cheese fondue as a starter. YUM. I popped in to the cheese fondue one, secured reservations for an hour away and set off to have my oysters. I immediately felt bad upon entering Maxie’s Bistro for my oysters, because though the reviews had called it a wine bar, it was actually table service...and I felt a bit guilty for taking one of their tables on a busy night, given that I was only ordering champagne and oysters, but I did it anyway, lol.

It’s a cute little place and they do seem to know their wines quite well, though the by-the-glass selection is limited. The food menu looks lovely but unfortunately, they didn’t really serve my oysters properly and they’d been shucked kind of lazily. After a second glass of champagne, it was close enough to my reservation, so I settled the bill and wandered outside to take a few photos from the outside terrace.

Taking the long way back down to my dinner destination, the Maison Bleue, I was quickly seated in a lovely spot next to a window. It was a bit odd to eat alone there, as it’s quite romantic and quaint, but by that point in the weekend, I didn’t really care. Ordering a glass of Riesling, my beloved cheese fondue as a starter and duck confit with gruyere mash as my main, I settled in to people watch. I was lovely to just sit and do nothing and I didn’t even mind that the service was quite slow...lol, the bread was heavenly. My cheese fondue eventually came, 3 different types in mini filo cups with baguette pieces for dipping. I’d been a little wary of the fondue, because it sounded like a hefty starter, but the portion was perfect. After another glass of wine and a long while, my duck confit arrived and it was tasty...though not great and I couldn’t really figure out why. I finished off the meal with (delicious) panna cotta with berries and made my way back to the hotel. It was quite late when I got back, so I was soon asleep.

Day Five (the wee hours):

At precisely 04:22, I awoke feeling Not Good. I thought I might be hungover, so I got up to get a glass of water from the bathroom. Without warning, while standing there, I was suddenly violently ill. 10 minutes later, staggering back to bed with not a drop left in my system, drenched in sweat and feeling like the star of an Alien remake, I collapsed into bed. I won’t continue with the god awful details, but needless to say, the holiday was over. I never did have that second Balmoral breakfast and I barely got myself dressed and packed and downstairs to check out at noon. My train was at 12:30, but I was seriously considering eating the horrendous cost of another night in the hotel and another train ticket. I just didn’t possibly see how I was going to get myself all the way back to my flat in London in that condition. But I somehow did.

When I saw my doorman friend and one of the concierges I had come to know, they could both tell that I was in utter misery, I could barely stand...summoning the hotel chauffeur, the concierge loaded all of my things into the car and I was blissfully driven around the corner to the station, saving me the walking down long staircase.

My seat companions were as nice as can be and when I apologised in advance for being the Seatmate From Hell, one of them gave me her sleeping bag to make a pillow out of...and brought me ice chips, because I couldn’t even stand water at that point but was dying of thirst. Sadly, I only caught a tiny glimpse of what looked like a beautiful view along the east coast...it hurt to watch anything. After sleeping for about half the trip, I felt much better and managed some water and juice.

But unfortunately, I was back and forth nearly all week and couldn’t sit up, let alone go to work, until Thursday afternoon. Who knows what caused the illness, I try not think about what I might have eaten to cause it, lol.

It's a (now) comical end to what was otherwise a lovely holiday...I really loved Scotland and I can’t wait to go back and eat at Rogano and The Chip and see the Burrel Collection in Glasgow, brave Arthur’s Seat, have that second Balmoral breakfast and watch the east coast view on the train.

But for now, London will have to do ;)

Scotland Recap Part One, Glasgow (subtitle: I’m sorry London, I found another city(ies) to love)

Firstly, though I do still love travelling alone for the freedom and adventure of it, I think on my next trip, I’ll do more pre-planning to meet up with people or go with people but not spend all my time with them. Lol, five days by myself got a bit tired after awhile!

But even with getting bored with myself after awhile, I loved Scotland...possibly Glasgow slightly more so than Edinburgh because, in order of importance, a) the people were friendlier, b) they were more excited at my Americanness and c) it felt more “real” than Edinburgh. But I really enjoyed my time in both cities and, I’m sorry London, but you’ll have to share my love with Scotland from now on.

The Scots are, from what I experienced, very very friendly, happy and proud…they really love their country. I have to say that it made me realise that I haven’t seen the same pride here in England. I’ve spent little time outside London, of course, so I may be making an unfair observation of the English, but they seem much less proud of England itself than the Scots are of Scotland. Oh. And please note: kilts are quite sexy. I’ve always thought them a bit odd and even (gasp) unmanly, but I saw many, many of them in Edinburgh, due to random bagpipers, Saturday night formal occasions, weddings, etc and um, they’re manlier-looking than a tux I think. I dunno, there’s just sort of a rugged yet sophisticated aura to them. I did much drooling. Anyway, moving right along…

I’m backtracking slightly and recapping from the eve of the trip, when 17:30 last Wednesday blissfully arrived and I set off for my evening at the Ritz.

Arriving to the hotel with an hour still before tea time, I plucked a copy of the Wall Street Journal off the reception desk (the only paper they had out) and headed into the hotel’s Rivoli Bar. Ordering one of their fruity cocktails, a blueberry concoction in a martini glass, I settled in to peruse the paper...but it didn’t take long for it to feel fundamentally wrong to be reading such a work related paper whilst on the very beginning of my holiday, so I soon turned my attention to the bartender, who was creating drink after drink with fascinating flourishes of art. I’m sure it’s all part of the Ritz experience, but it was really quite impressive and hard to explain if you haven’t watched it. Every movement seemed to be done with the knowledge that he was working in the poshest of posh bars in London, and it was fun to watch. I know that sounds cheesy, but really, it’s impressive. Plus, he was talking to those of us sitting at the bar while making all the drinks and was quite a funny guy. After a bit more of that and another fruity cocktail, it was time for tea, so I settled the bill and headed across the lobby to the Palm Court.

The tea was lovely, but I have to say, I think I’ve had my fill of the Ritz tea. I strongly suggest you experience it, if you never have, purely for the ambience. But the actual food is quite basic compared to some of the other teas I’ve been to...the Park Lane Hotel serves lemon clotted cream with their tea and it’s heaven. Of course, few other teas are as all-you-can-eat as the Ritz is, so there is that ;) But I think I have to formulate a new trip eve plan…still to include the very lovely Rivoli Bar, but perhaps somewhere else afterwards instead of the tea.

After stuffing myself silly on the tea, I headed home and soon called it a night, as I had an early morning to get to my train.

Day One:

Though my train didn’t leave until 8:46, I’m a dork and since I’d (of course) booked a first class ticket, I had access to the lounge at Euston station and wanted to experience it. It was Virgin’s train and lounge, so I figured it was worth experiencing...plus, First Great Western’s lounge at Paddington is lovely, so I was expecting at least the same. So I arose at the ugly hour of 6am and was out the door by 7. Arriving to the station with more than an hour to my train, I headed to the lounge. Firstly, unless I missed it, there is no lift to get to the first floor lounge...they want you to lug your bags up 2 staircases to get to it. Lovely. So, having done that, I entered the much anticipated lounge...and was immediately disappointed and amused with myself. It’s really lame, don’t bother allowing time for it! There’s barely any food and the coffee is lukewarm.

It was eventually time to board and I fought my way down the platform to the first class carriages, through the mass of crazed standard class passengers, who were all anxiously trying to board to get a seat. Sidenote: first class on trains is not that much more expensive than standard class and I highly recommend it. Every train I’ve been on thus far includes an overcrowded standard class section – do you really want to stand for a five hour journey? I don’t. Anyhoo, back to our story.

The ride up was lovely, though I was unimpressed with the (west coast) view. I’d heard stories upon stories about the lovely views from the train and had purposely taken different routes on the way up and down, to experience both...the west coast one is rather boring, I have to say. Now, in the view’s defence, I was online the whole time due to my handy dandy mobile broadband, so I wasn’t looking out the window every second. But what I saw was boring. Many goats, cows and sheep. But I did see teeny baby sheep :D But, aside from running out of coffee or something, the service on the train was lovely...except the carriages are tiny compared to other carriers. Shortly after departing Euston, we were served a full breakfast – I chose the fry up and it was actually quite good...and then beginning after 11am, free alcohol rolled through several times ;) There were sandwiches, cookies and fruit toward the end of the journey.

We pulled into Glasgow Central at 13:45 and I managed to find a taxi quite quickly...I was happy and amused to see that they are the same black cabs that are used in London. I could hear bagpipes playing in the background outside and after a quick journey to the hotel with a very friendly and helpful cab driver, who enthusiastically offered several sights I should see on my visit, I was at my hotel, the Carlton George.

In my conversation with the cab driver, I accidentally discovered a fun trick to play on the Scots, especially the Glaswegians. When the driver asked where I was from, I said “London,” without even really thinking...it’s become what I say, partly because I love living here, but partly because London is home by now. But as I said it, I saw a confused and amused look on his face...so, with a laugh, I said I was originally from Washington, DC, hence the accent. My accent and my Americanness were to be a novelty to the Glaswegians, it doesn’t seem that they see many of us! So, from then on, I did the “from London” thing on purpose throughout the weekend, always getting a curious look until I laughed and further explained. I’m easily amused, I know :P

The staff at the hotel were incredibly friendly and I was checked-in in no time and after dumping my stuff in my room, I headed back out the door. I wandered the immediate area for a bit and then decided to head to the river, to an area I’d read about that was newly developed and looked kind of interesting. I was a little motion sick from the train ride and I kind of wanted the fresh air and the breeze. So, after heading back to the hotel for directions, I set off. I got lost almost immediately and was quite taken aback when a man on the street asked, in a happy and friendly tone, if I was lost. Pausing for a moment to remind myself, and Toto, that we weren’t in crabby London anymore, I smiled and said that yes, I was. The friendly gentleman pointed me in the right direction and off I went on my two mile journey to the river. But after about a half a mile, the area seemed a little questionable and uninhabited, so I hailed another cab. Glasgow has a subway system, but it seemed incredibly confusing to me and my plan was to waste money on cabs instead :) A few minutes later, there we were at the riverfront. And um. It was the middle of nowhere. There’s a science centre, BBC Scotland’s headquarters, a Crowne Plaza hotel (where I’d considered staying!!) and the big event venue in Glasgow, the SECC. But that’s it. But, since I’d trekked all the way out there and the cab was now gone, I figured I might as well wander around for a bit...except that though it was a beautiful sunny day, it was quite windy and chilly along the water and I didn’t have my coat.

I was much better on this trip about taking photos, I’m happy to report, and I’ll post them soon, I promise. I took a bunch of pictures of the river, went into the science centre and at precisely 4:02pm, having spent 25 minutes in the hinterland, I grabbed a cab from the hotel and went back to civilisation ;) I had yet another very friendly cab driver with many suggestions of what to do and see.

Happily back in the land of the living, I walked around the big shopping area in Glasgow, on Buchanan Street, and saw many of the same chains that London has, as well as some cute boutiques. After I bought a few things I didn’t need and made dinner reservations, I went back to the hotel to partake of the free minibar and then up to the lounge to see what it was like. There wasn’t a soul in the lounge and I realised I hadn’t seen a single other guest yet anywhere in the hotel, a la The Shining. There wasn’t anything drinkwise in the lounge that I didn’t also have in my room, but by this time it was dinnertimeish, so I set off to the restaurant, grabbing a local magazine from the lobby as I went.

Rogano was recommended to me by two people who’ve spent considerable time in Glasgow and I’m ever so thankful for the suggestion...it’s not very impressive looking from the street, it’s in an alley and has a somewhat tacky neon sign, lol, so on my own, I might’ve passed it by. But I highly recommend it.

Arriving an hour before my reservation, I went to the bar to have their famed oysters, with a glass of champagne. (I’m rather obsessed with oysters now, for those of you who remember that the Champagne trip was the first time I’d ever tried them ;) ). I’d barely sat down when a lovely and friendly server came up and asked what I’d like…ordering a half dozen chilled oysters and a glass of champagne, I settled in to read the magazine and look around. It’s quite a lovely place inside and the service is fantastic…my oysters arrived soon enough and they were giant and yummy. After about 30 seconds of debating about the piggyness of it, I ordered another half dozen, Rockefeller style...and another glass of champagne...the cooked oysters were also very yummy, I’ve always been a fan of them cooked, but now I think I prefer them chilled :)

Just before I headed to my table for dinner, three men came into the bar area to reserve a table for dinner and just seemed to be having a great time…I’m not really sure why I noticed them, but I soon went off to my table and shortly after I was settled and had ordered water, one of the guys came over to ask if I’d like to dine with them. Lol, I was a little taken aback, but it was a lovely gesture and they’d seemed fun from my brief notice of them in the bar, so I thanked him and joined them. He was English and the other guys were American and they’d been golfing around Scotland all week…three hours, four courses, two bottles of red and much conversation later, it was time to say goodnight. And because I can’t bear not to tell you what I ate ;) I had tuna carpaccio with olive tapenade for a starter, lobster thermidor for my main and a treacle tart with fruitloaf ice cream for dessert…the fourth course being coffee and petit fours. The dessert was weird, I didn’t really know what it was, but was intrigued by the fruitloaf ice cream, so I ordered it…if there’s ice cream, I’m there. Incidentally, I now know that “treacle” is basically molasses. Ew. But the starter and the lobster were phenomenal...and their bread is fantastic as well.

I bid the three lovely gentlemen goodnight and went back to the hotel, having had a surprisingly lovely evening. Being really quite tipsy when I got back to my room, I soon fell asleep.

Day Two:

I forced myself to get up early, so as not to waste the day, and by 9am, I was showered, dressed and eating the included breakfast at the hotel. I was the lone diner (again, creepy), but the server was very friendly, lol. I ordered the fry-up (sans the haggis and black pudding, ew) and though it was decent, it wasn’t as good as I’d expected. Plus, I’m still not crazy about British bacon, which was included. I prefer my beloved American stringy bacon, which the Brits call streaky bacon.

Heading out for the day, I walked across George Square to see what was around...walking farther than I’d expected to, I ate up a couple of hours, did more window shopping and after a pitstop at the hotel, headed out to another recommended place for lunch, Gamba. Again, another fantastic meal: I had swordfish tartare with goat cheese to start, a mackerel pancetta salad as my main and declined dessert...it being an early lunch after a big breakfast, I just wasn’t hungry enough! Plus, I had grand plans to try the Willow Tea Rooms later, which I already knew about but which had also been recommended to me by my previous night’s dinner companions. So I wanted to save room for a pastry or two. The recommendation was for the museum aspect of the tea rooms, not the food, but still.

Back to the hotel to decide what to do with myself and I decided to go to Kelvingrove Museum and Art Gallery, with plans to visit its nearby park as well...hailing a cab, I was on my way. It’s a very cool museum. Unlike many (most?) museums, you’re allowed to take photos inside and there is a peculiar floating head exhibit, lol. Not real heads, gross :P There’s a very cool history of Scottish clothing exhibit that I loved...and a rather irritating women’s lib exhibit that, sadly, focused more on melodrama than on history, I left that one rather quickly. But overall, it was a great museum...small enough to get through quite quickly, but big enough so as not to be bored. Also, I was utterly proud of myself for spotting a Monet painting I’d never seen before from across the room, based on its style...I love Impressionism, but especially Monet. I enquired with the helpdesk about a specific painting and though they couldn’t help, they were all bending over backwards trying to help, which more than made up for it :) Lord knows I can be the queen of cultural and intellectual snobbery often enough, but I have to admit that to some extent, I love being laid back about both aspects...and I love to encounter others who are. The staff at the Kelvingrove were obviously very knowledgeable, but not at all stuck up. They could not have been friendlier or more helpful, offering very specific directions around the museum for different sections.

Eventually, having had my fill of the museum and the park outside, I got (what were very foolproof) walking directions back to the city centre from one of those uber-friendly museum staff members and headed toward the Willow Tea Rooms.

Lol, the tea room was okay…again, incredibly friendly staff and you share tables with strangers when it’s busy, which might be fun (but it wasn’t busy when I was there). From a historic aspect, they’ve left most of the original furniture from when Rennie Mackintosh built and designed the tea room over a hundred years ago...he designed several buildings in the city. So it’s a cool atmosphere, very old world and traditional.

But the strawberry sundae and lemon meringue slice I had were kind of gross, so the food isn’t really all that...though a girl near me (another American, funny enough) had the full afternoon tea, which at least looked lovely.

Settling my bill, I wandered back to the hotel, buying a cardigan I’d seen earlier on my way. I wasted a bit of time at the hotel, rather tired from all the sights and eventually headed to drinks and dinner at what I was told by several people is a Glasgow hang out, Ashton Lane. My eventual dinner destination was a Glasgow institution and an Ashton Lane establishment, The Ubiquitous Chip (usually just called The Chip)...but I bravely intended to wander around the lane first, possibly going elsewhere for drinks. Several people had told me that it’s a very social area and inhabited by the older end of the young crowd (read: people my age).

I have to admit, I was a bit intimidated when I arrived at (the very short!) Ashton Lane, which is littered with several bars and restaurants, and felt like a bit of a dork for being alone, lol. In retrospect, I wish I tried a bit more people watching, but after a couple drinks in the “corner bar” within The Chip, I headed upstairs to try my luck at impromptu dinner reservations...and I lucked out :) I was quickly seated in a lovely glass-roofed area called the Mezzanine that overlooked the downstairs and a small wine cellar and I settled in to order. The vegetarian haggis had been suggested as a starter by a friend and despite my usual menu-scrutinizing, I’d come to The Chip intending to have that as my starter and I barely looked at what else there was on offer. So I ordered that and, feeling I was on an adventurous roll, ordered the pigeon as my main (wrapped in bacon with a cream sauce)…I’d never had pigeon before, but was assured by the very cool sommelier that it was delicious. They have several half bottles of wine available on the wine list, which was a lovely surprise...whenever I eat alone, I’m often tortured by wine lists with extensive bottle sections, but only a choice or two to order by the glass, so this list was a lovely treat. Lol, ordering an entire bottle for oneself is tacky :P But being forced to pick a wine you don’t like simply because it’s the only choice is annoying. The sommelier was extremely fun and nice and suggested what turned out to be a fantastic red (sadly, I didn’t note what it was). Also sadly, I cannot for the life of me remember what I had for dessert, but I do remember that it was quite yummy...and I do remember that I had a glass of Muscat liqueur with it, which was a bit too sweet for my tastes. I was too stuffed to eat the petit fours they brought, but friendly wine guy wrapped them in this cute foil formation for me and I took them with me on my merry way.

So, with the mass quantities of alcohol I’d ingested, I was back at the hotel soon enough and, storing my foil formation in the minibar, I was asleep way too early Friday night and too soon, it was:

Day Three:

Again, awaking early, I was at breakfast at 9am, this time the creepiness was over and there were others in the breakfast room. After a (much better) breakfast of scrambled eggs and salmon, I headed out to grab a pastry (or two) at a bakery I’d seen on Thursday…to eat on the train to Edinburgh later. Lol, I saw another bakery on the way, so ended up with one pastry from each. Back to the hotel to get packed up and checked out and I said a sad goodbye to Glasgow, already planning to go back very soon.

I suppose it seems odd that I loved it so much, it’s not like it’s this famous city that everyone talks about...but there are at least a few fantastic restaurants, some great cultural spots, the people cannot possibly be nicer and it’s just so laid back. It’s like a mini-London without the chaos or the attitude. And again, it was really fun to be there as an American.

The details of the Edinburgh portion of the trip are to come, with a comically nightmarish end to the trip.

Turbulent Flights, Fashion Crises...and Scotland!

I know I’ve been quiet...just busy and annoyingly tired, jet lag I suppose. My trip back to lovely America was mostly uneventful, I actually could have used a couple of extra days to shop, but oh well...lessons learned.

I have my heart set on a very specific pair of trainers to replace the ones I wrecked in the wash and though they sell them here and in the US, they’d have cost me half as much in the US. But alas, I couldn’t find them. Tragic but true. I did get a couple of cute dresses and a cardigan at my beloved US-only retailer Ann Taylor, so all is not lost. Oh and I finally got the champagne flutes for my crystal pattern, the one missing style among my collection, quite fitting for my Champagne collection…and the rest of my stuff is here in the UK! :D I’m just trying to get things organised with the moving company here, but hopefully everything will be in my possession soon.

My flight home was comically turbulent. The poor flight attendants had quite a time serving dinner and I was nearly wearing a glass of red wine at one point, when the flight attendant tried to pour some into my glass and a cloud hiccup rudely interrupted the process. My dinner roll wore the wine instead and whilst I’m an adventurous eater, a red wine-laced piece of bread seemed rather unappetising. I was given another roll and more wine promptly, but only a half full glass at my request! Red wine and clothes do not play well together. Note to self: in the future, white wine is better on turbulent flights. Duh. I’ve never been on a flight that violent and though I was mildly concerned about safety, I was more annoyed that it was delaying dinner and therefore reducing my sleep time. I know you’re all lining up for the pity party now, the line forms to the left ;)

But anyhoo, I’m back home now, on the island I love…and whilst I still love London, I am ridiculously excited at my next trip…to Scotland!

But before I get to that, in somewhat related news, I’ve decided that my flat is in a direly dangerous location. Far more dangerous than possible stabbings, muggings, etc…I’m a 3-4 minute walk from the money-draining mecca of Oxford Street. And with my upcoming trip as a good enough excuse to indulge in all the gorgeous spring dresses I’ve been seeing for weeks, I set off down the aforementioned Street of Despair on Sunday. I left my flat at 13:00, thinking that five hours was more than plenty of time to collect “enough” cute items. Not so, it seems...I indulged a bit again on the way home last night, today at lunch and I have *one* more stop on the way home tonight, because I’m a bit out of control ;) Whilst it’s not the only thing on my still-to-get list, I fell in love with a dress at a department store here in the UK…I saw it on their website and there it was, at the London store. Alas, though I loved it just as much in the dressing room, I decided it was too formal. In a most gut-wrenching move, I put it back on the rack and left the store.

So, the trip: on Thursday, I’m headed up to Glasgow for two days and then down to Edinburgh for two days before coming back to London...and, of course, I’m on holiday the day after I get back, because I can be ;) I am actually quite behind on using my holiday time and I’m foreseeing a rather long summer break for possibly no reason. We’ll see. It’s a hard life, I know…but yet somehow, I soldier on. I’m so strong…disrupted in-flight meals, unfinished shopping trips, unused holiday time…it really is a wonder how I cope sometimes.

Monday is a holiday on both sides of the Atlantic, except for Canada, who had to be different and difficult and be on holiday today instead. Whatever ;) But regardless, the bank holiday was the original motivation for the trip.

Anyway, back to my trip. I’ve heard nothing but good things from everyone about both cities and it’s funny…when I booked everything, I had myself going to Glasgow first because I figured Edinburgh would be more exciting and I didn’t want Glasgow to seem anti-climatic, so I put it at the beginning of the trip. But in the past few days, I’ve heard from several people that I’ll enjoy Glasgow more…and now I’m a bit bummed that I already bought the train ticket to Edinburgh on Saturday :)

However, using all this less-neurotic attitude I’ve built up living here, I’m also allowing that it’s really only a few ££ and if I really love Glasgow that much, I can stay longer and buy another ticket.

So, loosely, the trip includes copious amounts of seafood in both cities – something I’m told the Scots do quite well and something I very very much love. There will be random roaming and sightseeing in Glasgow, staying at a lovely-sounding hotel (I have access to the hotel lounge and there’s a free minibar in my room, woohoo!)...and perhaps I’ll even brave meeting a few of the locals. One of the things everyone has commented on is how friendly the Glaswegians are, compared to Edinburghonians (is that a word?) but also (more glaringly!) compared to Londoners. As much I love London, I’ve never warmed to the anonymity here, where you’re seen as complete loon for saying hello to a stranger on the street. But whilst I’m all into eating out alone these days, I’m not sure I’m brave enough to go to a bar alone, in order to meet these supposedly friendly locals. Plus, call me geeky, politically incorrect and old-fashioned, it seems slightly smarmy to go to a bar alone as a woman. We’ll see. My only exception to this rule is the bar at the Ritz in London, which is organised more like a restaurant than a bar.

My plans for Edinburgh are still as-yet-unplanned...actually, the whole trip is quite unplanned, but I did try to find stuff to do in Glasgow…not much in the way of events on the days I’ll be there. And I spent so much time doing that that I ran out of energy for Edinburgh research, lol. I feel so lax in my usual-neurotic planning, but aside from some planning I did way back when I booked everything, I’m afraid I’m terribly naive as to what there is to do in lovely Edinburgh.

There’s the castle, of course. The Edinburgh marathon is on Sunday and since I’ve never seen one, I’ll be curious to at least see all the fools take off ;) Other than that...who knows. Listening to the accents could possibly be plenty to keep me amused all weekend though ;) I have to say, I find the soft Scottish accent far more lovely than even the most posh English one.

In good and bad news, this is a crazy, albeit short, week at work…exhausting, but it's making the week go by quickly and I’ll feel quite deserved of a holiday by tomorrow evening. So, with my cocktail at the Ritz bar tomorrow night, followed by the Ritz tea to commence my trip, Wednesday at 17:30 can’t get here fast enough!

Off to the hinterland of America again (working title: “I don’t bounce very well anymore.”)

Ok, firstly, I’ve received many condolences and expressions of alarm related to my fall…I’m okay!

My previous post was intended for comical relief, I’m not in catastrophic shape :D My hands are very nearly healed, my elbows and knees are close behind that…my knee is bearable and my foot…well ok, my foot still hurts. But it’s less purple, so there is that.

But in the department of breaking news, I’ve been usurped by she whom I inherited my clumsiness from – my mother. It seems she was rudely ousted from her steed whilst riding recently, launched through the air and then dumped unceremoniously in the dirt. In relating the story to me in email, she said:

“I don’t bounce very well anymore.”

Anymore?

I’ve spent the last week of my free time in geekville, reading philosophy and whatnot because quite simply, I’m a geek. A girly geek, but a geek nonetheless...I did spend a bit of time frolicking about Oxford Street yesterday, buying shoes and clothes, if that redeems me at all. But I digress.

So philosophically-minded as of late, I’m left to analyse the deep meaning of her sentence. “Anymore?” Was there a time in her life when she did bounce well? Is bouncing something we humans are good at or that we should aspire to? Kangaroos, yes. Tigger, yes. But humans? I somehow missed that memo and I'm really rather bummed. Bouncing sounds useful and, at the very least, kind of fun. I don’t know, I just know that she outdid me in the land of pain, she was carted off to casualty (the emergency room for you Americans – yes, the Brits call it “casualty.” Creepy, innit?). She’s okay apparently, loaded up on drugs, but not permanently maimed or anything. Well, except for the permanent loss of her bouncing abilities. But I suppose there are worse things.

I think I outdid her in the land of humiliation though, as she only had one witness to her clumsiness, whereas I had a whole park. Plus, she was launched through the air by a horse…an event quite out of her control. I was launched through the air by my own toe. Not quite the same from a victim perspective.

But whatever. My recovering clumsy self is off to Chicago tomorrow for a work trip…and I’m popping over to DC for exactly 48 hours of the weekend in honour of Mother’s Day. Hopefully, I’ll get to see some of you Washingtonian friends in the process…but at the very least, I intend to eat copious amounts of food :D A combination of both would be perfect…but I do need to stock up on the gross American foods I so miss: New York style pizza, Cinnabon, Cheesecake Factory, Taco Hell…my stomach hurts at the very thought, but it’s also very excited at the processed and congealed prospect of such goodies :D I'm not putting food above friends, really. I'm just saying, I like food. I love food. Will kill for food. Sorry, that last part was a bit much. Anyway.

Work is a bit of a disaster and I’m realising more and more that I desperately miss the poverty-stricken world of liberal arts and indulging in thought just for the sake of thought. What a life it would be to sit in Hyde Park all day, reading and philosophising. But such is life…I got greedy eight years ago, I 'm stuck with my silly MBA, I think I have to stomach a bit more of the corporate world for now. And I don’t think I miss the liberal arts world quite enough to give up my West End flat just yet ;)

In happier news, I'm still in love with life here, despite my recent (dwindling) homesickness...and despite looking forward to seeing everyone in DC, I'm more looking forward to next Tuesday, when I'll be back home in London :)

Um, Ouch and Duh

It’s been a busy week so I’ve been quiet, but I have a funny tale to tell you, the latest in the life of accident-prone me.

Saturday morning, I rolled out of bed and after a somewhat leisurely breakfast, dragged myself out the door for my now-only-once-weekly run through Hyde Park.

As I was about 75% of the way from Speaker’s Corner, where I start, to Piccadilly, I was deep in thought daydreaming about running the bestest run there ever was, crowds were cheering, I was dying but persevering, you know, typical loser cheeseball mental motivation to try and ignore the increasingly agonising pain you’re currently in.

So there I was, running along, when all of the sudden, my left toes turned on the rest of me and tried to be all independent. It seems they were unhappy with our current route and, without consulting the rest of us, had decided to do something other than participate in the run.

To call the event that immediately followed this toe dissent a “fall” would be to use a word far too passive for what I actually did. I didn’t fall in mid-stride, I launched myself through the air.

As I tripped over the disobedient toes, I went flying through the air, landing simultaneously on my hands, elbows and knees…skidding for a few inches on the pavement before my grand finale of bonking my chin on the pavement. I just ooze grace and class, I’m telling you.

Taking stock of myself and deciding I was in 30% agonising pain and 70% utter humiliation, I looked up to see – to my relief – a typical Londoner reaction on the part of a woman nearby. She looked at me with disdain and walked off without so much as a word of pity. It was the first time I loved the anonymity of London. For a brief, fleeting moment, I thought I was going to escape the incident unnoticed. But since that whole interaction was, in reality, about three seconds, my glee was short-lived. A fellow runner, a woman, came racing over to see if I was okay and a gentleman who’d been on a leisurely walk insisted on helping me up and over to a bench. He produced a wad of tissues from his pocket and handed them to me, which led to my first sight of my mangled hands, which were somehow scraped and cut on both sides and were basically just bloody messes…with a few pieces of pavement thrown in for good measure.

It was about that time that the various points of destruction on my body began to throb in a manner I can’t really justify with words, but I’m a girl so I was still at about 30% pain/70% humiliation and was doing my best to assure the gentleman that I was just fine. Vanity always matters more than comfort :P My voice was shaking with that almost-crying tone, but I soldiered on.

The gentleman sat with me and chatted for a few moments and then we said our goodbyes and I hobbled home, with my run over before it had even really started and my ego a bit dented…I had myself a mini-cry and then spent the rest of the slow walk trying to ignore the increasing pain. But ego aside, it was very kind and very unLondonlike for the woman and the man to stop to help me and I greatly appreciated it.

Arriving home to take full stock of the damage, I discovered that my knees and elbows were in rather bad shape, even though they’d had trouser legs and sleeves to protect them…and so with vanity still in the forefront of my mind, I was back out the door to the drugstore for Bacitracin (Neosporin).

As any American knows, Neosporin is the miracle answer to all cuts and scrapes…it just heals everything nearly instantly and you don’t get ugly scars. It’s the best thing there ever was. But alas, upon requesting this miracle cream at my local drugstore, I was told it’s prescription-only here in the UK. They hand out Codeine like it’s candy, but I need a prescription for some skin cream? Mmkay.

Buying some over-the-counter antiseptic cream instead (which has served a useless purpose), I went on my way to wallow in my pain.

That pain kept me awake all night Saturday and Sunday nights and 6 days later, I’m pretty sure I also sprained my big toe/ball of my foot and did as-yet-unidentifiable damage to my knee. Basically, it hurts to walk and going up and down stairs is enough to make me want to poke my eyes out. But I’m too lazy to go make use of that free healthcare thing, so I’m ignoring all of it ;) I’m strong, it’ll all heal. I think.

I’ve taken the tube rather than my walk commute the last two times, but I instantly remembered why I hate the tube and so pain aside, I’m walking home tonight. Slowly and painfully, but I’m walking. There is no muscle pain in the world worth the hell of the tube during rush hour.

In other news, I’m having my very first pangs of homesickness. I still love London and I’m quite sure that my upcoming trip to Chicago for work will cure the pangs ;) But perhaps good old America isn’t that bad.

A weekend of the best boozing there is

Well, to sum it up, I learned quite a bit about Champagne, had a great time and came back sufficiently stuffed on French food, carting 6 bottles of Champagne :)

Sadly, I jinxed my brain in talking about the camera in my last post and forgot the stupid thing in my room every single day. No pictures. I’m a loser. But there are pictures in general, taken by others (non-losers). But anyway, moving right along:

Day 1, Thursday:

Scurrying my way over to the St Pancras station from work, I made my way through the Eurostar check-in and found two of my four companions. It was soon time to board and the three of us made our way to our standard class seats, collectively and jokingly whining about how we all wished we’d sprung for Leisure Select…and it turned out that the remaining two members of our group were in the carriage already when we boarded.

A quick two hour train ride later and we were at Gare du Nord in Paris and disembarked from the train in search of our rental car…we were already collectively tired, from long weeks at work and the fact that with the time change and a two hour drive still ahead of us, it was already nearly 10pm.

After what felt like an hour later, we’d gone to the wrong parking garage, back to the station and were finally in the correct garage, in the car and on our way to Reims. But alas, we got horribly lost in Paris and through a combination of my printed Multimap directions and the handy GPSesque functionality of the iPhone one of my tripmates owns, we finally got out of Paris….cheering loudly as we climbed the entrance ramp to the highway – a ramp we had come to call the vortex :) We got lost again in Reims and it was nearly 1am by the time we were settled in the hotel. And though we exercised impressive amounts of self-control, I think we all wanted to behead each other by the time it was over.

Despite my standing hotel snobbery, I must say that the Holiday Inn Express in Reims is quite lovely…our beds were extremely comfortable, with big fluffy duvets, the rooms were not tiny and the shower was quite powerful…and when you get all that and free breakfast for €70/night (and air miles!), you can’t really complain.

Day 2, Friday:

After a semi-night’s sleep, we all met back up over breakfast in the hotel and after a few jokes about having wanted to kill each other the previous night, we sufficiently carbed ourselves up for a bit of wine tasting, and set off on foot for our 10am tour of the Lanson Champagne house. I highly recommend this tour, as it’s quite informative and interesting…but I’d suggest you go on Monday through Thursday. Sadly, we would have watched the actual assembly line production of the champagne, but the workers only work Monday through Thursday, so we just saw the inactive equipment instead. But still, it was impressive to see the equipment…and even more fun at the end of the tour when we sampled a glass :D I bought two bottles, one each of the classic blend and the rose. Pink champagne is the greatest thing ever invented…I’d never seen it before I moved to the UK, but it’s all the rage here. It’s pink and it’s champagne, does life get better than that?

With tour #1 of the weekend down the hatch, we wandered off in search of lunch. I’m sad to say that with my lack of energy as of late, I didn’t do nearly as much research as I usually do for trips…and though I did have a list of possible restaurants, it wasn’t that well thought out and it wasn’t very long.

When one of my tripmates poo pooed my first suggestion because she thought it too pricey, we ended up around the corner at Le Gaulois, which appeared to me to be some cheesy chain restaurant/pub. But, swallowing my snobbery in the interest of group peace, I followed everyone inside and counted this as a wasted meal.

But, when the salad I’d ordered came, I stood corrected. It was this enormous work of art, with smoked salmon, foie gras, caviar and bacon, all piled on top of very green greens. My wine and my dessert of whipped cream and raspberry sorbet were equally delicious and after settling the “addition,” (the bill), we went our separate ways for a 30 minute break and I did a little window shopping. Regrouping at the cathedral, we set off for tour #2 at Veuve-Cliquot, on the other side of town.

This tour was slightly shorter and more about the history of the house and the brand than about the actual production, but we did hear some of the same explanations again and we all agreed that hearing it again made the details make more sense…and then, at the end, we got to sample more champagne…the best part! Interestingly, we tried the same champagne in two different ways: first, just poured from the just-uncorked bottle, as you usually do. But then we tried a second glass, from a bottle that the sommelier had decanted. None of us had ever heard of or thought to decant champagne, it looked like beer in the decanter, but it did taste differently than the first glass. I thought it was much stronger, which seems counterintuitive, but I still think it did. They gave us little cups of (blissfully fresh) fruit salad and sweet caramely crisps and after we finished our glasses, we headed off on our way. No one bought a bottle because whilst the Veuve champagne wasn’t unpleasant, it wasn’t that fantastic either.

It was late afternoon/early evening by then and we parted ways again with plans to meet in two hours for dinner. Three of us ended up in a café, sipping champagne for awhile and then we went back to the hotel for a bit of solo vegging.

I pulled out my restaurant list again for dinner and with a higher price point agreed upon for dinner, we chose a place from my list and went on our way. As we walked to the restaurant, one of the two men on the trip saw a window of pastries at nearly the same moment I did…and we expressed shared foodie glee at the beauty of them. With plans to go back the next day to devour several of them, we went off to dinner at the Brasserie du Boulingrin. Thankfully, my ego redeemed itself and one of my choices was, in fact, a winner. The French eat quite late and our 7:30 dinner plans made us one of the first to arrive for the evening. By the time we departed at 11pm, the restaurant was packed. The service was impeccable, our server was funny and knowledgeable and the food was plentiful and heavenly. I’d realised I was with my kind of people when the same tripmate who’d seen the pastries was mumbling about what he was going to have for his four courses…’four courses?’ I thought. Oh happy day! And we did…we had two starters each ;) We shared two bottles of champagne and about a half a bottle of wine each. I tried my first raw oyster and had a delicious rest of my meal, all 4 courses of it ;)

I don’t think I need to say that I’m not a picky eater by any means…but I do have a few avoidances. Raw oysters (though I’ve long since loved them fried or in stew), veal, haggis, black pudding…just things I’ve deemed very weird that should not be called food. Oh and peanut butter. I love peanuts, loathe peanut butter. It’s messy, slimy and weird. But, I digress. Per the insistence of my companions and the fact that I was mellowed out on wine, I tried a raw oyster from the platter they’d been sharing. And it was delicious…they created a monster and for the rest of the weekend, we ordered them again and again and I happily partook of them :) Rolling ourselves home, we made reservations at another place we passed for Saturday dinner. Even with my newfound appreciation for the area food, I was silently wary of our choice…it looked obnoxiously modern and trendy and they spelled Bistro “bistrot.” But regardless, we called it a night and parted ways to our rooms.

Day 3, Saturday:

I woke up with a wee hangover and dragging my old and achy self out of bed, I got ready for the day and met everyone again over breakfast. The other gentleman on the trip, who’d been silent about last night’s pastries, had gone out early to our beloved pastry shop and had a pastry for each of us. I thanked him profusely and devoured mine immediately and we left the uneaten ones with reception, for later consumption. Our 10am appointment was at Ruinart and after a short production-style tour, we were given our beautiful samples. As we sipped them, we commented on the extreme clean and crisp taste of this particular one…it was really lovely. And we were treated to a free second glass of the rose, which we were meant to pay €4 each to enjoy. We were all keen to purchase bottles of the first one we’d tried and though we knew it was the premium label, it wasn’t until I checked the price list that we realised why the champagne was quite so lovely. €198/bottle. Oh my. The tour fee had been quite a bit higher at this house than the first two and we were mildly perturbed until we realised that we’d tried really nice champagne twice, all included in that supposedly hefty price. Though I passed on buying a bottle, two of my companions did and we set off for a somewhat hurried search for lunch, as we had another tour in just 2.5 hours.

Given yesterday’s luck on food and my usual neurosis about being late, I didn’t bother with my list and just agreed with everyone else that we head in the direction of tour #2 and find a place to eat on the way…though I was still wary of the bistrot. But, it seemed difficult to find bad food in this lovely little town, so in a thought most unlike me, I just figured that where ever we went, it would be good food.

In a 10 second discussion, we agreed upon a brasserie we wandered across and as we walked in, with one of our French speakers requesting a table for five, a jovial looking man clapped his hands at a young woman sitting at a large table, summoning her to “move it!” (in French). She was obviously an employee or a daughter and we all laughed and sat at the table she’d just vacated.

It was, again, a lovely meal…and the staff, obviously a family, were lovely. I cannot believe that I can’t remember what I had for lunch, it’s so very unlike me not to remember food ;) But I do remember my dessert – a raspberry tart that was just delicious and perfect.

And so, with more delicious food and wine behind us, we set off for tour #2 of the day…a small house that we’d chosen at random on Friday afternoon - G.H. Martel. This one included a film and – since they no longer produce their champagne in the city proper – we saw the equipment that was used in the 19th century, which added a new dimension to an explanation that was becoming a bit repetitive and old to all of us ;) Soon, it was time for the best part…sampling. I purchased a bottle each of the classic and the rose…it was lovely champagne, but I bought it mostly because a quick Google search on the lovely iPhone told us that you can’t get the brand at all in the UK…so I bought it mostly for momento purposes.

With Saturday’s educational portion behind us, we parted ways for a bit of solo time and I wandered rather aimlessly, heading in the general direction of the beloved pastry place we’d seen the night before. Yes, yes, I’d tasted one of them, but I wanted to see what else they had :P

I got lost (duh) and happened upon another pastry shop first…where I bought the only thing I could completely recognise – no one in the shop spoke English. A framboisine…a big blob of whipped cream, delicious raspberries and a little pastry base. Fruit and cream gets me every time. It’s just heaven. I ate it as I walked and was soon in front of my original destination. Well, after nearly getting run over by cars several times, but I did get there. I bought a little mini strawberry mousse cup, which I also ate while I walked and, yay me for moderation, decided not to eat again until our 8pm dinner plans.

We arrived at the bistrot at promptly 8pm and when they directed us to a table for 6, we made ourselves comfortable…only to be reprimanded shortly thereafter by a freaky French girl because she meant the table next to it, the one for 4 people. As we scrunched ourselves around it, one of our French speakers politely pointed out our close quarters…and we were met with a universal “tough” shrug. Okie dokie then. When the party for the table for six finally arrived, we were somewhat comforted…there were eight of them ;)

When we enquired as to what the starter and mains of the day were, freaky girl gave us a peculiar wide-eyed duuuuuuh look. It wasn’t a language issue…she just didn’t know what we were talking about, even after we pointed the words “entrée du jour” on the menu. Things were not going well, but we were at least extremely amused. She did finally come back with the specials and we each ordered as we’d done Friday night: 4 courses each, a bottle of champagne to start and 3 bottles of other wines to share later. She brought the champagne and our (yay) oyster platter – our first course – properly. But then she came back immediately, plopped our three “later” wines on the table, uncorked them and left. Oooookaaaaay. So, I took the bottle that fellow pastry lover and I would be sharing and handed it to him to let him do the tasting honours and pouring…because whilst that’s still not the correct form of things, it was at least second best :/ Comically, due to our close quarters, pastry lover had the champagne and the red we were sharing on the floor between us.

We decided that with the buggy eyes and the just “duh”ness, that she was on something. What, exactly, we shall never know. The oysters, at least, were fantahbulous. But whilst we were all on our first or second oyster each (out of 5 each), she came up with our second courses. Um, no lady. Thankfully, both of our French speakers politely clarified that we weren’t ready for those, seeing as it had been like 4 minutes since our first course had arrived and with that, freaky girl left again…still confused.

When she came back later with the second courses, we were ready for them and mine was delicious…a prawn and cheese casserole of some sort. And for my main, I tried veal for the first time. It was okay, a bit bland compared to a steak, but I didn’t dislike it…and the sauce and gnocchi it came with were mediocre, I’m sad to say. My dessert was equally mediocre, but c’est la vie.

We paid the addition, bid adieu to buggy-eyed freaky girl and called it a night.

Day 3, Sunday:

The last day and we met at our usual time, ate breakfast, checked out of the hotel and departed via our car to Epernay, the other large town in Champagne and it was sort of on the way back to Paris. We had a 10:45am tour at Moet et Chandon, which is in Epernay and is one of the few houses that offers tours on Sundays. But we were toured out by Sunday…and when the lady went on and on about how champagne is made, all we heard was “blah, blah, blah.” But then we got to the sampling…and tasted this heavenly 2000 vintage, one each of the classic and the rose…and we each bought bottles as we left.

With a “small” lunch at a random café with portions both tastier and way larger than we expected, we decided we’d had enough of the Champagne region and decided to go back to Paris early to ditch the car and have an early dinner in Paris.

I’d mentioned to my companions earlier in the weekend that I had a rule with Paris, that I was saving it for romantic purposes…but I didn’t want to be the naysayer, so off we went. And I’m here to tell you, our Parisian oysters were lovely, our quick dinner was really lovely, but it was sad. I don’t think I can go back to Paris again until it's for romance…it’s just too depressing otherwise. And it was only 3 hours…so technically, I’ve never been to Paris :D

Soon enough, it was time to head back and we caught our train, said our goodbyes and went to our London abodes.

And, as a very cool aside of living in London: it is possible to leave London on Friday night, without leaving work early, spend the weekend in Paris, leaving early Monday morning, arriving back to London and to work on time. I’ll file that away under future romantic hopes ;)

All in all, it was a lovely way to spend a weekend, but I’m glad to be back home. I was exasperated and gleeful, in that order, upon my arrival home to discover: that my door will not close and that my TV is fixed.

There was a day 4 for me of course, a day of recovering and relaxation that I can afford because of my lovely five weeks of holiday time :) But all I really did was relax, enjoy the TV that is working again and, lol, call the estate agent to report the door problem. And lest you worry that I’m frolicking about with a door ajar, the handyman came last night and fixed it enough that if I lock myself in, it will close. He’s coming back tonight to properly fix it. Fingers crossed that the omen of home repair is soon behind me.


The dresses will have to wait until another day and I'm not telling the world where they are until I do my shopping. Neiner neiner. But I will tell a certain specific reader :D

Champagne, the place and the liquid

Well kids, I'm off to France this evening - shooting out the door from work a few minutes early to catch the 18:32 Eurostar with my friends.

We'll get to our hotel in Champagne at - we think - nearly midnight and starting tomorrow, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, we'll drink champagne, tour vineyards, eat real French food and take in the sights...and I'm ever so excited that with my mountain of annual holiday time, I'm off Monday. So, when I drag myself back through my (still TVless) door at probably midnight Sunday night, I can just drop everything and sleep in. And, much as I love the friends, I have my own hotel room...so I won't go on people overload.

The week is looking both up and down. I'll be all optimistic and whatnot and go with the good news first:

I got my phone topped up. So there's that at least.

I'd lamented just this past Sunday at brunch about having seen this really cute dress in a store window one day on my way to work...but having completely spaced out on where I saw it. I hadn't noticed it again and I really wanted the dress, but it seemed a tragic loss, as the retailers change the window displays all the time ;) Well, yesterday morning, lo and behold, there it was. It's almost pathetic how gleeful I was to see it...and it's very reasonable price tag. When I got to work yesterday, I popped onto the store's website, having quickly decided I'd buy it on my way home, only to discover that there are like 10 other equally/more so cute dresses inside. Oh dear. Too many decisions I was just too tired to make. I decided I'll do that on Monday, when I'm having my TVless relaxing day :P

Plus, in my usual mode of "holidays mean calories don't matter," I had long-awaited plans to buy a few of the gorgeous pastries at the John Lewis food hall on the way home last night, to have for breakfast this morning. But with the oh-so-fun British opening hours, I knew that since they closed at 20:00, the pastries would be clearing out by 19:00 or so. So, it was better for food procuring purposes that the dress excursion wait, because the dress store was much earlier on the route than John Lewis.

But then, the very nice engineer who'd fixed my fridge when I first moved in called and wanted to come by at 18:30 last night to fix the washer, per my urgent request to the estate agent. That meant I'd have to race home and delay the food hall...leaving it dangerously close to being pastry-less ;) He fixed my washer and really quite quickly and I ran (literally) the half mile back to John Lewis.

I'm sad to say that most of the pastries were gone. But I've filed that away as a good Monday breakfast, so it's not a tragedy. I did score a strawberry fondant thingie and a lemon/orange muffin. Plus, I stopped at Selfridges on the way home and got some additional yummy pastries. I am, shall we say, not hungry right now :P But I've actually saved the muffin and one of the pastries for later. Yay me for exercising, you know, moderation :P

I hope I don't actually have to do this particular washer repair in the future...but I watched him fix it, I asked him how to do it, and I could fix it on my own next time, if I really had to. Ah, single life, such fun. There was a teeny-weeny chunk of material stuck in the pipe. That was the culprit.

But I'm cranky this week and there is, of course, a downside to this. I couldn't stand that my packing was being left to the last minute, so I packed Tuesday night with clothes I don't love but that were clean. And I just wasn't up to waiting to do all my loads last night, after the washer was back up and running, so that I could repack.

So, my suitcase is sitting next to me, filled with clothes I don't love. Oh well.

So now, the bad news, that I've really already mentioned: still no TV. Argh. Oh well. To be dealt with when I get back.

I am still - and more so - frustrated with decisions of other people...increasingly cynical about the world as time goes on, but such is life.

I'm a horrible human being and I know I've still not posted any pictures of any of my trips. But, the camera is going on the trip and um, I'll try to post pictures? Is that good enough? :)

Life, Unglued

My whole life is falling apart at the seams and I have to tell you, this perturbs me just slightly.

So, my TV still does not work, despite the very friendly owner of my flat calling me yesterday afternoon to direct me to the building maintenance guy, who assured me that everything was fixed and that when I arrived home that evening, I should have TV reception back. So, I hung up, warily unconvinced and set off to go home for the day.

Whilst speaking to these two gentlemen, I got a notification that my pay-as-you-go phone needed topping up, desperately. But the online and phone top-up systems are both broken, so now I have to find time and energy in my week to go to an actual store and top-up my phone. This is where I'm mad at myself for my laziness....eight months of living here and I still have a tourist phone. But still, it's supposed to be easy to top the stupid thing up.

Of course, you should always trust your instinct – I was right, the TV still doesn’t work. I really should just get cable, but given that I pay £135 a year just to HAVE a TV, I feel obligated, on mere principle, to stick with Freeview. But the aerial issues in my building are making that quite difficult. So, I’ve been enjoying the very very nice Bang & Olufsen stereo that’s built into my flat…but this is 2008, the radio will only take you so far in life. I’m American. I need my TV. Plus, I chose the classical station and thereby launched myself into uber-introspection, which is really never a good thing.

Moving right along, however, I reasoned that this will be a busy week with the Champagne trip this week-end and that I really didn’t have time to watch TV anyway. Except, it was bugging me that my usual standing plan to come back from holidays to a clean and organised flat, with functional appliances, was being thrown off course. Since I depart on Thursday evening, in all likelihood, I still won’t have TV when I get back on Sunday night. And my day of relaxation on Monday will be more one of whinging in my head about the lack of TV.

Anyway, so I motivated myself to stop obsessing about the TV and start the first of five loads of laundry…part of my plan not to be up all night Wednesday night, doing the laundry and packing thing. And that was when I realised that on Sunday, when I stopped at the grocery store and remembered that I was out of shower gel and most food types, I forgot that I was out of laundry detergent. Ugh.

The thing about city life and walking everywhere is that the idea of walking 3 streets to the store is just too much effort once you’ve arrived home for the evening. But, faced with the alternative of throwing my carefully planned week off kilter if I didn’t go, I started the first load of laundry with the scraps from the bottom of the nearly empty box of detergent and went on my way.

The closest grocery store to me is the food hall at M&S…M&S being a bit of a British institution. But, being the food snob that I am, I rarely go there…I usually go a bit further to Waitrose or, more often these days, to a million different boutique stores to get what I have convinced myself is the very best. But, I decided that M&S was good enough for laundry detergent and actually forced myself to enjoy the fact that my 3 street trek was done in daylight, at well after 19:00. It’s still freakishly cold, but at least it’s not dark.

Sadly, upon arriving at the food hall, I discovered they didn’t have the detergent I’ve been using ever since I moved here…all they had was some upscale looking lavender-scented box. Now, I love lavender and I love fru-fru things, but I’m quite neurotic about laundry detergents, because using the wrong one could ruin my whole wardrobe.

But I was tired, it looked safe enough, so I bought it and trudged home. Upon arriving home, I discovered that the washer was paused in time, mid-cycle…I decided not to care for the time being and reset it. And so, when it behaved itself the second time around, I loaded the second load…nearly every single white item I own, it’s been a busy week :P

So, four attempts later and MORNING has arrived and my clothes are – as we speak – being held hostage in a defective washing machine. It refuses to drain. And since most/all washing machines here are front-loading, it’s locked and won’t let me get my stuff out. I’m somewhat hopeful that I’ve just clogged my sink and I think they share a pipe, so if I unclog the sink, all will be well. But I’m more convinced that this is yet another aspect of the fact that my life is falling apart. And regardless, my week is already off-track. I have to finish my stupid laundry tonight. After I stop to top-up my phone and get drain unclogging stuff that is.

So, backtracking slightly…I did not sleep last night. Literally at all, I think. There are about 20 minutes I can’t account for, so perhaps I fell asleep for those 20 minutes. But basically, I just laid awake all night, staring at the ceiling and pondering my pathetic existence. I’ve been in a bit of a funk lately, frustrated with the general idiocy of the universe, and perhaps it’s catching up with me. Or perhaps I actually have a full blown licence to whinge right now and the reason I can’t sleep is that life is just being rather unfair to me at present. Whatever the reason, I would very much appreciate it if somehow my week could improve. Or at the very least not get worse. I have no washing machine, I have no TV, I have almost no phone and I can't sleep. What's next, my heat?

I’m the organiser for this Champagne trip – God help us all – and I fear that major crankiness will ensue for the weekend if things don’t stop falling apart. And the four lovely people I’m travelling with deserve a companion who doesn’t hate the universe. Ugh.

Snow!

Dear Mother Nature:

You seem a bit confused as to the date, so I'd like to help you out:

1) We set our clocks forward last week-end. I do realise we were slow compared to the hyper Americans, but we like to relax and savour the here and now, they like to get on with tomorrow. That's our collective British excuse. Regardless, it's nearly 20:00 as I type and it is not quite dark out yet.

2) Today's date is: 6 April 2008. Or 6/4/08. Or 4/6/08, should you happen to be American.

3) This is London. I'm meant to have already survived my first British winter. I was told all winter that it doesn't snow in London and, of course, I didn't see snow here all winter. It certainly should not be snowing in April because April=spring. Snow=winter.

In summary, you halfwitted wench, your dumping of that pretty white stuff on and off all day today was a gross error in timekeeping. DUH. It's April lady, what's with the snow?!

Ok, we now return you to your regularly scheduled blog. I woke up this morning gleeful to be meeting a friend for a sinfully delicious brunch and as I made myself a cup of coffee, not quite awake yet, I was utterly perplexed to see big, beautiful white flakes of snow falling outside my kitchen window. I was actually momentarily mesmerised by the falling flakes, as I love snow when I can watch it from inside. But suddenly, my brain went "wait, what?!"

Friday was beautifully warm and sunny, a balmy 17C. Several weeks ago, my officemates and I agreed happily amongst ourselves to have a radio on all day, and whilst I usually enjoy the music and tolerate the idiotic DJs, Friday's DJ was at the top of my you-know-what list. Because at every break, she reminded us how lovely it was outside currently, but added that it would get "very cold and might even snow!" over the weekend. I was increasingly perturbed by the insistence on the coming cold, but I chalked her snow talk up to craziness. It doesn't snow in London. Oh how wrong I was.

An hour after the snow sighting, dressed for Siberia, except for my undying insistence on wearing skirts and the accompanying stockings, I set off toward Soho for brunch. The pretty and big flakes had turned to a wet, yet still snowy, goop. I was recently told that a block is called a street here...how I hadn't already figured that one out I don't know, but anyway, 2 streets away from my flat, I lost feeling in my toes and began pondering my pathetic existence.

I had picked our venue myself and by accident, it was almost directly on my work route, so I didn't get lost (yay). Having lost all feeling in my entire body by about minute 12 of the 40 minute walk, I decided to look at the positive. Nothing is open on Sunday mornings in London, very little opens at all on Sundays. But at 10am on a Sunday, the streets are blissfully quiet and lovely and though I was, you know, dying from hypothermia with every step, I forced myself to take in the loveliness of London, because no one else was around to take away from the loveliness. I stopped to look in store windows, I looked around at side streets...I took in the surroundings I see everyday and don't even notice.

When I arrived for brunch, my friend was already there...and due to the confused snow, I could barely open my frozen jaw enough to greet her. Anyway, a delicious plate of Eggs Royale and great company later, I was thawed out and ready for my trek home. A trek that, true to urban living, involved stopping at various stores on the way home. And true to the quirky Sunday opening hours in the UK, I had to stand and wait for several minutes for the grocery store to open. Hypothermia was quickly returning. Plus, there was some "weird parade" going down Oxford Street on my way home, which was anti-climactic to my quiet walk earlier.

I wish I could tell you I'm smart enough to have called it a day at that point. But, I'm not. Or at least, I'm food-obsessed enough to withstand painful cold in order to procure food. And also, I'm too stubbornly set on walking everywhere to take the tube. So, I stopped at my flat long enough to deposit the goods I'd procured walking home from brunch and to spend a few moments thawing out again. During my thawing out, I learned via my radio that the "weird parade" was the Olympic torch being carried through London. Oops, I missed a rather big historic moment. I really hate that. Oh well. Sufficiently thawed out, I set off for Harrods to get some chocolates for my trip to Champagne next weekend (more to come on the trip later in the week). It had to be Harrods because they're the closest vendor of Neuhaus chocolates and Neuhaus has these heavenly strawberry jam filled dark chocolates. So, I bought a sinful amount of those, a few cherry truffles from Charbonnel et Walker and a few champagne truffles from the plain old Harrods counter. Yum.

So, shortly after 16:00, I had scored my chocolates and was finished torturing myself with the snow, settling into my cozily warm flat for the rest of the day. I barely have TV, something dreadful happened to the aerial on Tuesday, but hey, I can feel my toes, so that counts for something, right? It's the little things in life.

A very posh night out

I had the most lovely evening that ever was on Wednesday night…it might even outdo the heavenly spa weekend.

I had the opportunity to enjoy cocktails and dinner at the Royal Automobile Club (RAC), with a very lovely gentleman. And no, it wasn’t a date, it was a just a plain old lovely evening.

But, as my friend and I were making plans for drinks, he suggested the RAC, as he was a member. I didn’t really know much about its existence at that point, but it seemed easy enough, so I said sure, that would be great.

Being Ms. Google-It, I went on a quest to educate myself. And what I found was impressive. The Royal Automobile Club, I found, is a country club. Well, a gentleman’s club – in the TRADITIONAL sense of the phrase’s meaning, not the smarmy one, thank you very much. It’s the city version of a country club, basically. I found all kinds of interesting articles on the history of these clubs…and in the process learned that the RAC is one of the more exclusive and expensive ones.

To peruse the website, you’ll find that gentlemen are required to wear tailored suits. Ladies are required to dress in according formality. There is a ladies sitting room, where tea and sandwiches are served. I may be wrong, but I don’t think women may go to the cocktail bar alone. A rule some of you probably find annoying, but one I find really endearing…it looked like the quintessential old England that we Americans drool over, the quintessential old England that I love dearly.

Now, I’m certainly not working class – I grew up in a comfortable environment and I’ve dabbled in the uber-posh world on several occasions…but I don’t spend my days shopping in Mayfair and though I’ve dined at some of the more exclusive venues in London, I wouldn’t call myself posh.

But. I do know “how to act,” as it were. I know what to do when there are 8 million utensils on the table in front of me. I know to use a softer and more feminine tone of voice in those instances, I knew how to dress, given the dress code described above. I’ve never been intimidated by the posh and I’ve never really felt like I’m not supposed to be there. I’ve always loved the surroundings and the epicurean in me always wishes I were living that life all the time.

So, when my friend and I finalised our plans on Tuesday evening, I was even more intrigued and impressed when he asked me to ensure that my mobile was turned off before I arrived. “Strict club rules,” he said. And also that I needed to take my coat to the cloakroom as soon as I arrived, as you aren’t allowed to be wandering around with your overcoat.

But suddenly, I was a little intimidated. I was to drop my coat and meet him at the bar, but I dreaded that someone would stop me, asking who on earth I was. And my only answer would bring to the forefront that I am not, in fact, posh. I'd have to convince them that I was meeting a member at the bar, possibly unsuccessfully. Ugh. So, imagine my relief and glee when, having gotten lost on the way (of course) and sent him a text, he was waiting for me outside, looking down the street for me.

Coat deposited, phone off, we retreated to a beautiful lounge and sat in giant plush chairs, sipping Gin & Tonics and munching on cashews and olives (which were mercifully pitted). Well, I was munching very very carefully. I’d asked beforehand that we leave dinner up in the air, with my neurotic dieting ever in the background and my food-obsessed weekend last weekend, I intended to forgo the probably-fattening dinner and just have drinks. And really, those cashews and olives were verboten as well.

But, after I’d been savouring this beautiful environment and our pleasant chat for awhile – and the drinks, of course – he asked if I was up for dinner. Well, I may be dieting, but come on. The place was gorgeous and calories be damned, I wasn’t about to pass on what had to be an equally lovely dinner. Truth be told, I’d peeked at their menu on the website. So I smiled and said that dinner would be lovely.

So, we moved on to the dining room, where the host seated us in more plush giant chairs. Shortly thereafter, a server came up to me carrying a fluffy pillow, covered in upholstery that matched the chairs exactly.

“These chairs are often too large for ladies, would you like a pillow for your back?”

Why, yes, yes I would. Heaven.

So, with a heartfelt thank you, I accepted the pillow and savoured this new and even more beautiful room. The dining room, it seems, is my friend’s favourite room – and I can see why. My art knowledge fails me on the official style, but it’s much the same style as the Ritz – with ornate paintings and crown moulding on the walls and ceiling.

We shared a bottle of a very delicious and sweet, but not too sweet white wine. My friend did tell me what it was, but I’ll have to ask him to remind me, as I’ve forgotten. But, I was lamenting at one point on the difficulty I always have in food and wine matching and he summoned the sommelier...who gave me a lengthy, friendly, enthusiastic and helpful explanation as to the how and why of food and wine matching.

The dinner menu was slightly different than what was on the website, but equally delicious looking.

We started with amuse-bouches of smoked salmon, avocado and crème fraiche. Well, I did. He’s allergic to fish, so didn’t touch his. Oops. And no, I did not eat his too, that’s not ladylike :P

For my starter, I had lobster risotto, with basil truffle oil and prawns (he had an asparagus dish of some sort, but I was too busy chatting and enjoying my own fantastic starter to catch much else of it)

For my main, I had pan-seared halibut with potatoes and crab, with a basil and saffron cream sauce. Also ridiculously delicious. My friend had suckling pig, which looked equally divine.

Next up was a tiny chocolate mousse parfait with candied cherries…it’s killing me that I can’t recall the proper name for this course, but there is one. It’s intended to cleanse your palate before dessert.

For dessert, I had lemon cheesecake with a blackcurrant coulis and a chocolate sliver perched on top. My friend had what was a much larger portion of cream filled crepes…and at his insistence, I had a half a crepe ;) Both desserts were pure, utter heaven.

Lastly, we had cappuccinos and petit fours – a selection of chocolates that gave a perfect ending to an absolutely perfect meal.

We were one of only two tables still occupied, so my friend glanced at his watch – 11:30!! We were both shocked at how fast the time flew by, we’d been there for 5 hours. After he collected our coats, he hailed a taxi for me and after many thank yous, back to reality I went.

All in all though, I couldn’t think of a better way to spend an evening. Perfect conversation, perfect setting and perfect food and drink. I love this city.

A mostly heavenly weekend

Well, I starting typing to you whilst freezing - nearly to my death :P - on a train platform at Cardiff Central station in Wales...balancing my laptop partly on my leg and partly on my suitcase. And since I wear skirts all the time now, I was also wearing sad and not warm tights. My train was delayed by 57 minutes, plus, I was there 38 minutes before the scheduled departure time. In my lucky world, it went from 13 minutes delayed to 57 about 4 minutes after I got there. Not that I'd have remembered to check whilst still at my warm and lovely hotel, sipping drinks at the bar, but still. After I finally got so cold I could no longer type, I gave up and paced for awhile, trying to stay warm. It didn't seem that there was anywhere with heat at the station. I noticed though, 8 minutes before my train was due, that there was a heated waiting room on the platform. Oh. Anyway, now I'm on the train and warm. Yay.

You should all feel special too, because I couldn't type with my glove on, so I was extra cold just so I could blog. :P Yes, I said glove, singular. Some of you lovely people have watched me do it, but I type (very quickly), one-handed. So my lucky nontyping left hand was warm.

Anyhoo, so, it's been a mostly very lovely and relaxing weekend, with a few glitches and weird bouts of good luck. And happily, I've got one more day to rest and veg.

My weekend began with a stroll over to Piccadilly, where I bought a raspberry biscuit encased in dark chocolate at La Maison du Chocolat. Then I killed a little more time at my beloved Fortnum's before a long and unsuccessful trek around the side streets, in pursuit of a copy of The Times. So finally, I went to my destination - the Ritz, where I had 19:30 afternoon tea reservations. A weird time for a tea, but oh well, it seemed like it would be a lovely start to my weekend when I booked it a couple weeks ago. And I was excited to read just on Thursday that the 19:30 seating is a champagne tea, with a complimentary glass of champagne. But, being quite early, I headed to the bar (after snagging one of the papers the Ritz had laying out) and whilst savouring the total, utter elegance of the bar, I sipped a lemon meringue martiniesque thing. Very lovely.

The tea itself was really lovely, but no one offered me champagne :( They did offer endless sandwiches and cakes...and I ate so many sandwiches that I was quickly in pain :P I couldn't even finish my scones or my first helping of cakes. Oh well. Lesson learned in that department: when teaing at the Ritz, don't eat anything else beforehand. At all. All day.

Friday's agenda was a buffet breakfast at a hotel near my flat...the breakfast had gotten lovely reviews, but I'm sad to report that I was unimpressed. Moving right along, I popped into
Selfridges for some yummy food for my train ride, having heard that British Rail serves rather foul food.

And then I was off! But, incidentally, the first class lounge at Paddington had pretty decent (and free) food. So noted.

Arriving in Cardiff after my 3 hour train ride, I quite successfully and quickly hailed a taxi (yay me) and arrived at the hotel.

I checked in and they'd honoured my fear-of-heights request for a low floor room. Only, when I walked in, it looked out on some public balcony, which I later realised was seating for the restaurant. Now, those of you who know me know that I don't do confrontation. At all. But, I pondered my predicament for a few minutes, reminded myself that this was supposed to be a heavenly, relaxing vacation...and I went back down to reception.

The gentleman I spoke with was very, very nice (and cute ;) ) and he agreed that he wouldn't like it either. Then we had a peculiar exchange where, after a few minutes, we realised that I had booked a junior suite, but had been alloted only a deluxe room. But, I could tell from his mumbling to a colleague, that through a computer glitch, I had paid for a deluxe room. They'd put the wrong rate on the junior suites. But hey, I was on a roll and on paper, I had a reservation for a junior suite, so I got brave and asked that, given that all the junior suites were taken and my new room would still just be a deluxe room, what was I being given as compensation? I even asked if I could have a master suite instead...to which they replied that they'd give me one if there were any available, but there weren't.

This will be even more amusing and along the lines of good karma in a moment, but they took £40 off my cost. So, cute nice guy takes me up to my new room...which was on the 7th and frighteningly top floor, a compromise on my part for what he called his favourite room in the whole hotel. So, up we go...and when he opened the door, good lord. It was on a corner and 2 of the walls of the room were entirely glass, floor to ceiling, all overlooking Cardiff Bay. And, as all the rooms do, I had my own balcony. I even have a few pictures from my one terrifying journey onto said balcony, which I'll get around to posting someday :P But basically, I saved money and got what was probably better than a junior suite anyway. So yay.

So, I unpacked and headed down to the bar for a drink, then I spent the next few hours spaing ;) I vegged in the hot tub for a bit and then had a 2 hour "treatment," which was a scalp and body massage and a facial. She told me not to drink that night, due to the effects of the massage. Whatever lady, I'm on holiday, it's Friday night and I'm an adult and I can do whatever I want. Neiner neiner. (Out loud I politely lied that I'd obey :P). But anyway, the heavenly weekend had begun.

Getting myself presentable again, I headed to the hotel restaurant for the 3-course dinner included in my package. But, they'd somehow forgotten my reservation and it was a few minutes before I could be seated...so, without my even complaining (I was in relaxation heaven at that very moment and really didn't care), they comped me a drink at the bar :D The luck continues.

So, I finally got seated and - after what became very slow service - I went to order and they were out of the one starter I wanted. Bucking up my courage again, I asked to see the manager...and decided to use my forgotten reservation and the slow service as the basis of my (successful) argument to order one of the starters off the a la carte menu instead (which I wanted more anyway :P). And then, they brought me a complimentary mini portion of soup and bread, for all my inconvenience. So it was a 4-course meal. :) So, yay me again...all this sticking up for myself was getting out of control all the sudden ;)

So, Friday came and went, with more pain from food - I always forget that dieting shrinks my stomach and that I can't just suddenly eat mass quantities of food. Oh well, it was to be a theme throughout the weekend. I went through an entire bottle of Gaviscon. Doh.

Saturday...I didn't do much of anything. I got up, worked out for a (short short) while, ate breakfast, vegged in the spa...decided to buy another massage (set for that evening), ate lunch at a (mediocre) cafe outside (it was unexpectedly warm and sunny), wandered the shops around the Bay for a bit, had some ice cream and made late dinner reservations at a restaurant with a great view of the bay. It was either that place or a place that got rave reviews, but had no view. The view won me over. So, back to the hotel for a bit of sitting in my glorious hotel room, soaking up the sun and watching the Bay, until the room actually starting doing greenhouse type heat things and got too hot to be comfortable, then more of the spa and my massage...and I was suddenly wishing I were ordering room service and not going back out. But alas, I got myself presentable again and went to my dinner reservation. And was sorry I chose the view over the food, it was blah. And weird. You go up to a deli-like counter and order your food...and then they bring it to you. But it's not a casual cafe-type place. Weird. Anyway, after my mediocre dinner, I went back to the hotel and opened my curtains - having decided earlier that no one could see in, since the view looked out to nowhere, and I wanted to just wake up when it got light out, maybe even watch the sun come up. And then I flopped onto my big comfy bed to do some more vegging.

This morning, I woke up with the sun (but didn't see it come up) and decided I didn't feel like exercising, so I went back to bed for awhile, had another yummy breakfast and after a bit of spaing, had my last massage :( But then, after getting cleaned up and out the door, I had far more luck than yesterday with food. After my mediocre lunch yesterday, I noticed a cute little French cafe next door, so that was today's destination...with a yummy lunch of escargots and fries with Bearnaise...and a lemon tart. Washed down with a glass of pink champagne, a glass of merlot and a cappuccino. Yum.

After more wandering around the Bay, more ice cream and some tea, I bought some black olive bread and cheese from a farm stand along the Bay. I'd planned to have it for dinner. But it'll be breakfast tomorrow instead. Because, after all that wandering, I was bored and tired and still had 2 hours to kill, so I went back to the bar at the hotel and decided to just wait it out there...and I caved and ordered a Reuben, so now I feel gross and I don't foresee eating the bread and cheese. I have issues.

So, there you go...I'm not sure what tomorrow involves, but definitely more vegging ;) Cardiff was fun, but I didn't see much, I was too relaxed and lazy. No castle, I didn't even go to the city centre. Oh well. Next time perhaps. This wasn't a culture holiday, it was a relaxing one. And though I do love London, it was nice to be among friendly and nice people for a change...the hotel staff, and the other guests I talked to, were all really nice. Now why can't Londoners be like that?

Collection of Pregnant Women

Prepositions can be important little guys. So, when I was strolling down the street the other day, lost in not-that-deep thought, I stopped dead in my tracks at a shop front sign which, I thought, said:

“Collection of Pregnant Women.”

And my reaction was:

“??!!”

But, after a few beats, I burst into giggles. The sign actually read “Collection FOR Pregnant Women.” Well alright then. That’s quite different, isn’t it? A charity for pregnant women, as opposed to some freaky warehouse of pregnant women.

I carried on my way, bursting into random (crazy looking I’m sure) laughter every so often over it for at least the next hour.

It’s been a slooooow week, short weeks always are I suppose, because you think they’ll be shorter, so you go overboard with how much shorter you expect them to feel. Next week will be the same thing. You poor Americans have to work tomorrow and Monday, we UK people do not ;) When I lock my laptop up tonight and walk out the door, I won’t be back until Tuesday. Woohoo.

I’m not entirely sure why, but I haven’t slept well this week. In fact, I’ve barely slept at all. And I’m not tired during the day, which is peculiar. It started out with these horrendously puffy pillows I bought at a somewhat high-end department store on Sunday.

I haven’t spoken of the Dream Bed in awhile, but these &@! pillows were to be the final component of the comfort aspect of the Dream Bed. I’m in love with the foam topper, the down duvet and the sheets...but I hadn’t gotten around to getting the pillows because I thought Ikea had ones I wanted. Well, duh, it’s Ikea. Ikea is not where one goes for quality. So when a friend and I were there last Saturday – a trip we both agreed was a living hell – and I saw the pillows in person and saw how flat they were, I decided to buy different ones I’d seen in this department store near my flat.

Well, THOSE pillows are so puffy that I was almost having to sit up in bed if my head was on them. Not comfy. So after 2 nights of that craziness and the realisation that you can’t return pillows for hygienic reasons, I sliced one open and took out a bunch of the stuffing. So now it’s cosy and comfy. Butchered, but comfy. I haven’t bothered with the other one yet. But so ok, that explains Sunday night and Monday night.

But. I have fallen asleep every night this week like an exhausted brick, only to wake at 1:30-2. For good. And whilst I have had a couple of small dramas this week, neither has been all that worrisome or stressful...so I don’t know why I’m not sleeping, but it made the week that much longer. One has to think that eventually I’ll be able to sleep. I’m hoping the change in surroundings this weekend might help. If nothing else, it’s boring to be awake all night.

But. anyway, now it’s nearly lunch time on my last day of the week and I’m already on diet hiatus, with full fun and relaxation a mere 6 hours away. I can. not. WAIT.

The diet hiatus commenced with my consumption of 3 Krispy Kreme doughnuts this morning. Procured from Selfridges and eaten as I walked. Devoured within 4 streets (blocks), as a matter of fact. They were sooooooo yummy. Fried, cheap, processed American yumminess. I’d hit a new low on the scale this morning, so it felt much deserved. In fairness, I only intended to buy 2, one lemon filled and one raspberry filled. But standing at the till, it seems just fundamentally wrong not to get a plain glazed as well. After all, they’re the traditional Krispy Kreme kind, right? And I’m traditional. So there you go. The purchase and consumption of the traditional glazed doughnut was my duty. I don’t actually love Krispy Kreme doughnuts all that much, I prefer Dunkin Donuts, but they don’t have those here so, you know, I'm soldiering on :P

I was going to go on and on all about the weekend I’ve been looking forward to for too long to remember, but in the off chance that I have a stalker, you have to wait until after the fact to get the details ;)

I’ll just say this: it’s 4+ days of me and only me…much yummy food, much ridiculously relaxing luxury, with a few sights in Wales thrown in. Heaven. I do like to travel with friends…and travelling romantically is even more fun, but I’ve learned that there is a very lovely element of solo travel. And the best part of solo travel is, you can do it whenever you want ;)

So, I hope everyone has a lovely Easter and I promise to actually try to take pictures this time...I might even do a photo travelogue, we’ll see.

Dublin, recapped

Well, I’m sorry to report that I was a bit underwhelmed by Dublin…I didn’t really see the wow factor of it. It just seemed like a smaller and more industrial version of London. Plus, most of the Irish men I came across were just smarmy. But we’ll get to that.

The weekend started out well enough: arriving at the airport and discovering that my flight was delayed 30 minutes, I decided to indulge my uber-dieting self in a “real” meal and ate before security at a chain sit-down restaurant…there didn’t seem to be much after security and it seemed like I had plenty of time. Fast forward to the end of my (mediocre) meal and after horrifically slow service, I had to beg for the bill and nearly left my (very valuable) thermal raincoat at my table in my hurry to leave…it seemed like I was about to miss my flight.

Well, lol, getting through security took about 4.5 minutes, I rang my travel companion back, who’d called during my earlier rush, and she then proceeded to tell me about our shared hotel room. She’d been on an earlier flight and so was already in Dublin.

You see, exactly one week earlier, after we’d been separately realising that our hotel options were far and few between, due to a big Ireland/Wales rugby game the weekend of our trip, we got on the phone and basically just picked a place. Just because they had a room and weren’t crazily expensive. But also because Google Maps told us it was just off Temple Bar.

So, back to her description: Google Maps lied to us…I should’ve known better than to believe them, because they’re a bit just plain wrong with their UK maps, I’ve been steered wrong many times, but oh well…back to the description:

“Um, well, it’s far. And the bed is. Small. I mean, it’s ok. It’s just uh, well, hey, at least we get to go to Dublin!”

Oh dear.

But I did have to agree, nothing to be done at that point, it’s a quick weekend in Dublin, it’ll be fun. I made plans to catch up with her and the two friends of hers we were meeting, when I landed and had gotten settled and with that, I hung up to go to my gate.

The flight finally took off quite awhile after that, so my neurosis at the restaurant was all for naught…and I was at least appeased by the incredibly good-looking gentleman in the seat next to me. But then, somewhere high in the sky, I dropped a Euro under my (window) seat and after several silent attempts to reach it, had given up. But my (Irish) seatmate had apparently noted my crisis and, after asking the lady in the aisle seat to get up, he climbed under all of our seats, fetched my Euro and handed it to me.

With a thankful – and probably amused – smile, I thanked him, and we chatted briefly…he asked where my accent was from, etc. I thanked him again as we deplaned and we parted ways, with me a little goofily bummed that he didn’t ask for my number. In retrospect, I’ve decided to allow that he really was a gentleman. But I was soon to be met with smarm.

I set off to get myself to Dublin centre…directions, of course, being my general downfall. Another good-looking guy flirted with me while I was getting a cookie before leaving the airport. It wasn’t as endearing as the Euro guy, but it wasn’t unpleasant either and I started to feel a bit egotistical. All these guys were flirting with me, how awesome am I? ;) Right, moving right along.

I arrived to the hotel without getting lost much, a move I’m rather proud of, and in a half smirk/half sigh at actual sight of the hotel room, dumped my stuff and set out to find the bar where my friend was by this time…and with “this time” being nearly midnight, I quite fancied a drink of some sort.

I did get mildly lost, but found it and tried to find her. Sadly, smarmy Irish guy #1 found me before I found my friend. Despite my rather blatant attempts to lose him, he persisted and I was eventually saved by the appearance of my friend. Small miracles. Smarmy Guy #1 wasn’t unattractive, there’s just something gross and unattractive about being leeched onto by a random guy the moment you’re by yourself. I didn’t go to Dublin to meet a guy and certainly not one in a bar.

But sadly, my glee was short-lived. Following my friend to our table, I noted four people, not the two I was expecting. It seems Smarmy guys #2 and #3 had latched onto our little group. This despite the fact that one of the four of us was a (straight) guy. At least I soon discovered that the two friends of my friend were very nice and quite fun.

But, my arrival seemed to signify “new meat” to the smarmies and after again trying my “I’m not interested, I’m not the type to meet guys in bars” routine, Smarmy Guy #3 came right out and asked me if I was looking to meet someone. Ugh. Ok, switching gears, I pretended to be in a relationship and shortly thereafter, they seemed to give up on their 3 female targets and left us. Small miracles. I was no longer flattered or happy with the “flirting,” it was getting a bit depressing. Smarmy Guy #2 was actually quite good-looking...and not overtly smarmy, he was actually quite sweet and we chatted for awhile. But at the point, I was tired and cynical, so I'm calling him smarmy :P

So, free at last, I proceeded to have my very first tequila shot, with what I’m told was cheap tequila. Whatever, it was gross. But what I’m surprised I loved was a Jameson and ginger ale, of which I had several ;) Whiskey is a man’s drink to me, right up there with beer...but with the ginger ale, I’ll admit it was quite tasty.

But soon enough, the bar was closing and we were tired, so we parted ways…my friend’s friends to their lovely “one of the best in Dublin” hotels and us in a cab, off to our blech hotel.

The room turned out not to be that bad and we were so tired, I don’t think we even noticed or cared.

Saturday was ok...I ate way too much, we went to an art gallery and a park and just wandered around, tortured ourselves by going to our friends’ hotel for drinks – and I got to see just how utterly lovely it was – and then we ate dinner at the only place that had a table available, sadly, the same one the three of my friends had just dined at the night before. Stupid rugby game strikes again. After more drinking, with me in ate-too-much-please-kill-me agony by that point, we retired to our respective hotels.

Sunday, we did the Guinness tour and the Kilmainham jail tour. It had been bitter cold all weekend, still was, and I suppose the cold’s saving grace was that it made the jail tour that much more authentic. And I had my first (and only - yuck) pint of Guinness, which I poured myself. Yay me. Soon enough, it was time for me to head back to the airport, where I again tried to eat dinner and this time, almost did miss my flight.

After stopping at sad McDonalds for a McFlurry (random craving), I got home and that was that, end of the weekend.

I gained a ton of weight, which I’ve since lost, thankfully, got to see yet another place and met the very cool friends of my friend. So, whilst Dublin wasn’t that exciting, it was still a fun weekend. If I ever do visit Dublin again, I'll be staying at the lovely hotel and I'll make sure there are no rugby games that weekend!

I thought I’d lost my camera, so no pictures! But I found it yesterday, so:

Next stop: Cardiff, Wales…where I’ll be enjoying a very different kind of holiday, full of spoiling myself and luxury, hopefully without smarm. And I promise at least a few pictures. Of the luxury, not the smarm.

Dublin!

So, I’m off to Dublin for the weekend tomorrow...a very quick trip, with not quite 48 hours to be in Dublin, but still, I’m excited. And I might even drink beer (gasp!). I’m going with a friend, a friend of hers (who I haven’t met) and a friend of that friend’s, who neither of us have met. So, it’s going to be one of those weekends where we’re all having to compromise on what to do and see…and since I have to admit, I do regret that I didn’t even try a single beer whilst in Brussels, I plan to at least try a beer or two in Dublin, especially since it seems we’re going on at least one pub crawl. And really, how can I go on a pub crawl and drink wine? Whilst London’s pubs have come of age and most have lengthy wine lists, I’m going to guess that in Dublin, they’re still beer-centric.

It’s ok, my girliness won’t crumble the second my lips touch the beer. At least, I hope not :D

And then I’m going to Cardiff (Wales) for part of Easter weekend. I decided that rather than jet off to the Continent, I’d just stay local and uber-relax. There won’t be much open anywhere, so the weekend is better spent vegging than sightseeing. So, I’m going to a spa hotel right on the water and I plan to eat fantastic food, get massages, walk along the pier...do not much of anything, really. Since food is the very centre of my universe, I’ll be commencing the 4-day Easter weekend with a late afternoon tea at the Ritz...considered one of the best hotel teas in London, it’s also all-you-can-eat ;)

Then of course, there’s the trip to Champagne next month, to tour a bunch of vineyards. It’s going to be a busy spring!

Going back to the land of food news, I’m telling you, this city is a food heaven. With the days of poking fun at London food a good 3 decades or so behind us, the city has moved to nearly the world forefront of food.

I’ve done some poking around in Marylebone, now that I live right down the street. Marylebone, I may have already mentioned, is one of the newer gourmet meccas in London. I discovered that the Sunday morning farmer’s market includes things like fresh cream, all kinds of veggies and fruit and many tempting desserts and savoury dishes. I behaved, because I’m nearly at the end of this torturous diet, but I’m definitely going back.

And after a yummy breakfast at Fortnum and Mason a few weeks ago with a friend, I discovered that duck eggs are heaven on earth. At Fortnum & Mason, any egg dish you order comes with your choice of hen eggs or duck eggs...and being the wannabe gourmand that I think I am, I decided to try the duck eggs. They are equivalent in size to a jumbo hen egg and the yolk is much more flavourful (and for poaching purposes, the white behaves itself much better than with hen eggs and doesn’t fall apart)...and Nigella Lawson, one of my heroes, says that Selfridges has the best duck eggs in London. Since Selfridges is now dangerously close to me, I decided to test her theory...and the eggs are heaven. I did discover the same brand at Waitrose (a Harris Teeter equivalent), but the Selfridges ones were quite a bit fresher, based on the sell by dates.

Yesterday, I discovered that I can have fresh fruits and veggies from British farmers delivered to my door every week, with no delivery charge. So fresh and local, in fact, that you can only order what’s currently in season. Yum.

I think I’ve already mentioned that the best cheese shop and the best butcher in London are next door to each other, around the corner from me. One of the best herb shops in the world is right here in London...the list is endless.

At a dinner with my boss last night – my first flavourful treat to myself in weeks and an impromptu celebration that our project is finally on its way – I discovered yet another absolutely delicious restaurant. I’d frantically and neurotically researched various online menus for the perfect meal – being a bit dessert obsessed at the time and being the venue was to be my choice and I ended up somewhat accidentally picking an absolute gem...Alloro, off Piccadilly. Our wine was phenomenal, the breads were divine, and all 3 courses were perfect. Even if they didn’t have the specific dessert I’d obsessed over on their online menu ;) The cost might have us in trouble with the big boss later, but I’ve promised to take most of the blame. It was totally worth it :P

So my new quest is to finally marry my love affair with food, my love affair with London and my love affair with being thin. I’m now walking/running a combined nearly 35 miles a week. Which should, you know, help a little.

My beloved kitchen stuff left my mother's garage on Tuesday and is making its slow journey across the Pond and soon, I’ll be making pained decisions about whether to make my own breads (and butter!) or go out to eat. The food and travel choices do boggle the mind a bit ;)

I'll just end with sincere apologies for any hunger pangs I may have induced :)

A love of London, continued yet again

Whew. Busy, busy, busy. London life is busy! Good busy, but still. But, I'm being evah so British in my take on it and a) I'm being quite careful not to let things get toooo busy and b) I'm using all this "live and let live" mentality I seem to have built up in the last six months to keep myself sane.

I've been asked to present about my project at work at our company meeting next week...not as big a deal as it sounds, it's just a company-wide update meeting and I compiled all of 5 slides :) But I actually have to present 5 times, as there are meetings all afternoon in small groups. I like to present and don't really get nervous, but it's been yet another thing on my plate. Although oddly, I'm in a bit of a holding pattern otherwise at work, so it's not like I didn't have time to get ready for it.

I'm finally moving my boxes over...so I'll have it sometime between late March and late April. But I've been emailing movers, trying to get everything organised, making sure my beloved things will arrive somewhat safely. For twice as much money, I could have my stuff in 10 days (by air), but since I've waited six months already, it doesn't really seem worth it. But I do very much miss all my beloved kitchen things.

I'm taking a last minute weekend trip to Dublin in 2 weeks with a friend and a couple of her friends, I'm going to somewhere - possibly Italy - for the 4 day Easter weekend by myself, I might go to Nice the first weekend in April with the Dublin friend and then I'm doing the last of the planning for the trip to Champagne with my wine group the second weekend in April. That planning has been tiring and complicated! But the trip should be really fun :)

I'm getting the lay of the land in my very very cool new neighbourhood, I am right in the middle of everything, yet off on a quiet street...it's perfect.

I have plans on quite a few nights coming up and I'm looking forward to all of them :) But I'm being careful to buffer in nights to myself to just veg and relax...as much as I love my social life here, I still need my me time :D Plus, with my mind-boggling 5 weeks of holiday time, I'm taking random time off simply because I can. For instance, I've got the day after the Champagne trip off, just because I know I'll be exhausted when we all get home late Sunday night.

So, I'm just enjoying of all of these activities, there's still plenty of time to rest. I've spent the weekend doing just that. I spent most of yesterday and today exploring my new side of the park...Hyde Park is just so incredibly amazing. My new run route takes me through these gigantic open fields where you can see for forever. And this in the middle of the one of the busiest sections of London...if I keep going south, I pass beautiful little creeks and come out of the park just down the street from Harvey Nichols and Harrods. If I walk really far across the park diagonally, which I did today, I can get to my beloved Whole Foods.

I also spent much of the weekend getting lost ;) It just baffles me how completely faulty my sense of direction is. But, at this point it just amuses me when I finally realise I'm going the totally wrong way. I did get back from WF exactly the right way, so I suppose I'm improving.

Next weekend, I intend to wander around Marylebone, which is now just down the street and is considered the gourmet food mecca of London, with several of the best food shops in the city stationed there. I'm nearing the end of a diet and soon, I'll actually get to enjoy food again!! Hopefully this time I'll manage to keep the weight off.

I'm now walking to and from work...an easy trek all the way across Central London, 2.8 miles each way. So far I'm actually really enjoying the walk, we'll see how long that lasts ;) A 60ish year old man asked if he could buy me a drink on my way home one night last week. Ew. And worse, he wouldn't really take no for an answer and I had to resort to rudeness. But otherwise, it's a nice walk :P

But with the £80/month I'm saving in tube costs (and the calories I'm burning!), I can partake of those lovely Marylebone shops that much more.

My trek to Whole Foods was for coffee, because they have a grinder, so I can do a relatively coarse grind myself for my new coffee brewing method - boiling the grinds in a tea kettle and then pouring the coffee into my cup through a tea sieve. It's quite tasty and easy, but requires that the grinds be relatively coarse. I do need to buy a coffee grinder...Whole Foods has yummy coffee, but there are better and closer places that do too :)

But, I decided this morning that I just really wanted some chocolate. Scouring the chocolate aisle at WF, I discovered minibars that fit into my neurotic diet, so I bought one. And as I walked back home through the park, I munched on my chocolate, savouring every bite and the beautiful sunny Sunday afternoon. It started raining later, this is London after all, but for awhile, it was a warm and beautiful day.

I know it's getting goofy to keep saying so, but I just absolutely love this city. My only wish was that it were a wee bit more British and less cosmopolitan :) But, I'll take it as is...I was out with some friends last night for drinks and we were lamenting on dating, men, life in general. And I said something that just sort of came out of my mouth, but I suppose sums up my attitude toward life in moving here:

You have to have something in your life that brings you happiness, something you have the power to control. Something that no one can take away from you. And for me, London brings me happiness. The UK brings me happiness. My whole life can be upside down and stressful, but when I walk out my door and have so many vastly different things right at my disposal, I feel like I'm in heaven.

I love this place. And my new neighbourhood has just deepened my love for London :)

Goodbye Bayswater, Hello Marble Arch!

Well, I'm typing to you on my last evening as a resident of Bayswater. I'm surrounded by The (empty) Suitcases and tomorrow afternoon, with the help of a very kind and car-owning friend, I will migrate myself and my few belongings eastward to a cooler post code.

The Suitcases are empty because my aforementioned friend is bringing not only her car, but also her vacuum, so I can shrink my space bags back down and get at least some of them in The Suitcases. Of course, I have a few more possessions than I did when I first arrived here on that sunny day back in August, so I have little faith we'll get everything crammed in.

But mercifully and very-unLondonish, we will have free and very close parking in both locations, so it should be a quick move. The whole furnished flat thing is very weird, I don't even really feel like I'm moving. But I am!

I'm very excited about the new flat, but even after 6 months, I've learned a few new Britishisms these past few weeks, the hard way...and all to do with the "king" bed that my new flat has.

My bed set is for a double and I was ever so excited to have an excuse to decorate and so, of course, as soon as the flat was definitely mine, I immediately began an uber-detailed search for the Perfect Bed Set. It soon went beyond decorating and I began compiling a Dream Bed, complete with a Siberian goose down duvet (Siberian being the best, my research had told me), memory foam mattress topper and pillows, etc. I finally found a perfectly cute duvet cover (pink, of course) and coordinating sheets and, with my move-in day fast approaching, quickly ordered those and a suitable topper.

Overall, the Brits look at their bedding far differently than we Americans do. It's all very utilitarian here...decorative aspects are nearly an afterthought. So, I ended up buying my sheets from a US ebayer who was willing to ship them to me, because it seems that British stores only sell coloured sheets that are low quality. If you want really nice ones, which my Dream Bed requires, you have to go with white...or pastels if you look really hard. But if you want burgundy sheets, tough. I wanted to coordinate with the burgundy trim on the duvet and being me, I was determined.

But, Britishism #2 made my US sheet purchase a very good thing. After purchasing these three items, I learned that I don't have a king bed, I have a super king. A UK king is a US queen. A US king, which is two twin beds put together, is a super king here.

So, my sheets will fit...the nonreturnable topper and the perfect duvet that does not come in super king size, not so much. Thankfully, I got too busy and too lazy to order anything else in the wrong size.

Which moves us to Britishism #3: though they're both here in London, at courier warehouses, neither of these items are in my possession yet, nor do I know when they will be. Because here in Britain, things are delivered by couriers who require you to sign for your packages and they deliver "sometime between 9am and 5pm on weekdays." And since I was having everything delivered to my new flat and I have, you know, a job, I won't be there. Oops. It seems they won't just leave it in front of my flat door, in my secure building that has just a handful of flats.

So for now, I'll be making do with my too small and not Dream Bed worthy double set, draped over my ginormous new bed. Sometimes the cultural differences are just peculiar.

Work is a bit of a nightmare, but very last minute news yesterday hopefully means that there will be far less work drama in my life, which I would really love. Time will tell.

Other than that, in my long blogging hiatus, not much has been going on...just living my life of heaven here in London. My job may make me crazy most of the time, I may never compile my Dream Bed and I may never stop getting lost everywhere I go, but after six months and 6 days, I have a group of really cool friends and I love this city even more than I did the day I got here...and it seems that nothing will change that!

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have weekend trips to France and Italy to plan and a glass of red wine to sip ;)

Back in London yet again

Well, my week back in America wasn't complete and utter torture :D But I was endlessly happy and giddy to walk into my flat a week ago today, home at last...and it boggles my mind that I got back just a week ago, it seems like a year ago.

The highlights of the week: adding insult to injury at Heathrow on my outbound flight, I was randomly selected for a second security check at the gate. I have to think they were doing these checks in light of the recent change in baggage rules, so you can imagine my grumpiness that I was chosen, despite the fact that my &@! second bag had been checked and was not with me. But whatever, after being inappropriately felt up by the security person, I met up with my quite-senior-level (but very fun and funny) colleague and we went on our unmerry way to America.

The company flats are in what must be the single most expensive block in the city and it's quite a nice building, so that was a lovely discovery. But I (and all of my colleagues, from what I can tell) am a tad insulted and annoyed that I am expected to provide maid service in the flats and that the company has what must be the tightest purse strings ever on meals. Despite this, I did manage to indulge in what America does best - food - as often as I could all week ;) So, while I'll go back without toooo much whining at least a few times a year because I said I would when I took the job, it will always be a week spent living below my normal standard of living, which isn't really what one expects on a business trip, but whatever.

The culminating moment of the week happened in its final minutes, a moment that I can assure you, solidified my place in the company as a capable and promising young lass :P

Another quite-senior-level colleague, also quite funny, and I were trudging toward passport control at Heathrow, equally tired from a long week and making last bits of conversation with each other before heading our separate ways back to our much missed homes. I did manage to get my suitcase through as a carry-on item on the way home, so I was wheeling it behind me, having wrapped my laptop bag around it so I didn't have to carry it. Ever the gentleman, my colleague had offered (more than once) to carry both of them for me, but given that he had checked his own bags to save himself from carting them around, I didn't feel like it was at all fair to weigh him down with mine. So I'd declined each time, with a heartfelt thank you.

So there I was, in mid-sentence about some grand, intelligent sounding idea (of course :P) and tripping over my own toe, I stumbled a few steps in a frantic attempt to try to salvage my verticalness and my dignity and, failing on that project, fell flat on my face, crushing myself with my suitcase and the laptop bag. Classy.

My colleague and several passengers behind us expressed the obligatory "oh my god, are you okay??" statements and I responded with the obligatorily red-faced "yes, I'm a moron, but I'm fine." So, helping me back to a state of verticalness, my colleague took my bags for me (there really was no room for an argument at this point on that one) and we walked on. A week later, my ego is still recovering. Since I am an American, my second thought after "why am I such an idiot?" was "who can I sue?" So, I am filing suit against my toe. I will keep you all updated on the proceedings, I promise.

This past week was complete craziness, with projects ramping up for the year at work and the last bits of my flat search in full swing. I came home every night beyond exhausted and when I realised it was Thursday "already," I was in awe as to where the week had gone.

But mercifully, things slowed down by Friday and I got a chance to catch my breath. On my way home, the tube car I had the luck of being in stopped in the tunnel for 15 minutes due to mechanical issues ahead of us. Being that it was rush hour, I was sardined against the glass that marks the end of a row of seats, my head contorted in an odd manner.

While rush hour on the tube means you are guaranteed to be quite intimately close to your fellow tube riders, my particularly extreme lack of personal space was due to the ungentlemanly man behind me, who'd boarded the train at the last stop by creating room for himself that did not actually exist. But, being that it was Friday, that I'd finally had a not-so-hectic day and that I'm quite adept at this whole British thing about not being openly grumpy, I decided to people watch.

The first thing I noted, of course, was how silent and not annoyed everyone was. Nearly 6 months of living here and that still baffles me...tube riders don't get angry at the tube driver, they don't get angry with each other, they just accept all the little annoyances without comment and go about their day. We sat in near silence for that 15 minutes - and, save the whining comments of the suburbanite nongentleman and his companion about how this is exactly why they never come into the city - not only was no one openly complaining, people's facial expressions didn't even convey annoyance. A guy next to me and facing me expressed helpless and silent sympathy to me, having noted the earlier how and why of my getting smushed into the glass partition. But otherwise, people just waited, lost in their own worlds. I really find this politeness thing a bit fascinating because I think I can say with confidence that if a Metro car in DC sat in a tunnel for 15 minutes, there would be much squawking about lawsuits and whatnot :) 2-3 minutes in, people would start griping at each other and I'd have been well within social norms to utter a few unkind words to the squashing guy. But of course, in my actual surroundings, I followed suit and suffered without comment.

My own accomplishment in that 15 minutes was that whilst fighting rabid hunger myself, being that I'm currently in uber-diet mode, I watched a girl eat at least two doughnuts and I did not kill or even maim her. I couldn't have reached her to carry out either act, due to my sardine status, but still, I had resisted the urge to try it. I really feel I should be extended credit for that. During our stop, I could only see her head and I was actually impressed with her polite manner of inhaling her doughnut, despite my jealousy. But then I saw her eat another one and I thought "where the f@!k is she getting those from?!" I'm hopeful I displayed a proper poker face throughout this thought process, but I'm not sure. Later, when we were moving again and I'd been released from my glass prison, I could see that she had an entire box of them in her lap. Due to my new position, I could have harmed her as I'd considered earlier, absconding with the box. But I was almost home, so I successfully fought the urge and dined on my sad yet healthy dinner shortly thereafter, at home. Not only would it have been difficult to fully abscond without being noticed and/or caught, it was highly possible that she'd eaten all the contents already. So overall, it was best that I refrained from rude and illegal activity :)

And I've spent the rest of the weekend reveling in my resident status here. I had a lovely (if not horribly diet-violating) brunch with a new friend yesterday in what will soon be my neighbourhood and, after we perused the grocery store that will most likely be closest to both of our new flats, we parted ways and I strolled back through the park, enjoying the sunny day and the fact that it was the blessed weekend and that I live in the coolest place in the world.

I spent the late afternoon/early evening with another friend, planning a weekend trip to France with our wine group, having walked up the 193 steps (15 stories) of the Covent Garden tube station to meet him, which served as damage control during my day o'food. Should you ever brave this winding and obviously-long staircase, be prepared for the comical and guaranteed announcement by the tube staff that you are walking the equivalent of 15 stories and that your heart could explode (or something similarly horrifying sounding). British bluntness still amuses me endlessly. The planning was followed by rambling on about politics, life in London, etc., whilst eating more fattening food and sipping wine...all in all, a lovely way to end what began as a lovely day. And then I spent a happily quiet rest of the evening at home, finishing off my dietless day with a green olive baguette and a jar of black olive tapenade. Oh, and 4 doughnuts. I did fight the urge to eat more food, given my two sinful meals of the day, for, you know, like 12 minutes, but I finally caved.

Part of my rationalisation for this extra food was that, having still not worked up the motivation to get my Tesco card replaced since I was pickpocketed (yes, I'm talking 4 months here), they somehow mailed me a new one anyway, which came yesterday. I get BA miles with it and BA is way cooler than United, so it's been bugging me that I haven't been making use of my mile-accruing possibilities all this time. So you see, this pigout was twofold. I got to enjoy yummy food AND I got BA miles. How could I refuse? But anyway, I digress.

Since the scale was predictably unkind this morning, I went running in lovely Hyde Park and I have been ever so well-behaved on the food front :D The rest of my Sunday has been horribly mundane and unappreciative of my surroundings, but you see, I live here. I didn't get around to enjoying more of London than the park today, but there's always next weekend :)

In other news, after some "just to be sure" viewings of other flats this week, I took flat #3, which I saw just before my trip. Despite worrying a bit about the price and failing to convince my new landlords to let me have Yellow Dog, I think I'm going to love it. And so, in just 3 weeks, I'll say goodbye to my first home and my first neighbourhood in London and will move on to new adventures in an even cooler part of the city :)

Back to America Yet Again

Well, here I am again, typing to you from the evah so lovely Singapore Airlines lounge at Heathrow, I just had a really yummy goat cheese, sun-dried tomato and asparagus sandwich and it had pine nuts in it, which are just little bits of heaven.

But anyway, a handy dandy little tip for any fellow travellers out there about to depart from Heathrow (and probably all UK airports):

They just updated the baggage restrictions here back up to 2 carry-on bags and, ever excited to avoid baggage claim, I packed and repacked last night, sacrificing girly items and extra clothes, to be able use my carry-on rolly suitcase. The one I've owned for 5 years and have used umpteen times as a carry-on.

So, per my usual, I arrived uber-early because I could and because it's just less hectic that way. After checking-in via the kiosk and flashing my passport to the counter agent, I went upstairs to go through my beloved fast-track security line...and I was mere feet from the door when some twerpy little union guy stopped me and made me put my suitcase in the cage thing to see if it was small enough.

The wheels made it just too big and, after explaining how I'd used it a million times, it was carry-on size, the wheels don't count, etc, twerpy guy wouldn't budge, so I went back to the check-in counter to check it :(

The United counter agents were very very nice and really irritated - as apparently this has been an ongoing problem all week (the rules changed on 7 Jan). I was correct, wheels do not count and my bag is perfectly fine. But, with exasperated shrugs, they both advised that if I tried to go back upstairs, the twerpy guy would turn me away again. Although, it's important to note that, being the professionals they are, neither agent actually called him "twerpy guy." And neither did I, out loud, that's not nice :D I just called him "the security guy." They called him "the self-appointed policeman." ;) But they said they'd raise their argument later today, "yet again." Even the very nice (and cute!) constable who helped me thump my suitcase downstairs (no down escalator) expressed sympathy that I was turned away.

I don't have the most patience in general and though I love the airport and the flight once I'm through security, I almost always get grumpy in the process of getting to that happy point. But yay me, I was polite to everyone involved, I even smiled at twerpy guy and the haughty United guy who I passed on my way to the nice ladies at the check-in counter - he was just being generally annoying and difficult.

So my advice is this - don't bother trying to carry your suitcase on unless it's the really small kind, you might get turned away and if you didn't have boatloads of extra time like I did, that could be a problem! Or, you might be luckier than me and get through because maybe you won't encounter twerpy guy. But why chance it? On the happy side, my packing and sacrificing wasn't for naught...funny enough, the US is now much more relaxed in restrictions compared to the UK...and on my much anticipated flight back home on Friday, I can carry my suitcase through security and I can get back to my beloved city that much quicker :D

Oh! But in an actual very happy security change, you no longer take anything out of your bag when you go through security! I started to unpack my many items of contraband - 2 laptops, 3 phones, saline eye drops, etc and the security guy stopped me. "No, leave everything in your bag." "My laptops? Everything?" I said, surprised. "Yep." "I love that!!" I said. "So do we!" He replied. Lol. So, my coat and my fully packed bag went through on the belt, I walked through and I was on my merry way.

In other unrelated news, I've fallen in love with flat #3, which I saw last night, and once I make sure I really can afford it (bit pricey), I'm snagging it. Fingers crossed!

Free Health Care and Flat Compromises

So, it only took me 6 weeks - 5 months if you allow that my numerous "colds" were probably really a very long-lasting sinus infection, but I finally went to the doctor this morning to deal with it. This was my first dip into this whole free health care thing that is both so treasured and yet so despised by the British people...and so hated and envied by America.

To listen to the Beeb, you'd think the whole system was a rat-infested, utter disaster on the brink of extinction. To listen to Brown, you'd think NHS is somehow on its way to being bigger and better than it is now. To listen to Michael Moore, well you'd be stupid to do so in any case, but if you did, you'd think it was the best thing ever and that they pay you to go. I can't bring myself to watch Sicko, because Michael Moore is a lying nitwit who ruins a perfectly good point by making things up to try to prove said point. However, I saw in the previews that he said you get paid to go to NHS. I'll cut to the chase: no one paid me.

But. It is, in fact, free. And really quite lovely. So, here's a rundown of my 75 minuteish virgin experience of the NHS:

The centre I am supposed to use, given my current residence, is a few blocks from my flat. Having called on Friday to make sure I could register and see someone today, I made absolutely sure I was there when the doors would open at 9am, as this whole adventure was, even with the best scenario, going to make me 2 hours late for work.

And so it was that I arrived (without getting lost thankyouverymuch) about 10 minutes early. From the street, it looked like kind of a sad building and I was suddenly sorry I was there. I come from a land where I, as an upper-middle class employed person, went to doctors in fancy buildings, with leather couches and fish tanks built into the walls in the waiting room. This place looked something out of one Flew Over the Cuckoo's nest. There were a handful of people waiting right by the door, but my snobbish American mind saw smarmy looking people hovering around free healthcare - and as all Americans know, only poor people get free health care :P So, I waited out on the street and occupied myself with my Crackberry. I was also perturbed that my nose was actually clear and worried I might not get my drugs. Suddenly, I was an antibiotics junkie.

But after a few minutes, my want not to be last in line won over my idiotic Americanness and I ventured up to the smarmy looking group...and discovered that none of them were, in fact, smarmy. Incidentally, next on the list of health-related visits is the optician, my contacts are way too weak. One guy, the King of Smarms, as I had just earlier proclaimed him, was in business casual (under a smarmy coat though) and was playing with an iPhone. Right then, I inwardly rolled my blind eyes at myself and waited with everyone else. I spent my time worriedly sniffing through my annoyingly clear nose, hoping I could will it to get stuffed up.

In blessed and endearing British fashion, when the doors opened 5 minutes late, no one was freaking out and we all queued silently and politely, with little care as to who might have arrived on the grounds first.

The line moved quite quickly and soon, I was within sight of the reception desk and shortly thereafter, it was my turn. I did note that the ground floor - reception and the waiting room, was quite bare and clinical looking, there were no leather couches and no fish tanks :P But happily, my nose suddenly turned back into an annoyingly infected mess. Handing my passport and a utility bill to the lady behind the counter - items I'd been told, over the phone, to bring - I said I needed to register and that I was pretty sure I had a sinus (sidus) infection.

"Our computers are down today, I'm afraid you'll have to come back tomorrow - but you should call before you come."

Suddenly, I forgot about politeness, I forgot about queuing in a civilised fashion, all I knew was that I was taking my entire morning to do this and what she had just suggested was going to mean doing that all over again, possibly twice. Plus, with my next flight a mere 6 days away, I was in antibiotic junkie mode. So, for about 4.2 seconds, I went all American-cranky on the poor woman.

"I called on Friday and I was told I could register today. I work an hour away, I can't just call when you open."

And I was met with a smile and an apology and suddenly, I felt like a jerk and put myself in check. This last minute crunch was, after all, my own fault.

"I'm sorry. I just - my sinuses are killing me and I have to fly to the states on Saturday, I really need to start antibiotics soon. I understand I'm required to go to the centre closest to my home? That I can't go to one near work?"

And the very very nice lady offered to let me see someone, just by filling out the paper registration forms I'm sure they haven't used in eons. So, ever grateful and back in polite British mode, I filled out the forms and was directed upstairs to finish the logistics. She also said that no, I could go to whichever centre I wanted. But the NHS website disagrees, so I'll have to look into it.

Heading up one floor to an equally sterile hallway, I sat in a folding chair against the wall and waited to be called. And just a few minutes later, I was called into an office to get into the NHS system. A few questions later, I was officially in the NHS system...and sent back downstairs to wait.

Just to make sure I wasn't waiting all day for no one, I popped back over to reception and with a very appreciative smile, asked if I was on the list to see someone. I was, so I went into the extremely crowded waiting room to wait. But people were being called in rapid fashion and a few minutes later (too short of a time for me to get my Crackberry online), I was called to see the nurse.

After a blood pressure check and a bunch of questions, I was back in the waiting room.

This time, I had just enough time to send one short email and I was called again - and 10 minutes later, was on my way to work, prized prescription in hand. Oh and that best case scenario 2 hours thing? I arrived at work exactly 2 hours and 1 minute late :D Since sick time in the UK is "take it as you need it/unlimited" no one at work seemed to care...though it's the beginning of a very hectic two weeks, so I cared, but oh well.

Fast forward to 6:30ish, on my way home from the viewing of flat #2, and I stopped at the chemist (pharmacist) with my prized prescription. Slightly less than £14 and 10 minutes later, I had my antibiotics and prescription nasal spray and was on my tired way home. Incidentally, there are a number categories to qualify for free prescriptions.

So, all in all, it's not fancy, they don't pay you, but the care is free, everyone uses it, the staff is uber-friendly, the drugs are cheap and it's quicker than the American system - if I hadn't had to register, the whole thing would have taken 20 minutes. I rather like it. And I feel like such a local now :D My only question, to any of you Brits who might be reading, is: if I needed to prove my residency to use the system, then how do the homeless register?

Circling back to the viewing of flat #2:

Absolutely wonderful location, sizeable flat with 10 or 12 foot ceilings, plasma TV...but a painfully basic and small kitchen and it's available now, whereas I'm not ready to move for 5 weeks. So, we'll see. I'm encouraged though - I'm quite sure that with a little compromise, I will find a flat in this immediate area - fingers crossed.

Happy (Belated) New Year!

Oh and also a horribly belated Happy (Merry) Christmas! I’m back from DC and wishing I wasn’t headed back to America again in 8 days for work. But, it pays the bills, so off I go.

I had a rather telling and amusing entrance back into the country I love last weekend. Having once again procured my beloved upgrade, I was coming through the Fast track passport queue at Heathrow, where classism rules the roost and the immigration officers are nice to you, friendly and talkative even. Well ok, to be fair, I did not get my upgrade on my return after Thanksgiving and so was forced to join the commoner passport queue ;) And that immigration officer was quite friendly. But usually this friendliness hasn’t been my experience in the regular queue. But anyway, I digress. My conversation with the immigration officer went a bit like this:

Upon viewing my visa, the officer said “Just returning then?”

Me: (with a smile and happy sigh) “Yes.”

Officer: “Holidays are always too short, aren’t they?"

Me: “No! It was lovely to see everyone, but I’m glad to be back.”

Officer: (with a raised eyebrow and a surprised smirk) “No one ever says that."

Me: “Well, I’m weird. I love it here!”

And with that, he handed my passport back and I wandered off to baggage claim, officially back home.

So there you have it. I love this silly place so much that I was happy to be back, despite a work week sitting right around the corner. And though it’s the life I chose, having taken this job, I really wish I wasn’t leaving so soon again. The upside is that I’m only visiting America and soon enough, I will be home again. I did enjoy my visit back to DC, it was fantastic to see the people I did, sad to miss the ones I couldn’t see and also fantastic to eat some of my favourite American processed foods :)

Oh and also? Having received my first paycheque shortly before departing the UK, I went shopping in DC and spent (some of) my almighty pounds! It was heaven. It would have been a much better trip if I wasn’t so utterly lazy and had gone to the doctor before I left to get some antibiotics for this very stubborn sinus infection. I deteriorated rapidly upon my arrival in DC and was a bit cranky and ill all week. (Incidentally, I was having a brain drain just now and couldn’t remember how to spell deteriorated. MS Word’s first suggestion, based on my attempt to spell it, was “detonated.” Hee.) Here I am in the land of free healthcare and I can’t drag myself to the doctor for one appointment. Serves me right too because, of course, spending a total of 15 hours at 30,000 feet is quite excruciating when you have unhappy sinuses. But I’m a quick study and with another even longer flight just around the corner, I’m dragging my lazy self to the doctor on Monday. If nothing else, I’m curious to see what free healthcare is like ;)

My first New Year’s Eve in London was nearly perfect. I’d planned a dinner out with some friends and, with only a few weeks to plan, even managed to find a restaurant that we all thought would give us a view of the famed midnight fireworks display over the London Eye. The food was phenomenal, the wine lovely and, with a few minutes to spare to midnight, our server very kindly brought free champagne for the entire table. We ventured out onto the roof terrace, glasses in hand, to watch the much anticipated display. And we soon burst out laughing. You could hear them, you could even see bursts of light. But alas, a newly built building blocked the exact area where the fireworks were going off and we saw perhaps one or two actual fireworks out of a 15 minute show. Oh well. The point is, I spent the evening with a very fun group of people and even at my old age, was still wide awake at 4 AM, when I finally guilted myself into going to bed. It was a lovely way to bid 2007 adieu and an even lovelier way to welcome in 2008. And the icing on the cake was that I did not encounter any annoying drunk people on my tube ride/walk home....there the girl in the pink bikini in the tube station on the way to dinner, but I think she was just crazy, not drunk, so that's different.

In other news, I’m moving! My current flat is gorgeous, my landlady has turned out to be the sweetest person ever, but I’m not crazy about the complex and it’s actually quite far from work. So, tonight begins my quest for a new flat, I'm stopping to look at one on the way home. I have my stubborn heart set on quite an expensive area, but I have hope that with a little hard work and obsessing, I’ll land right where I want to :) Moving day isn’t for another six weeks, so I’ve time just yet. As for the rest of the weekend, I’m still recovering from holiday mayhem and I have absolutely no plans yet and I love that. Perhaps I’ll call a couple girlfriends to do Sunday lunch, there is the off chance I'll be up for a night out tomorrow night, but otherwise, it’s time to relax!

Christmas Parties and Anonymous Cities

Hmm, ok, so I know it's been awhile since I posted. I've been both busy and lazy, so those are my handy excuses :D

I'm settling in at work, sort of, and the office Christmas party was last night...it was a very nice affair! I can't recall if I blogged about the cocktail party I went to last month that was for a children's charity...I'm too lazy to go look, so I'll tell you now, forgive me if I'm repeating myself :P It was billed, in two different places, as formal/black tie. So I went, I will shamelessly admit, in large part because it was an excuse to get dressed up, which I love to do. But when I got there, no one was dressed up!! Ugh. I met a girl last week who'd also been there, dressed up, and we shared our annoyance...though it seems we arrived at the party at different times. Mercifully, my coat hid my attire and I promptly left. But I was very excited to hear that the office Christmas party was formal and, after telling my cocktail party story to a few colleagues, I was assured that the office party really was formal. We all changed at work and the frenzy to get cute was rather amusing, but most importantly, I got to make use of the dress I bought for that stupid cocktail party! So yay.

Today was a lazy day of afternoon tea with some friends and vegging, this whole work thing is exhausting, I needed a break ;)

I have done absolutely no Christmas shopping, though I've done much Christmas partying ;) And in very happy news, I recently came to a realisation that means I now have New Year's Eve plans, whereas I previously had grand plans of a delicious meal by myself and watching the fireworks on TV.

Since moving here, I had a rule for myself that I would not spend NYE in the states, on mere principle. The logistics didn't really register at the time, but with the day falling on a weekday this year, it was actually out of my control, I have to work that day just like everyone else...so I'll be in London and will abide by my rule ;) But I realised not too long ago that the day was creeping up, I had no plans and that most likely, everyone else already did.

I didn't want to be "that loser" who made it known that I had no life ;) So, I had a good pathetic little cry over it and then lamented my sad tale to a net friend the next day, far more philosophical and fine with it by then. But he pointed out that I can still get away with the "new in town" excuse and not look like a loser for fishing for plans.

Sooo, whilst out with a group of friends this past week, I mentioned my lack of plans, purposely adding that whole "it's so weird to be new in town." And, lo and behold, others were gleeful that someone else didn't have plans and was admitting it. 5 days later, I've gotten braver, I've said it to others and I now have the daunting task of finding something for the 6 (and growing) group of us to do.

Which brings me to a point. London is, just like any major city, cold and anonymous. There's the unwritten rule that you don't talk to other people on the tube because only crazy people talk to strangers, the fact that though I have seen my next door neighbour several times and have exchanged smiles with her, neither of us has introduced ourselves, and then there was pickpocket night...where no one batted an eye or tried to help when all my worldly possessions were no longer my possessions. But without fail, when I comment on these rules of society to others, I'm met with a knowing yet frustrated smile and we joke about how you don't dare defy the culture, but it drives you mad.

Those jokes lead to talks about making friends in this big cold city...and everyone agrees that it takes a ton of work, it's nearly impossible, etc. Suddenly, there's no shame in admitting that you lack friends ;) If everyone's in the same boat, then it's not weird or pathetic to have a less-than-packed social calendar, it's reality.

I ran into a girl I know tonight at the drug store, whilst I was procuring drugs for a sinus infection that just won't die, and we said hi, but went our separate ways. I realised a few minutes too late that I should have asked if she had dinner plans, because I didn't and though I was actually quite happy to veg on this particular evening, I also should have seized the opportunity to make a friend...but oh well.

The point I've meandered to is this: I've made friends here in jolly old London, but friendships take effort and work...and having to exert that effort doesn't make me desperate for friends, it makes me just like most other Londoners...trying to find a few friends in a sea of anonymity.

Get to work, Young Lassie!

Ok, so, this is England, not Scotland and I'm a girl, not a dog and I hardly qualify as young...but you get my point. I'm a working schmuck once again. The good news is that payday comes early this month, due to the holidays (most companies in the UK pay monthly), so I get a happy little paycheque earlier than I thought.

So, I really like the company...they're a bit neurotic with the purse strings in many ways, but also quite logical in their neuroses. Nearly everyone I encountered was as nice as nice could be and it wasn't a bad day. It was a surprisingly exhausting day, but still a good one all the same.

When my alarm went off at 6 for my run, I decided that my mobile was Satan's spawn and I reset it for 7, snuggling further into my warm sheets. I'm still in awe of how much shorter the days are here...it doesn't get light out until almost 8am and it gets dark at 3:45ish, and it's only getting worse. So, I don't have high hopes for my willingness to run in the pitch black, even if the park gates do open at 6am no matter how dark it is. I do get a gym discount with work, so we'll see.

Showered, fed and dressed, I scurried off to the tube at 8:15...only to arrive to closed gates at Paddington. Lovely. For those of you Washingtonians who may have recently grumbled about Metro's idiocy, I've said it before and I'll say it again: count your blessings, the tube is worse. They made an announcement as to why the gates were down, but it was too garbled to comprehend, so I never did find out why. But after a few minutes, they let us (me and hundreds of others) into the station...and I managed to sausage myself onto the second train that arrived. But at the very next stop, the driver announced that we all had to get out, the train was terminating (I actually understood this time). This little termination game happens often and it doesn't get any less annoying the more I've experienced it. So ok, I got out and waited for another train...which, after taking a really long time, got me to my office's stop. I arrived and announced myself to the receptionist, with apologies for being (25 minutes) late, but obviously so were many others, so no one cared.

She was my first taste of niceness in the office, when I said my name, she knew I was starting today and gave me a very happy and welcoming hello...and managed to chase a few of my new colleagues down to come greet me. My boss is (for now) based in the company's US office, so I'll see him in a few weeks I guess. We spoke over the phone a few times and he kept apologising for the "disorganisation" of my first day, but I rather liked the informality.

So, then it was off to the obligatory HR session with a few other new people, where I got a crash course in the differences between the US and the UK. Basically, the overall tone was that no one should be working themselves into the ground, life is meant to be enjoyed. We get locked out of the building in the evenings and on weekends.

Later, I was given my laptop and a Blackberry...didn't know I was getting either, but it makes sense, since they'll be shipping me off to the states all the time. I asked if I was supposed to cart the laptop home every night, meaning so that no one could steal it, and I was met with a mortified look from the IT guy and "no no, leave it here, don't work at home, bleh." Okie dokie. I did bring the stupid Blackberry home though, it fit neatly in my purse and plus, I kind of want to play with it. I've never had one, but I've heard about the weird addictions to them...and the IT guy called it a Crackberry, which doesn't bode well.

So, I spent the rest of the day setting up meetings and getting acclimated. My day was nearly over when it went a bit sour...I won't go into any detail, as you never know who might be reading, but unfortunately, one of the people I'll spend the most time with appears to be kind of a jerk.

We only had a brief encounter, but it was needlessly most unpleasant. I'm trying, with all my might, to let my first impression go and hope for better things tomorrow, but I don't have high hopes. Oh well, there's one in every office, isn't there?

But all in all, though I already miss my life of leisure, I think I've faired pretty well on the job front. Best of all! The office Christmas party is semi-formal, so I get to wear the dress I bought for the cocktail party that was supposed to be black-tie, but wasn't. Yay!

Brussels, Abridged

Alright, be forewarned, this is rather long :P

Day 1:

Well, my maiden solo trip started at 4am Thursday morning. In case you're curious, that is freakishly early in the morning. I'd showered the night before to save precious sleep time, so by 4:20, I was on my merry way to the bus stop at Paddington station. After waiting 15 minutes for a nonexistent bus that would have cost 90p, I saw a black cab pull into the station below, so I scurried off to catch him as he left and though I hate hailing cabs (I do realise it's dumb, but I feel stupid doing it), I did and 10 minutes and £13 later, I was at St. Pancras....30 minutes earlier than I needed to be. But the cabbie, in true London form, after asking the quintessential "where to, Love?" referred to me as a "young girl" whilst on his mobile to dispatch. So it was totally worth the extra £12 ;) So, I checked in for my train and walked around.

Eurostar is ever so proud of the new station, but there's quite a major flaw. You're required to check-in 30 minutes before your train...but all but one store is before the check-in point. So, you're supposed to sit for 30 minutes with nothing but a coffee shop. Oh well.

I fired off a few emails while I waited (god bless mobile broadband) and soon enough, I boarded. The train was nearly empty, as no one else is stupid enough to get up that early and I was quite happy I'd chosen "Leisure Select," which is business class, basically. The Eurostar staff are some of the nicest people I've ever seen in the service industry and they couldn't have been friendlier and more pleasant if they tried, on both legs on my trip. I was served a rather large and yummy breakfast at my seat and spent the rest of the ride trying to quell my motion sickness - 186mph hurts, let me just tell you. I also fired off a few emails once I could pick up the broadband signal in Belgium, just for novelty purposes (they were all "I'm on the train right now and I feel sick" and other cheesy things). I think I paid £10 for roaming, but oh well.

It got semi-light out as we entered Belgium and I watched the very very rural landscape go by as the sun came up and before I knew it, we were pulling into the Brussels station. Collecting my stuff, I rolled off to the subway section of the station and after getting turned around and lost several times - it isn't a logical system and there is no one to help - I got on a train that I was somewhat sure was taking me to the vicinity of my hotel. It was about at this point that I remembered how weird it was to arrive in London back in August and how everything had seemed difficult. It was a somewhat sick and somewhat heart-warming moment in my head.

In a miracle that struck me as a good sign, I found my hotel (the Crowne Plaza Brussels City Centre) very easily and they let me check in, despite my painfully early arrival. My room was quite large, especially by European standards and after a few more quick emails via the free wi-fi in the hotel, I set out to explore Brussels - with the dangerous comment from the concierge that the easiest way to get to the Grand Place (Brussels' town square) was through the shopping district. Shopping! Well, I wasn't 10 steps out the door when I decided my usually comfy boots hurt and that I needed new ones. After a bit of searching, I found some that were nearly identical to mine and bought them. This was my first lesson in how my lack of knowledge of French and/or Flemish was going to annoy me and all of the merchants who had to deal with me. But sadly, the new boots soon started hurting too...oh well. Sore feet were to become a theme for my weekend.

I spent Thursday wandering aimlessly and making poor meal choices. Some of you know how much I love to plan holidays, how I research the restaurants, the sights, etc. Well, this one was planned so quickly that I did none of that. I'd been advised by a friend that moules et frites (mussels and fries) is the Belgian meal and I'm a huge fan of both, so I was on the hunt for a yummy looking moules et frites serving restaurant. But alas, that lack of knowledge of Flemish and extremely limited knowledge of French were again my downfall.

Tourists all think the best seafood in the city is in an alley off the Grand Place, where the restaurants are so packed together that you can barely decipher one from another. And the waiters stand outside begging you to come in, trying to give you discounts and free extras. If you go online, you'll think this begging is Belgian custom. The tourists think it's all very exciting. Well, again with the help of net researching, here's my take on this tacky and stupid tradition: it has absolutely nothing to do with Belgian culture, it isn't the best food, the locals just know the tourists are too stupid to know any better, so it's become a rather embarrassing tradition. One I didn't really want to participate in. My major downfall in going on holiday is that I, as someone who grew up in the metro area of a major world city, despise the thought of being a tourist. Tourists enjoy stupid things, they get in the way of locals, they're just generally gullible and easily amused idiots ;) And I don't want to be thought of as one, so I always try to do what the locals do when I travel. And the locals don't barter with waiters in the streets of Brussels.

Brussels is a wonderful city, but be forewarned, it isn't set up for English-only speakers. Lol, it isn't very tourist friendly (although the signage for landmarks is very well thought-out and placed). So, I ended up at a place that stank of chain restaurant and tackiness, but which looked English-friendly and no one was begging me to eat there. And I promptly ordered the wrong thing and did not get moules et frites. Oops. I later found out that all the tourists consider this place - Chez Leon - to have the best moules et frites in Brussels, but the locals hate the place. So I was right, it's tacky (and is also a chain).

After more wandering, I went back to the hotel to research dinner...I was craving crepes and decided I would attempt moules et frites again for lunch on Friday. I thought I found a place for crepes, but it got horrible reviews all over the net, so I wasn't too excited. But it started to get late and I stopped caring what I ate, so I went. Well, at Drug Opera, so named because the building was once a pharmacy, the food wasn't horrible, but it wasn't great either and my waiter was rude - and they do not have crepes, though they claim they do. Weird. But they actually have 3 different restaurants in the building, on different floors...and the basement is a wine cellar that actually did get good reviews (which I didn't go to because I wanted the stupid crepes). Oh well, next time perhaps.

Heading back to the hotel, I discovered there was a jazz concert going on in the hotel bar, so I headed in for a bit and then, after a failed attempt to get the sauna working and some breakfast researching online, I went to bed...totally exhausted, but loving the trip thus far. The bad choices and mishaps were actually rather amusing and I was happy to have made the journey.

Day 2:

After being good and working out in the hotel gym for a bit when I first got up, I caved and had breakfast at the hotel because I was starving and didn't think I could last long enough to go find good food. I had hoped they had small things on the menu and that I could still go have a real breakfast later, but it was a buffet - a bad one. As I was munching on my bad breakfast, I glanced at my watch - which I had set forward to European time...and it was an hour later than I thought it was. Oops. I'd used my mobile for an alarm clock and it was still on UK time. So ok, hurrying along, I went upstairs and got ready for another day on the town. I didn't have a huge list of things I wanted to see and do, but the concierge had told me that the old fish market had really good restaurants and I felt like I should go to the chocolate museum, on mere principle. Plus, the Christmas festival was starting that day.

So, by the time I got ready, it was nearly lunch time, so I went off to do search #2 for moules et frites, checking out some of the Christmas festival on my way. And I decided I would brave the stupid seafood alley, with my own system: 1) if they begged me, they were out of the running and 2) there had to be other local-looking people inside eating. After awhile, I finally picked a place...and got ripped off. They were not honouring the menu they had outside and though they weren't begging when I got there, they did it several times to passers-by while I ate. But, most importantly, I got moules et frites! And it was delicioso! And they give you a ton of mussels. Even I was stuffed and after paying the bill, I headed back to the hotel to rest and regroup. Picking up some handmade chocolate on the way - ordered via pointing and smiiling a lot - I arrived back at the hotel to plan my journey to the fish market - which looked a bit far. The chocolate museum was pushed to Saturday.

But after awhile, I had the route to the market sort of figured out and I set out for dinner. And on my way, I happened upon a much bigger section of the festival and aborted the fish market plan, in favour of a restaurant just off rip-off alley, that had been heralded as the one restaurant in the Grand Place that is not a gimmick. So I wandered the festival for awhile, bought more chocolate and started on my way back to the Grand Place.

And then the funniest and best moment of the entire trip happened: as I was around the corner from the Grand Place, almost to the restaurant, a huge blast of firework sounds went off and I have never seen anything like this, but everyone (hundreds of people) started bolting toward the Grand Place, out of stores, etc. And the streets around the Grand Place are medieval-type narrow-cobble stone streets. It was like a herd of cattle, lol. So, I followed them, figuring it was either the Apocalypse or something really cool.

Well, the gothic looking building in the square (not sure what it is?) was all lit up and changing colours and there was a woman on a balcony of it singing opera. She finished her song and these incredibly odd characters came out. They were like oompa loompas dressed like nutcrackers and they had sirens on their heads. One of them was doing the robot dance. Europeans are as weird as weird gets, I'm telling you. So then they wandered away down the street, sirens flashing as they went and the opera lady came back out and sang for forever. But what timing! I had no idea that little concert was scheduled - though, clearly the herd of cattle did - and I nearly missed it. And as I stood and watched the concert, I realised that I did it...I went on holiday by myself and I was loving it. Sadly, not a single picture of any of it because the batteries in my camera died! C'est la vie.

But, with my toes sufficiently frozen and feeling quite proud of myself, I headed to the restaurant for some hot food. Upon arriving, I noticed that compared to the other restaurants around it, it was quite full and no one was outside begging...and I was also thankful that I made a point throughout the trip to dress up, it appeared to be jacket-required. Stepping up to the host, I was suddenly worried they were too full. "Table pour une?" I asked with a hopeful smile. With a big smile back, he ushered me to a table and, long story short (as this whole thing is long!), I cannot recommend the Aux Armes de Bruxelles enough. They treated me like a queen and for a mere 45 euros, I dined on a perfectly crafted 4 course meal and a half a bottle of wine. In addition to the crepes I was still craving, I was also craving Saumon de Bearnaise...so I was giddy that one of their set menus included it and they did a wonderful job with its creation.

So, sufficiently stuffed and happy, I set off back to the hotel to be an old lady and go to bed...and got lost, in the pouring rain. But my wrong turn alerted me to a place called Maison des Crepes. Crepes! Lunch for Saturday! When I finally got back to the hotel, I was drenched and cold and after a quick search on the crepes place - which had all positive results - I went to bed.

Day 3:

After another workout and an in-room breakfast of the danishes I'd wisely purchased the day before at a boulagerie, I checked out of the hotel with the obligatory plan to finally see the stupid chocolate museum and to get to the Grand Sablon, where the two best chocolatiers in the whole world supposedly are - Wittamer and Pierre Marcolini...and, of course, the crepes I'd found the night before.

After a light lunch at Wittamer's cafe and a bit of wandering the Grand Sablon, I headed back to my neck of the woods, impressed with how quickly I'd become oriented with Brussels. I wandered the festival yet again, as it's rather endless and there are countless parades, etc, and then I headed to the crepes place. I never did make it to the museum. I decided I don't really care about the history of chocolate, I only really care about chocolate in the present, which I can eat. I came to this conclusion whilst scarfing chocolate from a shop within the festival :P

Well, they are in fact, quite tasty crepes at the Maison des Crepes...only, when I went to pay, I discovered that they don't take credit cards. Oops!!! But, the manager was quite nice and trusting (and fluent in English, mercifully) and directed me to a cash machine around the corner. I promised, with mortified embarrassment, that I would be right back. After being assaulted by a homeless man (who I inadvertently scared the daylights out of) and waiting in a very long line at the machine, I got the needed cash and left a hefty tip, with more apologies for my idiocy...and headed back to the hotel, having loved my quick holiday but quite ready to get back to relaxing London.

I had an hour or so to kill, so I sat in the lobby web surfing and resting my sad feet and decided to take a cab to the train station instead of the subway...and ended up sharing one with a London-based couple, also heading back. Which was good because he ripped us off and I wouldn't have had enough cash on me for the hefty fare his long route created. The couple and I were perturbed but in too much of a hurry to care.

The ride home was lovely, with a 3 course dinner and copious amounts of champagne and wine...and very amusing carriage mates, and before I knew it, I was back to my flat.

So, there you have it...I've gone on holiday by myself and it was heaven. Madrid is next, in late January. Brussels was lovely, but next time, I want more sun and less frozen digits and rain ;)

And now my life of leisure has come to a close...tomorrow is the first real Monday I've had in four months, one that marks the beginning of a work week. Oh happy day.

I came to London four months ago...and I have a flat, budding friendships, a job and I've travelled to Europe. Who knew it was this easy?

Brussels!

Well, I'm back from the good ole states. My trip was lovely and uneventful. Well, except our flight to Boston was horribly delayed and when my head finally hit the pillow at my aunt's, I'd been awake for nearly 24 hours. Tired much? And I got over my westward jetlag just in time to fly home and am still all screwed up. Time zones are fun! :P

So, moving right along, I moved here - in large part - so that I could travel around Europe, yet I've been here for nearly 4 months and I haven't done a stitch of traveling. So, the hunt was on...with my last few days of freedom upon me and employment prison looming in the near future, I decided enough is enough. I can no longer rationalise that I can't afford to travel, that I should be sending out CVs, etc. Right now, I'm free to do whatever the heck I want. And weird as it may feel, I'm going on a trip alone. It actually doesn't feel that weird yet, time will tell.

So, after much research and mind-changing and driving myself crazy, as I'm wont to do, I decided on Brussels. I didn't realise until after I booked that their Christmas festival starts on Friday, so that should be fun...I'm there until late Saturday, leaving painfully early tomorrow.

Brussels was actually the original inspiration, as I wanted to try the new and improved Eurostar (though I never rode the old one) which goes 186 mph. I know this with certainty because there are adverts on TV every 2 and a half seconds all day, I kid you not. Plus, it's so much more convenient than flying because I get on in London and I get out in Brussels, not 45 minutes away from either city as airports are.

But, I was originally going to go today to Friday and all the hotels were booked solid for tonight...a bit of Googling told me that there was a big to-do with the European Parliament, so that was why. So, I shifted gears and thought it would be oodles of fun to take the ferry to Dublin. But with the train needed to get to the ferry, it became an 8 hour trip each way. Plus, the ferry is a better idea when it's not the arctic circle outside. So then it was Rome, only there were no direct flights that were cheap and the indirect ones had annoying departure times. Plus, there's a theatre strike going on and I wanted to see an opera. So ok, Milan? Well yes, wonderful, direct cheap flights even...but Milan is better when I have money to shop. Better than Rome for opera too I'm told.

So then I was back to Brussels, bumping the trip out a day and viola. I still obsessed over hotels, but I did eventually decide on one :P I'm excited. In a fit of sensibility, I booked myself on the 6am train tomorrow morning, rationalising that with the uber-short days and the short length of my trip, I should get there as early as possible. But I'll be up at like 4:30 tomorrow, yikes. Comically, the tube doesn't even start that early...so I have to either figure out a bus or take a cab, we'll see. I'm a city chick now, I can figure it out! We hope.

I considered Spain, but Brussels just sounded more fun. France and Germany were out because I've been to both and felt like a homebody going back, even if it were different cities.

So, I'm off to pack and figure out what I want to see. Those of you who know me know that I don't drink beer, on the principle that it's not girly. Roll your eyes, sue me, whatever...it's my story and I'm sticking to it. Plus, I've never actually liked beer. But I do realise I'm going to Belgium, land of beer, so we'll see. I drank beer in Germany and I didn't turn into a man, so I suppose it's safe ;) But I did discover a Brussels bar, in my Googling, whose house drink is a mix of white wine and champagne...sounds like heaven!

Leavin' On a Jet Plane

Firstly, you're quite welcome. I know how excited you are to have that song now earwormed into your brains all day. And if you'd somehow escaped the earworm from the title, hopefully this paragraph did the trick. Now that my work is done, I'll move along to my point :D

I'm typing to you from the Singapore Airlines' lounge at Heathrow, whilst stuffing my face with a cream cheese and salmon sandwich. The scary thing is, I'm the only one in here and there is an entire mini-fridge of sandwiches. Not to mention more food beyond that. And I've 3.5 hours to kill, scary. And then there's my 3-course meal on the plane and the snack later. And then there's tomorrow. I have lots of stretchy clothes in my suitcase. I'm flying United, but they're partnered with Singapore and the Singapore lounge is way better. There's hardly any food at the United lounge and that's just criminal.

I decided yesterday that I might as well just get up and come to the airport, since I was either going to sit around my flat all day doing various online tasks or I was going to sit here and do the same tasks. So here I am. I'm a little grumpy because I can only get the 2G connection here, which is dial-up speed basically, but I'll live.

I took a very handy train to get here. It's £25 roundtrip and was totally worth it. I walked myself and my wheely suitcase the 3 blocks to Paddington, went to the ticket kiosk and printed out the tickets I bought online last night and walked onto the train. A few minutes later, we left and we were here in 15 minutes. Handy.

But, in my new British world, there are even stupider airport security rules than the good ole U S of A. This is my first venture out of the UK since January and I guess it's the first time I ever tried to get all my stuff carry-on worthy. So, here you go, a handy dandy guide to keeping your sanity whilst checking-in at Heathrow, keeping in mind that my new job means I will be flying this airline very frequently, so suddenly, I'm keenly aware of how 25-30% of my life will soon be spent.

First, an overall phrase that you just have to accept and get over:

"It's for security purposes."

Well, no, it usually isn't and a) I don't appreciate the insult to my intelligence that insinuates and more importantly b) it's the boy who cried wolf. When they start claiming that everything is "for security purposes," I'm not going to believe them when it really is.

1) If you are flying on a stupid, customer service nightmare US carrier and your trip started here in the UK, you can't use online check-in. I discovered this this morning. This was also where I had to suck it up about the security phrase.

I asked the very nice girl at the United info desk why I hadn't been allowed to check-in online and she said "oh, that's for security purposes, you can't check-in if your flight originates outside the United States." Now, I can be grumpy, very grumpy in fact, but she was very nice so I was nice (but blunt) back. "No it isn't, BA lets me do it, I guess United just hasn't set it up yet" I said. There wasn't really a response she could give me, but we chit-chatted about immaterial things for a minute and then I went to a kiosk to check-in and was soon back wheeling by her with my boarding passes, with a smile and a "bye!" But, no go! She stopped me.

I'd very carefully packed my carry-on sized wheely to be carry-on worthy. I have all my 3 ounce containers in a ziploc baggy, etc. This because I'm connecting onto Boston and I was trying to avoid the baggage dance at Dulles. But apparently you can only have 1 bag on flights leaving the UK. Not a purse and a bag. A purse or a bag. I tried to stuff my messenger bag in the suitcase, but it was quite hopeless, so after a bit of shuffling of things from the suitcase to the messenger bag, I glumly approached the counter to check my suitcase. I was trying to avoid checking anything because Dulles is retardedly designed, as every Washingtonian is painfully aware, and I now have to go get my stupid suitcase from baggage claim at Dulles, before I go to my Boston gate and that puts me outside security I think, so I have to go back through. Oh well.

So ok, suitcaseless and grumpy, I walked by the nice girl again, except I stopped on my own to get organised and she said "I don't know how old you are, but you seem wiser than me, let me ask you a question." So, flattered suddenly and a bit less grumpy, I waited for the question. From our earlier chit-chatting, she knew I was ridiculously early for my flight and I'm sure she was bored. Well, it was a man question...one I have all too much of that aforementioned wisdom about. So, I gave my wisdom on the matter, ending with "men are idiots, unfortunately." We laughed and I carried on to go through security.

The last time I flew out of the UK, I was pleased to note that they didn't do the stupid shoe game. You do take all your suspect items out and put them in bins, but you get to keep your shoes.

Well, moving back to our handy list, these days, after you go through "security," you proceed past passport control and then, think you get to waddle off to your gate? Ha ha! Not so much.

This is new since January, but the UK has the shoe game as its own step. Annoying.

So, 2) after passport control, you have to take your shoes off and put them through the scanner.

So there you have it, after that whole song and dance, here I sit, waiting to get on my merry way to the states.

Happy Thanksgiving!

A life of leisure comes to a close

Well ok, not my whole life, just the leisure bit.

As of about 4 hours ago, I'm employed! I got the job! 3 interviews, hours of questions, more hours of presentation preparation and viola, they offered and I accepted.

I start a week from this coming Monday. It's a fun company, I'm quite qualified and the location is fantastic, so yay.

But to backtrack and catch up on my life of late, the last 2 weeks have been mostly uneventful, with a few amusing anecdotes along the way.

Going in chronological order:

2 weeks ago tonight, whilst waiting to cross the street on my way to my wine group, standing in pickpocket ground zero, a guy tried to pickpocket me. I think anyway, but since he didn't succeed, I was more incredulously amused than horrified and went on my merry way to meet my group.

3 days later, after working diligently on my presentation for interview #3, I got all dressed up for what was billed as a "formal/black tie" cocktail party. After the rain messed up my hair and I got hopelessly lost, I got there...and no one else was dressed up. Some people were wearing jeans. *Sigh.* So, thankful for the chilly night and the coat that covered my formal dress, I left...only to discover that the tube was now suspended. So I trucked about a mile to a station on a different line and got home, to a glass of wine and fleece sweats and called it a night :)

Other than that, not a whole lot, a little shopping, much interview prepping, much vegging and here we are, on the eve of my first trip back to the states.

I'm excited to go back, but I'm excited that I'm just visiting...it seems I'm soon to be a full blown Londoner :) No more vagueness when the question "what do you do?" comes up, no more vegging, it's time to be a working slug. Yay.

So now, with my last week of freedom next week, I need to take a mini-trip somewhere. I haven't decided where yet, but I'm hopefully going. Perhaps Brussels...it's an easy trip on Eurostar and I mean, hello, food central!

Still Alive!

Just horribly, utterly lazy. A quick rundown of the last two weeks includes a really promising interview last week, fingers crossed, and many other things I've promised myself I will actually write about tomorrow.

Or perhaps later today, we'll see. For now, I need to go thaw myself out. Attempting my daily run when it is both pouring rain and below freezing was one of my less wise ideas of late. I'm either smart or a wimp for cutting it very short...it's hard to run when you can't feel your feet.

But on that note, the Brits are a hardy people, I'm telling you. There were several dog walking people, ever determined to do their daily routine, all fully decked out in raincoats and rainboots and strolling around the park as though it was the beautiful morning ever. Then there was the guy who ran past me....in SHORTS. Although the verdict is still out on whether he's hardy or just crazy.

But anyway, off to that thawing process...

Guy Fawkes Night, Interviews, Illness and Ginormous Utility Bills

So, Bonfire (Guy Fawkes) Night was quite fun...but it was mightily odd to be standing watching fireworks in a coat and gloves, with numb toes. Fireworks in November are decidedly different than fireworks in July. My friend and I ended up getting Chinese takeaway afterwards and going back to her house, as all the restaurants in the area were packed to the gills with people far more organised than we and unless you had reservations, you weren't getting a table. I even got to Blackheath, which involved a train ride, without getting lost, so yay me.

But alas, I woke up yesterday morning feeling like death warmed over. My throat had been scratchy the last few days, but I was ignoring it, figuring it would go away on its own. I'm usually blessed with that luck - I never get sick and when I do, it's very brief and whatever it is goes away on its own shortly after descending on me. But I'm starting to think there's something to this whole thing about air quality :P

London's jampacked with smog, of course, and my flat has vents in the bathroom - so even whilst inside, I'm never completely insulated from said smog. I've been here for 3 months (as of this coming Saturday) and this is my third cold since arriving. 3 colds in 3 months, when I've probably had 10 colds in my 30 years on this planet before I got here. Odd. So, I'm hunkered down at home, drugged up and sipping tea, waiting for it to go away and perhaps not come back, but I don't anticipate I'm that lucky. I had to drag myself out yesterday to go the 2 blocks to the drugstore to load up on cold-blasting items and it occurred to me that this might be my golden opportunity to procure the cool drugs you can get here that you can't get in the states. But I soon decided I just didn't have the energy to do the stupid American routine with the chemist (pharmacist) to get him to give me the cool stuff, so I just bought things off the shelves that looked vaguely familiar. I'm not really less sick today than I was yesterday, so I'm not sure I chose wisely, but oh well. Incidentally, if I had gone up to the chemist, I might have been given Codeine. Powerful stuff. So, with that whinge over...we move right along to:

A third (and final) interview with the company I had the marathon competency-based interview with last week, yay! It's not until late next week and will require quite a bit of prep work, so hopefully I'll be long-since healthy again by then and it will go well. I really like the company, so fingers crossed.

Lastly, my gas bill came last week and I've been procrastinating dealing with it, mostly out of pure laziness...so I finally logged into my account this morning to look at the stupid thing: £177!!!!!

Yikes. Now, it's for 2 months, but still! Holy Moses...that's ridiculously high and I thought the stove and oven were the only things running on gas, so that just can't be right. I barely use them. I've texted my landlady to see if she had any thoughts, but I've a bad feeling it just is what it is. Geez. I shudder to think what my electric bill is going to look like.

So, off I go to watch stupid BBC shows all day and wait for the germs to go away...and I will not be using the stove today :D

The Downward Spiral of BBC or The Sad Tales of the Unemployed

So...I've done absofruitly nothing today and I have grand plans to continue my nothingness well into the night. But lest you think I'm an total, utter loser, I must first tell you that I went out last night and I'm going out tomorrow night. So really, today is a respite from my overwhelming social events.

Last night was drinks and what turned into a rather stressful night of dinner at a tapas place. La Tasca, funny enough, for you Arlingtonians. There are 3 locations of La Tasca: 2 are in the West End in London and the third is in Clarendon, in the states, right by my old gym/torture chamber. But anyway, take note: it is never a good idea to try to coordinate sharing small amounts of food amongst 15 women. We'll quickly get grumpy and psychotic, I promise. And we did...but we all left loving each other again. I think. But even with the grumpiness and the psychosis, somebody came up with the Best Idea Ever and someday, if we can stifle our 'tudes long enough, we're going on a Non-Skiing Ski Trip. Because skiing is lame, all 15 of us were in unanimous agreement of this. But think of all the other cool stuff at the ski resorts. And if we don't ski, we have that much more time to do the cool stuff. So really, it's the perfect holiday. Oh and PLUS, I got to the bar without getting lost (much). Yay me.

Tomorrow night is Bonfire Night, so I and a friend are going to what I'm told is the "coolest fireworks display in London," in Blackheath.

But I digress, now that you know I'm not a total loser, I can get to our feature story for today. BBC is going downhill, people. And/or, I really need to get a job and stop watching it all day, most days. Or maybe! I should stop repressing my American self and let myself have more than 5 channels. Maybe just Freeview. But I'm still not a loser. So, anyway, all I've ever heard, since my love affair with the UK began, is how wonderful BBC is. How much better it is than network programming in the states. I even forced myself to start watching BBC news in the mornings shortly before I left DC, because I figured it was my patriotic duty to partake of the almighty BBC's offerings. Well, basically, the highlight of my TV day is this show, To Buy or Not To Buy. It's a home buying show, where the estate agents (real estate agents) show a person 3 properties and then the person gets to "try out" one of the 3 properties and possibly buy it. It's lame, really lame. And there are stupid jokes throughout. And I watch it. Because it's either that or, you know, be productive.

So this begs the question, is BBC really going downhill or are the BBC people so smart that this is Darwinism at its best? Where those of us losers who sit at home all day are forced to watch stupid pointless shows, further proving that we ourselves are lame? But wait. I'm not a loser. Really, I'm not. It's BBC's fault, not mine.

Halloween, American Style

So, I'd been hearing for days on the news how "American Halloween" was coming to the UK...I knew it wasn't as big a deal here and I didn't think the kids did trick or treating.

I found out the hard way that they do, mildly. My second interview went well yesterday (well, I think it did anyway, time will tell) and the HR guy was lamenting about Halloween...about how people had come to work in "fancy dress" (costumes), etc and kiddingly groaned to me about the American influence. So I joked that I might stop at the market on my way home to get candy, lest any trick or treaters knock on my door...but he seemed confident that there would be no children on my Central London doorstep and I was tired on my way home anyway, so I never did get the candy. Plus, you know, calories and all. What if I bought the candy and then there were no children? I would be forced to eat it, of course. Because there are starving people somewhere and it would be rude of me not to eat it...it's always nice when you can use a lecture your mother drilled into your head for years as a way to justify pigging out :D

So here I was, sipping wine, watching the news and you know, vegging, when there was a knock. Oh dear. So I froze, careful not to adjust the TV because that would give my presence away (and rationalising that the TV being on to begin with didn't definitively give me away, maybe I went out and left it on). But these kids (who from their voices were at that age where they were no longer cute little kids, more like greedy teenagers, barely in fancy dress) were persistent. They knocked three times and all three times, I sat, frozen, waiting. And then, the difference between the UK and the US set in:

Mail slots. Now, mail slots aren't nonexistent in the states - older houses have them because I think at some point, they still did mail that way. But here, that's how they still do it everywhere. So my Central London mailman walks up and down the halls of my gigantic building, dropping all our mail through our doors. Oh plus, sometimes I get mail twice a day, yet another difference. But I digress. My point is this: these no-longer-cute kids opened my mail slot, looking for a human who might just have candy. Now, this is either funny or creepy, depending on how you look at it. I'd never considered that the slot actually opened enough to see anything...so when I was sure they were long gone, I went to investigate my mail slot.

And my conclusion? It's creepy. I'll live, it's fine, but get this: if you stand outside my door and open the mail slot, you have a direct and very clear view into my bedroom. Cute. There were 2 other groups of kids, and they pulled the mail slot trick too, so I guess everyone else already knew you can see through it :P

Oh, and in a comical unrelated note, I was early for my interview, so I was wandering the area, trying to clear my head, and all of the sudden, right in front of me was the restaurant that I couldn't find the weekend before last. Funny.

Interviews and Cooking Obsessions

I've been otherwise emotionally occupied and distraught for the last several days and haven't felt like posting...I could whinge about the what and whys of it, but I've been whinging too much lately, so we'll skip it.

But, regardless, I'm plugging along on the job front. It occurred to me recently that the holidays aren't all that far away (where UK values of "holidays" only include Christmas, not Thanksgiving, of course) and that the hiring process will slow down severely soon due to the aforementioned holidays...and as much as I'm enjoying my lady of leisure status, I don't really want to be ringing in the new year whilst still an unemployed bum.

So, when the second interview with the company I'd been previously excited about went horribly wrong last Monday, I proceeded to fire off a few more CVs. And scored two interviews in the process...one of which turned into a second interview (no word on the fate of the other one yet). I wasn't all that bummed about the bad tone of the interview last Monday because, though I'd been excited after the first interview, the second one was with a woman I just would not get along with. Serious personality clash. So, it was all for the best that they turned me down...and I'm not even that bitter that I was rejected due to lack of experience in something I have quite a bit of experience with. Something the interviewer and I discussed at length. But since I had to explain it to her three times, maybe four, I wasn't too surprised she promptly forgot. She was American too, which didn't help my opinion of her ;) We'll just say she was having a bad day and leave it at that :D

But this mindless ramble brings me to a point, I promise. I don't know that it's non-existent in the states, it's been awhile since I interviewed back there, but they're all obsessed with it here and it's new to me: competency-based interviews. Where you are expected to give actual experience-based examples to the questions the interviewer asks. They might ask "tell me about a time when you had to sacrifice quality due to a time crunch." Well, you're supposed to respond with a pretty specific example from your previous work history. I have to admit, I haven't been doing much lately to prep for interviews and I haven't been answering these cute little questions all that well. But, I really like the company that I've scored this second interview with and my experience is nearly a perfect match for what they're looking for, so I've forced myself out of my funk to do some prepping. And the best part is, now I have all these scenarios I can use for other interviews, should that need arise. So who knows, fingers crossed, I could be an employed bum soon. But if not, at least I'm on the ball a bit more.

In other news, I'm still getting lost in lovely London, frequently. I tried to go to a jazz concert last night. I thought I was going to the music school near the Barbican. But after the usual tube woes, I raced in just in time for the performance...and was told by a rather unenthusiastic staff member that the concert was at a satellite location 10 minutes away. Faced with being horribly late, I gave up and went home...only to discover later that I think the guy was confused and the concert was, in fact, at the school itself. C'est la vie.

Oh, also? I'm 30 years old, in case you're new. So on Friday night, when some new girlfriends invited me to 9pm plans at what appeared to be a restaurant, I should have double-checked. I was giddy that they invited me and really rather desperate not to sit by myself pondering my pathetic existence all evening. But, my self-pity of late involved a complete apathy toward food and sleep, so I was quite wary of a full meal.

But when I arrived, I discovered that this restaurant is also a huge dance club, complete with really loud music and drunk boys who hit on anything that walks. It seems my girlfriends wanted to go dancing, not have dinner. Good news to my stomach, which didn't really want food, but bad news to the rest of my elderly and old-fashioned self which had no interest in dancing or in drunk boys. But! The good news is, I've learned I have a handy little weapon: when I was ever so blessed with being hit on by one of the charming little drunk twerps, he asked what I do for a living. To which I, being a bit obsessed with honesty, said "I work in the corporate world, but I'm not working right now." He was gone before I knew what happened. Fantabulous! So, ladies, there you have it: when a drunk guy comes up to you at a club and obviously wants one thing, tell him you're unemployed :D It seems to work quite well. With the lovely excuse of needing to catch the tube before it closed, I bid farewell to my friends and bailed shortly thereafter and went home.

I really needed to get out Friday night and I love that they invited me, but I'm too girly girl for those places...I just don't see the appeal. And the drunk guy thing really didn't help my pity party.

Saturday I let myself go into full-on self-pity mode and then Sunday, I met a girlfriend for the London Wine Show....and we had a fantastic time and I managed to eat a whole bowl of pasta, so back to the normalcy, sort of. Plus! I scored 2 wine glasses, because they were free with admission. So now I don't have to be a dork and serve wine in tumblers at home. It's the little things in life, I'm telling you.

I still love London and I feel guilty that I don't miss DC, but I do miss my crystal. I miss my beloved kitchen stuff. Am I a total freak that sometimes I envision those boxes, stacked in a cube in my mother's garage, waiting for me to get a job so I can justify spending the money to ship them, and that is my motivation for employment? I want my crystal stemware, my Calphalon pots and pans and all my quirky little cooking tools. I just want to cook! Having someone to cook for would be lovely, but I'll start small. Is that really too much to ask? I'm a freak, I know.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a date with a glass of Chianti. A date with a WINE GLASS of Chianti :D

A flight back to the states and another blissful tea in London

Well, I just broke a rule I'd set for myself, but two people said I could so there :P I'd set a rule that I would only go back to the states before Christmas if I was employed...and I'm not yet, but so what. Rules are meant to be broken :D

I'm booked for my first trip back to the states since I moved here, for the glorious American pigfest known as Thanksgiving. Yeah, yeah, it's about being thankful, about the pilgrims, blah blah. Let's call a spade a spade: it's the only day of the year where not only are we not being impolite to eat everything in sight, this mission is our patriotic duty. If you can't manage to down that last piece of apple pie, you are a traitor! I spend my life yelling at myself not to eat whatever I want because that's gross and unladylike and this is the one day of the year when I get to not yell at myself and eat eat EAT :D Oh and cook...let's not forget the other half of the giddy festivities, I get to cook all day, concocting all kinds of fattening goodies.

I mean, seriously, why torture myself and stay here? I just couldn't bear the day if I were here...whilst I sit either in my flat or at my desk with a cup of tea and one biscuit, you stateside fools get to stuff your pieholes with unlimited food? I think not.

So, a few emails back and forth between my mother and me and we're booked to go to Boston for the weekend (with me going via Dulles). And now I'm both excited and bummed...excited, of course, to be seeing my family, but also excited because I get to go on a flight :D

I'm a total freak of nature because though I'm utterly terrified of heights, I love flying (no idea how that works out in my feeble brain, but let's just roll with it) and I love business class even more...I'm always quite careful to be able to upgrade myself. So imagine my dismay when my return flight, the overnight one where I might have a job to get to when I land, has me waitlisted for the upgrade :¬(

It's a light flight so far, so I should be okay...but *augh*, there were seats just the other day! I waited too long :( Bummer. I will now obsess about it for the next 5 weeks because that is what I do ;) But, I did get upgraded on my flight out and the lounge here is better than the one at Dulles, so there is an upside ;)

In other news, my Tuesday interview last week went quite well and I have a second one tomorrow...so fingers crossed. I had another one with another company on Thursday, but no word yet on how it went.

And I have a new rule, which hopefully I'll maintain better than I did the Thanksgiving one ;) I will no longer force myself off to social engagements I'm not interested in simply because I feel guilty for doing nothing.

I had plans last night to go to dinner with a meetup group...it's a great group, but I just didn't feel like going. And, I should have listened to instinct! After a nightmare on the tube due to the usual weekend shutdowns, I walked up and down the street for an hour and never did find the restaurant...so I eventually gave up and went home, with my feet in agony. And *just* after I'd RSVP'ed to this thing, a new girlfriend texted to say that she and two other girls were going out and did I want to go? Well, yes, but too late :( So there you have it, the moral of the story is, listen to your instinct and you will be happy :D All wasn't lost though, when I finally got back to my neighbourhood, I grabbed some takeaway from a sushi place I've been wanting to try and it is, in fact, really tasty sushi. So, good to know.

So imagine my annoyance this afternoon when I left very early for my much anticipated afternoon tea at the Palm Court, a meetup event I really *did* want to go to...and I got horribly lost and started thinking that I'd miss the tea. I was, needless to say, getting grumpier with each step! But suddenly, there the hotel was and as I rushed in exclaiming apologies, it was all fine and when I flopped down onto the couch, I remembered why I love afternoon tea so much:

You cannot help yourself, you instantly relax. You can fight it all you want, but that couch and that tea (and, okay, the champagne), the cute little sandwiches, the scones, the cakes....it is just utter heaven. So we sat, we sipped, we chatted and I remembered that it is Sunday, this is England and no grumpiness allowed ;) You must relax! No Sunday roast today because of the tea, but there's always next Sunday!

And as I left, I strolled home through the park (well okay, I walked rather briskly *through the park* because I was afraid the gates would close for the day soon, but you get my point) and enjoyed my full stomach, my ipod and the fact that it was a beautiful evening.

I'm really looking forward to seeing good old America again, but my heart still belongs to London :)

A whole week of not all that much

It's been a quiet week(ish) I guess, so not a peep from me! The Brit treated me to a belated birthday dinner last Monday and we ended up at this little Italian restaurant a few blocks from me that I'd been wanting to try. It's one of those tiny little places you might not even notice, but the food was heaven...I tried escargots for the first time and absolutely loved them :) Perhaps I was asleep that day in bio class, but snails are mollusks it seems? So, same thing as clams, oysters and mussels...all heavenly foods.

And nearly literally, I did nothing else all week. I'm sitting here trying to come with one actual activity and um, I can't even separate the days apart, yikes. Oh, I did meet with a recruiter, but that doesn't really count.

But god love mobile broadband because Sunday rolled around and I could go where ever I wanted for my Sunday roast :D Because of course, I can take my laptop and not feel like a dork for eating alone. So I tried yet another of my neighbourhood pubs...the service was lovely, but the food was meh. My quest continues!

Last night was the first night of my new wine group and it was quite fun :) I was a bit terrified to be the one who was supposed to be in the know, but no one made fun of me, so all is well I think ;)

I had an interview today that I *think* went well and another on Thursday, so we shall see.

And that, people, is it. Life's a bit boring right now, but I suppose boring is better than having things stolen :D

Worse than a lost purse is...

A stolen one. Especially when someone steals it off your person. Happy Saturday everyone! Good Lord.

So, I haven't written all week because it was a slow week, but I have broadband at home finally...I went to the Borough Market on Friday, it was heaven, and then I went out last night with a group of girls who travel and share ideas on where to travel, etc...we had a great time.

And as I walked with another girl to the Charring Cross station, leaving Soho, I felt someone touching my black blackpack/rucksack...which I stupidly was actually wearing as a backpack and which contained my brown purse. By the time I reached behind me, my backpack was empty.

You see, accessorising is important :P I decided to go with my black boots tonight, not my brown ones, because they're much more comfortable. So that necessitated a black bag and since I haven't replaced the black purse I lost last month, my interim solution has been to stuff the brown purse in my little black leather backpack, which is cute enough to qualify as a purse. It kills me a bit that I started out with the brown boots...had I worn those, I'd have been carrying the purse itself and it wouldn't have been stolen.

But. I am a long-time city dweller and I know better. To be in the busiest part of all of London on a Saturday night and carrying one's personal items on one's back is just plain stupid. The worst part is, that occurred to me once and I ignored the thought.

But perhaps it was a hard lesson, learned without too much pain: now I know that there are actually pickpockets :D I have to admit, I sort of always thought that only happened in the movies :P

The loss felt momentarily catastrophic, as I suddenly saw myself marooned in Soho with no money, no phone and nowhere to sleep. In the chaos, I'd lost track of the girl I was walking with (but, lol, she was in front of me and most certainly wasn't the culprit!) so there I was, all alone and freaked out, but I'd just happened to clean out my purse just yesterday afternoon and as I did a quick mental inventory of what I'd put back in it, I realised that my phone and my Oyster card were loose in the backpack...and sure enough, there they were. Better yet, I'd programmed my landlady's number into my phone and god bless her, when I called, she answered and was more than happy to meet me at the flat to let me in. And in that mental inventory, I remembered that all that was in the purse was approximately £10, my UK debit card and my flat key...except the purse, though it was a gift and I didn't fork over the actual $$, was a Vera Bradley bag and so not cheap. Oops :( Funny enough, I'd tried to go to a cash machine before dinner, worried that I didn't have enough on me, but I never found one...so if I had, I'd have lost a good £70 instead of £10. So, ok, catastrophe averted, I could now get home via my Oyster card and was going to be able to sleep in my own bed :D

So, much less of a headache than last time. But, for crying out loud, can I please go for at least 30 days straight without losing anything major?

The card's cancelled, I got into my flat and my landlady showed me how to turn on the heat...a rather complicated system that I've been trying to figure out for 2 weeks, so I suppose there was a bright side.

No Sunday roast today because a) I now have no cash on me or access to it until tomorrow and using my American credit card would just be dumb and b) I have oodles of goodies left over from my trip to the Borough Market and I really should eat those instead.

*Sigh*...I still love London, but sometimes I wonder if small town life is really just better. I was just praising London to someone, who called it "anonymous and dirty, like any big city." But tonight, when I - a single woman - cried out in utter panic and shock in the middle of Leicester Square that my purse had just been stolen, a well-dressed American man, holding a woman's hand, looked at me, shrugged and said "I didn't see it, sorry." And the two of them walked off. A woman who was alone loses an object that very probably contained her only way to get to shelter and he walked away. There's that anonymity I was just arguing against...

And Card Guy, who I'd texted while waiting for the landlady, just because I was still freaked out and needed to tell someone my tale of woe, called me back at 2 AM, quite obviously drunk. After asking me 4-5 times what happened to my purse, where I patiently explained what did happen all 4-5 times, he exclaimed that I was a "typical American whiner." Which, of course, was totally what I needed to hear right about then. Lovely. Mercifully, my phone died shortly thereafter. It does all make a person wonder about how we treat each other.

I've scrounged up £1.50 in change, which will allow me to buy bread and butter for breakfast tomorrow, as I'm out...and if I had to go all the way to the bank before breakfast tomorrow, I'd be mighty cranky, so thank heaven for my disorganised nature and the random coins laying about.

But still! It's Sunday, this is England, Sundays are for relaxing. So I am now going for my walk/run through the park and then later, I'm going window shopping for a new black purse ;) I had a spare brown one, so that's set for now. And then after that? I'm making a list of all the precautions one should take when one lives an ocean away from nearly everyone they know (keep a decent chunk of spare change at home being item #1!).

Success!

My National Insurance number is on its way! The directions were correct and, not wanting to leave anything to chance, I again gave myself 2 hours to get to the JobCentre office…and arrived shortly after 11 for my noon appointment. Gleeful just to be there in time for my appointment, I plunked down into a chair and waited. The staff were all extremely nice, typical lovely British government workers, the very people I expected to encounter on Thursday. I was finally called for my interview around noon by a very funny non-British guy (I never did manage to place his accent). In filling out my basic info, he said “Miss, Mrs?” “Just Miss,” I said with a slight sigh and a laugh “I’ve given up on the Mrs quest I think.” “Right then, I did that awhile ago,” he said. Heh. So, chit chatting away about the states, careers and whatnot, my interview was over in about 30 minutes. Basically, they just want to know that you are who you say you are, that you don’t already have a NI number and that you’re either employed or actively seeking employment.

So, he hands me the form to check his writing and sign it and, having noted earlier that he checked “Miss” and not “Ms,” I corrected it with my pen…I may be bummed about being 30, but I don’t really want to be 13 again ;) Catching my pen a few seconds too late, he just looked at the altered form in dismay for a second. “Oh dear,” I thought….”I’ve wrecked it, we have to start over and he’s now going to yell at me.” But his dismay soon turned to a slightly amused smirk.

“Well now you’re divorced,” he said.

Now with an equally dismayed and amused look, I said “Oh no! And I didn’t even get to have my dream wedding first. There was going to be a string quartet and a sit-down dinner, you know. In the states, “Miss” is for children.”

“I know,” he said “But here, we use Miss for ‘never married,’ and if a woman divorces, she goes back to ‘Ms.’”

Oopsy. So two lessons here: 1) I will forever be divorced on my lifelong NI card, my punishment for being culturally ignorant. Bummer. 2) A Britishism! So now I know: I’m a Miss, not a Ms thankyouverymuch.

Incidentally, he was appalled that the other location had turned me away for being 6 minutes late and I felt both grateful and a bit smug :D

Friday night was a birthday party for one of my meetup acquaintances and though originally a little miffed to be celebrating someone else’s birthday just 3 days after mine, I ended up loving that it was all about her and not me and I never even mentioned that I’d just had a birthday…a very fun evening, many fun people and good food.

I spent most of yesterday on my wine bar quest…I am both utterly terrified and really excited to be organising this wine meetup. I have four bazillion criteria for choosing the absolute perfect places and I’m going to drive myself crazy (easy to get to, reasonably priced, central, not a chain, etc. The list never ends) but hopefully it’ll go over well. I’ve plucked 18 wine bars out of Google’s never ending list of Central London wine bars and, after gaging their happy hour space feasibility on Monday night, I’ll be setting up meetup #1, I’m really looking forward to it.

As for that purpose, I still don’t have one, I don’t think finding the perfect wine bar counts, but hey, it’s Sunday, it’s roast day and for now, I don’t need a purpose, I just need some Yorkshire pudding and a glass of Pinot Grigio.

Horse poo, epiphanies and meltdowns

Well, to cut to the chase: I was welcomed back any time I wanted by stables #2, but I'm not sure I'm going back.

It was much more laid-back than the first place and I got the impression that quite a few people come in, help with the chores all morning and then ride all afternoon for free, not a bad deal. Then of course, there are the paid girls who are actually obligated to stay for their 7am-6pm day. Ugh.

I arrived at 6:57 AM and spent my morning grooming, picking up horse poo (TMI I know) and riding. I rode twice and even took a client out by myself (and it seems all of DC is in London: she and her husband are moving back to Capitol Hill next month, having lived here for 4 years).

But during the morning chores, I slipped on one of the grates, turned my right leg in a direction I can't even describe, but one in which given the direction the rest of my body was facing, was not a good direction to send my leg. It didn't actually hurt for about 90 seconds, I just felt stupid because I almost fell over. But when the pain set in, it was this searing ohmygodpleasekillmenow type pain...no idea what on earth I did, but I pulled a major muscle in my inner thigh. So oh well, shaking it off, I went about the chores with minimal whining, figuring it would go away soon.

But the longer I rode, the worse it got - the movements required for riding were exactly what made the muscle hurt - so I knew I wasn't going to last all day. After lunch, I told the girls that I needed to go rest the stupid muscle and I hoped I'd see them soon. The owner had asked me early on if I wanted to come on staff and I said that I didn't, for now, because I felt that after spending all day playing with the horses, I wouldn't do my due diligence with getting a full-time job.

Which was partly true. But the other part is that it just wasn't as much fun as I expected. I guess I was hoping I'd feel more of a tada about it than I did.

And then I had a bit of an epiphany: I thought to myself: I'm ready for a cube again, I think I might even actually appreciate that sad little desk. I'm getting a little bored with my life of leisure...I see the stay-at-home moms walking around and they have a daily purpose. I see people on their lunch breaks from work. They have a purpose. Whereas I'm just kind of bored, I don't feel like I'm going anywhere.

And then today happened. Maybe it's just that I'm still reeling about being 30 and not being where I thought I'd be by now. Maybe it's just that I've been here long enough that the glee is wearing off. Or perhaps I'm just completely nuts and getting more so as old age sets in.

The day was meandering along well enough, I soaked my pathetic leg for awhile yesterday and I expect that by tomorrow, it'll be good as new (I did skip my run today, I'm not that crazy), I started a wine club on meetup last night which a bunch of people have already joined, so I started neurotically researching venues this morning...and shortly after 1 PM, I left my flat for my 3 PM interview to obtain my national insurance number. Well, this particular location was in a neighbourhood with no street signs. So though I had given myself oodles of time, though I'd carefully written down directions, none of that mattered. When I arrived at 3:06 PM, they turned me away...and rather rudely I must say.

Now, I am not a patient human being. I'm not a very tolerant human being. But without fail, since I have been here, the culture here is one of utter niceness and politeness. The joke about how an English person will apologise if you stomp on their toe is actually true. They will. And I, in turn, have been patient, tolerant and nice back because I just can't help it. It's contagious. So when this guy handed me back my form and said "you're late, make another appointment," (and I can't really do justice here to the snippy tone he used), it hit a nerve that hasn't been hit since I got here.

I was polite, I think, but I wasn't friendly. I explained about the missing street signs, about how the lady on the phone had told me it was "right around the corner" from the tube (it wasn't) and I commented that anyone coming to that office was, by definition, new to the city and why on earth were they off on this obscure side street. He didn't really care.

So I went on my way, having wasted my entire afternoon. By the time I got on the tube, the tears were coming...and I really hate that. As I sat there, trying not to cry in front of the bazillion other tube riders, I realized that my epiphany yesterday was only half right. It wasn't so much that I wanted to go back to work, I'm never going to be all that excited about my career, that's just not my passion. It pays the bills and hopefully I'll find something I enjoy somewhat. It was that I don't feel like I'm moving toward any kind of a purpose, I'm just muddling along in life.

A year ago, I thought I was heading toward family life...with a very loved purpose of raising a family someday and making my home a happy place. Which I'm sure seems so trivially silly, but to me seems far more worthwhile than a cube and TPS reports. I don't get the crazed single-minded mission for a career and I never will. I moved here hoping to do something with my life, since plan A didn't seem very likely any more. And plan A still doesn't seem any more likely now and I do love it here, but I guess I need to root around and find a new purpose, because whining isn't really very pleasant.

And of course, when I get all in a dither like that, I get careless. So as I was exiting the tube, just as I looked down to see that I no longer had my Oyster card, a man handed it to me, I had dropped it in front of him. When I walked by McDonald's minutes later, I caved and bought a McFlurry. I've sold out, I know, but I really didn't care at that point. And then when I called to reschedule my stupid interview, the nicest woman ever answered the phone. She apologised for the fact that we now had to start over with all my details and she took the time to give me the most minute directions to the (different) location that was, I think, humanely possible. And I didn't whine to her, I apologised for being a moron. So the Oyster man, the McFlurry and the nice lady on the phone made my week and the meltdown is over, at least for now.

Now about that purpose...

A Lovely English Day, All About Food

Ok, so my 30th birthday wasn't that bad. Although I will admit, I had a few poor me moments, but that's allowed, I had to come to terms with being old and with getting old 4000 miles from almost everyone I know :P

So, my day started bright and perky at 8:30, when I departed for my much-anticipated breakfast at the Lanesborough Hotel, just outside Hyde Park. As I'd mentioned on Monday, they were a very strong contender and won...but shortly after I made my reservations via toptable.co.uk, I came across the Park Lane Marriott, who have a buffet. You see, I'd given up on a buffet, as my research didn't show any in London - that whole portion control nonsense at work I'm quite sure ;) But alas, the Marriott required 24 hours' notice, so I stuck with the Lanesborough and dreamed about the Bearnaise sauce.

I had decided I'd cut through the park, quite a long walk, but though I was decked out in a skirt, the skirt was chosen for its coordination with a very comfy pair of boots and the walk would build up my appetite, allowing me to enjoy my breakfast guilt-free :) But uh, about halfway there, I recalled that I only vaguely knew where the hotel was...and was pretty sure it wasn't actually up against the park. Sure enough, I got horribly lost and was 35 minutes late...but funny enough, I found the Dorchester, where I'd be having tea later (and asked the doorman for directions to the Lanesborough, which I didn't follow properly) *and* I saw that Harrod's was quite nearby, which was most decidedly on my schedule :) So really, no harm done...and the Lanesborough wasn't crowded since it was a rather late breakfast and a Tuesday, so they didn't seem to mind my lateness (though I did apologise profusely).

So, they sat me down in this huge, plush and heavenly couch, where I had a rather large table all to myself. A server brought coffee, juice, water and a menu (which I only glanced at long enough to ensure that my beloved dish really was on the current menu). So I ordered and he asked if I wanted extra toast...a request I found a bit odd, but I'm never one to say no when the word more is added to food, so I said "yes, please, that would be lovely."

So, the toast comes in this absolutely adorable toast divider thing and shortly thereafter, my eggs benedict arrived...and I understood the extra toast. It was just one muffin, one egg, etc! The horror! But I immediately decided it was fine, this way I wouldn't be stuffed for my planned picnic in the park later, from the food halls at Harrod's. And I scarfed it up quite quickly, sort of reading my book as I ate...but it was soooo nice to just veg on that couch, with nowhere really to be. The eggs were poached to perfection, the Bearnaise blended perfectly and the salmon sliced just to the thickness I like.

Eventually, I did settle the bill and after gushing to them that it was delicious (because oh my, small-looking but yummy), I set off for Harrod's.

But soon after I got on my way, I realized that I was quite full from that one muffin and its one egg...and suddenly, I worried about my picnic and my tea later, how on earth would I eat everything? :D

So, into the glorious food halls: I hadn't been to Harrod's since I've moved here, though I've been twice while on visits...and though I'm not all that impressed with the rest of the store, I am always in awe of the food halls. 5, maybe 6? huge rooms of food...beautiful, perfectly crafted foods. So I began mentally picking out my picnic: I stressed over which chocolate truffles I would choose, which cheeses I might buy, whether to have sushi or meats and whether I should indulge in a lemon tart as well. But still, after a little more than an hour, I was not only still full from breakfast, I was a bit painfully full.

So right then and there, I made a decision so against my very being and yet so English: I decided to cancel my picnic plans altogether and spend the rest of my time looking at clothes and shoes upstairs. After all, I live here! A Harrod's picnic in Hyde Park can be had any time! In fact, when I finally find myself a job, I'll celebrate:

Breakfast at the Marriott, with the buffet and then my Harrod's picnic.

So that is precisely what I did, I strolled around upstairs until I grew bored with Harrod's altogether, whereupon I set off unsuccessfully to check my email somewhere, which I hadn't done since Monday (and that always makes me crazy).

So finally, with no net cafe to be found, it was time for my tea, and thankfully, I was hungry again :) Arriving a few minutes early, I was seated in yet another huge, plush couch and, ordering the pink champagne tea, was brought my glass of champagne. I sat for a few minutes, savouring the Dorchester atmosphere. I have to say, it really is elegant and just a heavenly place to be. A few moments later, two ladies who seemed to work with each other and were definitely American sat down next to me...and they started making several references to DC! So, of course, I was suddenly tortured between the etiquette of remaining silent and with wanting to see where they were from. An opportunity finally arose through our server and I piped up...well, they're from Arlington. Westover. Too funny. So anyway, we had a sporadic chat for the rest of our respective teas and they were very nice. But back to the tea: my champagne was really lovely, but they took 45 minutes to bring my tea and, in fact, brought the sandwiches before I had my tea (so I politely pointed out the absence of the tea and they did bring it very promptly). There were five types of sandwiches and all were nearly perfectly crafted...though the roast beef was a little gristly. After a second round of sandwiches, they brought a pre-dessert to sweeten one's palate: this heavenly little berries and cream concoction, the cream perfectly blended into the liqueurs they chose. And finally: the pastries and the scones: the pastries were a bit of a disappointment, I'm sorry to say. They were tasty enough, but not spectacular...and there were no cakes, just petit fours type things. The scones, however, were absolutely delicious. Overall, the Dorchester tea was lovely, but I'm looking forward to trying other ones. I'm holding off recommending it until I know what one can expect at a formal afternoon tea: service seemed a bit lazy and the food wasn't the spectacle I expected.

So, whew, completely exhausted, I walked home to check that email, which was now making me more than a little crazy. I only had a little time before I needed to leave for my book club, which I suddenly didn't even really want to go to. A book club to culminate my 30th birthday, with people I'd never met? Blah. But I went and though it started out seeming rather boring, it quickly became a very lively and fun discussion...and when some of us stayed at the pub for drinks afterward, a drink was bought for me, in honour of my birthday :) And I stayed much later than I intended...I'm quite glad I forced myself to go.

So, home and with mere minutes left of my birthday, I rang my mother...who I hadn't talked to on the phone since I'd arrived. And our 10 minute and £10 conversation brought on the very first pang of homesickness. 12:16 AM, 26/09/2007 and I suddenly missed my family...but still, exhausted and with the alarm set for 5:45 for my stables appointment, I was asleep before I knew it and my birthday was over.

All in all, 30 wasn't that bad...but I still wish I was still 29 ;) And now that this diatribe is over, you'll have to wait until tomorrow to hear about today's events! Right now, I need a hot bath and many mountains of soap.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Whew, I'm exhausted...so much to tell, so little time! I only have a few minutes until my book club meeting (which, incidentally, seemed like a good idea yesterday but now seems like kind of a lame way to spend my 30th birthday...we'll see), so the report on today's events will have to wait until tomorrow.

But it's official, sadly: I have been 30 for over 4 hours now. Tragic.

But thanks to everyone for all the birthday wishes :)

Afternoon Tea at the Dorchester!

Wow. I ended up emailing 3 of the top hotels for tea reservations, figuring that with barely 24 hours' notice, I might not get one anywhere.

Well, they all confirmed. Oops. But since The Dorchester was voted Best Afternoon Tea by The Tea Guild, I picked them...and of course, I'm having the champagne tea. I'm so excited!

I suppose it's goofy to have tea alone, but I don't care. I fully intend to people watch and read Pride and Prejudice, which I just started (and no, never read it, I should be shot I know).

So now, hooked up to the handy dandy socket at the pub, I'm scouring the net for the perfect breakfast. I'm quite set on Eggs Royale (eggs benedict with salmon instead of bacon)...my absolute favourite breakfast dish...but the question is, where? The Lanesborough Hotel is a strong contender, as they serve it with Dill Bearnaise instead of Hollandaise and that sounds heavenly...but I'm still searching. Doing the Lanesborough means I have to get up uber-early in order to be cleaned up prior to breakfast. Whereas a lower-key place means I can go immediately after running, all yucky and hungry.

And my day will end with my very first attendance at the London book club, thirty or not, tomorrow should be fun :)

A lovely English week-end and a farewell to my twenties

After doing not much of anything Friday night, simply due to lack of planning, I woke up Saturday morning faced with an entire week-end of nothingness, which didn’t really seem very fun, if I’m to be honest ;)

So, having noticed earlier in the week that there was a new afternoon tea meetup and that they were having their very first tea Saturday afternoon, I quickly signed up and went off for my run, calculating that I had just enough time to do that, get ready and get to the tea without racing…this is England, you don’t race around on week-ends, you relax :D And yeah, yeah, I’m an unemployed bum so week-ends don’t count, but shh.

So anyway, as I came back from my run (where I actually managed to run almost the entire way for a change), the lady from stables #2 had left a message. So, quickly calling her back and setting up a 7am Wednesday meeting, I got ready for my very first English tea and set off to the tea place.

Short digression: I would now like credit against my bum status for this 7am appointment thankyouverymuch. This means that I will be up at around 5:30 Wednesday morning and by 7am, will be engaged in smelly manual labour and riding for at least the entire morning, if not part of the afternoon (the appointment is that I’m spending the morning in a “this is what it would be like to work here” thing). Ok, moving right along:

So, we had tea at the coffee and tea museum in London Bridge and it was just utterly lovely. I had cream tea, having been both intrigued and obsessed with the very idea of it since I saw that thing on the travel channel (I’d link you back to the entry where I talked about it, but I’m not cool enough to know how to do that). But I was a bit bummed when everyone’s orders came and I saw that afternoon tea was exactly what I ordered, plus the cute little finger sandwiches. So now I know, afternoon tea is better than cream tea :D Mind you, I had plenty of food: a generous slice of perfectly concocted lemon cheesecake and 2 equally perfect scones, with clotted cream and jam…and Darjeeling tea. But I eyed those sandwiches jealously.

About halfway through tea, I struck up a conversation with the lady across from me, who’d said that she too once stopped working for a bit too and loved it. So, of course, I said “what do you do now?” when she replied “I’m a food journalist,” I just stared back in wide-eyed awe for several moments. Oh. My. GOD. I was talking to the coolest woman I had ever met. That is one of the most fun jobs I could possibly think of. I met several other really nice people too ;) But man alive, I was excited beyond words at this woman’s job.

So then, as if she didn’t seem cool enough as is, she says “I’m thinking of wandering around the museum and then having a glass of champagne down the street. I love champagne. Is anyone up for it?” Champagne? Well if you insist. Lol, I love champagne too. And with nothing else planned, why the heck not?

So, having gathered a few other people (who were interested in the booze but not the museum), she and I wandered the museum. It was interesting, for the 90 seconds it took us to get through it, but um, I’m not sure I recommend it. Everyone else had wandered off to a market I’d never heard of, so we texted them and went off to the restaurant.

As we neared the restaurant, my new friend pointed out the market, which was closed by this time but which we were standing in. The Borough Market is “a foodie heaven,” is the biggest tourist attraction in London and the vendors are all by invitation only…long story short, I’m going back next weekend, it looked incredible. So, we went up to Roast, this restaurant she’d mentioned and it really is quite nice. It’s on the second floor and the bar area, which is glass from floor to ceiling, overlooks the market…the menu looked quite tasty, but we didn’t stay for dinner. After lounging around with our drinks for a few hours, talking and just generally having a really nice, relaxing afternoon, 2 of us accompanied my idol off to a restaurant for dinner, which was on her list to write a review on. I don’t want to comment further, lest I kill her anonymity somehow, but I was intrigued by the cuisine because it was an odd fusion…and of course I was far more intrigued by what it was like to dine with a food expert :D The food was yummy, the atmosphere fun and weird and the company was perfect…who knew that my Saturday would turn out so heavenly ;) I’d set out at 1pm for a tea and arrived home shortly after midnight, having done much much more. We won’t discuss the calorie debacle that accompanied the day.

Still keeping in tune with the whole “week-ends are for relaxing” mentality, I had a rather extreme lie-in yesterday and arose at 10AM, which I felt guilty about on mere principle. After the usual breakfast and email check, I decided to go for a wander…I always forget that Kensington’s just through the park, it seems like the complete other side of Central London and too far to get to without hassle. So that was my destination…I wandered for over an hour, looking for a possible pub for yesterday’s Sunday roast and working up an appetite for the roast. I didn’t really see anything that was both intriguing and that also had wi-fi, so I went back to my flat, scooped up my laptop and went across the street to what I already knew was a very yummy roast. By this time, I was exhausted and quite ravenous and felt fully deserved of my upcoming roast. But alas, there was a big football game yesterday, it was now nearly 4pm and they were out :( So ok, I sipped the wine I’d already ordered and, searching online for an alternative, settled on another pub I hadn’t been to yet, even though there’d be no wi-fi…I had some offline stuff I could do. The point was that by that time, I was deliriously hungry and yet stubbornly still set on a roast.

So, popping in to this other pub and seeing others eating happily, I approached the bar, ordering another glass of wine and, with a sheepish and pleading look, said “do you have any roast left?” “Yes!” the bartender exclaimed, frighteningly excited that I was ordering. So, I took my wine and sat down, wondering what on earth I’d ordered…the roast was scarily cheap but was really quite good, kind of a toss-up with my neighbourhood pub. The veggies weren’t fresh, but they served a combination of mashed potatoes and roast potatoes, which I liked…and the Yorkshire pudding was huge. The roasted potatoes weren’t neatly charred like I prefer, but still tasty. After my roast, I went back to my flat for a nap…which I never do, but with the copious amounts of both booze and food I’d just consumed, I was powerless to stop the nap that soon happened. I spent the rest of the evening searching for my 2 birthday treats to myself:

On my birthday tomorrow, I’ll (I hope) be having breakfast out somewhere, followed later by afternoon tea at one of the hoity toity hotels (can’t decide which one yet)…my present to myself :D

And on Wednesday, at 5:30am, the calorie debacle will end. I promise.

The moral of the story here is that I had a nearly perfect week-end, simply by not planning much of anything :)

Now if you'll excuse me, I am off to bid farewell to my twenties :(

Failure or not so much

So, it's been a busy week...still waiting to hear on two of my interviews from last week, but I heard from the one that caused the loss of my purse. Did not get it. Salt in the wound thankyouverymuch.

I have been online for like 4 hours...an eternity for lately, because I discovered that one of the pubs near my flat that has free wi-fi also has outlets! :D Needless to say, this post is brought to you along with wine.

Whatever, moving right along, I did an audition today to be a riding instructor at one of the stables in Hyde Park and failed quite miserably. This, you can imagine, did not make my morning.

I was really bummed, I'd been excited about it...not so much for the money, but because it seemed like a fun thing to do. And my ego was severely bruised, I started riding 22 years ago for pete's sake and I rode like I started last week.

But to be fair, I've barely ridden lately and needless to say, that showed. I really hate failing at things so I was shell shocked when first turned down...ready to blame my failure on the different riding style here, the different tack, but I decided to make lemonade instead.

I bought a lesson with them and went back later that afternoon...and I've left my number with another stable nearby, so we'll see.

The point is, I'm utterly exhausted and muscles I forgot I had hurt. People in the horse world are ridiculously know-it-allesque and while I did ride horribly, some of the things she commented on were simply style differences and I exercised every ounce of self-restraint I had in not arguing ;)

At the end of the day, does it really matter who's right? I had a fun day, even if my feet are in agony.

Avenue Q and Addictions to Sunday Roasts

Whew. Okay so (knock on the wooden table upon which I type), the weekend has been far better than the week was.

No word on my beloved purse, so I'm sure it's gone. Oddly though, no one has tried to use any of my cards, so I suppose it may turn up.

I saw Avenue Q Friday night and oh my, the most hysterical thing I have seen in a long time :) And really, 3 hours of stomach-aching laughter was exactly what I needed Friday night. Great seats again too.

It's playing on Broadway I think too, it's a parody/tribute to Sesame Street. The title is a play on that and on Alphabet City...an area in NYC that isn't so nice (or so I was told by a fellow viewer). It begins with a wonderful number entitled "It Sucks To Be Me," and there are characters such as the Bad Idea Bears and Gary Coleman (not really him though), who is the handyman in the building. But basically, it is just absolutely hysterical and I highly recommend it...and for those of you eventually coming to visit me, I will happily go see it again.

Yesterday was blah...mostly because with all the purse craziness, I didn't really make any plans. But, no worries, a day of nothing is good once in awhile. I'm dying to take a class of some sort, so I researched that for awhile...I can't decide if I should do a cooking or wine type class or if I should be more career-minded and take a language course. I'd love to learn a language anyway, but I'd love to hone my cooking skills or wine knowledge more :D

Moving right along, I woke up today suddenly obsessed with having another Sunday roast...and so I indulged...and this time, I consumed the magical meal at the traditional hour (just now actually) at the pub across from my flat.

I can't figure this pub out...it's a nice enough place but there's hardly anyone ever in here. They have free wi-fi, so that's my excuse...but the food is hit or miss: I ordered pasta the first time I was here and it was delicious, but then I ordered nachos the next time and they were blech. But they claim the Sunday roast is their specialty and oh my, do I agree.

Last week's was tasty enough, at the pub next farthest away, but the veggies were obviously packaged, and the meat was meager. I'm an American, I need a ginormous plate of food in front of me in order to feel that I've truly eaten.

So, seeing their sign here and knowing it was at least easy, as I've been here before, I decided to give them a chance to redeem themselves after the nachos fiasco. I ordered what is now my "usual" drink, a small Chardonnay, and ordered the roast (beef, not lamb). So soon, it arrived:

A sufficiently heaping platter o'food: obviously freshly steamed veggies (broccoli and carrots), perfectly roasted and slightly charred potatoes, 2 HUGE slabs of beef and a yorkshire pudding (which, yes, is the "weird empty pastry shell")...the pudding had a happy puddle of gravy in it and the rest of the gravy was drizzled all over everything else.

So, they've definitely redeemed themselves and I have to say: the Brits eat some very peculiar things, but man alive: Sunday roasts are heaven on a plate.

This Week Will Forever Be Known As....

The. Week. From. Holy. HELL.

So, it started off well enough:

I did, in fact, cancel the Oxford interview.

I had dinner with the Brit, who I hadn't seen in nearly a year, and we had a really lovely and not at all weird evening...a great start, I THOUGHT, to my week.

Tuesday went by uneventfully...most of Wednesday did too. But around 8pm on Wednesday, having depleted my laptop battery and having had a very long day, I reached into my laptop bag for my purse. No purse. Now, we all know that panic, but you reassure yourself that you just left it at home or something. So, I collected my things and scurried home, hoping to God it was there. It wasn't.

I'll give you the end of the book now: I lost my purse, which contained about £50, my UK debit card, my US check card, all of my US credit cards and both of my US checkbooks. AND a $103 store credit that would never expire and I hadn't gotten around to using yet. The purse was inside my laptop bag and somehow fell out, without my noticing. Needless to say, it has been a very hellish week.

So, back to the beginning of the hell: after a frantic and quick realization that my purse was GONE, I sprinted to the tube station to ask where a lost and found might be and, I thought, to retrace my steps on the tube. You see, in the 3 block sprint, I had done a quick inventory of when last I had the purse...at 3:15pm at a cafe in an outer area of London, waiting for an interview. So maybe the purse was there...maybe it was at my interview. But unfortunately, it could also be somewhere along a huge chunk of the tube.

The line I was riding was suspended due to some defect when I went to go home after my interview, so basically, I meandered back and forth for 2 hours, trying to wind my way home. But I got a hard lesson in reality when I tried to embark on my journey to retrace my steps: my oyster card was empty and I had no money. So, I waited until yesterday morning and went to my bank, where I had to learn how to withdraw money the UK way.

By now, I've filed lost reports with the tube and the police, I revisited all the places I went, but at this point, it's highly unlikely I'll ever see my lovely purse again. And though it's silly, I really loved the purse itself.

The happy view is: my passport, my phone, my (new) oyster card and my flat keys were not in my purse. All the plastic is, of course, cancellable and I did that as immediately as I could given my remote location. But this was all yet another lesson in my existence in a foreign land.

Hindsight is 20/20, but I shouldn't have had all my US stuff in my purse...those will stay home from now on.

I'm not sure when or how I'll get new cards, no one wants to ship them here...and my US bank has frozen my checking account and most of my money, fearing that someone will write a check. So it's a bit scary and daunting that at the moment, I have access to very little money.

And, you know, just in case my week isn't going badly enough, I just checked that my mortgage payment went through last week and it was reversed....no idea why, as there were plenty of available funds at the time, but now it will incur a late charge if it isn't paid TODAY and I'm not sure my bank will let me pay it.

Fun stuff, really.

In happier news, I'm going to see Avenue Q tonight, which I paid for last week so yay :) I'm excited (except, of course, I need to resolve the mortgage issue before that and with the time difference, that'll be tricky). I've had 3 interviews that went well (I think), so we shall see.

But I do have friends, it seems, and that's all that really matters. Though I don't think Card Guy and I are meant to be romantically, when I frantically called him to ask him to look up phone numbers Wednesday night, he not only did that, but he gave me his ear for awhile...as I was completely freaked out. The Brit expressed his sympathies and asked if he could do anything. Several people have at least expressed sympathy (and horror). Another friend offered to loan me money, kind of a huge thing for someone you barely know, but still: I guess after a little over a month here, I've survived a catastrophe and I have proof that I'm not all alone over here...so life could be a lot worse.

Here's hoping that next week brings happier tidings!

Sunday Roasts and Jobs Too Far Away

Yum. So, yes, I finally had my first Sunday roast last night :) I did screw it up though, you're supposed to have it as lunch and I had mine as dinner, but still. It counts. I'm also claiming it counts even though I dined with a fellow American...who ordered the stereotypical dish that all Americans order here: fish and chips. But he was allowed because a) he prefaced his decision with "I know, I know, but it sounds good," and b) I've had it since I got here so stones, glass houses, etc and c) he treated, so he got to make the rules :)

So, I had roast beef and the gravy was yumm-ee...it came with various types of potatoes, random veggies and these weird empty pastry shells. No Yorkshire pudding though :( I'm actually amused, it seems that all Yorkshire pudding is is flour...what is so exciting about that? But just on principle, I want to try it. So yay, I've had a Sunday dinner.

I'm killing time at the moment before a call with my old company...and I'm dreading it :( I don't really want the job at this point but, of course, I most certainly don't want to be rude...I was quite lucky to get my CV passed around and I'm very grateful! But I just know I won't be happy trudging to Oxford every week. We'll see.

Chicago!

Wow. I got to see Chicago last night, having never even seen the movie, and we had 2nd row seats...it was incredible. I'm not sure I've ever been that close at a major performance and though I suppose we lost out on really being able to see the entire stage at once, we absolutely got a much more wowie version of the performance.

My friend and I were just in awe...sadly, I also got a reminder that white trash is global :P Unfortunately for us, the actor who played the lawyer is some boy band heart throb who is now an adult...and 2 of his groupie bimbettes were behind us. They were dressed in a manner more appropriate for McDonalds and they were either talking, singing along or tapping their feet (or any combination of the three simultaneously) the entire time. I wasn't sure what on earth they were there for until they, and they alone, gave Boy Wonder a standing ovation (plus, they'd giggled immensely when he made his first appearance).

It is my sincere hope that in future, they'll save their pounds for Big Macs and Spice Girl concerts or else get some manners. But! I was amused that even British girls, who we Americans see as the picture of sophistication, can act like morons :D

In other news, I finished the Bryson book Tuesday night because if I start reading, I read for hours on end....was up until after 3 AM the other night (morning) until I finally shamed myself to sleep and put the book down.

And I'm both (still) highly amused, often to the point of tears and snorting, by Bryson's accounts of Jolly Old England, but I also find myself annoyed with him at times.

It's funny, when I get annoyed with him, I remind myself that this is a man who lived here for 20+ years, who obviously loved it here and who must have fit in to some extent and a man who lived in "real" England, not the merely quasi-British culture in London (I have to ask myself daily "where are all the English people?"). And I was gleeful to read in Wikipedia that he's moved back (the book was written 13 years ago) after a stint back stateside. So he's definitely more Britishized than I am, but still.

There have been a few points in the book where he becomes completely unglued and acts grossly American towards some poor unsuspecting Englishman and I cringe at his behaviour...because I find myself trying to hide my American shell, trying to be the exception to the stereotypes, whereas Mr. Bryson seems quite comfortable as an American in Britain. I'm not sure which of us is better off yet. I do empathize with his frustrations as much as I can at this point...like when he goes postal at the B&B who locked him out at 9:30pm because they'd closed. Who closes that early, honestly?

But the upshot of the book is, I am now dying to just get on a train and see this country. I can, of course, it actually is that simple at present, except it wouldn't be free...I'll have to look into what it would cost and if perhaps I can drag a few new friends with me.

Plus, it seems that as predicted, with the holiday season over, the job train is picking up...which puts a wrinkle in my plan. Oh well, we'll see.Speaking of English people, I'm off to dinner at what appears to be quite a genuine and actual pub with an actual English gentleman who sounds quite interesting at the very least...and funny :)

And tomorrow, I will finally have a Sunday dinner! How very English of me. Hopefully that will redeem me for the fact that I'm not watching the England/Israel game as, I'm told, I should be.

I owe many emails and I'm sorry :( I'll respond soon I promise!

Karma and Coffee

Oh my. What. A. Day, Yesterday.

Dear Powers That Be:

Whatever on earth I did, I really am truly sorry. Even if I didn't do anything, I'm still sorry. But thank you ever so much for ending my torture eventually.

Sincerely,

Me

Yesterday was just one of those days where everything got screwed up and I wanted to hit rewind all day.

I was all proud of myself because I actually obeyed my alarm yesterday morning...well, mostly, I snoozed for 15 minutes, but close enough.

So, after my breakfast, I packed up my laptop and headed to the shopping centre to check email before I went running. Not open yet. I love it here, really I do, but what is the deal with store opening times? There are like 5 coffee shops in here and they don't open till 9am? Eh? This is Central London, not Siberia.

So, *sigh*, this was at just after 8. I could have gone running and come back later, but I didn't, I waited for them to open. I did clean up, etc at home so as not to waste the wasted time, but still.

So ok, I check email finally and go on my run, only my coffee was hitting just as I got to the park. Bathroom on the street doesn't open until 10am and it was 9:45. See a pattern here? Grr.

So I frantically went to the one in the park (which mercifully opens at 8), but it wasn't on my route, so it screwed up my pace and though I ran really far on Wednesday, I ran like a block yesterday. So the moral of the story here is, I'll be getting up at 8 from now on, not 7 thankyouverymuch. Apparently the lazy chick gets the worm.

Sooo, fast forward to later and I realize that I don't know where my Tuesday interview's office is...and worse, this is with my old company so I would greatly prefer not to look like an idiot. Oy. Going to the website, there is no London office listed...so I had to call the HR lady and leave a stupid sounding voice mail, where I forgot my PHONE NUMBER momentarily and sounded even more stupid. But it turns out I'm not actually an idiot, we both overlooked the somewhat pertinent detail that the interview and 1 day a week of the job are in Oxford. Which, for the benefit of you Washingtonians, is like going to Richmond 1 day a week. So, um, I and the people I may be interviewing with are going to chat on Monday to see if it's really feasible. That's alotta time on a train every week.

The recruiter who called the other day called back to say the company's not interested...and I really wanted the job :( Bummer.

However! I have an interview nearly every day next week, so things are picking up it seems.

Blissfully, the idiotic voicemail I left seemed to be the end of the hell that was my day yesterday. I went to a happy hour thingie via meetup.com last night and had a really great time...really cool bar too. The group is going to Avenue Q next Friday and I'm totally excited :) I'd only seen print adverts for it, but a fellow happy hourgoer (an American) tells me that it is a parody/satire of all the PBS classics we Americans who grew up in the 70s and 80s can totally appreciate: Sesame Street/Electric Company/Mr. Rogers, etc.

Speaking of theatre, another new friend and I are going to see Chicago tonight :D I haven't even seen the movie, so I'm excited. We went to the discount booth this morning with grand hopes of tickets to Spamalot, but they only had tickets for the early show and that would be lame on a Friday, so we opted for Chicago instead...and have 2nd row seats, woohoo.

Incidentally, there is a politeness here that I'm still baffled by. We had actually narrowed our choices to Mamma Mia and Chicago and I preferred Mamma Mia...but the ticket guy said "Well, the Mamma Mia tickets are full price and with our service charge, you're actually paying more than full price. And they're not great seats." So ok, Chicago it was.

Today had the eerie makings of another stupidly crazy day, as I found myself dashing out the door to meet my friend, having not even had time to dry my hair or clean up after breakfast...but god bless European mentalities. When we had purchased our tickets and I'm thinking I'd race back here and be all manically productive for a few hours, he, my Italian friend, says "let's sit down somewhere and have some coffee."

Yes. Let's. Because you know what? I moved here in large part to escape the mania that is American society...and yet my brain is still in it. So we sat, we sipped coffee, we talked, I ate a ("skinny"!) muffin and suddenly, my day seemed so much less crazed.

I've had a few job related calls this afternoon and managed not to sound like an idiot, which we'll call a success, and now all I have left to do before meeting my friend is to return some fun, nonwork related emails, grocery shop and veg.

I finished the Bryson book the other day and tomorrow, I fully intend to comment on it. It was a fabulous book and I highly recommend it :)

And lastly, thank you to my lovely reader J, who, in an email I read this afternoon, coined the red buses as "batmobiles on tranquilizers." I did elicit a most unladylike snort as I read it, but it was well worth it ;)

Yay! Strike Over!

Ok, yesterday I started crafting a ramble about the Bryson book, which I'm now almost finished with, but that will have to wait. First, I must tell you all about the red buses and my long lost Oyster card (which is London's Smartrip card).

But pre-news: I discovered much to both my dismay and my delight, that the top floor of the shopping centre (mall) around the corner from me hosts a relatively cheap wi-fi access point. £10 for a week's worth of unlimited access. What does this mean, you ask? Well, while I weed through what is becoming a goofily long process of getting broadband set up at home, I can now be online and somewhat productive for a good chunk of the day, without both spending gobs of money on food and increasing my rear region to epic sizes.

You see, I'd been scheduling my day so that I was online and in a cafe/restaurant of some sort for lunch and dinner...and while this was wonderful for my food obsessions, it was very very bad for my wallet and my clothes. I was spending £25 or so a day and well, eating like a pig. I had rationalized that I was experiencing London, but that was a stretch...given that I'd started going to the same 3 places over and over.

So, with this discovery made, I trucked to the grocery store and bought boring, cheap, healthy things for lunch and dinner (and ice cream) and actually created a daily schedule for myself. I'm not really sticking to it, I had myself getting up at 7 today and I got up at 9 instead because I can. But I do intend to be a little less leisurely...I hope. I'm even trying not to think about the fact that here I am in the coolest city in the world and yet my immediate surroundings are anymall USA. Oh well.

So ok, the strike, the buses and the Official Day of Mourning for my Oyster card:

I was here, web surfing away yesterday roundabout 5:30 when a recruiter called about a job I'd applied for earlier...only I couldn't really hear him, so I asked him to call back in a couple minutes and I raced home to quieter pastures. So while I waited for him to call back, I decided to get organized for meeting my friend in Camden Town later...and made sure my Oyster card was in my purse and not my laptop bag. After much digging and pouting, it seems it is nowhere. I last had it Sunday night and I bet that when I thought I was plunking it back into my laptop bag as I walked home, I was actually dropping it on the ground. What is the moral of the story here? Stop pigging out at wifi coffee houses and you won't lose your Oyster card. I'm so glad we've had this little lesson.

So anyway, recruiter calls and it seems it's a really cool job, so we'll see. So hanging up, I'm thinking: "oh dear. I have to ride a bus by myself, which I've never done, and now I don't have any easy way to pay and I need to be on the bus in 20 minutes."

Now, thankfully before the recruiter called, I'd done properly neurotic and extensive research on both the trip to Camden Town and the trip home and was actually quite gleeful that I would be taking one bus the whole way and it was going to pick me up just outside my flat and deposit me right in front of the meeting point my friend and I had chosen. So with this exciting knowledge, I began to abandon my anti-bus snobbery and become a bit smug against the strikers.

I thought to myself that the strike forced many of us nonbusriders to ride the bus and we might find we actually liked it and then we wouldn't ride the tube and then the strikers would get fired. Neiner Neiner.

But still, I was a bus newbie and I wasn't entirely sure you could pay cash upon boarding. So, taking my now shrinking 20 minutes, I raced back here, looked briefly online into getting my Oyster card replaced, saw that it was a huge hassle and raced off to the Bayswater station to just buy a new one.

Well, it seems the dudes at the ticket counters were on strike too, so no card for me. So I bought a stupidly expensive day pass out of the machine instead (£5.10 instead of the £2 it would have cost with my Oyster card) and raced back to my flat to get the bus.

I didn't have time to fret about where to wait because it pulled up just as I arrived and I got on, showed my dorky day pass to the driver and boarded. And when I mused to the woman standing next to me that I totally picked the wrong day to lose my Oyster card (which was totally a sad effort to make it clear that despite my touristy card, I was a local), she responded in a decidely American accent and it seemed my local act worked, because she looked a bit excited and relieved that I was both her people and seemingly knowledgeable. Seemingly.

She and her husband were visiting from Oklahoma and this was their first trip to any big city anywhere. Wow. So we had a nice little chat about things to see, etc and then they left and I decided to make the best of this godforsaken vehicle I was in and started to check out my surroundings. I'd been told that the buses are a great way to see the city and though the bus was packed, I had a window section to stand in, so I did some looking. And after a good, oh I don't know, 30-35 minutes, I realized that we were 3 blocks from where I'd gotten on. Oh dear. 2 women got yelled at at one point for pushing the emergency button to open the doors, because they had wisely decided that since we hadn't moved in 10 minutes, walking would be faster. I'd have followed suit, only my neurotic research on my bus didn't include the actual streets and I wasn't going to be able to find my way on foot, I was quite sure.

So um, ok, I get it. The buses are, in fact, god awful and are to be avoided. It took just over an hour to reach Camden Town, due to traffic. It should have taken 35 minutes.

Also, I'm told WTOP commented on the strike today (or maybe yesterday?), so woohoo, it's world news!

So thank you strikers, for going back to work, I'll see you soon when I buy my new Oyster card which I hopefully won't lose. And please, PLEASE do not do your flipping 3 day strike next week as you planned, I have interviews.

Tube Strike!

I am now marooned in W2. Bummer. Actually, I could do one of two things and not be marooned: 1) walk to where ever it is I want to go, I used to walk 2 miles each way to work every day and London's just not that big. Or 2) I could take this opportunity to finally figure out the red buses.

I'm quite partial to 1) at this time because a) though I do get the impression that the red buses are viewed differently from a cultural perspective than I'm used to, they're still buses. I may be a city dweller, but I am also a snob ;) I just can't imagine life as a bus rider. Except I hear that London from the perspective of the upstairs of a bus is quite a perspective. Oh and b) I just mapped the bus route from here to, say, the east side of the city. Over an hour. Ouch.

And the sad thing is, I am so into my life of leisure that the only reason I have any inkling of the strike is that Card Guy emailed me to make fun of it this morning. So, of course, prior to responding, I had to look it up so as not to look like an idiot. Otherwise, I'd have waddled off to one of the stations this week and thought "where are the trains? I need ice cream."

I'm pretty much over my funk I think, which is good. I'm currently scouring the net for some miraculous little known site with really cheap but really perfect seats to Spamalot, which I and a friend are going to Friday night. No luck yet, so it appears that he and I will be scouring the last minute stands Friday morning in Leicester (Lester!) Square. We'll see. I'm totally excited though because I've wanted to see Spamalot for forever and the aforementioned new friend is very cool, so it should be a fun evening.

Better than the current one, where I'm in my neighborhood pub which very nicely has free wi-fi and I'm trying to be good this week on calories and yet I smell chips. Smell as in the wonderful aroma is all I can think about. Why can't chips be calorieless? is that really too much to ask?

Oh and also ice cream, let's make that calorieless shall we?

People Are Idiots...

And yes, I suppose I’m one of them. The working title was “men are idiots,” but to be fair, we women have our own issues too. Plus, the day has progressed such that really, just people in general are idiots.

Since the whole world can see this, I won’t go into too much detail…and to be honest, there wouldn’t be that much to go into anyway. I’m not really even sure if I’m justified in my grumpiness, but it is what it is. I’m having a grumpy day…a grumpy week-end I suppose.

I had grand plans for the week-end when it began yesterday morning and, having had a great time with my (hopefully) new friend Friday night, I was hopeful for the rest of the weekend. But when the plans I thought I had last night were cancelled at the eleventh hour, I was faced with the annoying reality that as new to town as I am, I’m not in an easy position to make new last minute plans with anyone…so there would be no plans last night. I always see posts on craigslist and gumtree where people say their plans fell through and does anyone want to grab a drink…so I suppose I could have done that, but it didn’t really occur to me until later and then it really was too late. And so began the pity party that anyone new in a town anywhere can relate to.

So last night I moped and watched TV (all 5 channels). Yesterday wasn’t a total loss, I’ve had a very hard time finding the book for this month’s book club (and my first meeting of this one) and set off to Charing Cross Road to find it, per the suggestion of my local bookstore…but I’m not getting where the book mecca on Charing Cross Road is, I’ll have to look into it. I did order the book from a store there and it’ll be here on Tuesday I hope…but I didn’t see the gobs of bookstores I expected. Just the one.

Did my afternoon online session and found an email from Virgin Media that they need another 10 working days to “figure things out,” even though they’ve already taken 3 days longer than they said they would. In my grumpy state, I cancelled the whole order and I’m going to try Orange, who are offering free broadband with a mobile package. Except I have to pick a phone and I have no idea which one I want and I can only research it for the 2 hours I have online until my laptop battery dies. That is tonight’s project.

When I went across the street a bit later to buy a sandwich and ice cream, my debit card was declined and I was all freaked out that someone drained my brand spanking new account. Thankfully I had change with me, so I could at least leave with my food. But the cash machines here rock and on top of being free, you can just check your balance too…so I did and seeing that my balance is what it should be, I’m assuming that Barclays saw a £3.33 purchase as a fraudulent thing. Really hate that, as it was quite embarrassing.

Side note and random Britishism: never say you “don’t have cash” as it apparently means you are penniless ;) They refer to the money in your wallet as change, not cash.

So, after all that fun and excitement, it was shortly after 9pm and I was in for the night with my sandwich, my ice cream and most of a bottle of Riesling from a few days ago. Needless to say, the wine did not help my pity party and I basically sat here being pathetic.

I’m not really any less grumpy today and hopefully I’ll get out of my funk soon. After my morning run, I went out for lunch and decided to trek back into the park to sit in one of the cool sun chairs I always see along the Long Pond and read one of my new books (I bought 2 books when I ordered the book club one).

So off I set and the walk seemed longer than when I’m running every morning because duh. Walking/running. So anyway, I finally get to the chairs and plunk down in one and get to about page 2 of my new book when some guy chooses to stand right next to me and yap in broken English on his mobile. At least that’s what I thought he was doing because I could see him in my peripheral vision. But when I finally looked up at him, he was holding the phone to his ear but was talking to me. “Not free. Not free. Not free,” he kept saying, with no actual pause between each phrase. So, forcing myself out of my increasingly grumpy state in the interests of human decency, as he seemed to be just doing his job (or scamming me, I wasn’t sure at that point), I said “you mean the chair?” “Not free, receipt?” he said. “Ok, where do I pay?” I replied. “Not free.” We did this 4 or 5 times and then, ungrumpiness period now over, I rolled my eyes and got up in search of a park bench to sit on instead and contemplated grumping to whatever official I could find that the dude wasn’t very helpful. I did see a sign that the chairs aren’t free, so it wasn’t a scam…and cash machines aside, the Brits are into “nickel and dime” charges. For instance, if you want steamed rice with your Chinese entrée, you’ll pay for it. Water is also never free at restaurants. Finding a bench and embarking on another pity party instead of ratting the annoying guy out, I plunked down on the bench and looked out at the water for awhile, being all pathetic and pensive. I moved here for this big adventure and yet some things are exactly as they were before I left. Some aspects of life and of human nature, it seems, are global.

But when the tears started to come and I was reminded that I was sitting on a path where thousands of people were walking by and I didn’t want to look like an idiot (even if I am one), I went back to my book. The book, incidentally, is _Notes From a Small Island_ by Bill Bryson. He is an American who lived here for 20 years and then decided to move back to the states…and took one last tour of dreary Old England before he left, which is the plot of the book. I’ve wanted to read it for eons and finally am. About 2 sentences after I’d sat back down, it got really funny and stayed funny for the 45 minutes I could stand to sit there. So there was out-loud laughing instead of crying. When hypothermia had gotten the better of me, I moved on in search of a sunny patch of grass and hopefully less wind. I did eventually find a suitable spot, but it was still too cold and I decided to come back home, stopping for ice cream on the way (shutup). Side note: I’ve had ice cream at least once a day since I got here…I’ve always loved ice cream, but I have no idea what the current obsession is, or why the Brits sell it everywhere. So there I am, walking home, now out of the park, and a guy shut his car door and went to go inside his building with many bags of groceries. Having noticed that his car door was ajar, I pointed that out to him as I walked by (with a smile even)…and caused him to drop a bag, breaking jars inside :( Oopsy. Oh well, so on I went after a grimace and an apology.

The weekend’s nearly over and again, hopefully tomorrow brings a better mood. At least in my current bum status, Mondays aren’t bad things in and of themselves :D I suppose the reality is that not every day of life is all happy and peachy, even when you’re in the coolest city in the world ;) And not all aspects of life here will be different than they were in the states, but I’m still happy I’m here, idiots notwithstanding.

Britishisms

Ok, so nothing all that fun and exciting to report...I'm killing a couple hours right now before meeting a girl for dinner in Leicester Square (I'll save you the dumbness I felt upon first pronouncing it....it's Layster, not Like-aster. Oops), which is the coolest part of London and where, if I were of the rich variety, I'd live :D It (and the surrounding Covent Garden and Piccadilly and Oxford Circuses) is London's version of Times Square, complete with the ginormous digital sign. And yes, it's also where the bomb almost went off last month, which isn't so much a claim to fame.

Another new friend, who I hung out with the other night, totally agrees with me and we spent a good hour drooling over the whole area. Funny enough, I'm bored with W2 ;) It's too quiet here, carnivals notwithstanding. But oh well.

My old company (well different division, same overall company) just called for an interview next week...other than that, things are a little terrifyingly quiet on the job front and I'm trying to see my turning down yesterday's interview as a positive, brave thing and not utter stupidity. Trying.

But given that I have no wonderful fantastic news to report, I'm taking this opportunity to edumucate (no, blogger.com, I don't want to respell that thankyouverymuch) my fine readers on a few Britishisms.

A dear net friend I've known for awhile (and finally met shortly after arriving) and I had drinks and dinner last night to "celebrate" his 30th, which consisted largely of me making fun of him and him reminding me that no, I cannot celebrate the 1st anniversary of my 29th birthday and that in less a month, it will be my turn. But when we weren't having that argument, he was making fun of me for being American and I was alternating between apologizing and trying to defend my countrymen, depending on how likely I was to win with the latter tactic.

So, a few highlights from the evening: he claims that anything we've actually done well doesn't even count because we only even exist because of the Brits. In other words, they get indirect credit for everything we've done. Cute little pyramid scheme there, innit?

Having met up at the Victoria station, we ended the evening at an upstairs bar that overlooks a few of the platforms and, comically, a Krispy Kreme stand and a bagel stand that are next to each other. Well, after many minutes of him claiming that one is meant to pronounce Kreme phonetically and my claim that no, it's a poetic license thing and it's cream and so on, the Krispy place closed for the day...and we watched in abject horror as they threw out 60 odd doughnuts. The ones they didn't throw away were being given away to employees by the dozens (as in, 4 employees took several dozen each).

So, a for-now-amusing Britishism is that they really like to make fun of us. I'm sure it will get on my nerves eventually, but for now I play along. For instance: it's baaasil, not baysil and it's a mob-aisle phone, not a mo-bill (and whatever you do, it is not a cell phone) and you ask for the bill after dinner, not the check (cheque!).

They make fun of our food intake at every opportunity, but they happily eat the junkiest of our foods, as there is either a Burger King or a McDonalds (or both) on every corner.

I could go on and on, but you'd get bored ;) Oh. no electrical outlets in bathrooms by law. Why, you ask? Because you could get electrocuted, duh. I've tried to explain that most of us Americans have avoided this unpleasant experience (except, of course, for the dude responsible for the tag on hair dryers, which reminds you not to use it while bathing), but to no avail, they still insist it's dangerous.

Carnivals, friends and dreary old London

Uh, the second day of the carnival wasn’t quite as much fun. Too many people. Plus, there seemed to be far fewer things to look at, just gobs of humans pushing each other to and fro. But! I met a cool French chick, hopefully we’ll get together again soon…we whinged at each other about the gross lack of coffee appreciation here. You see, we have the whole freedom fries nonsense in the states, but the thing is, we’re a lot like the French and they actually like us for the most part. They like us better than they like the Brits at least (which is much like saying they like being boiled alive more than they like being burned to death, but still, I’ll take what I can get).

I’m trying to get into tea, really I am, but I need my coffee. Strong, black, COFFEE. I’m drinking instant at home, ugh. Must go buy a coffeemaker soon. My furnished flat came with a tea kettle, of course.

Still no resolution on the food saga either, but oh well.

So, anyway, on Sunday afternoon, feeling that whole pathetic I-have-no-friends-here-and I’m-a-loser thing I mentioned last time, I came home and posted to gumtree saying I was new to town, etc because sitting in misery doesn’t really accomplish anything and it’s not very fun.

The French chick and a couple others responded and now I have plans for the rest of the week :) So thank you, 21^st century. I’m bad though and I do feel a little bad…I’d told my new French friend beforehand that I had plans last night, so we’d need to leave the carnival around 5. And I did, I had grand plans to do a meetup.com thing in Mayfair, but as I set out to meet my friend at the tube station, Card Guy sent a text, asking if I wanted to meet for drinks later. Decisions, decisions. We already had plans for tomorrow night, but still…I am me, after all.

So I decided (much unlike me!) to just see where the day went…he wasn’t really positive he wanted to battle the crowds and come into the city. But when he sent a text around 3:30 that he would, I texted back that I’d meet him…so yes yes, shame on me, I bailed on the meetup thing to see Card Guy. But the meetup thing was a casual happy hour type thing, so it’s not like I stood a bunch of people up or anything…I just did the quintessential bad thing when one is new to town: I put the guy before friendships. It won’t happen again, I promise. Well ok, I’ll try not to do it again at least. If it redeems me at all, he has a standing Monday night date with a bunch of his mates and he was standing them up to meet me. Except he did eventually get to the pub to see them, whereas I never actually went to the meetup thing. Oh well.

When I got home last night after my tiring but fun day, I finally sent the email to the recruiter, cancelling the interview. I feel better having done it, she wasn’t mad at me and I’m a bit more motivated to get on the horn looking for a job – I spent several hours today working on that, so yay me.

And in an amusing but totally unrelated side note: I’m noting that the Brits are the biggest whingers ever…but they don’t mean it negatively, it’s just how they communicate. The weather chick tonight on the news yammered on about the weather and instead of using the technical terms I’m used to (dew points, blah blah), her monologue was filled with depressing adjectives like dreary, utterly miserable, etc…but all delivered with a happy smile! Her sign off was something along the lines of “and tomorrow in London, it won’t rain, it will just be utterly miserable, have a good night!” Hee.

In a travesty that I can’t even believe, I have not been to Harrod’s since I arrived. So maybe I’ll go tomorrow, the food halls beckon!

The Notting Hill Carnival

Wow.

So, if you didn't minimize my post and go off Googling to figure out what I'm talking about...the Notting Hill Carnival, held every August Bank Holiday weekend since a long time ago (too lazy to go look it up :P), is the largest street festival in the UK.

And it starts outside my door! It runs today and tomorrow and though I did discover last week that Notting Hill is next door to my neighborhood, I was surprised, when I set off early this afternoon to see what the fuss was about, how far the carnival spread out. The road blocks started mere yards from my door.

So, I followed suit and walked down the middle of the normally-car-saturated street toward Notting Hill.

I have pictures and if I ever figure out how to post them I will, but it was really cool. Though Notting Hill is now uber-wealthy, it has long been home to many just-off-the-boat Caribbean folk and this is their annual celebration. So, everywhere you turned, there were millions of people, jerk chicken stands and reggae music.

I was a little bummed to be by myself, but hopefully I'm going back tomorrow with a new friend, so all is not lost :)

Also, I still haven't gotten used to the much more relaxed attitude about alcohol here ;) You were perfectly free to purchase copious amounts of booze and walk down the street with it. I kept seeing people with straw-poked coconuts, but I never did figure out where they were getting them. I am so figuring that out tomorrow and I'll be really bummed if it's just milk :P

Milk, my friends, does not do a body good.

But all good things get on your nerves if you're around it long enough and I've escaped to a heavenly little coffee house 3 tube stops away for dinner...people from the carnival had these little whistles. 10 hours ago, they were cute. Now? Not so much.

I'm most definitely coming back, this place is perfect (and oh dear god, the eggs norwegian I just had was so heavenly I can't even describe it).

No Interview!

Ok, I haven't actually emailed the recruiter yet, but I am canceling my 2nd interview...this job is just not what I want.

After my last post, I went home to tackle the presentation...and spent the whole time utterly frustrated and bored. When I opened it the first time, several days ago, the very title of it (category review) sent a feeling of dread through me. Category reviews were my whole life when last I was in this field and they are agonizingly boring....it's data, more data and oh yeah, more data. And PowerPoint.

PowerPoint is Satan's spawn. It is the biggest waste of corporate man hours ever (there are actually studies on this) and I despise it. It's terrifying to turn down what feels like a bird in hand when there are really no other birds even on the horizon...but I didn't uproot my entire life and make this journey just to do something I hate. My new friends have all screamed "don't settle!" over and over...and you know what? I won't. Not yet anyway.

And if just the interview makes me this annoyed, how on earth will I survive in the job? It's just not meant to be.

I'm a little bummed that it's Saturday night and here I sit, in a pub, by myself...but I didn't really make an effort to make plans because I was going to get cracking on the presentation. So, I came here to make new friends, to have new experiences and I just need a job because life isn't free :) And just 2 weeks in, I'm giving up my social life for potential employment? No. This
just isn't the one.

Fingers crossed that the one comes along soon though!

It's Sunny!

Well, after I don't know how many days of frigidly cold and gloomy weather, the sun is out in full force today! :) And it's about 25C (75-80F)...I got totally sidetracked today on my run and was in the park for 2 hours, oops ;)

Life here is settling and getting normal crazy, as opposed to new-to-town crazy. The 98 slide saga continues, I need to break the whole thing apart, figure out what the main point is and recreate a new presentation which I'll present...and please factor in that I speak American and the slides are in English...it's slow going. It's not actually that boring...but did I mention the weather? I so don't feel like working on it today ;) But!

The Notting Hill Carnival starts tomorrow and I want to go...and perhaps pop in somewhere for Sunday dinner, so it's better to be responsible today/tonight. I'll just keep repeating that.

So, backtracking to Thursday...I met Card Guy near London Bridge and got a quick history lesson followed by copious amounts of wine, with wonderful company the whole time...perfect! :)

Friday required going to (cue psycho music, please) the embassy to get the power of attorney document notarised so my mom can represent me in the states or, you know, take all my money, which ever she's in the mood for. We didn't think of it until my very last day in the states and I was just crazy busy, so no luck. Incidentally, if we had done it before I left, the whole bank wire saga with my flat would have been irrelevant, as she could have done it for me. Lessons learned I guess. I could go off on a tirade about how embarrassing our embassy is, but in the spirit of my previous post, I won't whinge...I'll just say that no one else has a bunch of dudes with ginormous guns standing outside their embassies. But whatever. Also, it was $30 and my entire afternoon. Ok, I'm finished. Amusing side note though: I was sitting waiting for my number to be called and a guy at the nondescript window (visas, lost passports, random questions) suddenly says, in a cheerful/small talk tone to the embassy worker behind the window:

"This is right where I got arrested in 1964!"

Which, as you can imagine, caught my attention. So I just mumbled "uuuh, some things are better meant kept to ourselves..." and laughed. And the lady next to me and her daughter burst out laughing, as they'd been thinking the same thing. So, take note: an embassy? Not so much the place to voluntarily offer up your criminal record.

Yesterday, my UK debit card came! I feel like such a local now.

So, last night, I met someone I'd met online (not a date!) and we went to the open air theatre in Regents Park. It was frigid (low 40s F), but was still very fun...I highly recommend it! Apparently they continue, even in the rain. Our seats were wet, but we were spared actual rain.

Ok, time to go enjoy the sun!

Attitude...

As those of you who know me in real life can attest to, going with the flow and letting life be life isn't really my forte...in fact, it was incomprehensible to me until recently. I thought if I worked hard enough, I could make life do what I wanted it to do :)

But life doesn't work that way. We don't get a say in where life takes us, we only get to decide how we react to what life throws at us...we get to choose our attitudes. You can be miserable with your life or you can be happy. I still want the fairytale I've always wanted, with the kids, no job, the happy husband...but if that never happens, I'll still be happy!

I suppose in part from my experience of moving to Connecticut, which I hated more than anything, I came here bound and determined to make it work...I told everyone who would listen that I was choosing to move here and as such, didn't have a license to whinge about whatever the move threw at me.

And so somehow, with every curve thrown my way for the last 11 days...which includes making absolutely everything take longer than it should and makes absolutely everything more complicated than it should be...I've not only managed to refrain from whinging, I've found humor and fun in it.

I'm annoyed about the lack of cleanliness in my flat, but I'll live...it isn't worth freaking out about. It took me 3 days to figure out how to ignite the pilot light on my hob (stovetop), but when I did it by accident this morning? I was giddy. I can poach eggs for breakfast now! I stood in the detergent aisle at the supermarket for 30 minutes today, trying to decipher all the foreign-to-me brands and then spent another 30 minutes figuring out my washer/dryer (which is 1 unit).

I walked for hours today, scoping out the perfect wifi place for lunch today and was dying of hunger by the time I found it, but I didn't care. I smile at everyone and they smile back 99% of the time.

So...it's only been 11 days, but it feels like it's been a year. I am in heaven here and the coolest thing is that it seems like no matter what I have to deal with, I'm still going to love it here...maybe for the simple reason that I came here...that goofy feeling that I just got on a plane and moved here, not knowing what on earth I was facing. And so far, it's been fun, fun, fun.

Maybe in a month, I'll be crying my eyes out...but for now, I'm just enjoying lovely, cold, rainy London (I wore my ski jacket to dinner tonight!).

A blissfully nothingness day...

So, not much to report today...still no word on the rotting food, I'm getting a bit grumpy about it, I'll admit.

But otherwise, it's been a very nice day...I have done nothing ;)

I went running, I strolled, I ate lunch, I'm having drinks on the east side of the city tonight, I'm relaxing!

I do have to look over a 98 slide presentation at some point that I have to present for my 2nd interview next week...yikes.

So, sorry for the nothingness, but not much to report.

Except! Remember kids, look left! Else you might get pancaked by a double-decker bus like I almost did today...but free health care! :)

A bank account!

Today was a very good day :)

But first! Shipping my stuff: I'm waiting until I'm gainfully employed to ship my small things, but no furniture :( That would have cost thousands upon thousands I think...it will cost approx. $800 to ship 100 cubic feet of my stuff (12 boxes). My rule for myself is: if I stay after my two years is up, I'll ship my furniture (I'll probably have bought a place by then anyway).

We now return you to our regularly scheduled ramble: Barclays rocks! Not only did they let me open a bank account with just my address (as in, I verbally gave it to them), but they let me open a current (checking) account...very happy am I :)

HSBC, who'd been my first stop, were far less helpful...they wanted a utility bill. Oh well.

The start of my day was rather comical to my Washingtonian senses...the food saga drags on, but the grossness is hidden in the cabinets, so I'm ignoring it for now. So, after my nice and healthy breakfast of buttered toast and a banana, I opened the door to go for a run...and nearly froze to death instantaneously. I could see my breath. It is 20 August, right?? August. My, my. So, slamming the offending door closed, I changed my shorts to my lined running pants. Brrr.

Now suitably clothed for the arctic wonderland I now inhabit, I went for my run...I was gone far longer than I intended, but it felt great...I ran through a bit of Kensington Gardens and around a bit. And didn't get lost! Actually, I'm frequently not lost these days. Plus, I ran for some serious continuous lengths, which I'm quite giddy about.

Back to the flat to clean up, knocked the bank saga out of the way and spent some time catching up on email and whatnot before heading off to meet with the recruiter who arranged last Friday's interview.

A quick stroll around after I got back and it was dinner time...and I got lost. Oops. And I'd been doing so well! I was off in search of a pub a half mile away, that according to my googling had free wifi. I was terrified to go to a pub alone, as I'd be that alone dork. But I forced myself.

Unable to find the silly place, I came back to attempt the Japanese place across the street - who say they have wifi, but it doesn't appear to be free...and as I passed one of the two pubs across from my flat, I noticed that one of them has wifi. Woohoo!

So here I sit...it's quite a nice little pub, quiet and there aren't nearly enough people here for me to feel like a geek.

The company from Friday's interview are quite aggressively pursuing me, which is at the very least incredibly flattering...so we shall see where that goes.

So all in all, today was a very nice day :) a meetup.com event tomorrow night, drinks with Card Guy Thursday and a platonic theatre date Friday...I love London ;)

Rotting Food

Nice title, eh? That is what I discovered when I started looking through my new kitchen yesterday. VERY GROSS. And very not cool. I guess I'm extra perturbed because when I rented my flat out, I ran around like a crazed lunatic my last day stateside cleaning, so that the tenants would have a nice arrival. Lol, I was horrified when I realized at one point last week that I'd left my very used loofah sponge on the shower caddy and that it might gross out the tenants. If only I had known. It seems that my landlord has a very different idea of tenancy.

I've emailed the estate agent and hopefully it will get resolved, but I really can't bring myself to clean it myself for two reasons. First, of course, it isn't my responsibility to do so...this place is not cheap and I think I can at least reasonably expect a lack of rotting food (and dirty cleaning items in the bathroom) upon move in. Second well, it's gross and I don't want to touch any of it.

Basically, the place wasn't really cleaned after the last tenant moved out.

But I digress, the point is, I'm moved in! The location couldn't be more perfect: literally, right outside my complex is shopping, restaurants, etc. 2 pubs and the kebab place on the corner and more as far as you can see. I'm currently typing to you from a sizeable shopping centre (mall) less than a block away from my flat.

And rotting food aside, the place is great...quite a bit bigger than my flat in the states and aside from the sometimes loud surroundings, I love it. I'll love it more when I have net access and more than 3 channels on TV though!

The TV the flat came with is comically tiny, but really, the point in my being here isn't to watch TV, so it'll do for now. The items to cook with are very minimal...so I'll be in heaven once I can ship my stuff. But again, I can make do.

I went for a nice long run this morning (got lost, of course) and though it was raining and cold enough to see my breath (nope, not kidding!), it felt good to just be out.

Anywho, it's Sunday, people here don't do much on Sundays, so here I sit, relaxing the day away until my battery dies and I have home to go charge it again.