Nomadic Emma

2011 debrief

2012-02-05T10:43:00.012Z

Better late than never, here's my annual debrief:

(and here's last year's, and the year before in case you're interested)

1. What did you do in 2011 that you'd never done before?

Had a hysterical breakdown in the Board room with snot and tears flying everywhere; went skiing; rode a bike in London; watched (half of) the Superbowl; campaigned for a political party; went to proper European Christmas markets (not the phony British variety).

2. What countries did you visit?

New Zealand (for pleasure), Austria (for cake and Christmas markets), France (for a marathon), Spain (to learn Spanish) and Germany (for work and sausages).

3. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?

A masters, a life.

4. What date from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

Being one of thousands of people squashed into Westminster Cathedral to remember those in Christchurch. Then being one of thousands of people squashed into Hyde Park a couple of months later to watch Kate and Will tie the knot.

5. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Surviving a hellish year at work with (most of) my mental health and self-respect still intact. That was definitely tougher than running 42kms in the blazing Paris sunshine.

6. Did you suffer illness or injury?

Once again, illness-free. Aside from the week I lost my voice and had to squeak my way through days of interviewing.

7. What was the best thing you bought?

Flights with Korean Airlines all the way to New Zealand.

8. Whose behaviour merited celebration?

My housemates, as per usual, for being voices of reason, the bearer of calm and soothing words, and making cups of tea when necessary. My wonderful auntie for both helping me through a terrible research methods assignment and making the New Years Honours List, all in one year. And all those in my life who suffered heartache and trauma but just kept on going.

9. Where did most of your money go?

Once again, ever-more expensive university fees; paying off considerable portions of my student loan; too many books from Amazon; and a long trip to New Zealand.

10. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Surprising my parents on Christmas Eve and being in New Zealand for Christmas. Sometimes I thought I might pop a kidney I was so excited.

11. What do you wish you'd done more of?

My masters research; actually finishing my book club reading (rather than consistently skimming the last 50 pages as I'm on my way there); going to the dentist; writing letters.

12. What do you wish you'd done less of?

Working, stressing, moaning to my housemates.

13. What did you want and get?

Another marathon medal; a new job; a royal wedding; and visits from my family.

14. What did you want and not get?

A masters (curse you employer); any good at Spanish.

15. Did you keep your new year's resolutions and did you make any for 2012?

2011's resolutions were: even more studying (done, although not enough), learn Spanish (see above), write more letters (big fail), improve my tennis serve (again, big fail), pay off more student loan (success), and save some (well....some). Oh, and be with my family for Christmas (this I did do. And I even surprised a couple of them too).

2012's resolutions are: do an Olympic distance triathlon (gulp); finish my masters (finally); pay off my student loan; work less, live more.

NZ for Christmas

2012-02-05T09:47:00.017Z

This Christmas just been I was in New Zealand. For the first time in five years I managed a summery festive season. It was great.

I got to hang out with the nieces....

And the nephew...

We drank excellent New Zealand beer in the sunshine on Christmas Eve. And Christmas Day. And Boxing Day.

On Christmas morning we shelled beans (cue Deliverance banjo)

And drank champagne.

The adults took a civilised dip in the pool...

And then rode their bikes.

We all watched Queenie...

And then shot stuff (cue Deliverance again).

Back in Wellington, we had supreme fush and chups and drank more beer.

And on another day, somewhere north of Wellington, I saw a defective (but quite cute) kiwi.

Thanks New Zealand. It was fun.

Wildlife

2012-02-04T12:08:00.006Z

A squirrel came to visit this morning. Even a hysterical squirrel fan with her nose pressed against the window didn't put him off doing his business in one of Kath's flower pots.

Then he was off again.

Coming soon...

2012-02-02T22:44:00.003Z

A blog post. I promise.

Festive season begins

2011-12-04T21:12:00.006Z

Christmas is well and truly upon us. Well, it has been since the department stores unpacked their annual Christmas shops (August) but I like to be old-fashioned and celebrate the festival for just one month of the year.

On Saturday we took a trip to the local market to pick out this year's tree. They wrapped him in some ribbon to hold his arms in for the journey home, and then we were off. Fortunately Kath had planned ahead and brought along some guy she knows to do the hard work. Thanks Greg!

Homeward bound

It's been an entire leap year cycle

2011-11-28T22:21:00.002Z

I've now lived in London for four whole years. That's rapidly approaching five winters; now two New Zealand elections; one milestone birthday and three regular ones; two London Christmases, and two provincial ones; and one really long phone hacking scandal.

It's cliche I know, but where have the last four years gone? I could have completed a PhD in that time. And some.

I certainly have a lot more stuff now than the small wheelie suitcase and weekend bag I came with. Our fridge is graced with a collection of exotic tourist magnets, and I've pretty much memorised the major tube lines and important stops. But despite all of this, I still wonder exactly how the last 48 months could have gone quite so quickly.

Spending time with food

2011-10-15T16:51:00.006+01:00

There's not much I like more than filling the kitchen with ingredients and spending a Saturday afternoon creating stuff.

The smallest of things please me. A bunch of bright red tomatoes still clutching frantically to the vine; the smell of red wine vinegar, brown sugar, and red onions slow cooking; and the way pastry feels between my fingers when I squeeze it into a ball.

On a Sunday, I gather together some small change, a bag or two, and head to the farmers' market. Just down the road, and through the village, it stands in the playground of a school every Sunday. There I'll decide on my soup for the week, getting enough ingredients for a large batch which will see me right through to Tuesday. This week it's carrot.

Back to the Bramwell roots

2011-10-09T19:55:00.017+01:00

A few months back, a very special auntie came to visit. After a week of work (me) and dining out at fabulous restaurants (auntie) we boarded a train bound for the North East. At Newcastle train station there was a lovely Geordie lad waiting for us. With a lovely Geordie hire car.

And so our adventure began.

Our destination was a little village called Garrigill. The cradle of Bramwell civilisation.

In our hire car, we drove. Across the moorish landscape, winding through teeny villages that were barely there, until we came to Garrigill.

In the brilliant sunshine and passing sudden rain showers, we walked amongst the knee-high wet grass and wonky gravestones, straining to see a Bramwell. To no avail. But the inside of the church gave us two who had served in the world wars.

We left pleased that our lead mining ancestors had originated in such a pretty village (and not neighbouring Nenthead which was a bit dire), tucked into a corner of Cumbrian countryside.

One step closer

2011-10-08T11:49:00.002+01:00

This week I managed to squeeze out a 5,000 word research proposal. On reflection, it all happened in such a blur, I don't quite remember how it came together. But fortunately, I submitted something that, in a haze of weariness seemed to be somewhat 'on topic'.

This moment signified the end of another paper towards the Masters. All going to plan it's just one more paper and four more months now.

What's next after that I wonder......

She's dreamin'

2011-10-02T12:21:00.002+01:00

I'm not sure how it works for other people, but night time for me is an opportunity for my sub-conscious to run wild. It likes to use its entire toolkit of imagery, to release my deepest thoughts, feelings, and sometimes fears to the rest of my brain.

For months after visiting the Cayman Islands, I had a reoccurring dream of moving to a tropical island. All my friends would be there, waiting for me. Mostly the dreams were about me deciding where on the island I was going to live, and what kind of work I wanted to be doing. It was always sunny and the water was crystal clear. I'd wake with an overwhelming feeling of calm, and the obvious desire to immediately move to a white sanded beach.

But, just as quickly as they began, the dreams stopped a few months ago.

During the working week, I spend most of my dreaming time focused on clients and projects. This makes me feel incredibly dull. It's bad enough that I spend my working days concerned with action planning, surveys, analysis and project milestones, but it's horrifying to think that that's where my brain likes to spend its downtime.

I also worry that my sub-conscious has serious doubts about the depth of my intelligence, because a lot of the time, it prefers to make any messages it chooses to send me, as blatant as possible.

As my psychotherapist-in-training housemate said to me, last night's dream was one where no dream analysis book was required.

I was on holiday with a bunch of friends, staying at a series of Japanese-style hotels, with futons and tatami flooring. Every night we'd lay out the futons, and every night all of my friends would go to sleep in their respective pairings, except for me, who would always miss out on a futon, and would be left to lie on a pillow of folded clothing, at everyone else's feet.

I spend enough of my waking time battling with these sorts of insecurities, I don't want to wake up at 6am on a Sunday morning in a cold 'will be single forever' sweat. Bring back the tropical island dreams I say.

Annual onion marmalade making session

2011-09-27T21:30:00.007+01:00

Take four massive onions from the farmers' market just down the road....

Chop 'em up with a big chef's knife

Throw into your biggest pan...

Cover in brown sugar, red wine, some thyme and butter. Then cook for a reaaaally long time until syrupy.

Pop in some cute wee jars you've got left over from last year's batch and offer up to happy housemates as a delicious topping for delights like bangers & mash, cheese & crackers, or perhaps a slice or two of beef.

Autumn in London

2011-09-24T16:40:00.006+01:00

Autumn coat and boots

Yellowing tree

6.30pm sunset

Dissertation location #1

2011-09-11T13:13:00.005+01:00

In an attempt to amass all the motivation I have, and reduce the possibilities for distraction (laundry, sleep, food, tidying, the entire Internet) I'm taking my dissertation on the road.

Yesterday I kept it local. Le Petit Boulanger is about five minutes from my house and has a wonderful collection of sweet-speaking French staff, and a couple of bakers working at their big stainless steel bench, about one metre behind the till.

The coffee is good, and the bread is chewy and crusty, just as it should be. In between my abstract, introduction and an article or two, I got the joy of watching the constant stream of locals coming, eating, and going again.

The weekly 'Hansel' moment

2011-09-04T09:08:00.004+01:00

There's a long, and slightly hazy story as to why this is named after a Grimms' fairytale character, but there was a fair bit of wine involved, so I'm not going to attempt to re-tell it. Let me just say that it was something to do with an old woman called Gretel, socks, trainers and a skirt, maybe some body waxing, and her still quite definitely living life to the fullest.

Anyway, from a slightly drunken work ladies' night out, we constructed the weekly Hansel moment. This is the occurrence or happening in the past week that has made your week a tiny bit special. Even if you've had a week of missing the bus every morning, battling with more monstrous than usual egos at work, all the window envelopes arriving at once, and you spill red wine on your favourite white top; the Hansel moment is the one reason why you don't want this week to be erased from your memory. One thing that has been a move forward, or a first for you; a light in the dark.

This week my Hansel moment was making my first ethics committee application for my dissertation research. For a moment there, I felt like a proper, grown-up researcher.

The tide quickly turns

2011-09-02T07:15:00.001+01:00

Usually, on this side of the world, summer tends to slowly step backwards, out the gate, quietly shutting it behind her, before disappearing gracefully into the distance. This year however, she turned sharply on her heel and bolted.

Even though it's the first few days of September, the morning air is chilled, and the forecast temperatures are very definitely in their teens.

I have to say, I feel a bit ripped off really. I've spend a large portion of this so-called 'summer' indoors, working or studying. And due to poor life project management, I've not been on holiday to somewhere that actually has a summer.

But there's no point in mourning a summer lost. There are plenty of nice things about autumn which must be celebrated. Chutney making, 'crafternoons', hot yoga which keeps you warm all evening, our annual Halloween party; and walks home when no one is watching, meaning you can kick the leaves so high they rain down on you.

I might even try and take a holiday this season.

New wheels

2011-08-27T15:26:00.002+01:00

After many months of consideration, I've gone and bought myself a bike. Although the paint job wouldn't be my preference, it's great. And it was a bargain too, with just two nice lady owners to its name.

Once I've collected all the necessary accessories (military style helmet, the world's strongest lock and a full body fluro suit) I'll be on the road.

The next challenge will be to find my way to work, above ground.

The world needs more afternoon tea

2011-08-25T22:48:00.006+01:00

As far as I'm concerned, there is a severe shortage in this world of cutesy tartlets, still warm scones with proper raspberry jam and clotted cream, and delicate finger sandwiches with the crusts cut off.

Anywhere that has a tea menu that's as long as the average wine list, is pretty great I think.

The aftermath

2011-08-16T22:56:00.009+01:00

Clapham Junction one week after the riots

Goodwill messages decorating TK Maxx

Jamie Oliver's store suffered too. Someone out there will have some lovely new matching teatowels and a few sets of eggshell coloured mixing bowls.

Our house

2011-08-14T21:41:00.013+01:00

I live in a magical house.

It's a home that collects strays and those in need of some peace. Through the bright red door they come, stepping into the house's strong and safe arms.

Walls of history are wrapped all around the winding staircase, wonky doors, creaky floors and the years of stories, laughter, tears, success and defeat which have seeped into the wallpaper.

It's decorated with love. Shiny brown tea pots and little Crown Lynn cups, rocky chairs rescued from the street, a gramophone that needs to be fixed, and laughing Buddha presents from the East.

Our coffee table is home to The Economist, The New Statesman, and Kate and Will's wedding edition of Hello. We have more herbal teas than you can probably name, and there's usually at least a few biscuits in the big square bread tin.

Here we sit, in the middle of Clapham, an oasis of calm and safety, in an otherwise chaotic, and sometimes quite tough, world.

London's burning

2011-08-09T22:16:00.002+01:00

The terribly bourgeois nature of my Monday night was not lost on me.

There I was, drinking fancy wine in a champagne bar on the 42nd floor of a London skyscraper, watching bits of South London burning.

The sensation is indescribable when offices in Central London are closing in the middle of the day, and you find yourself on a packed tube surrounded by a carriage full of commuters looking just as bemused as you feel.

Exiting out of the tube and even at 3pm shops have their roller doors shut or wooden boards covering windows. Panic buying has set in at the last remaining newsagents.

I managed to find one open shop when I left home briefly at 7pm because I discovered I had no food. But even they were closing around me. The man practically followed me around the store, rushing me to make my dinner selection.

And then you sit in the roaring quiet, and watch the idiocy unfold through all forms of social media, the sound of sirens seeping through the open windows.

But what doesn't kill us, only makes us stronger. Disaster brings people together. Hundreds of people turn out at Clapham Junction with brooms to sweep clean; long-lost friends and colleagues reach out through email, skype and facebook to make sure everyone is ok.

As Alain de Botton tweeted this afternoon:

"The good tends always to outweigh the bad: it just takes longer to get itself organised"

London snapped

2011-08-07T16:03:00.003+01:00

I was on my way to meet some friends last Friday when I realised that London was waving her hands and trying to get my attention with her beauty.

Singin' in my soul

2011-08-06T19:37:00.010+01:00

I'm constantly amazed at just how much music carries me away. Up, up, and away wrapped in a blanket of melodies I go. Whether it's a childhood Dire Straits flashback, or a more modern piece belonging to The Black Keys, each individual sound comes together to lift me up onto the shoulders of life.

I was reminded of this on a particularly busy but dull day at the office recently. There I was, at my desk avec laptop, ipod, headphones and itunes; secretly enjoying the fact that I was working in the middle of an open plan, subdued office, but also enjoying some choice hits from Nirvana's Nevermind album.

This then started me off wondering about what my top five favourite songs in all the world would be.

For me, this is a very tough challenge. I don't want my list to be faddy and filled with recent loves. I want some long term relationships in there too. I think the list should be made up of those songs that throw me up; making my soul soar with their beauty and musicality.

I think my music taste is fairly diverse. My ipod is the home to artists ranging from Amy Winehouse to Whitesnake; Ben Harper to Tchaikovsky. Maybe I'm not discerning enough, but I don't want to be too exclusive. I sometimes imagine the huge cocktail party that could be happening in my ipod with Cake making small talk with Jose Gonzalez; Cat Power fighting over canapes with Tricky; and The Hives and Courtney Love swapping fashion tips.

Anyway, back to the top five. I need to contemplate this for a while yet, and perhaps take contributions from the studio audience, but here's ten of the front runners who have come to mind thus far (in no particular order and please don't crucify me for terrible music taste. Exposing yourself like this feels a bit like one of those dreams when you've gone to work in just your pyjama bottoms):

1. 'Try a little tenderness' by Otis Redding

Others have tried it (remember 'The Commitments'?) but I still think Otis has the most soul. 'Sitting on a dock the dock of the bay' would be a close second for an Otis nomination, but I think this one has the edge. If by some miracle I ever actually end up being in the situation where I'm marrying someone, this song would be at the top of my 'first dance' nominations.

2. 'Heavenly day' by Patty Griffin

So beautiful I can listen to it again, and again, and I still never tire of it.

3. 'Teardrop' by Massive Attack

Gritty and elegant in one.

4. 'Lola' by The Kinks

There were a few Kinks' songs I could choose here, but I'm going with this one; maybe it's just the lyrics.

5.'Heartbeats' by Jose Gonzalez

When I first heard this version I fell in love with this guy after about three bars. His voice, the words and the guitar make my soul levitate and my heart pause.

6. 'Talk show host' by Radiohead

Pure artistry, and this (along with maybe 'High and Dry') is my pick off theirs.

7. 'True colours' by Cindy Lauper

Eva Cassidy does a beautiful version of this but Cindy gets the title on her rocking fashion sense and awesome hair in the video.

8. 'Hallelujah' by Jeff Buckley

Sad but sublime.

9. 'Let's dance to Joy Division' by The Wombats

This is a bit of a silly nomination but it never, ever fails to lift my spirits, and make me want to dance my way down the street after even the most hideous days at work.

10. 'Killing in the name of' by Rage against the machine

Exceptionally crafted angry music by a band that make me feel terribly old when I hear how long they've been around for now.

So there we have it. The problem is that already I can hear the beautiful voices (and melodies) of those who missed out. Surely I have to include Nirvana's 'Smells like teen spirit'? And for something feelgood, what about 'No rain' by Blind Melon? And I'm getting guilty that I've excluded Amy Winehouse....

A time of change

2011-07-30T12:52:00.006+01:00

Right now there is change in warm summer air. It seems to be all around me.

At home we're losing one of the Franconia ladies to North London; a soul I've lived with for three years now. My confidant, counsellor, source of hilarity, and number one chocolate brownie taste tester. So it's time to look for a new Franconia friend to fill the existing bright red and fabulous shoes of Eloise.

Outside of these four walls as well, change permeates everything.

Friends are at varying stages of pregnancy and birth; engagements are doing the round again; 'save the date's for 2012 are landing; new jobs, new careers, new countries to live in.

I don't know if it's just because I'm standing still watching the world, that I see what a rate it's passing at right now.

I stand there, on the corner of the Earth, fists clenched, eyes screwed shut, wishing everything would just stop for a moment. Just enough time for me to catch up with it.

A day in the life - part 3

2011-07-13T21:28:00.005+01:00

Most of the time my work day starts like this...

Fruit 'n' fibre in front of my laptop at 8ish.

But very, very, very occasionally, work life gets a bit more exciting.

Here's my super funky, super German hotel room in Munich, we're I'm writing this. I just spent 20mins playing with the electronic blinds.

A Day in the Life - part 2

2011-07-08T08:45:00.012+01:00

Now that my office has once again relocated, I'm back on the London institution that is the tube.

Any seasoned Northern Line travellers will well know that it's near impossible to get on a tube at peak time in the morning; that's why I make sure I'm getting on before 8am. To ensure a more pleasant journey. On at Clapham Common and off at Old Street. No changes; just straight up.

Metro digestion

From the ground up

Some days I quite enjoy my trip to work in the morning. I can read a trashy newspaper; blitz my book club read because I've once again left it to the last minute; or just stand and stare.

But other times, it's like World War Three. There is no etiquette on the tube.

Sardines in a tin

There are probably worse ways to get to work in the world, but on a humid, rainy Friday morning, when some guy won't move his elbow to allow you to actually hold your head up straight, it's hard work to think of them.

A day in the life - Part 1

2011-07-06T21:33:00.004+01:00

London is a pretty great city. And because my existence here has always had the possibility of being pulled out from underneath me like a cruel trick with a bath mat due to immigration policy, it's time to really appreciate my life here. Three years of uncertainty grows difficult on the stomach. But Lady London makes it bearable in very many ways.

And so begins 'A Day in the Life'.

I'm sure not many people get this sort of view as they clean their teeth first thing in the morning.

Last week I saw three juvenile foxes frolicking in the morning sunshine. One of them was so excited by the mouldy old piece of carpet he'd dragged out of the downstairs neighbours' backyard, he was springing up and down on the spot like a tennis ball.

A right royal affair

2011-05-30T11:25:00.006+01:00

Rather early on the morning of the 29th of April, 2011, four of us boarded the tube at Clapham Common, bound for Hyde Park.

Alongside thousands of others, we sat, and then stood, and watched the future King and Queen of England, wed.

Whether you're into that kind of thing or not, we all agreed, it was a very nice celebration.

We then went home to celebrate the day off by eating coronation chicken triangular sandwiches, and scones with cream and jam.

Life update

2011-05-30T10:44:00.003+01:00

It's been a while I know. The last month or so has been a blur of wonderful family visits; a royal celebration; some weekends away; all four seasons; and quite a bit (but probably not enough) study stuck in between.

Life is ticking on as spring deepens and summer approaches the front gate like a very welcome pizza delivery man. The days are officially long; the sun reaching through my skylight and tapping me on the shoulder at 5am now.

Marathon de Paris

2011-04-20T22:45:00.004+01:00

Before the 26 miles....

After the 26 miles.

We did it. On Sunday April 11th, a bunch of us got up out of our Parisian hotel beds at 6am to eat porridge and bananas, drink sports drinks, affix race numbers and get a bit nervous.

Accompanied by wonderful support crew we got on the metro and made our way to the Arc de Triomphe for a power bar and a pee.

Then eventually we got underway. What a wonderful city to run your way around. The sun shone down hard as the tens of thousands of runners circumnavigated her streets. Past Place de la Concorde and Bastille, then along the river with the Eiffel Tower in view. All the typical touristy shots but with an undercurrent of discomfort that eventually grew into pain by about the 19 mile mark.

But complete it I did. Along with managing to wipe five minutes off my only other marathon time which was both pleasing and surprising. No lastly injuries except for a couple of toenails which are threatening to detach at the next opportunity.

Marathon prep

2011-04-02T15:08:00.004+01:00

Now we're getting to the business end of this whole marathon malarkey.

Today I purchased new socks, drink sachets and power bars that taste a bit like the kitchen bench.

Right now I think I need all the help I can get. Even if I know it may well make me gag 20 miles in.

Hitting mountain roads

2011-04-01T08:14:00.003+01:00

In complete contrast to my barefoot run along the blinding white sanded Seven Mile Beach in the Cayman Islands, last week I got to run along the roadside of mountain passes in the French Alps.

In places the flanks of towering peaks were heavy with a thick blanket of snow, in others sheer cliffs fell hundreds of feet with layers of terribly scarred rock to appeal to the amateur geologist in all of us.

Fortunately for this runner, the roads were clear, apart from the odd manic Fiat driver. I could freely make my way past the untouched folds of bright white snow, with skiers in the background enjoying the last runs of the day amongst the pointy little pine trees, all set under a brilliantly blue sky. Just simply a picture perfect wintry scene.

Pressies

2011-03-10T08:44:00.004Z

There's nothing like coming home to find a squishy parcel from one of my most favourite people in the world, patiently waiting for me.

Pretty packages contain treats from the other side of the world.

And I now have a t shirt with my sister's place of work on it. Not many people work somewhere cool enough to feature on a t shirt.

Running, running

2011-03-07T22:43:00.002Z

Training for a marathon does strange things to you.

I've now got just under five weeks until the start line in Paris which in some ways can't come soon enough, but in others I'm really hoping it drags its heels like an old fat dog which doesn't want to go for a walk in the rain.

It will be nice to have my Sundays back. One thing I've certainly realised this time around is that it is practically a walk in the park to train for a marathon in the summer compared to the winter. Going out for a three hour run was much easier when it was sunny and 20 degrees, rather than drizzling and a high of two.

These past few Sunday afternoons I've stood at the window staring out into the grey, getting colder and more morose; trying to muster every ounce possible of my self motivation that is required to get out of the door and onto the footpath. Actually it's a bit like I'm now the old fat dog I just described.

Post-run brings some interesting results also. You'd think you would be really hungry after doing 18 miles, but I usually just feel nauseous for a good few hours afterwards. When I was training for Berlin my post-run dinner (once I felt I could keep it down) was Sainsbury's prawn makhani and a mini trifle. All that cream and custard sits nicely on a tender stomach. Now you also know how I became possibly the first person in history to get fat from doing a marathon...

Usually if I do a long run on Sunday, then it's not until late on Monday or Tuesday morning that the hunger really sets in. This delayed reaction means that my colleagues are subjected to my constant consumption. As a good multisporting friend of mine once put it - 'the conveyor belt of food'.

I think I also know what it might feel to be eighty now. Those hours after your return from a long run have you feeling like a skeleton. You can feel almost every single bone in your body as you attempt to move. Down onto the floor to stretch. Up off the floor to have shower. Down onto the sofa.

Why do it all then? It's a great challenge. And it's something that is just about you. It's not about beating anyone else, it's just about beating your own doubts.

The dynamic duo of darkness

2011-02-25T09:17:00.004Z

Sadness and tragedy seem to be around every corner at the moment. Like a dynamic duo of darkness they hide amongst the pages of this month's book club book; in towns and cities in Libya; under desks at work; and even behind the bright yellow tulips on the kitchen table at home. And then, of course, there's the obvious playground of the moment: the second largest city of my homeland.

Hand in hand they swing from tree to tree, laughing in their sick and peculiar way as they go; leaving a trail of misery in their wake.

Every now and then there is a light moment: a good Spanish class, an amusing joke at work, giggles in the kitchen with the Franconia ladies. But then somehow (maybe by a look on BBC news, an email, or a comment) you are reminded of all the calamity.

The day the earth shook

2011-02-22T22:19:00.004Z

Right now, a little country holds its breath.

It holds its breath and waits in the hope that miracles may appear from the rubble.

That from the devastation there will be stories of wonder and survival. Against all odds.

New Zealand has had a rough ride recently, and yesterday Mother Nature dealt that little South Pacific country a cruel blow.

Be strong New Zealand. Pull together and face this tragedy as a united front. Just like you always do.

Because we all know that not even a horrific earthquake will shake this country's resolve.

Sliding doors

2011-02-20T18:10:00.002Z

Every now and then, just on the odd occasion, maybe when things aren't going so well... I wonder if perhaps I should have gone to Japan after all.

Was I completely insane to turn down such an amazing (all expenses paid) opportunity?

Then my train of thought takes me to wondering where I might be now if I'd not thrown it all away. Who knows where that path would have taken me.

But then, after mulling for a while, I (usually) come to the same conclusion. For whatever reason the timing wasn't right, so I must think about all of the wonderful experiences that London has given me instead.

Also, despite veering sharply away from study when I threw in the Japanese towel, the London road I'm travelling on has steered me back in the direction of academia.

Perhaps you can't mess with fate after all.

Silvery sliver of light

2011-02-16T14:52:00.003Z

Last night I fell asleep in a moon beam.

Like a long strip of silk it floated down from Heaven to Earth,
tumbling through my skylight, eventually coming to rest
on my white cotton duvet,
and my sky-facing cheek.

February blues

2011-02-12T12:09:00.003Z

It's been difficult to think of anything in any way interesting, amusing or exciting over the last few weeks. Hence the long stretches of blog silence.

Here in the Northern Hemisphere, we're inching closer to spring, one day at a time. And even though this morning on my way across the Common I spotted a small family of daffodil shoots, spring feels like an age away.

Thoughts are constantly casted towards the longer, lighter days of April and May; with Easter and a cluster of bank holidays; a royal wedding and even a referendum.

February: I know you're a short month, but oh my, how you drag your heels.

Happy birthday to my biggest 'blister'

2011-02-02T22:24:00.005Z

Right now, over on the other side of the world, one of the most special people in the world is celebrating 40 years.

40 years of love, light, laughter, live interviews on the radio, and a whole lot more.

For someone who started out destroying our parents' new wallpaper with jam men, alongside covering her entire self in cold cream, she's certainly come along way.

My big sister is one of the most talented, inspiring, energetic and amusing people I've ever met. Sometimes I'm amazed we climbed up the ladder out of the same gene pool.

She's the only person I know who has had Farsi lessons. She's travelled around more countries than you have fingers and toes; circumnavigated NZ by bike, had her own telly show, and once walked for three days, by herself, across a completely isolated part of bear country in Canada.

But for me she's the person who is always at the other end of some kind of communication channel when the world is hard work; she shares in success and makes bad things ok.

My sister is the best biggest sister I could ever have dreamt of. And my heart breaks a little that I can't be there to share the milestone day with her.

I only hope that in almost exactly nine years time, when I'm celebrating the same figure, that I've managed to achieve anything close to my incredible sister.

And I really hope, that on that day, she'll be there with me too.

Keeping it local

2011-01-15T10:26:00.003Z

This year I've made a conscious decision to 'keep it local'.

Clapham Common is a great part of London; a green haven tucked down in the south of this sprawling city. It's a microcosm of different cultures and communities, all wrapped around the outside of this vast outdoor space that is the common.

Despite the fabulous features, it's easy to take it all for granted. In the average week you'll walk past the common to catch the bus or tube; returning home 12 hours later, barely giving it a glimpse. And on the weekend in the winter, you might even avoid its quite muddy surfaces all together.

But this year I'm trying to spend more time making the most of our collective backyard.

Every Monday I have a tennis lesson on its very nice, floodlight tennis courts, with a local coach and other locals eager to improve their backhands. Thursdays see me at the Trinity Church on the opposite side of the common, speaking bad español alongside nine others. Then on Saturday mornings I drag myself out of bed to run, jump, bend and lie on the common's muddy surface with a bunch of other local fools, while everyone else is enjoying a sleep in. And of course now that marathon training is on the schedule, I'm joining the others, circumnavigating this great space at all times of the day and night.

Our common is the life force that brings people together around here. This year I intend on spending more time appreciating just how fortunate we really are.

And so it begins

2011-01-13T13:00:00.005Z

Better late than never should probably be the headline for this post. The 2011 Paris marathon is on April 10th, and I'm registered to run.

Now that is apparently 12 weeks, 2 days, and about 19 hours away. Not really that far into the future, considering how far 26 miles really is. On foot.

Somehow, at Christmas time, as I forced another mince pie down, it seemed ages away.

But the fear of failure has finally hit, and I've now re-connected with my trainers.

Marathon training: day 1 - trying to protect myself from the 5 degree conditions

It's now been about two weeks and I'm slowly getting back into it. Although it still takes all of the willpower I can possibly muster to climb out from under my duvet at 6am on a very dark, and really rather cold morning.

Farewell festive season

2011-01-07T09:06:00.002Z

The 6th of January sees the official end to the festive season. A bright and tasty light in an otherwise dark couple of months, it's a very welcome festival on this side of the world.

But all good things must come to an end, and yesterday as I walked home, I mourned its passing as I walked along pavements littered with forlorn looking Christmas tree skeletons, lying prone, waiting for the bin men to remove them. Their work is done here; they are no longer required. They are off to become wood chips.

Now we must dig around and find the boxes the decorations belong in, take down the Christmas cards from friends and family, and try to remember to buy a 2011 calendar.

"On with the new year!" we must think. We turn our faces towards the light of the ever-lengthening days, and think about festivities to come: birthdays, Royal weddings, trips abroad, visits from loved ones, and the taste of the approaching spring.

A dying art

2011-01-01T15:29:00.006Z

Go into your average stationery shop here in the UK and you'll see walls just lined with greeting cards. Including some for occasions you haven't even heard of before.

You can buy the obvious cards of course: births, deaths and marriages; all the milestone ages, sorry you're leaving, good luck in retirement, Mother's, Father's, Christmas and Valentine's Day. But apparently we also now want to send cards for Easter, Halloween, St Patrick's Day, graduation, and when you've moved house too.

Publishers in the UK produce more than 2.6 billion greeting cards every year. And those of us here in Britain buy more cards than any other country in the world. That's an industry worth over £1.2 billion a year. More than we spend on tea and coffee put together.

Unfortunately, so many cards now seem to be just about the token gesture. Apparently we're too busy these days to actually write messages. Where did all the words go?

The other day, when I went into a large and well-stocked stationery shop looking for some lovely writing paper, I was very disappointed. There were a million types of wrapping paper, gift bags, gift boxes, tags, small cards, big cards, cards that turned into freestanding Christmas scenes, ready-made wedding invitations, place setting cards, photo albums, diaries and calendars, but only two kinds of writing paper. In two shades of white.

Do people not write letters anymore? Are we at such a stage that we require information instantly and can't wait for Royal Mail to deliver? Am I just terribly behind in loving things falling through that old school slot in the door?

I very much fear that the art of letter writing is dying out. It's going the way of dance cards and long-distance train travel. So this year, I plan to do my best to bring the letter back. Let's make mail cool again. It worked for cupcakes and knitting. Why can't we revive post?

2011 is going to be the year of the letter. Surely there are few things more wonderful than coming home to find a handwritten envelope waiting for you on the bench. You make a cup of tea, sit somewhere comfortable and then wrap yourself in another person's words for a few moments of time, their voice reading aloud to you; laughter, tears, and exclamations.

Please join me in trying to save something is really quite lovely. I just don't think we're really that busy we can't put pen to paper to brighten someone else's day.

Why not give it a go?

2010 debrief

2010-12-29T21:26:00.024Z

It's time for the blogging wrap up of the year. A few moments for reflection before moving onto bigger and better things. Same questions as last year. Hopefully different answers.

1. What did you do in 2010 that you'd never done before?

Kissed a stingray; built a snowman; voted in a British General Election

2. What countries did you visit?

New Zealand, USA, Cayman Islands, Turkey, France and Wales

3. What would you like to have in 2011 that you lacked in 2010?

More vegetables in my garden; time and head space to dedicate to my studies; another marathon medal

4. What date from 2010 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

When I heard that the 29 trapped NZ miners had no chance of survival.

5. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Writing a 5,500 word essay and thereby completing the first year of my masters. In your face full time job.

6. Did you suffer illness or injury?

Nope (touches wood). I seem to be disgustingly healthy despite all of the man-flu I'm constantly surrounded by.

7. What was the best thing you bought?

Well, it was bought for me, but it would have to be my beautiful bright red Kenwood mixer. I love it almost more than life itself.

Oh, and my fabulous little iPhone.

8. Whose behaviour merited celebration?

My beautiful housemates; Anika and Richard who upped sticks and moved to The Gambia to volunteer a year of their lives; all those involved in my wonderful 30th birthday dinner celebration; my parents - for just being fabulous; my sisters with their endless quantities of energy to raise wonderful children and animals, create gardens, run half-marathons, all the while holding down jobs and relationships; and all of my friends who are out there doing great things, locally or globally

9. Where did most of your money go?

My becoming ever-more expensive university fees; paying off chunks of my student loan; a trip to the Caymans and a week in Turkey

10. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Standing on a seven mile white sand beach in the Caribbean, and not be dreaming; watching two sets of fabulous friends get married, one in a teepee, one in a golf club

11. What do you wish you'd done more of?

Writing (as per usual); keeping in touch with long-distance loved ones

12. What do you wish you'd done less of?

Sitting in the office until all hours of the night; being anxious various aspects of work and play

13. What did you want and get?

A Le Creuset casserole dish; a trip to see my wonderful friend Belinda in the Caymans

14. What did you want and not get?

Just those things that I know are unrealistic right now, like: a pet dog and cat, a pet squirrel which eats seeds from my hand, more trips to see my family, a PhD, a living room with a built-in bookcase...

15. Did you keep your new year's resolutions and did you make any for 2011?

2010's resolutions = more studying, more crafting, more cooking, more saving, less spending.

I think I did ok with these, although I was probably working from a pretty low base.

2011's resolutions = even more studying, learn Spanish, write more letters, improve my tennis serve, pay off more student loan (maybe even all), and save some. Oh, and be with my family for Christmas.

How to build a snowman

2010-12-19T18:22:00.007Z

1. Start with a very small ball of snow. And roll it.....

2. Keep rolling it......

3. When you get bored, take a break to make snow angels while someone with more stamina keeps rolling....

4. Then realise that you'll be here all night (or you'll end up with a deformed snowman) if you don't start rolling your own ball...

5. Send some of the team off to find eyes, a nose, arms, buttons etc..

6. Assemble snowman very carefully. Add accessories.

7. Take picture of snowman.

8. Then, in order to protect snowman from any possible danger, dismantle him, carry him 300m, through the house, and re-assemble him on the garden table out of harm's way.

Wonderful weather

2010-12-19T18:11:00.002Z

Mother nature must have known that I needed a pick-me-up this week. Because yesterday morning she let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

And over the period of about two hours on a Saturday morning, London went from it's normal slightly grey colour, to a wonderful powdery bright white.

Snow turns the mundane to the magical. Today the sun rose at 8.04am and set at 3.53pm. This could get very depressing. But walking home from Christmas shopping at 4.30pm in the dark is transformed into a wonderful wintry journey as the moon shines down on the still-thick layer of snow blanketing Clapham Common.

Indoor activities

2010-12-18T12:16:00.004Z

While the outdoors look like this:

There's nothing like getting back to craft. Dusting off the needle book and digging out the bag filled with fabric in all shapes and sizes.

Ever so slowly, my patchwork is getting bigger. I almost have the length, now I need to work on the width. That's what the four days over Christmas is for.

And how nice it was, last night, to sit on the sofa with a fellow crafter, talking quilting, backing and how untidy we each think our work is. And then we sat and looked at the different fabrics that make up my patchwork family. "What's this one from?" she'd ask. "Oh, that's one of my Dad's favourite shirts". Or, "that's my bridesmaid's dress from Belinda's wedding".

Today I'm planning to sew some more of my sister Chris into the family.

London - I love you but....

2010-12-17T23:00:00.009Z

I just can't love your limescale.

Mostly I can avoid it, but it's when I'm making a cup of tea at work and something vaguely resembling a small lime-esque brain falls out of the kettle, that I'm reminded.

In how many places do your kettles end up rattling with all the limescale that attaches itself to the inside, and then flakes off just in time to end up in your morning beverage?

It's London's notoriously hard water which is to blame. The water which blatantly refuses to remove anything from your hair when 'washing' it. This means that anytime you shower in a soft water location, you end up looking like a five year old who was left alone with the bubble bath.

'Tis the season...

2010-12-16T08:57:00.003Z

.... to fly to New Zealand.

Everyone's doing it. Back to brilliant sunshine (or so it seems at the moment), flat whites, friends, unexpected sunburn, Monteiths Summer Ale, and family.

Whether it's for weddings, babies or visas, a lot of people decide to make the trip back to NZ over the English winter. And not surprising why.

But this time around I'm going straight through. Head down, scarf on, with eyes watering from the piercing cold, I'm charging straight through this winter with no Southern Hemisphere reprieve.

In the thick of it

2010-12-15T13:09:00.004Z

It's easy to forget that here in London we really are right in amongst it. However, a short taxi ride midday yesterday proved a nice reminder.

We jumped in the cab at Victoria and our taxi driver (after shooing away the man he'd just paid a quid not to get in his cab) informed us we'd have to take the slightly longer route because of the student protests at Westminster. Just down the road the House of Lords was voting on tripling university fees, and crowds of students (and others) were shouting their loudest to voice their disgust.

Just as soon as we had driven around the protests did we find ourselves travelling through the midst of another protest and an absolute media circus. Our cabbie just had to say "Wiki leaks", as we cruised past the court where Julian Assange, who has spent his last little while at a prison not so far from my house, was having his bail hearing.

It's funny, you're constantly reading about all these various events but only occasionally remember that so much of it is right here (outside the cab window).

Two worlds collide

2010-12-05T16:50:00.009Z

A few weeks ago, I think I went to the Cayman Islands. It was lovely and warm. We swam, and ate, read, and drank cocktails....

And then I came back to London. It was cold...

But quite pretty.

Oh my, how time flies

2010-11-28T22:17:00.004Z

Last week marked three years of my living in Clapham - London, England.

After thirty six months I can now walk into the office in the morning and say 'Alright Mike' without feeling like a complete fool.

I know off the top of my head that probably the best way, of the many, to get from Blackfriars to Battersea is to walk to Temple, take the District line to Victoria, and then take the Victoria Line, southbound, to Vauxhall. Walk to the bus station and get the 344 which will drop you right on Battersea High Street.

On a really cold Saturday afternoon I just crave a good cup of tea. And after a long day at work, it's very nice to walk across the bridge and go to the slightly rundown local for a pint (or two) of London Pride.

There are rituals and traditions now. Pub quiz on a Sunday; Pancake Day; craft nights; carrying the Christmas tree home on one shoulder at the start of Advent; our fabulous catered parties...

The longer I stay here, the faster the years go by. Slowly what was once new and novel grows to be everyday, but not necessarily in a bad way; and it becomes more and more difficult to remember life without Clapham - London, England.

A small nation of great strength

2010-11-26T09:15:00.005Z

Tragedy hits the world in its own way every day, but sometimes it comes too close to home.

I don't really follow the All Blacks' progress; I live through my family for significant political updates; news of the NZ weather comes to me via facebook updates; and it seems to take me many hours to get the news on local natural disasters. But when an underground explosion left 29 West Coast of New Zealand miners underground, I was right there.

You wake in the morning, and check on the miners. On the bus to work, you read about miners. Last thing at night, look for any updates on the miners. All the time hoping for a miracle.

29 different faces, 29 different mothers, 29 different favourite foods.

29 different lives. All lost.

New Zealand is just a little country. Usually sheltered from significant sorrow, this kind of disaster rocks it to the core. But just a colony of penguins in the bitterest of Antarctic winters, this great country will pull together so very tightly to make sure that everyone is ok in the end.

Winter wonderful

2010-11-19T09:46:00.002Z

In my little town in Japan, you could always tell when winter was properly on its way. The trees that stood in all the gardens and parks would, seemingly overnight, be decorated with a complicated system of ropes to stabilise each and every branch. This defence was to brace them for the impending heavy snow which would inevitably want to rest awhile in the arms of the trees.

The yearly construction of this armour would always bring on a sense of foreboding in me, but was also a reminder of the immense beauty of winter in Japan.

My overwhelming memory of winter there, is one of quiet. Of all the seasons, winter was the most silent. Just the squeak of your shoes on the surface of the snow as you walked to your car in the morning.

Here in London, winter's yearly entrance isn't quite so obtrusive. She sneaks up, giving you just small clues, which only after you start to put them all together, do you realise she is well and truly on her way.

Firstly the clocks go back, then there are more red, orange and yellow leaves on the ground than on the trees. Then you switch the heating on and all of a sudden, someone mentions that snow has been forecast somewhere in the country. That's when you add up everything and realise winter has settled in for the long haul.

She brings with her crystal clear days (like today) where you wonder if the sky might just smash into a million pieces; spicy mulled wine from paper cups at Christmas markets; a dusting off of your collection of brightly coloured hats, scarves and gloves; stews, pies and soups; and a nice stretch of indoor time that is slower and more relaxed than other times of year, filled with films, craft, and a lot of good books.

Fading memories

2010-11-17T23:12:00.002Z

My Wednesday run this week wasn't much like my Wednesday run last week.

Tonight I ran in long trousers, a thermal and a bright coloured rain jacket to protect myself from the cold, dark and rain.

Last Wednesday my run was barefoot along a seven mile Caribbean beach. "Let's run to the Ritz-Carlton and then back to our condo for a swim in the crystal clear, blue water".

Sigh.

Hole-in-one cover

2010-11-16T21:44:00.002Z

In a fit of pre-travel paranoia, I thought I'd check the terms and conditions of my super cheap travel insurance to check that it covered, well... anything really.

In actual fact, I discovered on close examination, that it covers quite a lot.

Over and above all of the normal things (diving, snorkeling, snowboarding, hijacking) my travel insurance policy also specifies that it will cover me for: sledging, swimming with dolphins, climbing the Sydney Harbour Bridge, riding in a reindeer-drawn sleigh, wheelchair basketball, and ice cricket.

But the best bit was my 'golf insurance'. If I happened to be participating in a golf competition, and also happened to get a hole in one (I do understand the odds of both of these occurring are only slightly better than my witnessing an alien landing) then my insurance would cover me for "all customary bar expenses incurred as a result of, and immediately subsequent to, achieving a hole-in-one during a competition round".

And here was me wondered about how I was going to cover the bar tab at the 19th hole, after a big day of ice cricket. Phew.

Room 101

2010-10-29T09:25:00.000+01:00

Made famous by George Orwell's '1984', Room 101 is the place that contains your worst fear or nightmare. On a slightly lighter note, according to the BBC TV show of the same name, it is where you can send your pet peeves.

With that in mind, what would you condemn to Room 101?

I've spent some time (mainly commuting hours) collating a short list of items or actions I'd like to throw into Room 101 and lock the door.

- People who wear sunglasses inside
I don't know why this annoys me so, but it does.

- Wheelie bags on the streets of London
I have almost lost my little toe numerous times when people have decided to suddenly alter the trajectory of their bag

- Massive umbrellas
They seem to have something to prove and do their best to embed their legs into the side of your head. And they can get you when they're both up and down. The other day I just about lost my eye and my foot simultaneously from someone walking up stairs with an unruly wheelie bag and a massive umbrella which came swinging back and came within inches from my face.

On the telly version, Michael Parkinson put the small piece of cotton which holds a new pair of socks together in Room 101, and Stephen Fry sent in Australian Questioning Intonation. Other gems include: bad editing in film musicals, eating in the cinema, the skin on rice pudding, and novelty underpants.

Autumn affairs

2010-10-27T21:16:00.003+01:00

It can be a depressing time of year, these autumnal months. Clocks going back, days getting shorter, central heating going on.. So it seems necessary to fill as many of the days with amusing events as physically possible. Halloween, fireworks, Thanksgiving and then of course Christmas. Cram in the festivals of both darkness and light in an attempt to get us all through to spring.

My Dad

2010-10-18T22:43:00.006+01:00

My dad is one of the greatest people in the whole, wide world.

He's mathematical and musical all in one, and he'll go and build things from scratch like sheds, boats, vege gardens and even a swimming pool once.

Photo albums weave their images with early memories, making the young dad I can picture, really cool. Aviator sunglasses, and a droopy mustache, listening to Dire Straits on tape.

During my entire childhood, dad spent an inordinate amount of time on the side of a soccer field, cricket pitch or netball court. Day in, day out, he would watch his athletically mediocre daughter, in the wind, rain or frostiness. With no complaints.

He's done countless oil changes, replaced car parts, and rescued me one night from the side of the road when my clutch cable snapped. Dad taught me to use the Internet, do long division, swim and ride a bike. And the extent of my chemistry learning came from helping dad with swimming pool maintenance. But one of the biggest parts of me that comes straight from dad, is my love for the sea. Not much was ever better than sitting in the cockpit of Hibiscus II with my dad.

We've shared many an evening or weekend afternoon over a pack of cards attempting to reclaim or retain the 'gin' crown. Dad can beat me hands down on a crossword (I once brought him back a bunch of half done ones when I'd been travelling around India) but we're pretty even when it comes to cards.

As the years go by, my dad just seems to get more talented, funny, thoughtful, and even though he's now without the aviators and droopy mustache, still very, very cool.

My family

2010-10-09T14:26:00.002+01:00

I often think that I must surely be one of the luckiest people in the world to be born into such a wonderful collection of people. So I thought I'd write some about them. Starting with the women who immediately surround me.

A letter to my matriarchy

2010-10-09T14:22:00.002+01:00

My grandmother, mother and sisters, so much of what I now am comes from each of you.

My granny, who, if I squeeze my eyes closed, I can just see your outline in a doorway; a kind shadow of my history. You are the soft toy rabbit I still have on my now-adult bed, bearing the scars of constant love for thirty years. You too are the faded recipes handed down to my mum, which we were all reared on. The Christmas pudding with its foil wrapped coins, and one 'bachelor' button. After a long stretch when mum thought she was going to have three eternally-single daughters on her hands, one Christmas she changed it to a 'baby' button. Footloose and fancy-free, we picked through the pudding very carefully that year.

To my mother. You, of all the matriarchs make up the most significant portion of me. My fingers which crave to be covered in soil and watch things grow. My hands that try to sculpt fabric just as you do; unsuccessfully. The three of us girls grew up wearing the products of your labour and skill; finely smocked dresses which undoubtedly ended up covered in dog hair and grass stains.

You and I have exactly the same Irish eyes, which you share with a sister; as I do. A pale sky blue like the bottom of the town lido where you'd sometimes set me free in the summertime.

And my trail-blazing big sister. You are my itchy feet. I grew up receiving your postcards from far-flung places in our rural mailbox where starlings nested. All the way from Pakistan, Iran, and Iceland you'd write. I didn't recognise you when you returned. Skin tanned from travel, your rucksack years older and full of trinkets from the world. At seventeen, I could feel my wings wanting to flap right then.

As a small child you would gather stones from our driveway, carefully putting them in mum's preserving jars and keeping them under the bathroom sink. Now I find myself on beaches and islands, on the other side of the world, picking stones to add to my collection. Next to my bathroom sink.

And I can't forget my other big sister who I spent so much of my childhood looking up to, my neck now aches. You are the ever-limber dancer's muscles that act like strings, keeping us all together. The constant and reassuring hand on my shoulder which props me up when times are hard.

And now this family has two tiny girls who join this feminine history. With the same big blue eyes, they learn from each of us. Wearing the beautiful flowery smocked dresses that inevitably end up covered in dog hair and grass stains.

And breathe...

2010-10-09T13:28:00.002+01:00

It's done. At about 2am on Tuesday morning I clicked 'send' which signalled the end of Masters year one.

It's been a bumpy but enjoyable ride. My textbook collection is substantially bigger; not so sure about my knowledge of management theories though.

Now I'm going to enjoy that feeling of not having the small academic gremlin sitting on my shoulder always saying "you really should be studying you know".

My world

2010-10-02T17:06:00.002+01:00

This is my world right now. 3,500 words to go until the end of the school year.

Surrounded by wads of articles and textbooks stretched open on my bedroom floor, I type in fits and starts. Waves of inspiration coming either side of long periods of nothingness.

The not-so-fairy godmother

2010-09-27T22:00:00.002+01:00

I'm now a godmother, twice over. One in the conventional religious style, one in a more eclectic sense.

Even though I'm not a religious person, it was really quite special sitting in that church yesterday, holding this wee little man, promising that I would help his parents to teach him the ins and outs of life. Completely oblivious, Caleb just kicked his legs and chewed the corner of the script given to us by the priest.

My godmotherly powers are required to stretch across the oceans, as the beautiful young Niamh comes under my jurisdiction as well. Remote-godmothering is quite difficult at times, but I'm constructing the tutorials for when she gets the hang of skype.

Friday hallucinations

2010-09-24T14:31:00.003+01:00

I think I may have just seen four Abba impersonators, complete with gold hot pants and blonde shoulder-length haircuts singing right next to St Paul's. Yes, that Cathedral which has been there since 604AD. I wonder how many Abba bands St Paul's has seen in its time?

Then just around the corner I saw a middle-aged man in a suit selling The Big Issue.

I'm considering reducing my coffee consumption.

Darkness and light

2010-09-21T13:11:00.003+01:00

My alarm went off in the dark this morning. I awoke in wonder about what on earth was going on, until it dawned on me. It hadn't yet dawned outside.

The edges of winter are almost upon us. With her long fingers, she silently closes in on each end of the day.

As I ventured down for a shower, I could see the warm glow of the street lights through the window on the stairs. Another reminder that you're up before nature intended.

As Thomas Fuller said: "It is always darkest just before the Day dawneth".

5 things that worry me on a regular basis

2010-09-17T12:42:00.010+01:00

1. Where all the rubbish goes. Because I never see it once I farewell it into the wheelie bin

2. Where all the rubbish is going to go once the place it goes now is full

3. People can quite happily leave taps running when Yemen is about to run out of water

4. Sarah Palin might run for U.S. President

5. When I walk to work in a skirt or shorts, my legs end up with a very fine layer of black filth on them. What do my lungs look like I wonder?

Religious affairs

2010-09-16T13:28:00.010+01:00

The Pope's in town. Well almost anyway.

Transport for London emailed to let me know that the Popemobile may cause disruption to my travel plans over the next few days. Pope's entourage will be a man down after one of his aides said that landing at Heathrow airport was like entering a third world country. And apparently he wasn't talking about how long it takes for your luggage to come out, or even the fact that you have to queue at immigration for about as long as it took you to fly there.

In other religious news this week, I discovered I'm Catholic. Well, sort of. I was christened at the Pahiatua Roman Catholic Church a few days before my first birthday. Now I vaguely thought I had been christened, as I'm sure I've seen the photos before. But I for some reason, I didn't think it was at a Catholic Church.

Religion is a funny thing. And a pretty touchy one, as we know now more than ever. It's not something I've ever really been into, hence not knowing my allocated faith until three days ago. But I have no problem at all with other people believing.

It's typical, however, that I would end up with an association to the particular branch of religion which I have such strong doubts about. I'm wondering if I should try and get some time with the Pope, now I have a vested interest in his wacky policies. But then I remember I'm a woman, and so probably have very little sway.

Right, that's enough religious commentary for this blog.

At the check-out

2010-09-10T13:06:00.006+01:00

Man behind the counter at Boots Pharmacy: "Do you have a Boots advantage card?"

Me: "yes. It's in my purse somewhere. Hold on a minute... Train tickets from last month.. Business card collection.. receipts for a week of Tescos lunches.. Costa Coffee and Starbucks card (for free wireless which I can't remember the password on).. Organ donor card in case of being knocked down by bus.. Clapham Picture House membership card... Oh this is it! Oh no, that's my PADI diving licence.......

Ok, here it is. Stuck between my Waterstone's loyalty card and Lovefilm gift card."

My housemate Elly just about passes out when she sees my purse. It's a good thing she's never seen my desk at work.

When the earth moves

2010-09-08T13:05:00.002+01:00

It's pretty scary to wake up on a Saturday morning and see photos of the second largest city in your country of birth literally shaken to pieces.

It's not that earthquakes arrive unexpectedly in New Zealand. After all, the china at Mum and Dad's place is stuck to the sideboard with earthquake glue. But as much as you spend time putting together your home emergency pack, a concept which is drummed into you from an early age; you still find it difficult to imagine ever needing to open those particular cans of baked beans.

But all the way on the other side of the world, people in Christchurch having been discovering just what they packed away for emergencies like this, or what they didn't.

Knowing what kind of people Cantabrians are, I'm sure they are getting on, in a no-fuss way kind of way, with re-building their lives. Footage of people living in relief shelters breaks my heart a little bit, but then I try to remind myself that these people will be making the best of it. And that they are lucky enough to have a government which can afford to be very supportive. Unlike all those people in relief shelters in Haiti, Pakistan...

As much as we think we can rule her, Mother Nature will always find a way to show us who is boss on this planet.

Seasonal upheaval

2010-09-02T22:46:00.003+01:00

I wonder sometimes if the month of September struggles with self-esteem issues on this side of the world. It is a pretty tough ride to follow August, the finale of summer. When the calendar flips over into September we can no longer hide from the end of the warmth.

I remember in Japan how the seasons used to shut on and off like light switches. It would be hot for months and then all of a sudden you would wake up and immediately have to dust off your cardigan collection again.

Here the seasons flow from one season to the next, their arms and legs wrapped around each other. One day it's rainy and 15 degrees, and you swear it's all over. Then a day later it's all back on in a blaze of glory.

But it's almost time to admit defeat. To plan the Halloween and fireworks parties and to think about potential holidays in the snow. All ways of making ourselves feel better as we contemplate hibernation again.

Ruralness

2010-08-31T22:13:00.004+01:00

It's getting more and more difficult to deny the fact that I'm a country girl at heart. And weekends knee-deep in ruralness only provide more evidence for the case.

I love London. Really I do. Her narrow and chaotic streets; acres of stretched out wild green slapped straight on city sprawl; and her hundreds of overflowing pubs where punters perch, pints in hand, on the curb edges.

But the truth is that my hands ache to be in the soil and my feet long to climb hills. I want to make friends with the local birds, and have a big fat grumpy cat which likes to sleep on my feet in the winter time.

For the moment however, I sustain myself on small bites of countryside, like last weekend in Yorkshire. Where the farmers had just finished haymaking, and the moors were painted in a deep purple hue.

(View from Roseberry Topping - if you look closely you can see the seemingly teeny-tiny bales of hay)

Teapot fancy

2010-08-27T08:19:00.002+01:00

We've begun a teapot collection. On Sunday in Hampstead, I started it all by investing in a little red teapot.

Last night, our newest member of the family made excellent camomille tea for three. We even broke out our best Crown Lynn for the occasion.

Goodbye Pork Pie*

2010-08-14T15:16:00.007+01:00

Vegetarians - look away.

The other day I was given a pork pie carried all the way from Yorkshire. I'd never had a pork pie before. In fact, when it came to the next available meal time, I had no idea how to eat this pie which was much heavier than the average pie.

So I did what anyone would do if they had a pie and didn't know what to do with it. I asked the internet. It told me I should eat it cold. And probably not best to eat all of it. For your arteries' sake. Unfortunately my research also told me how this pie was made, which was something that it turns out, I really didn't want to know. But it was there now, on the bench and waiting for me to try it. And I'm all about trying new things.

And you know what? It was really good. Especially with chutney. Another piece of British culinary history ticked off the 'to do' list.

(* title will be lost on anyone who isn't from New Zealand or a lover of obscure and average early 1980s films)

Out to Africa

2010-08-12T12:34:00.007+01:00

Today a very lovely former Franconia lady flies with her equally lovely partner in crime, to a life in Africa. Well, at least a year or two of life.

They are bound for The Gambia. For those who haven't yet looked up The Gambia to find out where the hell it is, when you do, you'll find it in Western Africa, sandwiched between Senegal.

I remember well the night we sat at the kitchen table just after Anika had found out The Gambia was on the cards. Western African geography was not a speciality of ours, so we went straight to the wonders of Wikipedia. The fact that Anika could be moving to a country we had to look up on the Internet to find the whereabouts of, was something to be marvelled at. Not to mention it being one of the few countries in the world that gets a definite article at the front of its name. That makes it even cooler.

And now they have gone. Off to new jobs, a new town, and a house with no electricity. I'm so jealous it hurts.

Corps de aeroplane

2010-08-11T08:39:00.010+01:00

If you leave my house sometime between 6-7am on a clear-skied weekday morning, you'll get to see something quite majestic.

Walking along my road, away from the house, you hear them before you see them. Turn your head and you wont miss the first in line.

With a dull roar, this massive piece of metal passes overhead, so low you think you could just reach up and pluck it from the sky. Their bloated white bellies shine in the early morning sunlight, just their coloured tails making them different.

As this plane-shaped cut out slides across the sky, another follows straight behind it. And then another. In a long line reaching back to the horizon, they follow identical steps to a perfectly choreographed dance; the same wing dip here, an elegant arch there. All heading for home.

Thousands of people are cased in their shells, all with grainy eyes and tired legs. They're coming for business, returning from honeymoon, immigrating, and are about to begin a 'once in a lifetime' trip.

I've been up there too. Listening to the co-pilot tell me it's a beautiful day in London with a temperature of 10 degrees. Nose pressed to the window, I can see the landmarks slide by. Tower Bridge, The London Eye, the Thames snaking its way across the city. All through my own grainy eyes.

But for the moment, I'm on the outside of the window, looking up. Watching the sky dance.

Cupcake Saturday

2010-08-08T18:02:00.006+01:00

On a greyish Saturday afternoon....

Take one slightly floured, bright red apron....

Some pretty cupcake recipe books (complete with stuck together pages)...

One beautiful, bright red, Kenwood mixer (one of my most favourite possessions in the world, probably second only to my bright red racing bike)

And create some cute little cupcakes with remarkable fluffy butter cream icing (all thanks to the marvelous mixer).

Our cabs

2010-08-06T13:03:00.001+01:00

I saw something really cute on the way to work the other day. Down a quiet street in Southwark, there is a place where broken taxis go to be healed. There were loads of them; some parked on the street, patiently waiting for their turn; others in the midst of serious surgery, lined up with their mouths opened wide.

I do love London's cabs. Their snub noses, and rounded shape. They are said to be specially designed to be able to turn on a six-pence; and the passenger compartment has extra head room, originally for top hats. Although the flip down, backwards facing seats mean that with strong brakes applied, you could well end up in the lap of the person opposite you.

Last week a colleague and I were in Birmingham, and had a quite different taxi experience. We were collected by some Ford sedan, with a magnetic taxi company logo on the side. Aside from the logo, we could have just jumped in someone's family car. We slid across the backseat, feeling rather intimate with the driver, and a little like we might be kidnapped. When we got to the station he turned around and said "how much do you pay?" We looked at one another, completely bemused. We certainly weren't in London anymore. Eventually negotiating a fair price for both parties (£7) we slid out again, and onto the train.

It's easy to forget the wonder of London's 21,000 black cabs. Yes, they clog up the streets, and yes, they pollute the city. But I can't help think they are really quite cute.

Here's to strangers

2010-07-23T08:45:00.007+01:00

One of the things I love about London is the mad variation of people you get to randomly meet. People who are so different from yourself, it's almost like they're from somewhere out near the 'left sock' planet.

Like the woman I met last week, who was a friend of a friend's friend, and just happened to be walking past an outdoor beer drinking pub moment. She's a very beautiful, high flyer who works on the trading floor in the City, lives in South Kensington with her boyfriend, immigrated from the States twelve years ago and takes taxis to work.

As you can see, about as far away from my London life as is humanly possible.

She flipped when I said I walk five miles to work every morning; then telling the story of the day of 7/7 when everything stopped and she had to walk home in killer heels, stopping at bars along the way for martinis.

This wonderfully friendly and amusing woman was quite happy to stand there under the trees chatting away to two strangers, sharing stories like old friends. And then, after a couple of glasses of rosé, we farewelled her as she drove off in her Kensington-bound taxi.

And so we were left there, finishing our drinks, talking about how we love interesting strangers.

Sunday down South

2010-07-20T09:02:00.002+01:00

On a sunny Sunday afternoon, head to the Lambeth Country Fair to watch one of the Franconia ladies on stage singing her heart out. Eat a hot dog, sit on the grass, and soak up the wonders of South London.

'Be a tourist' Sunday

2010-07-13T23:05:00.001+01:00

Pack a picnic, grab a paper, and head towards a rather pretty part of this fine city. Have lunch on a rug on the meridian line; see some nautical history at the Maritime Museum; take in a show at the Planetarium (where, reclined in the dark, you have to force your eyelids away from sleep) and catch the view from the observatory. A tall spot where the old of Greenwich meets the new of Canary Wharf.

Great food, wonderful company, fabulous weather, and beautiful sights. A good Sunday out.

An artist's sky

2010-07-13T22:58:00.003+01:00

Sometimes it's from the simplest of places (like on a beach towel in the middle of Clapham Common) you see the most beautiful sights.

Tube spotting

2010-07-13T22:47:00.000+01:00

Just like trains have their anorak wearing, shoulder bag carrying, note taking friends; it seems the tube has its own breed of 'spotters'.

On a trip to Brixton a little while ago, I was joined in my Victoria Line carriage by a group for five quite sweaty men carrying tube maps. One of them was wearing a T shirt which read 'Tube Olympics 2008'. This caught my eye. I remember well the Beijing Olympics which were in 2008, but it seems the Tube Olympics passed me by somehow.

It quickly became apparent (through my blatant eavesdropping) that these men were carrying out some sort of underground race against time. It was a beautifully hot day above ground which meant the man in the T shirt spent a lot of the ride mopping his beaded bow as he regaled stories to a younger team member mostly starting 'this one time on the District Line....'

After calculating what exit to take in order to spend the least amount of time on the platform, the team sped off into the distance, maps frantically flapping and bright white trainers flashing.

All this carry-on tickled my intrigue so I found myself doing some research into just what these 'tube spotters' might be participating in. What I discovered was a rather long history of something called 'The Tube Challenge'.
The idea of this challenge is to visit all the tube stations in the fastest time possible. And it seems people have been trying this for sixty years now. The current official Guinness World Record stands at 16 hours, 44 minutes and 16 seconds.

Wikipedia tells me of Bob Robinson who is the most prolific Tube Challenger of all, having made 51 attempts between 1979 and 2000, completing 46 and setting the record time on 6 occasions. Bob obviously wasn't getting on the Northern Line at 8am. It can take what seems close to 16 hours just to get on a train that isn't packed like a cattle truck.

Of course as the London Underground network continues to expand, it becomes more and more difficult to beat records. Let's just hope they don't turn to performance-enhancing drugs and go the way of other endurance sports.

Summer love

2010-07-10T08:57:00.003+01:00

Just like the eagerly anticipated birth of a child, after nine long months of waiting, summer has knocked on London's door, and invited herself inside. And she's not leaving yet.

Yesterday was the hottest day of the year, and after emerging from an office which always has its air conditioning set to 'Arctic' it was a wonderful feeling to step into the post-work heat.

I love to walk along the riverside on a regular day, but last night Southbank was just alive with the rest of London celebrating the end of the working week and arrival of our so elusive friend, summer. She never writes, she never calls, then just almost out of the blue, she turns up to stay for a week.

And so I found myself standing barefoot at a bar carpeted with astro turf, next to a massive inflatable, upside down, purple cow, drinking beers and chatting with some lovely people, in the evening sunshine. If I'd had more beers I wouldn't have believed it this morning. The fact it was about 30 degrees, that is.

After a late dinner, we walked alongside a placid Thames which hosted on its banks buskers of varying talents, couples getting carried away in the moment, rows of trees lit with firefly-like bulbs, and people just like us soaking up this wonderful side of London.

Oh I do love a good charity shop

2010-07-03T19:11:00.002+01:00

Charity shopping is for those amongst us who crave the shopping challenge that Oxford Street simply doesn't provide.

Without even walking into Topshop you know exactly what will be in there, because half of the people on the street outside are already wearing it. Enter your local Age UK however, and you just have no idea what you might find.

Along with the thrill of the hunt, you also avoid any contact with sullen 19 year old shop assistants, getting instead kind and unobtrusive folk happy to let you potter your way around their store, rather than hounding you in order to meet their chain store sales targets.

And if you do like I do, and stick to your local high street, you'll find yourself sharing the store with people like you: not in a rush, or frantically searching for the perfect 'something'; just having a wee look around a local store on a Saturday morning.

Then on all those times you walk away with a gem, not only have you gotten yourself a complete bargain, and recycled a piece of clothing someone else didn't want, you've also made quite a decent donation to a worthy cause. The true definition of a win-win situation.

Little star

2010-06-16T21:01:00.003+01:00

Last week the world lost a shining star. Someone who had defied the odds for so long, maybe I'd decided the experts just gotten something wrong, and that in fact she would be around for a long time to come. But no.

She was someone who squeezed more life and spirit into her two decades than most of us could manage in our entire, much longer lifespans. If we could all just be a little bit more like this little star then life would be a much livelier experience.

And now that this short life is over, this wonderful young lady lives on as a bunch of smiling memories, like bright yellow sunflowers, which will always stay in the hearts and minds of the incredibly large number of people she touched with her life, love, and laughter.

10 things I'm going to do now the semester is over

2010-06-10T13:12:00.004+01:00

Write some snail mail
Spend more time with my lettuces
Read a book. And not one with references or diagrams
Go on holiday. Turkey - look out
Finally send my dad his birthday present. Sorry Dad!
Make time for some friendly faces around here I haven't seen for ages
Go to the cinema
Pick up my quilt again
Write something creative
Sleep. Sleep. Sleep

Friday Transportation

2010-05-29T14:43:00.004+01:00

On our way to Islington for 'post-longest day at work ever' drinks - a friend and I had a new experience. We got to ride a 'number 4' bus.

Now, in some cities that might not be so unusual but in London, it is obviously quite unique for them to get this low. I still remember the time I saw the number 1 drive past me at Elephant & Castle. Was very exciting.

So here we were on the lowest numbered bus either of us had been on, when the bus driver announced a detour. The guy sitting in front of us turned around and asked if we knew where the new route would take us. "I don't know" said my bus buddy. "We've never taken a single figure bus before", as if to explain our ignorance.

Yesterday also found me in the back of a taxi with a driver who felt he should share his 'largest fares ever' stories with us. Our entire journey from Euston Station back to work in the City. There was the time he drove someone to Cardiff for £330; to Ipswich for £200; To Gatwick for £150... "And the geezer didn't even ask for a receipt!".

I'm always amused at taxi drivers (including this one) who feel they must outline the finer details of the route they are about to take me on, as if I'm going to argue with someone who has probably spent about 34 months studying for a London navigational exam called 'The Knowledge'.

Interesting, studies have shown that cabbies in London tend to develop an especially large hippocampus, which is a region of the brain implicated in navigational ability.

Some places I've been recently

2010-05-26T21:55:00.012+01:00

I'm not usually one for holiday snaps, but I thought I'd throw in a few nice shots of a couple of beautiful places I went to recently.

Complete opposite ends of the spectrum, with one being wild and ruggedly stunning; the other traditionally grand and awe-inspiring. Trains got me some, or all of the way each time, so no battling with Icelandic ash.

In Wales we stayed the weekend in a renovated church run by a slightly mad London woman while roaming the great outdoors, climbing a mountain, and drinking the local ales.

A couple of weekends later and the air was altogether more cosmopolitan. 36 hours in Paris with just a handbag and a fabulous friend for company. We sat in the sunshine and ate light and delicate pastries, drinking silky smooth espresso;

we visited the resting place of Oscar Wilde, Jim Morrison and thousands of other grand Parisians, resting in a green oasis still within the city limits.

We saw garden sculptures, took the metro all over, ate escargot, drank carafes of cheap red wine and got laughed at by a rude French waiter. All the things you should do on a trip to Paris.

A sweet education

2010-05-18T22:21:00.002+01:00

Quote of the day:

"Emma generally seems to know quite a bit if you ask her about things, but if you ask her anything about English sweets or crisps, it is like talking to a three year old. She knows nothing and has never tried anything."

And so began my education.

Today it was a 'Twister'. Best described as an iced lolly on a stick, with a twist of ice cream through it, it is apparently pineapple, lemon and lime flavoured,with strawberry on the inside. Wikipedia tells me the Twister was first produced in 1982.

I have to say it went down quite nicely as a 3pm snack. Particularly as the usual Arctic-like office air conditioning was having an Amazon rainforest day. We sat there, as a team, trying to look serious at our desks, diligently doing our work, all sucking on traffic light coloured ice creams.

Tribulations of academia

2010-05-14T23:41:00.004+01:00

It is interesting being a student again. Not in an "oh learning is so interesting" kind of way, although that is the case. No, I mean that it is interesting seeing how I do things differently to the last three times I've studied for a qualification.

I have such vivid memories of sitting in front of a computer, not even being able to bare looking at the essay anymore. I'd just print it, breathe a sigh of relief and go celebrate. These days I do like I did tonight, which was to sit in front of my computer, and dither terribly for about half an hour. Reading it again and again, checking three times all the attachments are there and I've spelled my last name correctly. Then eventually I muster the courage to send it off, after which the only feeling I get is an impending sense of doom. Not more waves of immense relief. Just fear that I've done something idiotic.

Anyway, in an attempt to feel some relief prior to the goblins of exam study moving on in, I'm off to Paris for the night. 36 hours avec fabulous friend and one small (well packed) handbag. C'est merveilleux.

Love & Marriage

2010-05-11T23:25:00.003+01:00

I used to be a complete cynic, and whilst not all of that has washed away, I've come to realise there is something quite lovely about the institution of marriage.

This year I have been fortunate enough to witness the marriages of four wonderful people who each wanted to stand up in front of a bunch of friends and relatives and exclaim their feelings for the other. The rest of us were lucky enough to dress up nice, drink the champagne, and share the day.

The papers tell me that marriage is more unpopular now than almost ever before, but no one has told that to my friends. And my friends' friends. Which is a good thing.

As I contemplate missing another special wedding this weekend, on the other side of the world, I am pleased that some are still bucking the trend by dressing up, hiring a venue, inviting loved ones, and standing up in front of a crowd to say 'I choose you'.

That old democratic right

2010-05-05T21:42:00.002+01:00

Just now, mid-Wednesday evening, I sat on my bedroom floor and decided who I want to represent me in the next parliament.

It is the first time I have voted under a 'first-past-the-post' system, so felt slightly ripped off at only getting one vote, but considering I'm an immigrant, it was pretty nice of the country to let me contribute all the same.

Tomorrow is a big day here. Just about anything could happen. No more do we have to watch the terrible Conservative billboards go past the bus window; there wont be the hideous Gordon Brown election gaffs to wince at; and the amount of junk mail the Franconia ladies get will reduce right back down to Indian takeaway flyers and dodgy taxi cab business cards.

Who knows what the result will be tomorrow, but I plan on staying up all hours watching it roll in; probably until my head eventually tips back and sleep overcomes me on the sofa. My life is wild. But I love it.

Geological warfare

2010-04-20T08:27:00.002+01:00

I always find it nice on that odd occasion when Mother Nature says "take that world! You may think you rule, but let me show you who is really boss". We had it in wintertime with the snow dumps; and now she has done it again, via volcanic activity.

Last weekend found the skies of London eerily quiet. No vapour trails slicing through the skies, but no roaring of 737s overhead either.

The weather was stunning, which led to the thought that the ash cloud is perhaps now nothing to do with an Icelandic volcano, and more about the vast number of bbqs which were lit on the afternoons of Saturday and Sunday.

Speaking of crazy thoughts, I do love a good conspiracy theory. Apparently this Icelandic ash cloud is actually just an excuse to get all the planes out of the sky because of a massive terrorism plot. Genius. Even the Met Service are involved it seems. Brilliant.

If only those in power were really that creative.

The romanticism of rail

2010-04-17T12:14:00.003+01:00

Yesterday, for a dull reason I wont go into, I made my way to work by train, rather than the usual red double-decker 155.

There really is something quite romantic about arriving into a grand railway station like Waterloo. I felt I should have a stack of brown suitcases and a bodiced dress with a quaint hat for daytime wear. Certainly not trainers and a shoulder bag.

But all the same, it was quite lovely to step off into a nice piece of history, rather than my usual side of a road at Elephant & Castle. It just reminded me how much I love almost everything about rail, and that maybe it is nearing time for another rail adventure.

Just a B- week

2010-04-15T22:59:00.004+01:00

It's been a B- week so far.

One of those weeks you can't quite put your finger on why it feels average; it just does. A week that is neither a complete fail, nor a blinding success; just hovering around the darker side of good.

It is the kind of week when your toast lands jam-side down. And three mornings in a row you see the bus accelerating away from the bus stop as you get to the end of your road. A week when it is bound to start raining just as you step outside, umbrella-less.

To coincide with the B- week, it has also been one of those infamous, and much dreaded 'what am I doing with my life?' weeks. To be fair they used to be a lot more common, so I should be thankful and put up with the odd 'life reassessing' week every few months.

I had to warn my colleagues to not pander my self-reflection; and don't get alarmed at my depth of feeling sorry for myself. Still it has been quite fun shocking them with alarming exclamations all week.

I guess sometimes it is nice to wallow for a bit. And the B- weeks make the A weeks feel all the better.

Repressing bridge urges

2010-04-13T07:42:00.006+01:00

Every morning I make my way across Blackfriars bridge, towards my place of work.

Apart from spending my bridge time concentrating on not getting mown down by determined commuters, I spend most of my crossing trying to repress the urge to throw the entire contents of my pockets over the side, and jump over after it.

Don't get me wrong: life is good. It is just that I always get the strangest urge at high places to either jump off or throw precious things over the side.

I like to call it quirky not weird...

Five great things about today

2010-04-09T10:10:00.002+01:00

1. My morning Jedi powers in getting the lights to turn red as the bus pulled up to the stop, and my charm to encourage the grumpy bus driver to re-open his door for me

2. Cliche I know, but it is a Friday. That's a great thing

3. The thermometer says 16 degrees, and Mr. Sun is spreading his cheer across London. Spring may well have finally arrived

4. Because of the balmy temperature, this evening I'm going to enjoy my first run home for this year

5. The fact that I just remembered I have all the ingredients for the perfect gin & tonic in the house, meaning I can soak up some late-evening sunshine on the terrace listening to the sound of ice cracking in a tall glass

Mr Fox's sunny spot

2010-04-04T15:14:00.005+01:00

It seems nature is starting to come back to life, despite the continued chill.

A magnolia tree (my favourite of all the flowering trees) across the road from us is threatening to open up its alien-like flowers any day now. The bush in our backyard that has mountains of bright red berries for the wood pigeon in the summertime, has now re-gained its leaves. And the animals are making more of an appearance.

Despite encouragement from our kitchen window, one of our squirrels completely missed the fruits of the neighbour's Easter egg hunt this morning, instead going for something tasty in the compost bin.

And just before the rain that is now tapping on my skylight arrived, there was a spot of spring sunshine. And Mr Fox decided to make the most of it, by finding the sunniest spot he possibly could...

On top of the neighbour's fence. What a way to spend a weekend afternoon.

Cold snap

2010-03-31T22:19:00.004+01:00

March is traditionally the time when you start to have those exciting moments of: 'am I now putting my scarf away for good?', 'is this the last time I'll wear my thick winter coat?', 'will I possibly feel like going for a run today because I actually might not be chasing my breath around the common?' and so on...

Unfortunately it can also be the time of false hope, with right now being the perfect example.

We have reversed back to winter. Back-pedalled into the ice age of the past five months. And it is a bit demoralising to tell you the truth. Especially with a four day weekend approaching, and the internet illustrating the weather to me as large clouds with quite determined rain falling from them, and a temperature hovering around ten degrees for all four days.

Right now half of Scotland seems to be completely buried under a thick wad of snow. Tomorrow is the 1st of April and the forecast for London is sleet. And I'm pretty sure they're not kidding.

Come on spring. WHERE ARE YOU?