November 30

And just like that its November 3O and the end of the November Project. It’s been an interesting exercise to find something everyday to comment on, although not as difficult as I’d thought (largely because with blogs nothing is too banal, and anyway I have a high tolerance for the ordinary). Looking back, this month displays little resemblance to the stereotypical ‘Aussie in London’ experience – no stories of house sharing with 27 South Africans, drunken Sundays at The Church (or any days at The Walkabout), writing into TNT, or telling tales from the essential trips to Pamplona, Anzac Cove or Oktober Fest. Maybe if I was here ten years ago (… or maybe not).

Anyway, there’s a lot more to London than this stereotype. London really has it all, anything you are looking for or are interested in – music, clubs, concerts, restaurants, bars, theatre, musicals, cinema, sport, shopping, art, parks, gardens, museums, history, whatever – you can find your niche and discover something new. There’s much more still left to discover and that list can serve as a pre-emptive reminder of all we have to come back to, which I am sure will come in handy when we don’t want our holiday home to be over.

And on that corny note I’ll say farewell and see you soon!

November 29

Unfortunately I wasn’t home for the start of a new tv series with possibly the best title ever: Asbo Teen to Beauty Queen. Its probably one of those ‘you had to be there’ things, but for those unfamiliar with the term, an ‘asbo’ is an anti-social behaviour order. It not as serious as a criminal conviction and is given out for things such as verbal abuse, vandalism, noise nuisance and writing graffiti. It is generally associated with ‘chavs’ (defined as ‘a young working class person who dresses in casual sports clothing’, see picture above) but now amongst certain elements of chav culture, an asbo has become a badge of honour, with people actively looking to be issued with one (sparking the satirical book How to Get an Asbo). Of course the would-be beauty queens are looking to leave their asbo teen days behind, or as one contestant states:
'After this no one’s gonna know me for the ASBO. They’ll know I’ve had it but it’s not gonna be, ‘Oh, she’s a right cow, she’s got an ASBO.’ It’ll be, ‘She used to be a right cow but she’s changed.’ Now I think that’s something we call all relate to, don’t you?

November 28

Above is the first collage I made for my art class back in May. The theme was ‘A Walk in the Garden’ and this is what I came up with. It was done before I started going to yoga, so now I can only presume that my subconscious was trying to tell me something. For the past few months I’ve been going about three times a week and knowing tonight was my last session for a while made me realise how much I will miss it. Not wanting to sound like a born-again Christian or Amway salesman, I really have to rave about how beneficial I find it. There’s something liberating about knowing that all you have to worry about in this moment is holding a balance or breathing correctly and all the other thoughts fighting for attention in your head can be pushed aside. For those with a tendency towards being highly strung, to which I must admit, it’s a good antidote to the stresses of modern life. Okay, sales pitch over and back to the chanting.

November 27

Words from the wino on the tube…

I was going out with this girl. She was 25. She was 25 years old and in school. She was still in school at 25. But she didn’t know anything. I left school at 15. She hadn’t learnt anything in 10 years. If you can’t learn something in 10 years, how long is it going to take? How long is it going to take you? A hundred years? A hundred years? She was 25 man, and she was still in school.

Repeat for 5 minutes

I have the hairiest arms. I’m sorry, but those are the hairiest arms I’ve ever seen. They’re the hairiest arms I’ve ever seen. I’ve the hairiest arms.

Repeat for 5 minutes, occasionally going back to the 25 year old school girl.

I have the hairiest arms. They’re hairy arms. And my bollocks. Have you seen my bollocks? Have you seen my bollocks… lately?

And that’s where I had to get off.

November 26

A Sunday
not venturing
far beyond
the Hampstead village -
for a burger,
coffee
and jeans from the gap.
Pleasant
Simple
But
it could be
many a High Street
Anywhere.
But that’s a
Monday-type thought.
And, if I remember,
I’ll think it then.

November 25

Lost internet access at home means a trip to an internet café to upload all the entries from last week. We go to Apostrophe on Regent Street to combine the task with a shopping trip (even busier than last Saturday but at least more productive). The café sounds charming (‘delivering the sights and sounds and smells of the traditional Boulangerie Patisserie’) but in reality feels clinical and I wonder why anyone would go there except for the free (with purchase) internet access. This is a point I make to the manager when I complain that the system doesn’t seem to be working (I think the phrase ‘I didn’t come here for the coffee’ was used). They put this down to two dodgy students who have been there for about four hours and must be downloading about 6 films each simultaneously meaning no bandwidth left over for anyone else. They are asked to leave which they interpret as moving to another table. My dagger stares are equally ineffective in getting them to budge, so when a repeated telling off from management eventually gets them out I am finally in action. Modern technology means that theoretically I can take a photo on a digital camera and instantly (rather than say, the following Wednesday at work) upload it onto a website available for the entire world to see in a matter of seconds… and I would have gotten away with it too, if it wasn’t for those pesky kids.

November 24

This week B and I have been like ships passing in the night (provided that expression means what I think it does, i.e. we have only seen each other briefly, like when one person is coming and the other person is going, but the expression really only makes sense if you assume that the ships had some previous connection whereby maybe they were docked in the same port and developed more than a friendly rapport, otherwise why would they care that they passed each other? [besides being glad they didn’t collide - it being dark and all] and what difference does the night part make anyway? If they are on a predetermined course, whether its night or day, they are still going to have to just pass on by; so I guess its emphasizing night=darkness in the psychological/emotional/spending quality time together sense). It’s currently just past 10pm and we’ve been in the same room for almost an hour now so we’ve got the not passing bit happening. We’re planning on spending most of the weekend together so we should soon be back to being thick as thieves (thick not meaning stupid, but meaning close – I can understand thieves sticking close to their own (keeping quiet if the fuzz were on their case) but the only way they’d be thick is if maybe a whole bunch of them were stuffed into a small space (which would make sense if they were caught out during a crime and the fuzz really were on their case, but really the correct word here would be squashed rather than thick anyway). Now, while wanting to develop closeness, we shall have to try to avoid becoming two peas in a pod – small, round, green and identical in every way.

November 23

The few weeks leading up to our trip back home have been filled with happy anticipation. But this morning I woke up in a blind panic, suddenly hit by the realization that this weekend is our last before we go away, and I have so much organize before we leave, and soooo much to finish off at work, and absolutely no time to do it all, and … cue mad panic scene running around the room flailing arms.

Of course B. says not to worry and that it will all manage to get done. He suggests that writing a list might help. He means a ‘to do’ list (ha! As if I didn’t already have one), but instead, in an effort to calm my nerves, I’ve written up a list of things I’m looking forward to in Melbourne:

1. Seeing family and friends (goes without saying)
2. Not being at work (ditto)
3. Home cooked meals (hint, hint)
4. Not having to wear a coat (still living in hope)
5. Port Phillip Bay, the Yarra and the Botanical Gardens (preferably experienced in the sun, see above)
6. Take away coffee not from a chain
7. The Number 7 sandwich at Santucchis
8. About 12 other things to do with food
9. Seeing if our house still looks the same (but feeling weird about not being able to just walk in)
10. Driving (provided it’s like riding a bike in that I can still remember how even though it’s been awhile)
11. 7 Eleven (just because they’re not here and everywhere there)
12. Nature strips
13. Shopping in the little laneways in the city
14. Biting into a hot pie and sauce and cracking open a tinny at the ‘G while reflecting on the greatness of Eddie Maguire... now isn’t that what Melbourne is all about?

November 22

Today the november project is delighted to present a very special guest report… yes, Brendan is here to provide an eyewitness account of his trip to his ancestral home, birthplace of his EU passport – Ireland. Ireland – a land that has given him so much, yet to which he could give so little...

To be sure to be sure… my first trip to Ireland was not done under ideal circumstances: I didn’t know I was going until Monday afternoon, I had to prepare and deliver a client presentation, I would only be in the country for about 6 hours and the offices we were visiting were not even in the Dublin city centre. Still I was determined to make the most of the trip.

Touching down at Dublin airport I had the mildest sense of homecoming. As I passed through customs flashing my Irish passport I was expecting some sort of acknowledgement from the customs officer: a nod, even a wink would have been nice. But no, my homecoming was greeted in the usual non-interested customs officer style with a grunt and a head tilt that meant ‘move on’.

In Dublin infrastructure is a bit of a problem – road congestion is now more common than beer. You actually see remarkably little between the airport and the business premises we attended. I’m told the real Ireland begins outside of Dublin. Shame no one told my client that. Going from the airport to the client’s offices I felt I could have been anywhere (Tullamarine springs to mind) – houses, shops, parks, etc – but that’s probably our fault as we didn’t request the scenic route option.

After a successful meeting, my colleague and I did what must be done. Before our flight home we plonked ourselves in a bar and enjoyed a few pints of strong Irish Stout: ‘Try a Beamish’, the man behind the bar suggested so we did, and liked it so much we had another and another....

Enjoyable as this was, as I flew back into London the main thought I had was about returning to Ireland again and how next time I promise I’ll give Ireland a bit more of my time…. To be sure to be sure.

November 21

After spending all day imparting knowledge, here’s one new thing I learnt today: people in Newcastle don’t need to go to Australia to see the Sydney Harbour Bridge, they have their own version – the same, just smaller.

November 20

On the road again today, or more accurately on the tracks: the 15:00 GNER service (train-speak) from London Kings Cross to Newcastle, about 3 hours north.

Rail travel is much more common over here, exemplified by the fact as well as regularly departing from Kings Cross, for previous trips I’ve caught cross-country trains from Waterloo, Victoria, Paddington, Euston, St Pancras, Marylebone and Fenchurch Street stations. These stations are always packed (with business travelers, tourists, family members visiting, students, day trippers to London, etc.) and provide quite a contrast with my memories of lone Spencer Street station (from which I never caught a train – nor can I imagine ever doing so) and the few people milling around the eight or so platforms.

Of course the distances here are much more train-travel friendly. Relatively short distances, meaning ‘home’ is usually a within the day journey away, impacts on things such as university, where it’s more in the American-style with people going away (my colleague said that its considered ‘weird’ to just stay home and go to the closest uni) as well as jobs, where people will relocate quite readily for work. In fact, of all the English people I know living in London, none of them were actually raised as Londoners. It seems that the families that do live here are either of the very well off or the not very well off variety - all the middle of the road people can live here as singles or young professional couples, but then need to look further afield when family becomes an issue... then down the track their kids can go away to university, find work in London and the cycle begins again.

November 19

I would have thought

having done something interesting

would make journaling the day

a simple undertaking.

But its hard to described

without sounding like a seven-year-old

reporting on a school excursion:

Today we visited the Wallace Collection. The house was very big and beautiful. My favourite was the shiny armour. The End.

Lunch

I will review

in the imagined voice

of Sir Richard Wallace himself:

The proprietors of this establishment would be well advised
to spend less time
conjuring clever names
And more time
crafting clever dishes.

Hear hear!

November 18

Shopping sometimes makes me lose the will to live.

Its not that I don’t like things – there are many beautiful clothes, bags, home wares, etc that I covet – it’s just that the reality of the shopping experience falls so short of the desire created by the perfectly art-directed layout of a magazine spread.

Before setting out to Camden today we had to ask ourselves if we were sure we remembered what it was like (yes - noisy, crowded, full of teenage punk wannabes), if we were up for the challenge (probably not – but the desire for a new pair of shoes seemed to outweigh the doubt), and, to confirm, if we were absolutely certain that we wanted to go (well, we reasoned, its close to home and there are plenty of shoe stores). Of course, after trudging from store to store, jostling with the other consumers for a few hours we both got fed up and decided it wasn’t worth the bother.

London would have to be one of the best shopping cities in the world – top designers, up-to-the minutes fashions, the variety and quantity of stores; but this also results in one of the worst shopping experiences - because everyone else wants to be here shopping too (imagine Christmas shopping at Chadstone all year round). Those with money can be pampered in specialist boutiques but the majority fight it out (sometimes literally) in High Street stores.

If I was a rich girl I could just send out one of my many minions with an annotated copy of Vogue and ‘do lunch’ while waiting for the goodies to arrive. All the packages would be delivered in colour-coordinated boxes tied with ribbon (even if the shops usually use bags) and taken into my walk-in-wardrobe by my butler who would …but I digress.

Alas, I am not a rich girl and I’m sure you’ll be as disappointed as me to learn that we did not win the Euromillions lottery £120 million prize draw last night. I put our failure down not to the fact that the odds were 76 million to one, but that B. forgot to buy a ticket when he promised that he would. It was most annoying considering that the jackpot had rolled over 11 times (the maximum allowed) and now the prize money had to be given away – if no one got all seven numbers, people with five numbers and one ‘lucky star’ would win. The odds of that were 5.5 million to one, which is… well I don’t know how to figure it out but it seems a hell of a lot more likely. With our chances being zero, I guess its back to the High Street for us.

November 17

It was a dark and stormy night… well, I guess at least one post had to start that way. Outside its raining and the cold wind blows. I’ve been to yoga, eaten dinner and now all I want to do is turn up the heater and unwind from the week. B. described his working week as ‘easily left behind’ and I felt that mine was defined by problems that seemed like minor irritations as soon as the next issue came along.

Anyhow, I’ve discovered that it’s very hard to take a good photo of rain (especially while you’re out in it) so instead I present a picture of our newly painted smallest room in the house. For most people this would be no big deal, but I am thrilled, largely because of these three words:

• brown
• Hessian
• wallpaper

Unfortunately (?) I don’t have a ‘before’ photo but anyone with the slightest imagination should understand that this was not a good look (particularly disturbing was the covered boiler). In fact, what’s there is still Hessian wallpaper, just not brown. In terms of bathroom decoration my preferred style would be best described as ‘lunatic asylum circa 1910’ – I love that clean stark white look. Our landlady, in contrast, prefers a ‘cluttered attic’ design. She was only convinced not to have it repainted in aubergine when the painter pointed out that the framed paintings (the many seafaring themed paintings) already provided enough colour. Now we only need the rest of the flat to be flooded so we can do something about the mineral green living room walls.

*

This Friday’s post – much longer than last Friday’s and with no reference to soup - is dedicated to my dear friend (you know who you are) who described last week’s entry as being ‘light on’ and suggested I must have been suffering from ‘Friday-itis’ – I tell you, what cheek!

November 16

See all the leaves? They represent a small percentage of the girls in London named Sarah.

There are about 80 women in my office – 8 are called Sarah. There are 8 people in my team, 7 are women and 3 of us are Sarahs (that’s over 40%).

People love joking about this… every day.

- ‘Sarah? Which one, we’ve got three of them’.

- ‘Just ask for Sarah, someone’s bound to answer’

- ‘Graham, are you going to change your name to Sarah too?'

Ho ho ho

There is something about continually hearing your name and it continually not having anything to do with you that is just so annoying.

I pity the baby Jessicas and Jacks of today – this soon will be their fate. That’s why if I ever have children their names will be something like Calypso Fairyfloss or Juniper Honeydew, that way they will not have to suffer the indignities that I have.

November 15

I brought home the above from my printmaking class tonight. It’s the first proof of a dry point print I made last week of a bat’s head. It’s kind of wonky-looking because in dry point you engrave into a piece of special card and you can’t see the marks you have made and you can’t erase any mistakes. You ink the card, run it through the press and hope for the best.

It could have been better if I had sketched and practiced an image to work with beforehand, (something I tell myself to do each week) but in reality Wednesday night just rolled around and at the last minute I found a scrap of photocopied paper in the studio showing different bats’ heads, so when the tutor came around to see what we would be working on I could say, ‘yeah, I’m really interested in these bat images…’

Being an art class it’s easy to see the standard of work that everyone is producing and it’s very easy to feel that everyone else’s stuff is so much better. Also being art there are people who are naturally good at it. Not being one of these people I put off trying a class for years, thinking if I can’t draw naturally, then what’s the point in trying to? But I guess I couldn’t let it go and as I once read, would someone not take French lessons because they couldn’t already speak French?

So I try to have realistic expectations about why I’m doing it and what will come from it. I go because I can spend a few hours each week being creative, and that’s about it. Sometimes a bat’s head is just a bat’s head.

*

P.S. Melbourne – snow?! You have three weeks to lift your game!

November 14

One of my favorite places in the neighbourhood… Is it an exclusive nightclub? A glamorous boutique? A trendy fusion restaurant? No, not even close. It’s the Swiss Cottage Library! (If there was any question about me being a complete nerd now let there be no doubt).

Libraries in general combine two things I love: 1. books and 2. getting stuff for free. But the Swiss Cottage library in particular is like the mother of public libraries – it covers two floors and has separate arts and science wings. Along with an extensive book collection, it has a great range of CDs and DVDs to rent, a children’s library, a gallery and a healthy food café. On a non-descript Tuesday at least I can look forward to popping in after work and coming back with something new to liven up the mid-week.

November 13

Most days I will download a podcast or two. The first one I ever got into (and still my favourite) is Sunday Night Safran. Co-hosted by Fr Bob Maguire, and described as an 'indepth discussion of religion, politics and hoochies', it is essentially the triple j radio show with all the songs taken out. Aside from the interesting topics and humour, its comforting for an ex-pat to hear familiar voices talking about being in South Melbourne or buying bagels on Balaclava Road.

Then there's a podcast of Andrew Denton’s Enough Rope tv show and similarly, beyond appreciating Andrew’s interviewing skills and the guests’ stories, the interviews with Australians remind me of home – not just the accents but the distinct Australian attitudes that come through.

There are literally thousands of podcasts out there - on thousands of topics - not just repackagings of existing shows but also new things created specifically. Of course one of the great things about the internet is that you can get stuff from all over the world. So, for want of much else to write about today, here’s a list of what’s currently on the download:

• The Writer’s Almanac with Garrison Keillor – a daily five minute segment on writers and poets and what happened ‘on this day’ from an American with a very soothing voice (B. refers to this as 'sounds to fall asleep to')
• Creative Screenwriting Magazine - interviews with screenwriters
• Jamie’s podcast – cooking with Jamie Oliver
• Media Talk on Guardian Unlimited – topical media podcast from Guardian newspaper columnists
• Podrunner – music to run to
• Penguin podcast – news of latest releases from the publisher
  

There are more that I listen to occasionally, like Lonely Planet travelcasts and the Ricky Gervais Show and looking at it now it seems like a lot, but ask me what tv shows I watch regularly and beyond Scrubs, I'd be at a loss.

November 12

The very early morning sky.
I see it thanks to my subconscious mind
which tries to be helpful
and wake me up in time for work.
Unfortunately, its not clever enough to realise
that it’s a Sunday
and its help is unwelcome.

*

The afternoon is a long lunch with Yuri and Charlie
at a Brazilian restaurant in Camden.

We try to list the things that Brazil is known for
and come up with:
Soccer
Carnivale
Beaches
Wax
and that giant statue of Jesus.

Our waitress has her good points and bad points:
On the plus side she is gorgeous
On the down side she can’t speak English.

We are reassured by the fact that many of the other diners are of South American origin.
We are smug in the knowledge that we have a secured a good table when other people keep piling in and are unable to be seated.

We head home at 5 o’clock
as the darkness closes in
and are struck by that terrible feeling that the
weekend
is
o-vah.

November 11

The trek out to the stupor-market can be a bit of a chore but really we only have to go a few blocks. Spare a thought for the ‘fresh’ produce on display - most of that has to travel quite a bit further. Here is a census from our last shop:

• Cucumber - Spain
• Cherry tomatoes - Holland
• Butternut squash – Portugal
• Mushrooms - Ireland
• Rosemary - Israel
• Baby corn - Thailand
• Mange trout – Kenya (note: this is not a variety of diseased fish, but something like snow peas)
• Trio-pack of peppers (in order of appearance) - red – UK, yellow- Spain, green – UK

The Union Jack is proudly displayed on the carrots, potatoes, lettuce and, in a show of diversity, the pak choy. Any do-good thoughts we have from not running a car over here are dashed by the fact that if you included the carbon cost of freighting produce over from abroad, a punnet of strawberries for example should cost something like £52.

*

Went out to dinner tonight with Brendan’s workmate Marco. We went to a Mediterranean restaurant where I’m sure all the ingredients were sourced from local farms… local farms around the Mediterranean that is. But hey, at least we walked there.

November 10

This week’s Friday soup special is Butternut Squash Bisque - woo hoo its all happening in London tonight!

November 9

A shop in Bethnal Green, where all your religious statue, ashtray and laundry basket needs are catered for.

*

Today I was out working in Bethnal Green, East London. I don’t want to describe it as a dodgy, rundown area but hmmm, looks like I just have. Still, the average flat here would set you back about £270,000 (that’s $673,000 in the Australian money).

That’s not too bad for London – in the Borough of Camden where we live the average is £379,000 (just shy of a million Australian and that’s for a flat remember - the average semi-detached property is £1.5m and a detached house: £2m.)

Today came the news that prices in London have risen by 10% over the last year and have doubled over the past five years, making it increasingly difficult to buy, even for professionals on relatively good wages.

Hence you have mortgage providers finding new ways to get first-time buyers onto that elusive property ladder. Many now offer mortgages of five times your salary (the standard is three times). I wonder if the people who borrow to this extent, after deciding, ‘its so great we can upgrade to a spare bedroom and chrome taps’, have any money at all left over to do anything other than sitting quietly in their new place staring at their new walls.

So, how about trying the 52-year mortgage? – that’ll give you a little extra in your pocket each month - sure you’ll probably still be paying it off in retirement and will have paid about an extra 100 grand in interest payments, but still it’ll be yours in the long run.

Or you can buy in partnership with a housing association, meaning you only own 50% of the place. Those uncomfortable with the idea of sharing with a faceless entity can gather together three of their closest friends and go in for a four-way mortgage: yep, I can really see that working out in a hassle-free way. But would it be better or worse than buying with a complete stranger?

There was a reality TV series here called something like ‘Would You Buy a House With This Person’ where someone would be set up with three house-seeking strangers ah-la ‘Perfect Match’ style and instead of selecting which one to take away for a romantic weekend to Surfers, by the end of the show would have to choose who to ask to buy a house with them – so desperate were these people to purchase a place.

But the thing that really tops it off is that for the vast majority of people ‘buying’ a flat what they are actually buying is a leasehold. Okay, its usually for a very long time, say 99-years, but still once the lease period comes up to expiring if the ‘owner’ wants to keep the property they have to pay out even more money to renew the lease on their home, otherwise… I guess it reverts back to the building owner.

See, now when it’s put like that, don’t the inflated prices seem totally justified?

November 8

All this going on about work-life balance is not to say I dislike my job – its actually not that bad (as far as selling your soul to fund your lifestyle goes). One of the better parts is that I get to travel around and see parts of the country I otherwise wouldn’t see. Okay, most of these places are not on the tourist ‘must visit’ list and ‘seeing’ is probably an overstatement – we usually arrive at the train station, go to the venue, then back to the station and straight back home (add a hotel and a local restaurant to this if we are staying overnight) – but still, its good to experience a bit of the real England.

Today I went to place called Westcliff-on-Sea, which was (wait for it…) on the sea. It instantly reminded me how lucky we are in Melbourne to combine city living with the therapeutic benefits of being close to water. One of the things we want to do when we come back is a favourite walk along the path from North Road beach to St Kilda Pier – and I’ve just googled to see that the kiosk has been re-opened – so everything will be back as we remembered it and all will be well in the world.

November 7

The work-life balance concept need not be confined to mornings. Lunchtime is also an excellent opportunity to practice this discipline. Since you are most likely to be at ‘work’ during this time, getting the ‘life’ part right requires careful consideration.

Eating at your desk is definitely not part of the plan; nor is reading work-related materials, talking to colleagues about work, or even being around colleagues talking amongst themselves about work. Some people like to surf the net during lunch, but I feel this can easily be incorporated into the ‘work’ side of the ledger.

I try to sit outside whenever possible (at the moment I’m stockpiling vitamin D while the sun is still making an appearance), go for a walk, or have an escapist book on hand (today it was all three). B. sometimes takes things a step further and actually goes home for lunch. He says its comforting to get away from the busyness of the city and he can read the afternoon paper in peace. More importantly he enjoys the easy access to food and a wider range of condiments. I’m not sure about this. If I came home I can’t imagine dragging myself back - I find it hard enough to make myself go back inside. But at least you know, when you’re back at your desk with a good cup of tea, you’re more than halfway there.

November 6

Lately I’ve been trying a bit of reverse psychology with Monday mornings. Monday morning usually picks up the fact that I dislike it – what with me hiding my head under a pillow and chanting ‘go away, I’m not getting up, you don’t exist…’ But no, for the past few weeks I have been throwing off the doona (ok, crawling out from under it - B. would complain if I let in a draught) at 6am (context: its dark! its cold!) and heading down to the gym. After about the first fifteen minutes (spent cursing my lunacy) the endorphins start kicking in and I’m glad I made the effort.

One of the best things is that I’m getting up for something other than work, meaning work is put in the context of the morning, rather than being the whole morning. I am fortunate that my employer encourages this work-life balance. We work a 35-hour week and I would say that 95% of people (yes, I am one of them) stick literally to these hours. On the few occasions I’ve made it in for 9 (because I’ve wanted to leave at 4:30) there was only one other person there. As long as we work between 10:30 and 3:30 we can figure the rest out for ourselves. This took a while to get my ex-public sector head round, where my regimented hours were something like 8:45am to 5:21pm - although we did have a 9-day fortnight - ahhh, the memories. If only I could speak French – they have a four-day working week. Then I’d just need to get used to Tuesday mornings.

November 5

lazy thoughts on a beautiful autumn sunday…

sunshine and crisp fresh air
changing leaves languidly falling
the boy beside me on the tube smelling of gingerbread
and
a poster on the platform like an eye chart –
I'm okay with the first line but the fourth line is a mystery

November 4

A typical Saturday:

Gym and yoga

Freshly baked bread from the local market

Reading the papers for hours

Good coffee

A walk in the afternoon

Books and a DVD.

... I feel relaxed just thinking about it.

November 3

B stayed home from work sick today in the hopes of fighting off a cold. I think it’s the old ‘change in the weather’ syndrome. It was mild up until the weekend (t-shirt and light jacket weather) and suddenly this week we need coats, gloves and scarves. Hopefully his day in bed and plenty of liquids will mean a speedy recovery.

I was back on the bike this morning, which I was very happy about until ten minutes into the journey when my chain jammed. I did the obvious thing (kept trying to pedal and made it worse) and soon realised that I know absolutely nothing about bikes except how to ride one. My bike apparently has twenty-one gears. I can sometimes manage to make it go up hills a bit easier but that’s about it. Very luckily there was a bike shop nearby and after I got over my embarrassment (everything in there was top notch and my bike is held together in parts with sticky tape, not to mention the fact that I was wearing a pair of B’s thermals and his rain jacket [which on me could easily also fit another person] – as you can see I too am ill-prepared for the cold weather) and £6 later I was back on my way.

*
Work was work
*

A quiet Friday night featuring an active yoga session then home to cook a broccoli and leek soup for the patient who, can you believe it, had leek soup (from a carton) for lunch. I had to ask which one was best, and (possibly fearing retribution) the home brew was chosen as the far superior soup. Quite right!

November 2

Another day out of the office for me today. The broken boiler meant having to shower at the gym, something I try to avoid, not least because of the hassle of pre-organising every single thing you need before leaving home. B. has a little routine where he packs his bag and then mentally dresses himself (socks? check. jocks? check. shoes? check, etc...) but girls have about a hundred extra things to remember (cleanser, moisturiser, multiple towels, make up, the list goes on...) not to mention the pressure of being unable to change your top if it just doesn't look right that day or has an unexpected stain that you didn't notice when stuffing it into your bag. Its just a bit much to deal with at 6am.

Anyway, we had a team away day to a place called BedZED (Beddington Zero Energy Development), an eco-village in outer South London. Its a sustainable living housing development and our team was primarily interested in it for the model the charity uses to get projects off the ground (often starting things off then partnering with or starting private businesses that have to adopt their 'one planet living' environment model - quite a move from traditional charity fundraising).

A display home on the site showcases a range of environmentally-friendly furnishings, some really lovely stuff and one of my colleagues who has just bought a house was especially impressed (but at £12 a dinner plate and £39 a cushion she may just be heading to Ikea like the rest of us - of course this stuff is probably expensive because its designer rather than because its recycled but I look forward to the time when this stuff (sustainable + stylish) is mainstream).

Back home hot water services had resumed causing much joy and merriment and dancing in the streets.

November 1

Swiss Cottage, our local tube station. Brendan's daily work journey starts here, exiting at Piccadilly Circus. I asked Brendan if he gets a little thrill each day as he passes one of London's most iconic sites. He said that he merely gets annoyed at the flocks of tourists dawdling in his path.

I caught the tube too today, to attend a training course near Oxford Circus. It was on developing successful negotiating and influencing skills which I was soon (somewhat disappointed) to learn is not all about figuring out how to always get your own way.

1 November being a Wednesday meant that I had my evening printmaking course at the Mary Ward Centre, in Bloomsbury. The Transport for London website has this great feature where you can key in where you want to go from and to, and as well as giving you public transport options can provide a walking or cycling route. I love these maps because they are clearly created for people who are not that great with reading maps. The maps have a little line showing the roads you'll be taking and at the bottom spell out in order all the turns and how many meters you'll be walking up each particular road, making it almost impossible to get lost. One of the best things about walking is you get to see how all the bits of London fit together, something you completely miss being underground.

Coming home I was greeted at the front door by a guy who has a flat here who we like to think of as the house mascot. He's a friendly guy who always seems to be around and always seems to know what's going on with all the other residents. Tonight's exciting news was that our boiler had blown up and now we didn't have any running water.

Water was clearly evident however on our carpeted toilet floor. A pipe had also burst and water had been gushing out until someone found the mains. B relayed how he had to empty out rapidly filling buckets while running upstairs and downstairs to assist the other residents who had also been affected. It sounded completely chaotic and all I could think was 'whew, glad I missed that!' Our landlady commended B's performance during the crisis and I noticed that he had also managed to do a huge load of dishes before the water was lost - my hero!