what now?

It took four years, a lot of self-discipline and a significant amount of chocolate but in May I completed my degree. Twelve years after finishing school I can finally write 'BA hons' after my name (would it be weird to write it all the time?). I can now officially claim to be qualified for everything and nothing at the same time, along with almost every other person who has ever completed an arts degree. Yet, despite the few useful applications of Shakespeare to any career, I have gained so much from my studies. I feel like a different person to the one who embarked on further study four years ago; I questions more, debate more and stand up for the things I believe in. I see the world in a whole new light and don't simply take everything at face value. And I realise I still have so much to learn.

If I'm honest, the end of my studies has left me in a bit of a limbo-state. Now that I have accomplished the very thing I have been working towards for so long, I feel the pressure to come up with a good answer to the question everyone keeps asking: 'What now?'
In order to escape the strain of having to think about the future, I have spent the summer distracting myself with constant activity. On Thursday, I had a meeting in the city to talk about how to end extreme poverty (or at least contribute in my own small way). Afterwards, I decided to stop in at the National Portrait Gallery to ensure that I was definitely filling every moment of my day.

The gallery's walls are lined with the faces of famous individuals from time-gone-by to the present day. There are portraits of kings and queens throughout the ages, politicians and religious figures. I dutifully stopped at the recent portrait of the Duchess of Cambridge and considered how much her life too has changed in the last few years. There are also pictures of those who are less famous, such as the socialite Ottoline Morrell who looks as if she would kill you with just one look if you crossed her. One of my favourites is the heart-warming portrait of the children's author Beatrix Potter; she is standing in the farmyard, her chubby cheeks aglow, looking exactly as someone called Beatrix should. As I ambled through the impressive Statesmen's Gallery I began to think about my own place in history. As well as housing pictures of those who have made their mark, throughout the gallery there are portraits to be found of those who might be seen as ordinary people. Yet, if they are so ordinary, how did they make it into one of the most famous art galleries in the world? Because no one is simply ordinary. We all have the potential for greatness. Any one of us can achieve something remarkable, something worth a portrait hung in a building just off Trafalgar Square.

It seems, as much as I try and escape the question 'What now?', it is waiting for me at every turn. Either I can run from it, or I can meet it head-on. I just need to remember that I am made for a purpose - as we all are - and that there is a plan for my life. I don't have the answers but I do have the will and a degree that has equipped me with very useful 'transferable skills'. It is time to face life...and remember to smile. Because you never know when someone might want to paint your portrait.

let the sun do the smiling

It is the biggest, saddest looking dog in the world. It clearly takes after its owner, who wears terribly slovenly clothes and boasts a head of unkempt hair. They seem to spend their lives walking around and around the park. But then, maybe they think the same about me. They’re a stark contrast to myself and the others who seem delighted that the sun is beaming down on London for a third day. It’s impossible to deny the endorphins brought on by a rush of Vitamin D, replenishing a tank that has been emptied during the long winter months. Once again, I question how it is we all manage to get through the dreary days and long nights, the cold, the grey skies. It is surely in expectation of a day like today. 
I feel Fox may start to question my commitment to my studies when he returns home to find me an even deeper shade of pink than when he left for work this morning. It is perfectly acceptable to study in the park!
During my hours of solitary study, my only companions are Dickens, Austen, Shakespeare and their fellow literary ‘greats’.It is therefore advantageous that I am not at all distracted by those whom I may encounter in the park: children playing and the ‘cool kids’ returning from school; friends kicking a ball around; dogs chasing other dogs…owners chasing dogs, chasing other dogs; runners, joggers and those who make walking seem like a chore; guys and girls revealing their pasty bodies after months of hibernation, all in the name of a tan; and the quirky little man with his melancholy dog. And it is this pair whom I regard the highest, for they remain true to themselves, come winter or summer. It would seem that their mantra is, ‘Why smile when the sun can do it for you?’ Good for them. As for me, I just can’t keep the smile off my face.

what next?

The last couple of weeks have been a bit chaotic. Moving home always measures pretty high up on the stress-o-meter. Once we had marginally recovered from the anxiety of having the moving truck packed but technically not yet owning our new property, we had to contend with a broken shower, no hot water in the bathroom and a malfunctioning oven. But it was okay because we had a new flat and we had each other. Momentary bliss proves to be just that when, attempting to pull out of one of the terribly awkward parking spots in our new street, I managed to knock over a parked scooter...into a parked van. You simply wouldn't believe me if I tried to describe the damage to the scooter while myself and the van got off with one scratch between us (and it's not on our car). As much as I love our new flat, this week I am content to leave it in the hands of the refurbishers while Fox and I retreat to Mom's to keep an eye on the resident delinquent while "Granskies" jets off to Australia to meet her first grandchild, Abby Rose.
Living with a teenager is keeping me consistently amused as I try to decipher the string of latest slang that pours forth out of his mouth, coax him into eating a meal with a nutritional value higher than that of Sam's Chicken and make requests through his permanently closed bedroom door. This morning I had to chuckle at the state of panic when his desire for independence backfired, leaving him standing in his boxers cursing at the injustice of having no dry jeans to wear. (Aaz, on the off chance you are actually reading this, I'm sorry I'm such a cruel sister but it was very funny. Don't worry, Des also has me as a sister...she can sympathise with you.) Thankfully, I'm not too old to remember the days when adults knew nothing, my friends were my world and everything was too much effort.
So, as I turn my attention back to Virgina Woolf and fall under the spell of Mrs Dalloway's London, I think of my own London where there is just never a dull moment.

relocation, relocation

I’m staring at an empty bookshelf and marvelling at the towers of boxes surrounding me. I arrived in the UK six years ago with one suitcase and it has now taken me three full days to pack our possessions in preparation for our move tomorrow. It’s hard to believe that we have lived here for more than two years in our first little flat as a married couple. And when I say little, I mean little. Hence, the upgrade.
Nostalgia makes me sentimental. That’s until I recall the nights of surround sound thanks to the neighbour upstairs, or the constant cigarette fumes from the people beside us and let me not neglect the granny downstairs who blasts her opera music every time our washing machine goes into spin cycle. Despite all that, I’m going to miss this place. So many hours of DIY to make it our own, Fox’s ingenious rewiring, trips to home stores to find the perfect mirror or lampshade and there is, of course, the world’s most expensive tie-backs (long time blog devotees might remember the dedication that went into making these). We’ve really made it ours over the years and it’s hard to let go.
But then, I am looking forward to a full-size fridge, my own study and a balcony where I can keep the live, potted Christmas tree which I have refused to let Fox leave out for the council to turn into compost. Hey, at least we don’t have to buy one this year! There are all new streets to learn as we cross the border from SW15 to SW18 (albeit only by one mile) and new locals to explore.
Farewell, Harwood. We have done all we can, outgrown the space you offer and now leave you in the hands of another who I’m sure will cherish you as much as we have. Farewell, Putney. It is perhaps you I will miss the most, with your crazy high street, convenient transport links and your all-round good reputation. However, we’re just down the road so I will see you often for walks along the river and dinner in your eateries. But it’s time to say goodbye…

keeping it local

It’s winter in London and as a result one tends to spend majority of your time indoors. Suffering more than a small dose of cabin fever, Fox and I are desperate to make the most of an unplanned Saturday evening. Unfortunately, spontaneity in London isn’t always rewarding. Disappointingly, our ever-faithful Tastecard can only offer local restaurants that really need the business. The problem when two softies marry each other, is that you end up opting for the place that says in the reviews that the owner has to work a day job just to keep the eatery open. So, we make a reservation at Cochin Brasserie for 7pm, only to arrive and and feel embarrassed to say as much, considering the restaurant is totally empty. Well, we’re here now. Despite the utter lack of ambiance, the staff are welcoming and the food is utterly delectable. Poppadoms and sauces that tease the taste buds just enough to whet our appetites for the crispy fishcakes and stuffed chicken starters to follow. Our mains are some of the tastiest curries I’ve enjoyed in a long time and the nan and paratha (my new Indian favourite) are textured to perfection.  At one point I think it might all come crashing when Fox thanks the waiter and the waiter turns and says,

'What did you say? Thank you, Raj?’
'No.’
'I thought you say ‘Thank you Raj’.’
’No, why, is your name Raj?’

Oh my goodness. Bad situation to worse. Turns out Fox has actually said ‘Thank you very much’ and it’s not a major issue because raj is an Indian word and the waiter thinks it was Fox being polite. Phew. Could have been bad. Empty restaurant, no witnesses.
When two fellow customers walk in I am almost disappointed to be forced to share our own little foodie paradise but slightly relieved that we won’t need to eat here every night of the week to ensure the place stays open. By 8.30pm the customers start to flood in. I count 24 in total and we are delighted that it has become so busy the manager has gone to change so he can help serve tables. Things get so crazy they almost have to start pushing tables together. Almost. I’m telling you, you just can’t pay for entertainment like this.
It’s time to leave and we depart with our tummies over-full and our hearts content that Cochin Brasserie will live to see another day. And all this for a mouth-watering 2for1. Thank you very much, Tastecard.

my part on this globe

It's been the most glorious few days in London. Wonderful autumn sunshine coaxing Londoners to take a Sunday afternoon stroll in Richmond park and marvel at the falling leaves while blissfully disregarding the inevitability that this means we will soon be left with bare trees beneath cloudy, grey skies.
In my first week post-employment I have enjoyed a few 'London' outings myself, most significantly a trip to Shakespeare's Globe. I'm aware it is sacrilege for an English student to admit what I am about to commit to print. I've actually never been much of a Shakespeare fan. In fact, most of the time I have to do a spellcheck to ensure I've written his name correctly. Quite honestly, I just wish that he had, at least some of the time, said what he actually meant. Nevertheless, having an entire subject in my degree imposed upon me, devoted purely to the one widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world's pre-eminent dramatist¹ I have started to warm to the guy's evasive ways and was actually quite excited to visit the Globe.
Once inside the pit, along with the other 'commoners', I began to imagine what it must have been like back in the days of the original Globe. As I laughed along with fellow audience members and my legs ached from standing for three hours I felt like I was participating in a timeless, very English, tradition.
As I strolled back over Southwark Bridge and glanced sideways toward Tower Bridge I marvelled at the dense history that this city offers and how, in a drop-in-the-ocean sort of way, I am somehow a part of that. A wise man once put it so eloquently: 'All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.²' Now who was it again who said that...?

1 Is there anything that Wikipedia can't tell us?
2 Oh yes....Shakespeare wrote that in As You Like It

musical escape

Maybe it’s just me but do certain songs ever make you feel like you’re in a movie? I’ll be listening to some stirring tune such as Let Go by Frou Frou and suddenly I’m picturing myself being filmed on a train, staring out the window, my expression speaking a thousand words. Then there’s Snow Patrol’s Chocolate that transports me to New York where I’m a high-flying magazine editor, wearing the latest designer fashions and drinking a latte as I stride along the side-walk towards work.
At this point I really hope someone is reading this and agreeing with me otherwise I’m just admitting that I’m a bit of a weirdo.
Music really has the ability to arouse emotion. Like this morning on the bus when the boys on the back seat had the courtesy to share their gangster rap with everyone else on the bus. My emotion = anger. So, to counteract this negativity bubbling into what could potentially have become bus-rage, I shoved my earphones in and pumped up One Republic. It was as if the world disappeared and “all I needed was the air I breathe” = restoration of peace and calm. This city can really get to me with it’s unreliable public transport, delinquent youths and less than desirable weather. However, I’ve found that I can just shut the world off by hitting shuffle on the iPod and I have some of my favourite tunes to reinstate my sanity. So perhaps I’m a bit odd and my methods of distraction are unconventional but as I approach my five year anniversary of my time in this big city, sometimes I just have to do what I have to do to remind me that there is always a bit of good to be found.

from sydney to snow

I circle the mist off the window and stare at a snowy graveyard. It’s not sad or creepy but beautiful. Snow makes everything beautiful – even London. The air is crisp and cold and people are hidden beneath layers of clothing but the chill is worth it because you get to make snowmen and throw snowballs and everyone smiles despite themselves.
As the bus hurtles forward I consider the contrast to being in sunny Sydney just five days ago and at the time that seemed far preferable to a British winter. But there is a lot to be said for the comfortable familiarity of home and I can’t say I’m altogether sad to be back, just sad to leave family behind. Then again, what’s a twenty-nine hour trip around the globe on Air China, complete with reconstituted Chinese take-out and less legroom than usual (unbelievable, I know)?
The other side of the world isn’t always as far as it seems. It’s only when you consider the change in weather that you realise quite how far it is.

best of both

It was a gorgeous Saturday in London and in the spirit of summer I decided to accompany my husband to the Telegraph pub in Putney to watch the second game of the Lions rugby series in South Africa. The pub was packed and the atmosphere suitably buzzing with such a mixture of people that I wouldn’t have felt out of place if I had brought my great-granny along.
We found a good spot – where I could actually see the screen – at a table beside two Lions supporters. In the corner was the “buggy brigade” where all the mom’s had parked off with their newborns (I counted four but might have missed a few as they were just so tiny). The dad’s weren’t far but had distanced themselves suitably so as not to be roped into some task that would distract them from what was shaping up to be an exciting game. To our left was a large table of pensioners who had obviously come to enjoy a Saturday afternoon lunch and instead found themselves surrounded by rowdy rugby supporters. Nonetheless, they didn’t seem too perturbed and chattered amongst themselves and feigned the odd interested glance over at the big screen.
Support was almost certainly equally split between the two teams and I smiled to myself that here we all were just enjoying the match side-by-side. Being South African-British myself - I tick both boxes on official forms - I am usually torn when someone asks me where “home” is but when it comes to sports teams there is never any doubt; I’ll always shout for the boys in green. I looked over and there was a tiny-tot in a Springbok jersey, the little girl beside me told her dad, in her British accent, that she was supporting the team in green, the guy in front of us was shouting at the screen in Afrikaans and I wondered how far from home you could stray and still feel like you never left. There was no obvious rivalry just a sense that this was neutral territory and all we really cared about was that our team won.
It turned out to be a nail biter but the Boks took the game in the last minute and perhaps if I was filling in one of those forms that day, I might just tick one box for a change. The Lions supporters at our table stood to leave and congratulated us on our teams victory and because of that great gesture of sportsmanship I thought, had I been filling in one of those forms, I may in fact consider ticking the other box too.

sunshine at lunchtime

Yesterday I decided to escape the confines of my basement office to lunch in the gardens of the Natural History Museum. It was a blissful London day of sunshine and happy Londoners, thanks to an overdue dose of vitamin D. I found a suitable spot and parked myself in front of the temporary Butterfly Jungle exhibition which is said to be housing iguanas, pythons, scorpions, tarantulas and hundreds of butterflies. I inched myself slightly forward at the sudden thought that there could be a mass escape and I would find myself surrounded by some of the world’s creepiest creatures.
Sitting reading my Lonely Planet magazine while basking in glorious rays of sunlight, I would glance up occasionally as a school child ran past me yelling to disperse flocks of pigeons. As charming as the scene was, I was aware that I was in the firing line and would be forced to spoil fun if one of those pigeons literally did get the poop scared out of it. There was a wonderful buzz in the gardens as passers-by were attracted to a brightly decorated piano in the far end of the garden that teased with the words “play me” scrawled across the front. I quite enjoyed one man’s rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody and just when I began to get lost in my thoughts a six-year-old took his turn and the tune became slightly less melodic and more of a constant thumping. Still, everyone has to start somewhere.
The whole experience left me a bit more in love with this city than I have been of late. For a few moments in my day I was able to block out the noise and busyness of life and just soak up my surroundings which can often be much scarier than the exhibition behind me. It’s a jungle out there.

bus ride without a book

I tried unsuccessfully to get technical on the bus this evening by blogging from my mobile. Instead, my phone won the Gadget VS Woman battle and I resorted, shamefully, to using a pen and paper. How awfully archaic.

I love nabbing the front seat on the top deck of the bus. At the bus stop, I’m one of those annoying people who subtly (or not) inch my way to the front of the queue in order to be one of the first to tap my oyster and dash up the stairs to claim my spot. Not exactly playing it smooth and obviously not nearly as cool as sauntering casually towards the back seat of the bus but from the front I get to take it all in. Admittedly, most of the time I just sit and read but I like to have the option to look up once in a while, spot the odd wierdo and decide that people are terribly strange. Frankly after a long day in front of a computer screen my brain isn’t capable of much more (quick note to prove my point: in my notebook I spelt else as “esle”. See, brain dead).

This evening, much to my disappointment, there wasn’t much action out on the streets, hence my blogging to pass the time. Therefore, there is little of interest to report and makes for a pretty boring read…but so was my bus ride! I spied a few rowdy teenagers (halfterm), a vast number of cyclists (annoying fit and healthy people), an ex-work colleague (ooh, we never quite clicked– glad I’m on the bus) and many, many people talking on their mobiles (yeah, but try blogging). Two stops from home I conclude that some days are more exciting than others. And tomorrow I really must remember my book.

musings on london life

London is a funny old place. I have these moments when I just stop and observe the chaos surrounding me. While waiting for a severely delayed bus this evening, I attempted to calm the inner voice that was screaming from anxiety at the thought that “I had to be home ten minutes ago” by just taking it all in. As I tuned out shouts of “Free Evening Standard” and tried to retreat to my happy place whilst fending off six attempts to hand me a free newspaper I watched those who were rushing past me at an exhausting pace. Having just disembarked the tube where I was stuck under someone’s smelly armpit from Earl’s Court to East Putney I stood at the bus stop considering why on earth anyone chooses to live in this crazy place? With five years of London experience now under my belt I feel I’m at liberty to highlight the uniqueness and oddities of the city I call home.

There was a moment on the tube a few weeks ago when a lady tried to make conversation with those of us on the carriage about the unreliability of the London Underground. We simply stared at her for all of four seconds and then simply continued about our business of pretending we were the only person on the tube that morning. When did I become such a Londoner?

A torturous amount of time had now passed while I waited for the 430 bus and I could no longer resist the temptation of a freebie. ARGH…if only the bus had come two minutes earlier I might have held out. So, I accepted the next offer of the London Evening Standard and used it to distract myself from the thought that I had some stranger breaking the personal space barrier when the bus finally arrived. I did come across a feature written by “Paddington Bear” which spoke of exactly the London life I had been contemplating. I thought his words were rather apt: “There are a lot of things you need to get used to if you live in a big city like London.” Phew! My heart hasn’t turned to stone, I’ve simply adapted to my environment. And as much as this city might drive me totally mad at least once a week, there’s no place I would rather be right now. As Paddington says, “When I count my blessings, living in London is top of the list, with marmalade* a close second, I know I shall never. ever. get tired of either.”

*FYI, personally I really don’t like marmalade but I didn’t think it right to misquote Paddington.

not about me

As the days preceding my departure from O&L seem to drag out for, what feels like, years I find myself lying in bed in the mornings with a sense of dread at the thought of facing another day of monotony. Finding little meaning in my current situation I started reading “The Purpose Driven Life” again last night in an attempt to motivate myself through the next couple of weeks.
As my alarm sounded “Waaake me up…when September ends…” I felt no more inspired than previous mornings and after a 45min ‘snooze’ I scurried between bedroom and bathroom frantically trying to avoid a late login and the subsequent guilt that ensues.
My willingness to walk to work was overpowered by the wisdom that my legs are simply not long enough to get me there as quickly as I needed them to and I boarded a bus that, typically, required a driver change two stops later. Rather than wait, I jumped off and ran down the High St towards a bus for the 2nd leg of my journey (it really is far simpler to walk). Now in a total fluster, I breathlessly boarded a 485 for the short trip down Putney Bridge Rd and as I caught myself thinking that the world was out to get me I remembered today’s “Point to Ponder”: It’s not about me.
If it wasn’t about me then who was it about? I disembarked the bus and before I put my head down for my sprint to the office I turned to the bus driver and gave him a grateful wave and a half-smile. What happened next, catapulted me out of my melancholy. That bus driver’s smile beamed so wide that it instantly humbled me. There was someone who had been driving strangers around all morning, possibly not even realizing how much he yearned to be appreciated. His thankful smile altered my perspective and proved that true meaning is found in the impact, however small, our lives may have on others.

life on earth

Bleary eyed and unenthused by an early morning “trek”, 6 of us made our way to Wembley Park Stadium too early for a Saturday. Thanks to Steve’s urging we arrived an hour before the doors opened and as a result, found ourselves in the “pit” for the length of Live Earth - which meant we were VIPs for a day!
Okay, not exactly VIPs, but we were really close to the stage.
I woke up on Sunday feeling as though I had a hangover – despite avoiding alcohol altogether - but the dehydration and ringing in my ears was worth the numerous highlights of which there are just too many to mention.
After a leisurely breakfast along the Thames (in the sun!), Fox and I returned to his flat where I set myself up to scan the Sunday paper. Imagine my excitement when I opened to the second page and there, smiling among the Live Earth crowd, was Fox!

I know I was next to him, along with the others, but there are certain disadvantages to being 5ft2½.
As I continued paging through the Sunday Times, I came across this article that brought me to such despair that I could only finish reading it this morning. Maybe it’s because Africa is in my blood; maybe because I can’t turn a blind eye when I am aware of such need. I did a Google search to see what the world is doing about the crisis in Zimbabwe and was totally disillusioned by the lack of involvement. How can countries just stand back and watch an entire civilization starve to death when we all indulge in our excess? All of a sudden a concert to promote climate change seemed shallow when this immediate need is so much greater.
What will happen if no one takes a stand? We will watch as this beautiful African country, with its Falls so majestic, fades back into the red African dirt.
Africa is more than flaming sunsets and wild animals. It is a rugged land of people; real people who are suffering while the world continues to uphold everything that is superficial and meaningless.
I’m stirred.

"Now that I have seen I am responsible Faith without deeds is dead Now that I have held you In my own arms I cannot let go till you are... "
Brooke Fraser – Albertine

what's that smell?

Sad…it’s raining. Happy…it’s sunny. Oh no, sad again…the rains back. Yay!...I see the sun. Wait…it was only momentary.
Seriously! If I wanted a weather roller-coaster I’d go to Thorpe Park. Instead I’ve been subjected to lunch indoors for the last 2 weeks and I’m now suffering from severe cabin fever.
What’s with the weather on our planet? It’s snowing in Cape Town, flooding in the drought stricken regions of Aus and raining incessantly for weeks, mid-summer in UK (oh wait, that’s actually quite normal).
I arrived at work this morning in the foulest of foul moods. I was wet, my trousers were sodden at the ankles and I was feeling miserable due to the lack of Vitamin D. I’m just grumpy and all I ask is for a few consecutive days of summer sun to lift me out of my misery.
That aside, London suffered yet another terror threat today. My main concern (it’s okay, I can be a little flippant as no one was hurt), on sighting pictures, was that the bomb-car was parked right next to a 14 bus stop in Central London - just a bit close to home for a No. 14 regular!
As usual, I’m feeling that special Friday relief start to descend as I begin to envision 2 days of freedom from my office. Judging by the number of FWD emails flying between us, the boredom is undoubtedly mutual. I can smell it – that beautiful aroma that signals freedom – yes, it’s the smell of the weekend!

what curiosity did

I have something quite exciting coming up tomorrow. I would love to blog all about it but, unfortunately, I have to keep mum for another few days.
Doesn’t it just drive you mad when people do that? “I have something that I really want to tell you…but I can’t.” Uhm, okay. Now you are left in a personal battle of ethics whereby you could either plead it out of them, in the full knowledge that they are breaking someone else’s confidence, or just leave it there and appear disinterested. At this point, if you were a cat, you’d be dead.
So I’m really sorry that I’m doing this to you but I’m excruciatingly bored at work today and tomorrow’s event is really all that is on my mind.
Okay, there’s other stuff there too…
Fox returned to London for the weekend *big smile* which somehow swept past in a haze of activity; catching up, watching him demonstrate his skill in touch rugby at Battersea Park, church and the Casting Crowns concert on Sunday night. I would be far saner if my work-week rushed by as quickly.
I’m looking into doing pump classes at the local leisure centre from next week. I distinctly remember the last time I undertook this particular exercise regime. Every step I took in the subsequent week was sheer agony. I was acutely aware of each and every muscle in my entire body. It was more pain than I thought I could bear. And here I am considering doing it all again. Perhaps it’s that work induced lunacy.
I know I’ve been a little slack on the blog updates lately but it seems that a life of routine is counterproductive to a full-life of blogging. But you know what curiosity does? It brings you back.

friday to sun-day

I got word from Dad today that Desi is doing fine. There’s no apparent organ damage but, of course, she’s still suffering the broken pelvis. Thanks so much for all the prayers!
So, it’s practically the weekend and I couldn’t be happier to get out of this office today. After losing my assignment due to an unexplainable technical glitch, hearing of Desi’s accident, missing Fox and sleep deprivation, I’ve really had enough for this week.
I’m off to Mom’s tonight to watch “Little Miss Sunshine” (that movie SERIOUSLY cracks me up) and appreciate a mom-cooked meal.
Jo and I are taking a road trip to Oxford tomorrow. As much as I love London for its ‘big city’ qualities, I LOVE getting out of it too.
Then it’s Sunday and then it’s….no, I can’t bear to even think it.
If you happen to have sunshine in whatever country you inhabit this weekend, please enjoy it for me. London seems to have mislaid it.

little surprises

Walking into my favourite, non-Starbucks, coffee shop in London, Benkito, I was greeted with such familiarity that I immediately basked in the warm feeling of welcome. There's a certain sense of belonging when someone recites your order before you've even sat down.
This being the case, it seems wrong that I wouldn't know this friendly face's name, but for reference purposes I'll call him 'Pablo'.
Once seated on one of the less than comfy, but well worn in couches, Pablo proceeded to place a delectable piece of carrot cake before me. On noticing the lack of customers in a usually buzzing cafè, I commented on how quiet it was and was met with an earnest reply: 'You never know what it will be like, such as it is in life.' Emphasised by his South American accent, this profound statement sat so well with me.
It is true that life holds surprises in the most unexpected places (I guess if they were in expected places, they wouldn't be surprises!). From the sudden appearance of the man of your dreams to an appreciative comment from a good friend. Or perhaps it's in a great cup of decaf in BK while 'Have I Told You Lately that I Love You?' plays in the background. And then some ladies mobile rings...

london a-z

I am constantly amazed by the size of London. Not it's vastness, but it's ability to become one of the smallest places on earth.
I was out and about in Holborn Circus during my lunch break and as I was about to go into my favourite retreat, Starbucks (from now on I will not name it as I have established this on a number of occasions), I saw a belt that I recognised. As I looked higher I realised it was on the person with whom I associate it, Tracey from church. Her and her brother-in-Law were studying an A-Z (London street map) looking a bit perplexed. So, instead of meandering aimlessly, I directed her and her brother-in-law towards the high street where they could shop to their hearts content for the rest of the day.
I am constantly bumping into friends and acquaintances while strolling the streets of London and this leads me to assume one of a number of things:
1) London, or perhaps the world as a whole, is really a small place
2) I wander the streets far too much
3) I know a lot of people
4) God knows when I need to see a friendly face
I love the look of surprise when you bump into someone you know and they display what you are feeling. There is something so special about an unexpected meeting; I don't like to use the term 'divine intervention' too lightly but it's the little things that promote joy and thus have a spiral affect on others you may have the privilege of influencing.
On that note, I've learned that you are never anonymous. You may feel lonely, but many times this is a choice. You may think you can get away with stuff you wouldn't when you are surrounded by people you know, but truth is that there is always someone watching. You may think you need to catch the tube from A to B, but it could just benefit you to walk!

overheard

I was listening to two girls on the train this morning. They were speaking Afrikaans at an unnecessarily loud level, saying really awful things and swearing. I don't know if they thought no one understood, but I think it was more a case of not actually caring. There was a lady across from me who was clearly South African as she kept looking at them and then at me and shaking her head and smiling. Thanks to the usual tube dealys the train kept stopping and all of a sudden it jolted. One of the girls shouted out: 'Wat doen hulle nou?? Sit hulle nuwe tyre's op hierdie blik...mse tube!!!?' For those of you who are SAFA's you will know that it's a pretty rude way of saying 'What are they doing? Putting new tyre's on this train?'.

I have a few things to say to you honey:
Trains don't have tyres
The rest of us on the tube do not care to hear about how many guys you did/didn't snog in the pub on Saturday night
I would like to go at least 2 hours after waking up without having to hear the 'F' word more than 30 times
I don't care how much sex appeal your friends Davie and Willem have and whose beds they share
There is a reason that 90% of people don't talk on the tube - it ticks fellow commuters off
PLEASE MAKE FULL USE OF THE GAP BETWEEN THE TRAIN AND THE PLATFORM!