The time has come to vent one of my annoyances publicly.
For weeks now, protestors have occupied not only St Pauls Cathedral but Finsbury Square in central London, making a complete mess of what is public space. This in itself is completely inexcusable in my mind, but today they have taken it one step further. They have decided to take over and occupy a dis-used building, owned by major Swiss investment bank, UBS.
What on earth are these people thinking?! Some of the claims are along the lines of "due to Government cuts people in society are losing out on their nurseries, community halls and youth centres, so we're going to take over this space which is not in use". BIG problem in my mind - that space is not owned by them! They have no rights to it whatsoever. Sure, if they want to pay UBS for the privilege, and UBS agrees, they have a contract and no problem. But in today's society, you cannot simply walk into some place that does not belong to you and take it over. Just because you think Government cuts are "unfair".
What a load of utter rubbish. Taking away public spaces by setting up hideous protestor camps akin to ghettos in war-torn countries is one thing, but simply thinking you have the right to march onto someone else's property and claim it is simply sheer hubris. Imagine if you go on an extended holiday and come back to find someone camping in your living room, just because they decided to take it over. The police would be called and the intruder forcibly removed.
I am beyond this - bring in the police, and get rid of the lot of the lazy, jobless hooligans who think they can hold this city to ransom.
Rant over. Adios.
Last night I was transported back in time to my teenage-self. No, not literally, but in spirit. The Man of the House and I, along with a good friend, took ourselves off to the sold out Smashing Pumpkins concert in Brixton.
Of course, the band looks little like its former self, which I fell deeply in love with during my angst-ridden teenage years. You know, a time when every song seems to be speaking to you directly, and you feel like the brains behind such important lyrics are somehow walking in your shoes? Along with Nirvana, I devoted a lot of my evening and weekend time to listening to the Smashing Pumpkins. I owned both Siamese Dream and Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness, and drove my mother insane by playing them over and over.
I was surprised to find that little has changed in the 15 years since I belted out the lyrics to Tonight Tonight. The music is similar. Billy Corgan remains an amazing musician who shows little sign of slowing down. And there is a real sense of the songs speaking to you and having a deep meaning. Admittedly, apart from a well-selected few from the early stuff, I didn't know the majority of the songs that were played last night. But I still loved it....
While the band is completely different - only Billy Corgan remains from the original line-up - the feelings that were evoked were similar to those I felt in the mid 1990s. Which brings me to wonder whether I have remained the same? While I thought that my love of "grunge rock" was somehow tied up with a certain time in my life, I discovered last night that it most certainly is not. New music, new(ish) band but the same emotions and sense of being understood. Am I emotionally stunted? Have I carried with me my whole life a sense of being fundamentally mis-understood and different? Or do I just have a fantastic taste in music (and here thanks is due to my father, who even at age 45 fully appreciated the vocal stylings of Kurt Cobain)?
I like to think its the latter. I hope I have come some way from that 15 year old who railed against authority and school and being told what to do. Perhaps I haven't, deep down. I suppose I will never really know what it is that makes me (or anyone) love what I do love....nature or nurture I ask??
Adios....
This weekend just past saw the Man Of The House and I take off to Paris (with our close ex-Sydney friend) on the Eurostar. I am amazed at how simple it is to travel by train around Europe - passport control, immigration and security is a breeze and you simply carry your luggage on with you. This in itself is nothing new to me, as we mostly used trains to get around Europe on our honeymoon. But there is something so wonderfully simple about jumping on a two and a half hour train that transports you from central London to Paris.
This is definitely a key highlight of living in London. Since we have been here, we have been to Berlin and now Paris for long weekends (and the Lake District here in the UK too). While we had to fly to Berlin, it was all relatively easy and simple compared to getting oneself around Australia.
Australian travelling is not what I would call very "user friendly". The distances are so great that quite often flying is the only viable option, unless you are cool with being cooped up in a car for 10 or so hours. I am not. And we all know what a total pain flying can be - you have to arrive one hour before your flight time these days, clear security that is tighter than fort knox and then make it through immigration. Such a hassle! Then you have the horror of actually flying somewhere, with all that take off and landing fuss (I admit to not being completely cool with the aeroplane thing at all times).
So I am a convert to the train method of travel now that I am becoming more European. I even opted for the much longer train journey from Innsbruck to Budapest between the upcoming Christmas and New Year, just because it is so much more pleasant and enjoyable. And here in Europe, people who work on trains just seem so much more friendly and the whole thing is just so down-right comfortable (please note that what I have written does not in any way apply to Amtrack trains - especially between Boston and New York - as discovered earlier this year). Plus these trains are amazingly quick compared to what passes for a train in Australia. They cover great distances in super fast time - what's not to love?!
So train away with confidence readers - it will most certainly be my preferred method of travel in the upcoming years.
Adios....
One of my absolute favourite things to do ever is skiing. Which is weird, because I didn't even go on a ski trip until I was 24 years old, and that weekend at Thredbo (in Australia) with a bunch of girlfriends was somewhat less than successful. But there is something totally addictive about the sport when you get it right. Add that to the fact that The Man of the House is a fabulous skier, and my addiction was set for life when we began dating all those years ago.
We even went skiing on our honeymoon - 14 glorious days in the French and Swiss Alps - far from the beach side resort lounging that most of our now married friends have opted for. So I think its pretty clear just how important skiing is to me (us). This, of course, was one of the biggest draw cards of coming to London. The incredibly close proximity to the awesome slopes of Europe was just too good to pass up. And as we edge ever closer to that first snowfall, our thoughts have turned to ski holidays and long apres-ski sessions with friends.
Who knew that finding a chalet for 6 people in Verbier in January would prove so difficult? For the last two weeks I have felt a little like this:
Not only is it impossible to please everyone (so I quickly discovered), apparently Verbier is the most expensive place on the planet. Of course, none of this mattered to me when I suggested it as our first major ski destination since moving to London. Now I can see why so many people suggest those smaller, less well known resorts when you ask them their favourite. Thank goodness that I finally stumbled upon someone who could help me out, actually emailed and phoned when she said she would, and came up trumps in the "finding a chalet" quest. Big shout out to Independent Mountain (http://www.independentmountain.com/) if you are ever looking for a chalet!
So all in all, I am only missing perhaps one handful of hair. But I now also have the excitement of an impending ski holiday at a resort that I have wanted to ski at for quite some time.
Although the cold and dark can be depressing at times, for skiers it also means one very important thing - SNOW. So fingers and toes crossed for a terrible winter with a tonne of the white stuff!
Adios....
Its official - the sun is setting earlier and the days are turning colder. Winter is almost here. I can smell it in the air, and see it in the fallen autumn leaves. For someone from the Antipodes, this is frightening.
It has definitely meant a slowing down of outdoor weekend activities for The Man of the House and I. So what did this past weekend bring? Something that goes hand in hand with moving continents and perhaps my two least favourite words in the English language ... IKEA and building. I think IKEA is one of those things that divides people. Some people that I mention it to love the idea of home do-it-yourself building and creating (and following laborious diagrams). Others loathe it. Like me. In my mind, building something yourself is an immense waste of precious time and looks a little like this:
I am not a builder of any description. The little confused IKEA man just about sums it up for me.
Thankfully, The Man of the House does a much better job of these things. A little peak at his handiwork:
It got me to thinking, why is IKEA so successful? Why on earth does the thought of building cheap furniture themselves appeal to so many people world-wide? If I had my way, all furniture that entered our home would be fully assembled but sadly, British Pound Sterling doesn't grow on that tree in our backyard. And I think that must be it - if nothing else, IKEA is cheap and stylish. Designs are modern. Everything comes in a flat-pack. You know what you are getting.
In any event, I hope that we are done with building furniture for the near future. There's nothing like a confused blobby man to cause domestic disquiet!
Adios....
Now that daylight savings have been removed from our London lives, it is getting dark pretty quick in the afternoon. And cold. And wet. I am not complaining - everyone in Australia knows that you don't move to England for the weather. All it means I guess is that I will have to be a little more creative when it comes to activities outside of the house.
One indoors activity that I am a huge fan of is shopping. Yep - it can be done in all weather, at all times and every day of the week. And in London, there are a lot of shopping opportunities. Just when I think I have had enough, something new comes along to entice me. For example, the sample sale. Sure there were sample sales in Australia (everyone waiting desperately for that twice a year Sass & Bide sale) but nothing like there is here.
Before arriving in London, a good friend clued me in about certain daily emails that inform you of such things as sample sales when they come along. So this morning, I got wind of a Reiss sample sale in Mayfair and along I went.
Well....I could not breathe in that place! A warehouse room crammed full of clothes and humans all fighting for those same garments is a recipe for disaster in my mind. It was pure chaos. I think I lasted about 3 minutes before the unbearableness of it all forced me back out the door. Sort of like this:
So I think the lesson learnt today is that a sample sale in a place as big as London (even on a Thursday) is a no-go zone. Even for someone as dedicated to the art of shopping and fashion as I am, too many people clawing over clothes is simply not cool.
Time to find a new wet weather hobby....
Even though I was born in New Zealand, I have been an avid follower of the English Premier League for a large chunk of my life. I think this was largely due to the influence of my father, who has been a fervent Manchester United supporter since sometime in the 1960s. Me being me though, I decided to support Chelsea at a point in the early 1990s, mostly to annoy my father.
Moving to London then offered to me the lure of attending Premier League games....
So when tickets to Chelsea v Arsenal in the Premier League became available through The Man of the House's work late last week, we jumped at the chance. The seats were awesome. Simply awesome. Right at ground level, corner post, close enough to smell the grass pitch. The game itself was sensational - 8 goals - a true rarity in this day and age of modern football.
But what intrigued me far more than this was the fans. It is one thing to support a team from thousands of miles away on television, it is truly another thing to be there in the thick of it. One guy seated right behind me managed to keep up a running commentary about everything his beloved Chelsea FC were doing wrong throughout the whole match. He barely drew breath. I thought, at several points in the game, he might blow an optic nerve out. The guy should be on coaching staff he seemed so opinionated about every aspect of the game. Then there was the other 'fan' behind me who insisted on using various colourful expletives at every opportunity... don't people bring their small children to these matches??
I thought to myself, sure, disappointed that my team ultimately lost but it's not going to ruin my day or even the experience of being at Stamford Bridge. I got the feeling though that most of those around me would be in an emotional fug for at least another week, or until Chelsea notched up another win.
I think Australians and New Zealanders have a different approach to sport. There is no separating of supporters at games of any code, nor is there a need for mounted police to patrol the stadiums after matches. Being an All Blacks supporter, I have sat right in the middle of hundreds of Wallabies fans at Bledisloe Cup matches with no fear whatsoever. We take the good with the bad and roll with the proverbial punches. Sure losing is disappointing but I don't think that anyone takes it that personally. Conversely, on Saturday afternoon at Stamford Bridge, I got the feeling that most of the fans most certainly took our loss very personally.
I understand that football fanaticism runs deep here. But why let a game ruin your life? Lighten up fans....life is way too short.
Till tomorrow....
Another thing I am yet to get completely acclimatised to here in London is the noise. All day, everywhere, noise. Sirens, people yelling and cars (interspersed with birds tweeting in the trees outside our apartment of course.)
In Sydney, The Man of the House and I lived very centrally. Right next to the city and the infamous Kings Cross. You would have thought I would therefore be used to a certain level of noise, but for whatever reason, we never experienced it. Our little part of the world was uncannily quiet (apart from that night someone got shot in the Cross!). Here, living in N1, we have sirens constantly, traffic, and not to mention the fact that a pod of whales seems to have moved into the flat above us.
I am not complaining (really) though, because an article I read today in the Sydney Morning Herald, the local Sydney newspaper, pretty much summed up why Australians leave the island and head overseas for their holidays (and to live, in our case). Here is the link for those interested:
http://www.smh.com.au/travel/sorry-australia-europe-rules-20111026-1mj5o.html
But in summary form for everyone else, it pretty much says that although Australia is a beautiful country (very true), it just cannot compete with all Europe has to offer to inquisitive individuals. For example, Australia has one good museum (the National War Museum in Canberra for those planning to head down under) whereas every single city in Europe has at least one museum of international significance. Likewise, Australian architecture is fairly ho-hum when compared with all of the historical buildings, churches and monuments found littered across Europe. Sure we all love the Opera House on Sydney Harbour, but when you are looking at the Colosseum from around 70 AD, it pales into the utmost insignificance.
I agree absolutely with the article - I am still getting used to how much of Europe is just on my doorstep, and how easy it is to travel there from London. And just how amazing it is.
I think it will be quite some time before I feel the lure of Australia pull me back, but needless to say I will be much more widely travelled than I was the day I arrived here in London. And no amount of noise will put me off that just yet!
Till tomorrow...
One thing that I am still getting used to here in London is random acts of oddness. I see them everywhere. I suppose it has something to do with the sheer population size and the fact that more people are willing to be themselves regardless of how ridiculous it may seem to anyone else.
Australians, as friendly as they may seem, are a little up-tight. I guess I fall into this category too, really, because New Zealanders are not any different. We come from islands down near the Antarctic and we pretty much like to keep to ourselves. We are quick to judge anything out of the ordinary and tend to frown upon the unfamiliar. We are homogenous to a fault. Oh sure, we may travel a lot, but we rarely bring any of this open quirkiness back with us from our eye-opening trips to lands abroad.
I started thinking more about this the other day when I saw a small child get his head rammed firmly in the closing doors of the London tube as he attempted to squeeze his way on. Nothing about the incident itself was particularly weird, in fact it looked incredibly painful. No, more peculiar was the father of this small boy. He was dressed in what I deemed to be a "really strange" manner. He looked more like a travelling minstrel (which he may well have been for all I know). Shaved head, long beard, weird pointy shoes (decorated) and a corduroy vest. Imagine:
OK, so that is an exaggeration but you get my point.
I guess that I am now living in London I will have to become more accepting of these deemed "oddities". People dress how they like, do pretty much what they feel like and not a worry for who might be watching. I think I need to take my Antipodean up-tightness and learn to relax a little. In a city of 7.7 million people, I am bound to encounter even stranger things over the next few years.
So to the father of the small boy with what I can only presume is one massive headache, I apologise for judging you. If you want to decorate your pointy shoes, go right ahead.
Till tomorrow....
At risk of sounding cliched, I love almost all things French. Paris, smelly cheese, macaroons, champagne and Lacroix (not necessarily in that order either!).
Given this, I was truly excited about dining at Les Trois Garcons in Shoreditch last weekend to celebrate the birthday of one of our close Australian friends who also lives here in London. His choice and I applauded the decision. When you walk in, the decor is amazing - think lots of stuffed animals (I presumed not once living) adorned with sparkling jewels and ornaments. See for yourself:
Nice huh?!
Being a little bit posh, we were served belinis to start (a personal favourite) and an amuse bouche, to tantalise the palate. All was going along well and I was very happy with my main when it arrived:
There's something about a hand-dived scallop that just tastes so good! Everyone seemed to enjoy their food and the ambience, the birthday boy loving his chateaubriand. Dessert was also a hit for me:
Although apologies for forgetting to take the before shot!
All in all, a great night. Unfortunately, the evening was somewhat tainted for me by a bout of gastro that hit around 3.30am when I was (thankfully) home in bed. Now, I am unsure as to whether to blame those fabulous hand-dived scallops or some kind of unwashed mint leaf in my mojito at the bar next-door, but suffice to say I was not a happy camper for the entirety of Sunday.
Anyway, now that I am ahem...older....I think life is too short to whinge about these kind of things. I still loved Les Trois Garcons, and will no doubt return at some point. Throw in the close proximity to home and the awesome Beach Blanket Babylon next-door and I can see myself becoming something of a 'regular'.
Try it - you'll like it!
Till tomorrow....
OK so I am going to indulge in a little congratulatory (and frankly, trumpet blowing) writing. Just this once I promise.
Being born in New Zealand comes with one requirement. Thou must support the All Blacks through everything. Even when times are tough and it seems like there is never going be another win...thankfully for most of my life this has not been an issue as we have continued to steam-roll our way through most of our opposition, most of the time.
Except for the Rugby World Cup. Our performances here in the past have been, well, a little on the poor side I will say. Losing to nemesis team France in previous quarter finals, the Wallabies who always seem, annoyingly, to rise to the occasion of the World Cup, and even more lowly teams than those. I doubt I am the only All Blacks patriot who lost a large amount of hair every four years since 1987.
But not this year!! I think I have neglected to breathe for the last month as the World Cup has been played out in my home country. Yesterday morning I finally was able to exhale, raise my arms in triumph and relish that, for the next four years at least, no one will be able to dispute with any credibility that we are the best team in the world. The fact that we had beaten France was just icing on the cupcake really. Eden Park in Auckland looked amazing from my sofa and I wished I was back home to celebrate with my fellow kiwis...alas, the cold winds of London will have to do for now!
One thing is certain though. After everything that our little country has gone through in the last 12 months, nothing on earth could taste sweeter than holding aloft that tiny Web Ellis Cup. Cheers New Zealand. I will be seeing you again in the future.
Till tomorrow....
Well, maybe not exactly!
But since it was a Saturday, the sun was shining and The Man of The House was at home, he persuaded me to make the most of it and go for a bike ride. The two of us are both "into" cycling and our road bikes had arrived from Australia a couple of months ago with the rest of our furniture. Cycles to date in London had been....well.....a tad of a disaster. Unlike in Sydney, the roads are winding, small and often one way. Throw in having no clue where you are going, and a bunch of crazy people in cars, and it's a recipe for disaster (or at least a domestic argument!)
I am sure you can understand my reluctance. Being a good wife though, I conceded and off to the streets we took. The grand plan was to cycle on one of the so called cycle "super highways", the dream baby of the City of London Mayor, and somehow end up at Richmond Park. This was quite an undertaking....and needless to say we didn't quite make our final destination. Once the "super highway" ended, we got a little lost and decided to make the 45 minute trip back home instead.
Despite not achieving our goal, I still felt pretty good about myself. This ride had been somewhat less of a disaster than previously, and I felt like being on a "super highway" protected me a little from those crazy Saturday morning drivers (a problem anywhere in the world really). Anyway...it was mildly fun. I really do applaud the institution of the cycle highways, it makes getting around London so much easier. I am also amazed that in such a massive place as London it was possible to actually put them in!
Kudos to you, Boris.
See you next week....
With the sun hiding who knows where and the temperature a little too on the low side for me, I wondered what to do with my Friday. Actually - that's a lie.
I have been anticipating the cinematic release of We Need To Talk About Kevin, Lynne Ramsay's film adaptation of Lionel Shriver's novel, for some time now. And today was film release day! In my mind, what better place to get my film fill than The Rio Cinema in Dalston (http://www.riocinema.org.uk/)
This is one of my happiest discoveries in London so far - being the film nut that I am, I find the modern day "megaplex" cinema experience rather soul-destroying at times. Aside from the fact that you usually have to battle your way through some kind of overly-large shopping mall to even get to one of these cinemas, there is just something about the smell of too much popcorn being pumped out that makes me a little nauseous. I also suspect I am little nostalgic for the cinemas of my youth, where there were "stalls" and a "dress circe", one screen only and carpet that had clearly been on the floor since the 1920s. Fortunately, I grew up in an era before the onslaught of 36 screen cinemas!
This is why The Rio appeals to me so much - it is all of those cinemas of my youth rolled into one pleasing experience. There is one screen, some very old looking carpet and a real sense of history there. Not to mention the home-made treats on offer at the candy bar!
We Need to Talk About Kevin is the second film I have seen at The Rio, Lars Von Trier's aptly named Melancholia being my first a couple of weeks ago. I would happily spend every Friday afternoon sitting back and enjoying some great films there, and I imagine that I will be doing just that over the coming years that I live in this area (another plus of course is the simple 25 minute stroll to the door from my apartment!)
I hope there are other such great cinemas out there in London...sadly Sydney was quite bereft of them. Although I shouldn't be surprised - nothing is old in Australia!
Till tomorrow....
So here's the thing - I am not what you would describe as a "homemaker" type of woman. As such, I have had a very limited interest in all things craft related for as long as I care to remember (except for that brief flirtation with cross-stitch at age 10...). Why then, you may ask, did I sign up for a sewing course on a recent Monday evening?
Well, although the precise logic escapes me, I think it had something to do with my deep love of fashion and some perverse idea that I, too, could churn out some little Prada-esq numbers at some future point.
Encouraged by The Man of the House, I signed up for a "make your own hot water bottle cover" introduction to sewing at a recent addition to my area, Ray Stitch in Islington (www.raystitch.co.uk). Bearing in mind I had never even so much as touched a sewing machine before, it promised to be a challenge. And who knew that loading a bobbin could be so complicated?! ....luckily our fantastic teacher was on hand to smooth the process for me (I should also mention that The Man of the House was along for moral support - and proved also to be much help - I like to think that his engineering degree gave him an unfair advantage though...)
What can I say? The class was fantastic....I encourage all budding sewers or people with any interest in perhaps making a Versace like number to sign up for an evening course at Ray Stitch. They also do more advanced classes for people who, unlike me, have more of an affiliation with the sewing machine. Our teacher was a god-send, and all materials, as well as snacks and wine, were provided (the wine being much needed!) What did the end product look like you ask? See for yourself:
While I admit it is not perfectly symmetrical, I am as pleased as punch with the outcome. At the very least, my fake Burberry clad hot water bottle will keep my feet warm now that the colder weather seems to have begun...my first winter in the Northern hemisphere is creeping up on me quicker than expected!
Until tomorrow....
So I may have jumped in a little early yesterday without a proper introduction.
I am student from Auckland NZ, via a stint in Sydney Australia where I met and married my soul-mate (The Man of the House). We moved to London on a wing and a prayer about 3 months ago now. I am still trying to work this massive city out and thought it would be memory capturing to record my experiences and findings in this blog.
A little about me? I am a book nut, and usually have 2 or more on the go at any one time. I love skiing (which will probably feature a lot in here), running (3 marathons down) and film. That's about it really. I am married to the perfect man (if that's possible), childless but with one very spoilt brown cat (Coco Bean).
Well, I hope that someone out there is interested enough in a London newbie recording her experiences to actually read this thing. Stay tuned for more exciting instalments about life in a big, "full of people" city!
I thought a gratuitous shot of my little baby would help things along:
See you tomorrow....
I am becoming one of those “two coffee a day” people now that winter seems to be approaching. The allure of the drink, thoughts of which made my stomach well up a mere month ago, is now something that sends my brain into raptures. I suppose the re-commissioning of my Nespresso machine has had much to do with this new addiction. While the little box of caffeinated joy was in transit from Sydney to London, I had struggled to find a decent cup of coffee anywhere in this massive city. This in itself still astounds me. How can a city as over-sized and population filled as London fail to deliver to me something as simple as good coffee? Of course, now that my beloved machine hums purposefully in the corner of my kitchen, I have found one place where the gods send of a barrister churns out unfailingly good coffee time after time. Hence, my two coffee a day ritual has developed - one at home, one at my favourite café (Tina We Salute You in Dalston - tinawesaluteyou.com). Wonders will never cease.
