Last night in Wimbledon

On the 18:01 back to Wimbledon for the final time listening to the Artic Monkeys, like much of Britain it seems. So far, it sounds good - first listen.

I've been battling with the dreaded UK credit system, where absolutely everything has to be backed up with "previous residence" and "credit history" - not easy when you've only been in the country 4 months. It's a total catch 22. If you've just arrived, how the hell can you have a credit history and a previous residence ?

Then again, not much makes sense over here, just like back in South Africa. I often wonder how anything ever gets done, until I realise it doesn't. Just go with the flow and keep your sense of humour. it's the first line of offense.

I finally convinced the credit check company that South Africa works a little differently to the UK and that I don't actually have any proof of residence on me. What irks me is that the banking institutions shift their fraud problems onto the consumer, under the guise of "protecting us"

I ended up with 60p in my wallet on Tuesday evening and a few thousand quid in the bank the next day, which was rather alarming. Talk about a close call.

Tommorrow I will be a resident of Odiham, Hook, Hampshire. I will probably go out of my mind after a few weeks of living in a tiny village, having spent the last four months in London. I've also realised that in such a small place, I will become known even if I don't realise it. I'm fairly certain that there is already word out that there's someone new moving into the vacant apartment on the High Street.

I'm looking forward to living there anyway. The idea of once again having my own space is wonderful.
I may become an eccentric, or rather, finally go over the edge after years of teetering on the brink. Perhaps I'll take on the roll of the village drunk/idiot. Every village needs one, perhaps they'll pay me if I dress the part. Then again, they may already have one. There's a bloke in the village who looks a lot like Keith Richards. He wears a fake leopard skin skull cap.

This is Britain, land of the eccentric anyone. I must admit, I do like that, although unfortunately it is tempered by Yob culture. Amidst the eccentric nuttery, there's the bland dimwit dickhead sheep, but that's another story.

I've applied for a phone and will soon apply for broadband. I was under the impression that this would be easy in a "1st world country", however, I ran into the same old bollocks as South Africa.

The first time I called to apply, I was told that the line in the apartment had been disconnected and an engineer would only be available in a month. Having learnt from experience in South Africa, I said "don't worry then", phoned again and got a different date for the engineer, 3 weeks from now.
Third time lucky then - I call again and this time, my line should be installed in 3 days.

Go figure, it's like a damn lottery.

Then again, It's entirely possible that I'll be shunted from phone pillar to phone post anyway and end up getting the line the day before I move out.

I was never under the impression that the UK would be wonderfully easy to get things done, but I didn't expect the problems I've encountered so far. There's red tape on the red tape.

A bit of money in the bank, however, seems to work wonders. Previous residence and credit history takes a backseat to the filthy lucre.

"No problem sir, I'm sure we can process your application"

"Yes, but I'm actually an evil terrorist with a long white scraggly santa beard and a copy of the Anarchist Cookbook in my 'bomb laden' backpack"

"Excuse me sir ?"

"I said 'can we fast track ?'"

"Certainly sir"

Youth fashion merry-go-round

Walking around a busy Camden Town late this morning, on a sunny mild day was a good place to try and pick up on youth fashion to see what's in, just for a laugh.

I kinda wished I was 24 again, with my long hair, docs, skinny frame and tight black jeans. I would've fitted right in, being considered "fashionable" 14 years later. Instead, my far chubbier frame was clad in hiking boots, black jeans and a stylish DKNY blue sweater and my hair a non-descript cut.

About the only "new" fashions I noted, was a mix of asian, punk and goth - think of the cartoons from The Gorillaz.

London is once again going through a sixties revival, but this time, it's head on direct copying. You could transplant the youths that follow this fashion into 1968 and they would look like they belonged. Shops selling army jackets, tight black jeans, winklepickers. Then there's the more "David Blunt" style - subdued casual 60's mixed 50's american college. Think of that famous Dylan album cover, the name of the album escapes me now - where's he's walking down the street with his girl, in a brown suede jacket. Freewheeling Bob Dylan ?

There were some old style punks in Camden, although I had a notion these were Eastern European. They were all working handing out various pamphlets, or holding up signs for the Doctor Martens shop. Quite sad really. Not exactly "youths" either, most looking in their 30's or 40's.

The occassional goth wandered past.

A horrible fashion trend, not really noticable in Camden, is the return of the 80's - not so much the big hair, but women in cowboy boots with jeans tucked into them and gaudy belts. It was horrifying then, it's even worse now. It's a kinda Britney Spears meets Pat Benatar.

The biggest overall "alternative" trend seems to be a relaxed 60's attire, a bit of early mod, a bit of late 60's stones. Bands like The Stokes look and sound almost identical to that era. I like it.
There are a few differences, hair gelled into scruffy ridges for instance.

But as usual, generally speaking, the majority of people are just casual. Only the few are fashionable.

Fashion has been this way for some time - there are very few clear cut overwhelming youth styles, it's all mixed up. There's no longer a clear definition, like Mod & Rocker, Punk and New Romantic, Skinhead and Hippy.

Of course, there's the tail end of the "chav" still happening, with a few sad losers hanging in, although the entire scene was always based on sad losers in burberry and bling in the first place.
The black fashions are very much sports orientated and form the bulk of the "hoody" style of dress, with the women in R&B atire. Sad white folk try to emulate this style, but not everyone can carry it off like 8 mile.
Then there's the skateboard crowd, following the US mid-70's fashion. Baseball sneakers, all round shoulder length scruffy hair, faded blue jeans and caps. Dogtown style. If I were 18 these days, I'd probably be into that.

Where I'll soon be living, I'd probably look best with grey hair, complete with bald patch, a zimmerframe, sensible brown lace up shoes, a chunky sweater and a suit jacket. I'll fit right into life on the High Street, Odiham.

Fasion left me behind 10 years ago, or rather, I left it behind. Good riddance too, for the most part. I'll be buried in my Jeans, favourite scruffy t-shirt and boots, unless it's summer time, then it'll be shorts and bare feet.

I've ended my day in London here at Nicholsons, on the banks of the Thames, for a bit of whale watching. Haven't seen one yet. I hope that lost "little" whale gets back out to sea.

Strange days indeed.

Traffic circles revisited ...

People spend days lost on roundabouts in the UK, as there are frequent rest and refuelling spots on the larger island groupings. In fact, I think they are considering a new adventure holiday where you spend a week driving round and round confusing traffic islands stopping for cookie and coffee breaks and the occassional refuel.

To add extra spice, these adventure holidays will be spent during a heatwave and the car seats will be plastic, circa 1970. Everyone will be forced to wear shorts three sizes too small. Whinging children will be loaned to those without them, preferably ones who get car sick and need the toilet all the time. These children will be supplied with sticky toffees, bottles of tartrazine, chocolate and noisy hand held games. As an optional extra, a sulky smelly teenager will be thrown into the mix.

If your single, you'll have the option between a russian partner (former soviet shotput champion or chain smoking vodka swilling swine) with stinking armpits who cannot speak a word of english, but insists on giving directions or, alternatively, a skinny moan-a-minute hypochondriac with a bad cough and hemmariods.

Everyone will be provided with either a 1:1000 scale map the size of a matchbox, or a 1:5 map which unfolds to roughly the same size as a football field and none of the roundabouts will be marked correctly.

All signposts will be obscured by trees or graffiti and random herds of cows and/or sheep will be let free onto various country lanes wide enough to allow two minis to scrape past each other.

The radio/tape deck will be permanently locked onto Shipping forecasts or Radio Twee, playing the Eurovision song contest losers from the past 3 decades.

Sounds like a typical holiday in the UK to me ...

Dali Universe

Found a cosy pub out of the wind and drizzle somewhere near embankment, called The Sherlock Holmes.
Nice pint of IPA after a few hours with Dali, crazy chap, but boy, can he sculpt !

It's not a huge exhibition, but gives you a feeling of the genius of Dali that no book could ever give. I'm not fanatical about his paintings and sketches, it's the sculptures I find so intruiging.

The exhibition takes you through some of the various phases and influences of Dali's work, "Sensuality and Femininity," "Religion and Mythology," and "Dreams and Fantasy.". The walls are all in black which I found a bit odd, to me, it didn't really match the work. I suppose it was to attempt to let the work stand out on it's own, but if felt more like a night club than a gallery. The passageway leading to the first gallery room wouldn't go amiss in the Doors nightclub, Marshall street, in the early 90's

My visuals of Dali's world would be sunny, bright and colourful, given the fact that he grew up in that environment.

Eggs, crutches, drawers, penises, vaginas, bums, boobs, ants, clocks, snails horses and of course, Gala.

"I do not understand, when I walk into a restaurant and order a grilled lobster, why I am not served a cooked telephone."

It would be too easy to label Dali as a madman, what scares me is the weight of his intellect, it's simply staggering.

I managed to spend two hours and went through the works on display twice, had a seat on a couch and took a sneaky photo or two, for keepsakes (naughty naughty)

The gallery has a shop, where, for a mere £8000 and upward, you can buy tiny replicas of sculptures and prints of sketches and paintings. I was tempted, but decided possibly next time would be better. I'll take a few plastic lobsters in with me to see if they'll take those instead of money.

All geared up, with somewhere to go.

So, I'm hired. I'm now officially a working man once again.
I start as web dev for a small design agency in a country village soon.
Due to some legal issues with the original contract I signed through an agent, there's some things for my employers to sort out before I start.

I have three more days to kill and what better place to do it than London ?

It's worked out perfectly, as the budget I set for this working week can now be transferred to exploring London for the next three days, as well as polishing off a few freelance web sites. It's also nicely timed as my next check for last years freelance will go into my account tommorrow. Sweet bliss !

But easy there cowboy, lets not go too far ahead of ourselves, that budget still needs to hold itself up on more than crutches and the urge to splurge needs to be tempered with some harsh realities. A little voice tells me to tighten that budget and save the cash I would have spent on transport. Another little voice says "Oh, c'mon, have a bit of fun, go mad !"
I'll take the middle road.

As much as I'd love to be noshing on some lovely pub grub right at this very moment, a cheap microwave pasta awaits at home, as the Dali Universe maybe tommorrows destination. I've been wanting to visit since I arrived, however the £8.50 entry charge has always steered me away.

A London Walk may possibly be Wednesdays activity, leaving Thursday for something like the Tower of London.

And how about a nice pot of tea and some toast with jam at the Natural cafe tommorrow morning ?

Sounds good.

It also affords me some time to try to figure out a few of the less pleasurable aspects of living in the UK - Tax, accommodation and getting a car.

The latter is something I'm dreading, as it's so easy to go wrong with a second hand car, especially when you don't have a great deal of knowledge about the subject. No doubt I'll go the tried and tested route, with a nippy low end of the market level Polo or Golf (low end of the market back in the mid 90's that is) - finding something decent under £700 will be a challenge, then there's insurance on top of that, which doesn't come cheap.

There's always a catch. Although second hand cars in the UK are vastly cheaper than South Africa, that difference is made up for with insurance and fuel costs, not to mention parking rates.

Accommodation is another sizzling cost. To afford myself the luxury of my own place, close to the area I'm working in, will mean a month of extremely low budget living.
The good side is that I'll be enjoying out a bit of a dream, living and working in the British countryside. As much as I enjoy London, relishing the idea of living and working in the city, I think it would drive me as mad as everyone else who has been here for a few years. I like the slower pace of Town life and London is a only a 90 minute train journey away.

This is what migrating is all about, the initial six month "settling in" time frame that either makes or breaks you. I must admit, I enjoy the challenge and don't intend to get "broken", unless someone else is buying the beers...

Pubs

The British pub ranges from the fabulous cosy wood lined historic building, through to the industrial pee stained pigsty and all the flavours inbetween.

From the downright unwelcoming, to the cheery welcome in.

I have walked into a pub where everyone in there stops what they are doing and turns around to stare. That was way back in the late 80's, during my long hair, tight jeans, leather jacket, very spotty phase. Me and 'partner in crime', David 'Goggs' Gogarty, a speccy short-shit with a big mouth, found ourselves in 'The White Lion' in Alcester.

Lord knows what possessed us to wonder in to the inn, but we must've looked terrible. Skinny, pasty faced, long haired misfits dressed in late 60's fashions.

I don't think I've made a beer disappear so fast in my life.

Another occassion was again with Goggs, down in Oxfordshire.
We decided to forgo the usual cheery pub and try 'The Red Lion' instead (the similar name should've warned us)

We found ourselves in what can only be described as a British version of 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre', or at least, that's how it felt.

The pub was staffed by a huge ugly woman and her two burly 'ooo-aaaar' sons and we were the only ones in the damn place. We were served stale beer and ended up sitting in their lounge in stoney silence. The lounge was furnished in 'late prehistoric' style, complete with clouds of dust as we sank into arm chairs that hadn't seen a clean since the days of Noah.

It was the most fearful and uncomfortable 20 minutes of my life. As we sat in silence, the two sons just glared at us blankly. I swear there was drool dripping out of the corners of their mouths. They sat in muddy boots and overalls, while the mother busied herself somewhere in the nether regions of the 'pub' cooking something that smelled foul, probably the last few patrons who wandered in.

Another time, once again with Goggs, we were sitting in a pub in Handsworth, Birmingham - a student and druggie local. I'd been living in a student squat for a month or so and both me and Goggs figured ourselves locals at the establishment.

It was trendy in the way that only students could consider it, run down and full of druggies and drunks. 'edgy and exciting' is the word that was used then. 'crap' is the word I'd use now.

We were having a noisy pint as usual when Goggs gets it into his mind to skin up a hash joint.
Next thing I know, there's this huge black guy dangling him by his neck. He'd hauled him right out of his chair and looked set to strangle him. The guy was one of the local drug dealers and Goggs had committed a grave sin. You don't light up a joint, on gear supplied by him, in his local pub.
Goggs was mortified and typical to him, swore blind at the guy behind his back and vowed never to go back to the pub. I found it fairly amusing that we were there the very next evening sitting with bunch of students. Never underestimate the danger of 'little man syndrome' - small stature, big gob.

Then we have the great pubs, legendary in fact.
Great Tew has a pub called 'The Falkland Arms' and it's setting couldn't be more picturesque.
It would not go amiss in The Shire. The pub is over 300 years old, in a tiny village complete with village green and giant oak tree.

You have to stoop to go through the door and the ceiling itself is only 7 foot high, crowded with tankards hanging on hooks. The proprieter looks the way I'd imagine 'Farmer Giles of Ham', short and stocky with a huge handle bar moustache.

Me and Micatyro found ourselves there for a few hours when visiting family in the UK. We were left to our own devices while Mom & Cy went off shopping. We got down to business right away, with two pints of 'Old Tanglefoot'
I got myself a clay pipe and tobacco and we settled into complete pub bliss. It really felt like we were back in time, in Olde England. We half expected a hobbit to wonder through selling pipe-weed.
The pipe I'd got was about a foot long, a working 1800's replica. Fantastic !

At this stage, we wondered why they called the beer 'old tanglefoot'
It took another pint to find out why. By that stage, it didn't matter that much anymore, so we had another one for good measure.

In our inebriated state, we wobbled out of the pub into a local shop where Micatyro had a great idea to buy some Dandelion wine - after all, we were back in time here, waaaay back in Olde England, so what better way to enjoy it ?

We popped the bottle in the car on the way back and ended up like a pair of school kids in the back of the bus, laughing and sneaking sips of wine all the way home.

Good times.

The Swan - Family lunch

Sitting in The Swan on a rainy Sunday afternoon, surrounded by the chatter of families and friends having lunch, feeling a bit lonely - sniff sniff, poor wickle me.

I seem to spend most of my time in pubs and coffee shops solo, ah well, no big deal.
At least I have people to chat with back at the house and when work starts, people at the office. Things will pick up once I get a few socials going, but what to choose ?

Joining a hiking club is a given, I need to try my hand (or at least my feet) at clambering over stiles and tramping through mud and bogs. Hiking folk are usually fairly eccentric, so I should be in good company. Instead of veldt skoene, khaki shorts and lager, it'll be stout boots, rain macs and bitter. Instead of snakes and spiders, er, sheep and rabbits ? Seems a bit tame. Then again, hiking in the moors in a gale force wind on a rainy day is anything but tame. The way I see it, you do this in order to more fully appreciate a nice pint of bitter in a cosy pub afterward.

Then there's the possibility of starting to play squash, do I really want to lunge around 4 white walls chasing a bouncy ball ? - possibly.

How about taking up the pottery lessons again ? - hmmm, nah. Too damn messy for my liking. I don't mind the creative bit, it's all the cleaning up after that gets me.

Amateur dramatics ? - I've had a lot of practice with a certain member of my family, so I may find myself reasonably good at it. But do I really want to lark about with a bunch of am-dram egos and get legless on red wine after ? - yeah, could be fun.

Guitar ? - I do need to get back into that again, as I really did enjoy being part of a band all those years ago. Guitar lessons may be a good break into the pub band scene. Perhaps I'll finally learn to play something, instead of noodling around with ideas of guitar grandeur while trying my best to ignore the fact that I actually need to learn the tough bits, like playing songs.

Travel ? - definately, but that'll be a solo pursuit. I fully intend to head into Europe in the summer time for a week or two, just me, my laptop and a camera. No ties, no discussing where to go next, just a free wheeling loner on well trodden paths.

In the interum, reality bites. A long cold winter stretches ahead with plenty to get sorted. Jan and Feb in the UK are foul months. Dark, wet and cold. The bright side is as usual, the pub.

I could wax lyrical about my love of pubs, the fact that they are an essential part of life in Blighty. To take the pubs away, would be to rip the very soul out of this country, just ask all the Saffas here. In fact, there's a table of them just across from me.

The other day, I had the "pleasure" of hearing a South African girl discussing her maid back in South Africa. In her mind, the maid had a great life - she was lucky - only working half day, getting loads of freebies from her Mom, but oh my, she was a terrible cleaner, doll !
"I mean, what would they do without us ?"
"We treat our maid very lekker, but she can't cook to save her lyf !"
"Ya, they jus don't appreciate things laaik we do, doll."

Some things just never change, however, on the whole, saffas are a good bunch and have a great time here. Heck, I'm one myself, sort of ...

The Globe, 2 months on

It's been two months since this blog :-
http://matthewtrow.blogspot.com/2005/11/from-wasteland-to-market-live-from.html

Hard to believe that time goes so quickly. I'm sitting in exactly the same spot as the last time, and took another photo of myself for the sake of comparsion.

So what has really changed ?

Aside from numerous blogs since then and keeping the promise to myself to write more often, no matter how dire or boring it sometimes may be, quite a lot.

I'm no longer in the B&B, but still in Wimbledon. I now am employed (almost), but have considerably less cash.

I can now consider myself comfortable with London, for the most part, but thankfully, it's still full of suprises.

I've written about the market here too often, so I'll just say I treated myself to a tasty falafel and got a small block of cheese. Oh yeah, and a pint which as per usual, I'm enjoying slowly.
Can't wait to visit here in Summer time.

It feels good to get out of the house for a bit. I was indoors for virtually the entire day on Friday, only venturing out to go to the supermarket (although, what's super about it is anyones guess). Bloody cold outside. Today is really miserable weather, perfect for spending an hour or two in the pub. Due to some clever spending yesterday, I can afford myself an extra pint, aint life sweet ?

Although having the luxury of spending time in a house where I can actually use the kitchen, after a few days pottering about, I get itchy feet and need to get out and about. No doubt I'll be inside the entire day tommorrow.

I still haven't aquired the London habit of lazing around in bed on weekend mornings and then going to bed in the small hours of the morning. I was up at 8am this morning and the next house mate to get up was around 11am. Usually crash around 1am.

It's an easy environment and one in a state of flux. I've arrived there at one of those "end of an era" times, when everyone is preparing to move on. The only person who is staying, if she can, is the Susan, the Spanish girl.

Everyone here is moving because of one person - Randal.
He's the catalyst in the house and the rest of the house mates, aside from me and Susan, are relatives and lifelong friends. He is in charge of the finances and is the type of person others follow. It's really odd that the couple who live here feel the need to move out even though they don't have to. They are not even going "up north" with Randal, so I have no idea why the hell they don't just stay ?

Too scared to accept the responsibility of taking over the finances of the house ? Not sure.
It's really rather silly, as it's an excellent place and it's not like they are moving job. Well, good luck for them putting themselves out for no reason. There's obviously a deeper reason.

Randals cousin, Rendon, is a youngster, so he's going up north too, following on Randals coat tails. He's only been in London two months and hasn't really got any direction yet. He's also at that age in life where he still has boundless energy, slams doors by accident, doesn't walk down stairs, but thunders down them and is so full of enthusiasm, it gets a bit tiresome after a while.

Randal is a really standup guy, he's going to assist Susan (who wants to stay) to get new people into the house, not only that, get in someone who is prepared to take over the house finances. He's none too pleased about it however. Can't say I blame him.
Susan has a bit of a language barrier, so I can understand her not wanting to take on the responsibility of dealing with the finances, but she is asking a lot.

I have a feeling that things are not going to go according to plan (they rarely do in these situations) - and that Susan will find herself looking for new digs, or returning to Spain.

Such is life in the "transient zone" - things change at a rapid clip. I'd hazard a guess that a million people are constantly moving accommodation from one moment to the next. Must be a lucrative market to be involved in. So lucrative in fact, that the law is about to change in favour of tenants. Landlords will no longer be able to hold onto deposits without very good reason.
Ask anyone who has lived here for some time and virtually all of them will have been ripped out of their deposits at least once, or will have waited months to get them back. It's a minefield out there with little in the favour of the tenant. To be fair, Landlords need to protect themselves too, however, there are far too many of them taking a chance.

London Moments

Walking back from the London Musuem late yesterday afternoon, I shielded myself from the cold and drizzle with my triple layer of clothes and Thinsulite headgear and just contemplated the city.

I chose to walk along Jubilee walk rather than the backstreets to Waterloo. The area around the station isn't all that savoury. A few too many high rise housing developments and a nasty looking social services building with drunks hanging around waiting for a handout. Not the best place to walk in the dark and damp.

It's hard to not be inspired by the London skyline. As I climbed the steps to Black Friars bridge and gazed across the Thames, it really tugged at my senses. Anyone who isn't reasonably awestruck by the river and lights has either lived in London too long, or is dead inside.

In the middle of the bridge, it was eerily quiet, until a siren burst through the dark in the distance, lights flashing.

It soon vanished and I was left alone gazing up the river.

On Jubliee walk, something made me turn around and I was transfixed by a view of St. Pauls and surroundings in the distance, the dirty river shifting along like something alive.

What a city.

Perhaps it was the visuals still in my mind from the museum, but you can feel a tangible sense of history in the air of a city that never stops changing. A city which has seen fire, famine, plague, war, wealth and poverty countless times over the centuries.

The trees near the London eye are strewn with blue and white lights, buildings in the distance are also lit up and the Oxo tower looks incredible. There's a story behind that. Apparently, London city buildings are not allowed to display huge logos in lights. The Oxo building cleverly got around that by constructing a series of windows which just happen to spell out Oxo in a vertical line. Then again, I did hear that on a tour boat some weeks back and the tour boat guides are notorious for their tall tales. (they probably moonlight as cabbies)

I arrived at Waterloo station nicely timed for rush hour, time to hook up the CD player and zone out.
The train back to Wimbledon was packed, but I found a seat and tried not to watch people trying not to watch people. As usual, there was some light relief when the train announced we were arriving at Waterloo as opposed to leaving.

That always amazes me about trains here. Everyone sits in stoic silence, either reading, listening to music or gazing into the middle distance. However, as soon as something vaguely different happens, people look up, laugh and smile at each other.
Just for that moment, everyone connects on the same level, then, just as quickly as it arrived, the moment passes.

I glanced up at the train adverts for the umpteenth time and had an urge to scribble a message over a smiling face of a person on a South West train advert. The advert said something along the lines of "we're doing our bit to keep your journey clean" and featured a "funny" photo of a doctor getting off a train, complete with white coat, rubber gloves and a stethoscope.

"We're doing our best to keep your pockets clean" - the various train companies just increased fares dramatically. Unfortunately, service remains as bad as ever.

I would've been nabbed, most certainly. My every move tracked by the CCTV cameras that infest the city, for our protection of course.

But that's another story and I best be careful, they could be tracking me right now as I type these subversive thoughts !

The London Museum

I took a good long walk to the London Museum today, as it seems I'll only start work tommorrow or Thursday.
May as well make use of the day to do something interesting.

It's worth a visit, currently free until February.

I always get a little confused by museums, never really sure what to take in or exactly what I may be getting out of my visit. It's like reading the history of the Roman empire as a short comic, albiet with better visuals.

The tour starts with a large video screen showing flyovers of "London before London", an impressive 3D rendering that spins you back to the ice age and then back to the present.

You then start on a well laid out path which takes you from 2000BC to the present.

It made me think of Ford Prefect and Arthur Dent in Islington, 2 million years ago. I half expected to see an exhibit of a chesterfield sofa and Dent with a bone in his beard, alas, this wasn't covered.

There's something lacking in most museums and the London Museum is no exception - the ability to touch things.

I had a yearning to reach out to touch and wield a stoneage axe and wondered if they couldn't include an interactive section where you get to chop down a tree. Naturally this could lead to some complications, however, I remain dissapointed that this wasn't possible.

They have little replica rooms of what Roman life in Londinium may have been like.
Wouldn't it be wonderful if you could take part in it and recline on a sofa, eating grapes and then don a toga and attend an orgy ?

I'd decline an interactive version of the Black Death, however, it would be fine to throw rotting vege at someone in the docks (or someone in docs) and later have a pint with Wren.

Ah well, I'll have to settle with a walk in the rain to Waterloo station, 2006.
Now that's interactive !

Two for the price of one

The consumer society here has been honed to an alarming degree and nowhere is this more apparent than the supermarkets.

Virtually every product on the shelves has some sort of offer, the most common being "buy two, get one free"

It works on human greed at its most base level and really only serves to both entice people to buy more than they really need and also to fool people that they are getting a bargain.
You have to ask yourself why they don't just reduce the price of a single article instead of offering you a free one if you buy two ?

Cans of drink have had "33% extra" pasted on their rims for as long as I can remember, so why do it ?
If it were a short term tactic of selling a product at the same price as one without that extra 33%, I'd understand.

The persistance of .99 remains embedded in the psyche of marketing hype, so I figure we must all be subliminally fooled by it. £9.99 is 1p short of £10. A single penny.
Somehow, our minds seem, against our best wishes, to get lured toward £9. It works, despite the fact that we all know it shouldn't.

Therefore all these other enfuriating tactics also work.

Another aspect of shopping here that I haven't been lured into (not yet anyway), are saver cards, where if you buy a certain amount, you get discounts. Again, this is an attempt to make us buy more than we need. The mouth of the consumer constantly being force fed with enticements.
At every checkout till, the words "Have you got a Nectar card" or some such malarky.
I don't even know what one is, or where to get one and I haven't bothered to find out yet.

Is all this really different from markets of old ?

Did people a 100 years ago get a free sack of spuds with every piglet they purchased ?
Buy two kegs of ale, get a free cabbage ?

Perhaps they did, in fact, I'm certain that these same tactics have been with us for as long as we've bartered and traded for goods.

I'm not so certain that a piglet would have a branding of "33% extra" on it's hind quarters, although it's an interesting visual.

I recently wanted to buy a CD marking pen and for the life of me, I could only find them in packs of two. I asked the shop attendent if I couldn't just buy one, which confused the poor lout no end. He was about to consult his manager. Turns out, when I got home, one of them didn't work anyway, so I ended up with one for the price of two.

Works both ways I guess.

Escape to the pub

Sling the "new/old" laptop in the day pack and walk a mile to the pub to escape from the confines of my room for an hour or two. I've long given up the idea of trying to keep the laptop pristine, as the inevitable scratches have appeared on the casing, with no apparent cause. The DVD/CD combo is now just a DVD player, refusing to read CD's and the screens diagonal smudge of dark in the middle never actually was dirt, it was likely a defect I didn't pick up until a few weeks after purchase.

The "silver" touchpad left click button has worn away it's "silver" coating in one small section and I realise that all the reviews in the world never prepare you for the reality of life with a laptop.

It's served me well so far and was most definately instrumental in landing me a job, so I can't complain too much. What's more, it's capable of playing Quake4 and Half-Life2 and thus a great multimedia development platform. In a few months, I'll send it in to be fixed as party of my warranty, so no harm done.

Today is just one of those extra days that wasn't really required, except to perhaps rest after festive excess. Of that I'm glad, for I certainly felt like I'd been stretched a bit thin this morning, quite literally in fact.

The weight loss is now noticable to myself and a 3 mile walk is a light stroll I don't even notice, although I've long stopped trying to figure out how far I walk on an average day.

The budget I've set is functioning to a reasonable degree, this pint isn't really essential and I realise it's the small purchases that you never account for which can have the most impact on spending. My desk lamp globe went last night, so I need to factor in another £2 to get a new one into tommorrows budget. All the usual humdrum boring purchases have new meaning when your counting pennys.
Yesterday I spent £2 under budget and today as well, even after a pint, but the budget is worked out rather tenuously, on the premise that I get 50% up front on the last 6 days contracting I did. It will be paid, but will it arrive on time ?
Will I be stranded with no way to get to work next week ?
Nothing else for it but to tighten that budget a bit more, so no more pints until that money is in my account.

I hope it arrives soon, because a Pub really is a relaxing place to spend time writing.
The very idea of a pub is that of a haven, either after a long journey, a long day or to get out of the house for a while. That feeling is still very much alive in this country, the public house.

I have mixed feelings about the UK, but it's fairly obvious how it can be a great place to live - it all boils down to the quality of your lifestyle and what you want out of it.
To escape from the "rat race" requires an above average salary. To set up home in the countryside requires significantly more. It can be so damn irritating when you spot a small bedsit in the country village where your working that you just know you could afford on a first months salary, only to know that it will soon be taken. It's still advertised for £600 a month, right on the high street in Odiham, a stones throw from the offices. What a tease life can be.

For now, London is still an exciting place and the fact that I can explore the city for a few hours, have a pint and return with some food, all for just £10 including transport is something really quite remarkable.

The other day I found myself hanging around Jubilee walk, between Black Friars and London Bridge and beyond taking in the sights. Skateboarders and cyclists, mime artists and dancers, street markets, book sales, museums and cafes. The Thames rolled on by, crammed full of boats as Saint Pauls looked on and the eye slowly turned.

These moments make it worthwhile.

From tommorrow, it's down to hard graft to forge ahead into my career and the unknown.
It's an odd feeling to not quite know where I'll be living in February, but I really do hope it's my own little space. I can handle a few more months in shared accommodation if needs be, but I'd rather get settled, at least for longer than a month.

But let me not get ahead of myself, I still need to negotiate a deal with the partners of this small design company. While it's 90% certain there's an offer, that 10% in the gamble can always be a turning point.

And the long term plans ?
They still stand, now seeming so far in the distance, a small house near the sea in a sunny country with good prospects. To get there will require a lot of effort. Best not to think about it.

A quiet day in London

I used my new Cycle guide map today, unfortunately, I didn't have the cycle to go with it (There wasn't a free inflatable bike included with the map, or a shed-boat-shed-bike)

So, as part of my new found budget constraints, named "I'm nearly broke", instead of an all day £5.20 travelcard, I opted for an all day return, National Rail, for £3.10, which affords me ?
Yes, you guessed it, a slow pint of bitter to sup on as I type.

Yet again, I find myself at the Borough Market - I just love it here. Perhaps it's my fondness for good food and the fact that I need a break from the food I've been eating.
My diet for the last few weeks has been maily pita bread, but I've branched out into adventurous meals, such as mash and beans, spag bol and even a steak and kidney pie, all compliments of Tescos, Sainsburys and Marks & Sparks. Cheap, but satisfying, if you can ignore 1/2 the ingredients written in point 1 type on the packaging.

The market is my chance to escape into a world of fine foods and happy shoppers, with no trolleys and miserable people. Food makes people happy and nothing is better than a good old market.

The walk from Waterloo station is only 15 minutes through the side streets, down "The Cut" onto Union Avenue and up one of the small alleyways to Southwark Street. My map reading skills have improved and the cycle guide is brilliant, with no tourist tat cluttering it up.

The story behind that guide started on my second day, I was sending texts to Micatyro and he was doing some research. He texted me back that there's free cycle guide maps to be had. I was unfortunately unable to find one. 77 days later, I finally did, in Earls Court station.

Didn't take too long bro !

So if your in London on a hectic budget, keep your eyes open for them, maybe I was just unlucky in not finding one sooner. However, I did notice, of all the various leaflets at Earls Court, there were only two of the guides left, so I presume they go pretty fast.

It's very quiet in London today. As far as I know, the tube is "offline", the workers kindly deciding to strike from 12 noon today until 12 noon tommorrow, thus ruining New Years for thousands of revellers. All the tube stations I've passed so far seem to be empty, will check the news later to see if they did strike after all. Needless to say, if they are on strike, they will be VERY unpopular with Londoners when they do go back to work.

From where I sit, I can see the dirty old river rolling along through the window, the tide is coming in, so the water is just below the edge of the banks.

In summer, this pub must be almost impossible to get a seat at, but what a great place if you can, as there's an outside terrace right on the edge of the Thames. I've actually no idea what the pubs name is, even though I've been here four times over the months - Thames side I think.

As for this evening, off to friends at 9pm. At this stage, I'm just not interested in the idea of a party. Sad ?
No, not really. From what I've seen, there are more people dis-interested in the whole fiasco than anything else. It really is a high pressure event for many people, the feeling that you have to get blotto to see in the New Year.

As I mentioned in a previous Blog, I would love nothing more than to have a nice meal with friends and family and see in the New Year in a civilised manner, rather than watching people consume a river of booze and feeling rotten the next day.

Next year, perhaps I'll be able to have that civilised meal, until then, I'll have to go with the flow up the dirty old river, who knows, I may even enjoy myself !

Have a good one folks !

Talking about the weather

Weather in the UK is a strange beast which nobody seems to be able to get an exact handle on.

Compared to many places in the world, the climate is tame, yet the amount of time spent discussing it in detail would lead you to believe it has the most intense weather on the planet.

You can't help but get caught up in all the talk (and the weather itself) and I find myself scanning the BBC weather broadcasts 3 or 4 times a day.

The interest in the weather may because the forecasts are so frequently wrong and change so often from hour to hour, you may as well look out the window to decide what to wear and when to travel.

When I arrived here, the media was full of gloom about a winter countrywide shutdown, due to "the big freeze", a return to the 3 day week, gas shortages and death and mayhem on a grand scale.
It was suggested it would be the coldest weather since the 1950's, when one year, the Thames froze over.

It didn't happen (or at least, not yet)
Instead, December was normal to mild, with a cold snap just after Xmas which is set to ease from tonight.

5 days ago, the 5 day London forecast predicted today would have light snow. Over the following days, it went to heavy snow, sleet, rain, back to light snow, back to heavy snow and finally this morning, light snow.

In reality, it rained all morning.

There's just no making sense of it, even with all the money being thrown at the latest technology to attempt to predict what the weather has in store.

BBC TV weather is now like an advanced Google earth and gives you an accurate picture of a frequently inaccurate forecast. They may as well go back to manually sticking cloud and sun symbols onto the map, at least giving us the opportunity for a laugh when they start sliding out of place or fall off the map entirely.

So proud were the BBC of their new TV weather reporting system, they made a documentary about it, which you can view on the BBC weather website. I'm sure your all just dying to view it.

Personally, I think they should install webcams all over the country to look out for red skies at night, in the morning, cows lying down, birds flying backwards and pine cones opening and closing.
They could then use the data gathered to get a forecast about as accurate as a billion quid computer forecasting system.

I think I'll write to the BBC to suggest my idea. Perhaps they could even create a computer generated model of the cows, birds, skies and pine cones instead of watching the real ones in action.

At least I know what the weather will be like for the next hour or so, I just looked out the window and saw a herd of cows thundering down the road backwards. That means it's going to rain frogs in 30 minutes.