A Weekend in the City

Since I posted my last entry on Wednesday, I feel like I have lived a month. Every day here feels like a week- and this weekend marks our second month as London residents, yet it undoubtedly feels like we've been here for six instead.

On Wednesday morning, an old friend of mine arrived in London from Canada. I was stoked when Steph sent me an e-mail late the previous week to say that Scott would be in London for a couple of days, and he would like to catch up. Steph, Scott and I all attended St.Mary's High School in Vegreville, back in 1997, and I caught up with him when I went back for a few weeks in 2004. Scott called a bit after 11am in the morning to say that he had landed, and Caitlin and I arranged to meet up with him somewhere in the city later that night. Scott didn't have a mobile phone with him, and so Caitlin and I decided to meet in Leicester Square about 6 pm, and wait for him to call back. I hadn't been into Leicester Square before (only passed through in a black cab late one Saturday night), and it was so busy- I think there was a film premier happening somewhere in the vicinity, and there were people everywhere. I even struggled to find Caitlin when I got off the tube, despite the fact we were standing on the same street corner within metres of each other! We grabbed some pizza and sat in the little park in the middle of the square, amongst the hoards of pigeons and people, awaiting Scott's call.

Scott called around about 6:30pm, and he told us he was chillin' in Hyde Park, near Speaker's Corner. It didn't take us long to get to Hyde Park from Leicester Square, but we got off the train at Hyde Park corner station, and we ended up having to walk quite a way, past the signs to Mayfair, until we reached Marble Arch. We managed to find Scott, sleeping on his backpack, at the edge of the park, and off we trotted down to Oxford Street for pints of Super Chilled Fosters (it is really important to seek out the chilled beer, otherwise you'll wind up with warm beer, which is dreadful and pointless).

It was simply fabulous to see Scott again, and to catch up on old times in the Great White North (which I so love and miss) and to hear ab-oot how everyone is. Scott was in London towne til Saturday lunch time, when he flew out to Germany, and my liver was a little worse for wear by the time we waved goodbye at Victoria station...but this failed to deter Caitlin or myself from heading out to Greenwich later that Saturday afternoon...

Shortly after we arrived in the UK, I received a facebook wall post from Alex, a friend Brother Mark made during his stint in Japan, saying that she would be journeying down from the North the weekend of June 26th to see AC/DC. Alex texted us early Saturday morning, suggesting that we meet at a bar called the Gipsy Moth in Greenwich. It is quite a hike from Battersea to Greenwich, I tells ya, and seeing as the Jubilee line was closed for works that particular day, we had to get on and off about three different trains, and switch to different train lines in order to make it out that way. On our journey to London's South East, we managed to find ourselves caught in the middle of an awesome thunderstorm, with cracking thunder and fork lightning all around us, massive rain drops that quickly created huge puddles, and drains struggled to cope with the extensive down pour. It was quite a novelty to be in the exact place from where time is measured, and the surrounding area is gorgeous, and the places are less crowded- you kind of get the sense that you are moving out into greater England. Alex told us that the pub was very close to the place where the Cutty Sark (what a Pirate name, eh?! I've been using my best pirate accent whenever I say it!) used to dock before it was badly damaged by fire in 2007- it was an iconic ship, and visitors flocked to see it, as well as walk along the banks there, visit the markets and take boat rides along the Thames: which they still do of course.

Given that we didn't make it there til around four, and the rain was biblical by that stage, we didn't make a boat ride, or get to check out the markets, but I'm sure I'll return back there sometime in the summer. Still, it was great to see Alex, and her Northerner mates, and we're planning to head up to Manchester and the Lakes District to visit her in the very near future. We ended up having an early night, and made it back to Battersea well before midnight, and I watched Michael Jackson tributes 'til I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer.

The following day, being Sunday, Caitlin had managed to score us free tickets to the Toast Festival, which was taking place only about a ten minute bus ride from our place, down at the Clapham Common (a space I have mentioned many a time on this here blog). The festival runs over three days, featuring food and wine and entertainment from South Africa, New Zealand and Australia. Sunday was the allocated 'Australia day', and there was plenty of Australian c[h]ardonay, champagne, red wine, VB, Tooheys and Carlton Draught getting about the place, and lollies, biscuits and chips that you can only find in Australia, as well as plenty of BBQs and seafood. In the end, I opted for a Kudu Burger (South African rather than Australian!), and a good ole Wagon Wheel. T'was bliss.

We found a space on the Common lawn, and sat and watched the Polo on the centre lawn for an hour or so, and checked out some Indigenous Australian singers and dancers from far North Queensland until the main Australian music act for the day, Sneaky Sound System, started up around 4 o'clock.

I've always kind of liked Sneaky, but wasn't really expecting much I guess, but I have to say, they were so good. Both their singers are class acts, yet entirely different in style and sound from each other. They did several Daft Punk mixes, and mashed them with their own material, and did some awesome cover tracks, such as 'Sweet Dreams' (Briony, you would have loved it!). It was totally rad, and mostly, because I really wasn't expecting it...

...A Weekend in the City.

Il Molino

In order to move my darling cat Mao to my country abode, and place him in the care of my parents and brother Eugene whilst being away in London, I needed to borrow a cat-carrier.

So I went and saw my dear pal Bridget, who is the proud owner of Mao's half (or so we suspect) brother, Pumpkin, because I knew she had a carrier that Mao would fit comfortably into.

When I arrived at Bridget's, both she and her youngest sister were there, and we were talking about my move abroad. Helena talked with enthusiasm and excitement when I told her about my planned trip, telling me how much I'd love it, and how I would find a little cafe somewhere, that only I knew about, in which to dream and ponder, and watch the world go by... and I had forgotten about her saying that until I stumbled upon Il Molino.

I wandered past Il Molino about a week ago, and thought that it looked like a real-deal cafe, not one of the many rubbish chain stores that are far too common in this city; a lot like the one that Claire and Chris and I ate at on a Saturday morning on Miller Street, Northcote, after a late night at the Retreat.

On Saturday morning, I wandered down there to check it out, and found coffee and breakfast, a selection of London newspapers, little cactus plants on the window sills, some sweet, cruisey tunes and some time alone, and it was then that Helena's prophetic words came rushing back to me.

I have found a little cafe. Just for me in Battersea.

To Market, To Market

London is home to many world renowned markets, and it is with great pleasure that I can say I made it to the Spitalfields Market on Sunday just gone.

Long before I left Oz, I made a concerted effort to seek out my friends who had lived or travelled in England, to give me useful tips and information about where to go and what to see- and I am so glad now that I did that little bit of research, and am extremely grateful to those who assisted me!

It was my marvellous friend, Mrs. Marla P, who pointed me in the direction of the Spitalfields Market. I remember rambling on to her, in Idi Bidi on Brunswick street, only days before my departure about wanting to check out the Camden Markets, but she was quick to point me in the direction of Spitalfields, saying it was her favourite of all...and now I can see why.

In contrast to the Camden Markets, there are far less touristy-types making their pilgramages, and so you can actually browse without fighting for a viewing position of the goods in the stalls, the produce it's self is varied as well as being really good quality, and the venue where the market is held is clean, tidy and relatively well organised.

The vintage section was especially fabulous- I even managed to find an almost identical replica of a black, beaded vintage handbag (which I found at Episode on Brunswick's Sydney Road before a trip to Tasmania) that I took with me to New Zealand in the winter of 2008- a bag that captivated the nation! The one I found in Spitalfields was in far better condition than my own, and sadly, I didn't have the £ to purchase it- but it's cool to know that there is another one out there somewhere, eh?

My first of two purchases for the day was a 1951 publication of a collection of John Donne's poetry whose Elizabethian prose I studied in Year 12 Literature, and have a particular love for- and whose published works are particularly hard to find, and so I snapped this little gem up for £3! And the second purchase was from Square Pie- an incrediously, scrumdidiliumptious combination of a Beef and Guiness pie (yes Kim- a guiness pie! Bought it thinking of you!), teamed with mushy peas (actually sooo good), mash and gravy... but I'm going back, I tells you, to buy out a selection of Bansky block prints. Oh to have been paid the previous week!

They will be mine, oh yes, they will be mine.

Saturdays are for Palace Hopping

I awoke last Saturday morning at around a quarter to six in the morning, which isn't unusual, given that it is summer here in the Northern Hemisphere, and the sun has well and truly 'risen' by 5am (and it isn't fully 'down' until almost 10pm)- what was unusual though, was that I was feeling great, and ready to face the day ahead.

By the time Friday comes around, I am usually exhausted, looking forward to an alcoholic beverage or two, tea that I don't have to cook myself, in a pub or restaurant not too far away from my house, so I can promptly head home and crash- even if it's 8:30pm when I do so. That doesn't always happen, but it did last Friday.

Caitlin had managed to find a really cool tiki-like Cocktail Bar up in the Clapham Junction called Sugar Cane, which has £4 cocktails before 7pm, and we arrived there about twenty to seven- just in time for a splendid Mojito and a sharp Cosmopolitan, which really hit the spot. Rather close to Sugar Cane, was this little restaurant called Big Fat Panda which I had seen being advertised in the junction a few times, and so we decided to head in for some Asian cuisine. The food was awesome, and the G&Ts were only two quid a pop, and a bit after 8pm, I was totally spent and satisfied, and trekked on home...to bed... And as a result, was up early and feeling great for a Saturday.

We'd known for several weeks that we'd be heading to a Superheroes theme party in London's North later that evening, and I knew that it would be quite a large affair, and that the following Sunday would be spent sleeping, doing washing and watching rubbish television. So, I decided that Saturday morning was the ideal time to be a tourist-unashamedly, again- and took off to Kensington Palace, via the South Kensington district and Hyde Park.

It takes almost no time to get from Battersea to South Kensington by bus- it's almost the same route as the one that the 319 takes to Sloan Square, except that you go round the back of Chelsea 'til you reach South Kensington Station. It's all a bit of a mess, with road works and the like going on in the South Kensington precinct, but not so distracting that you miss the amazing cafes, with incredible looking glazed-fruit-topped tarts and other exquisite looking baked goods displayed in the front windows, and the smell of strong, rich coffee wofting out into the side streets.

I managed to make it past these cafes (just), and down to Hyde Park, and went and found the Albert Memorial. Last time I passed it, I didn't really have time to absorb the awesome structure that it is, and so this time around I spent a bit of time walking around it, taking many photos. It's an absolutely incredible piece of work- such an elaborate tribute- and the golden statue of the former monarch shone brightly in the morning sun.

Only a hop, skip and a jump from the Albert Memorial, lies Kensington Palace. It is surrounded by amazing lawns, the beautiful Sunken Gardens and the Orangery Restaurant. It's a rather humble palace- when compared to Buckingham Palace, that is- but it's great that you can actually go in and look around the place. On the ground floor, there were features on Diana (mostly a collection of dresses she wore- but, in all honesty, I thought it was somewhat pathetic, and so much more could have been done...sadly, I think it just further reflects the way the Royal Family feel about Diana) who resided at Kensington Palace for a while, and an exhibition on The Last Debutantes 1958 which was brilliant! I loved all the different dresses, and the accessory features (bags, glasses, cigarette cases, little compacts and long gloves), the interviews with 'the last debutantes', as well as a feature on Britain in 1958- very entertaining!

On the upper levels of the Palace, were a number of stunning and well preserved rooms, such as the King's Gallery and the Cupola Room, which have a particularly regal ambience, especially with the views from the windows that extend out into Hyde Park, over the round pond, the Sunken Gardens and beyond. My two favourite rooms though, were definatley Queen Victoria's bedroom (the exact place where she was awoken in the early hours of the morning to be told that she was the new Queen of England), and the adjoining room, which featured one of her doll houses, and many of the dolls she had as a child.

Despite the archaic 'head set' (seriously, sometimes this country is so backwards- the headset was like a little dictaphone that you had to hold up to your ear for the audio tour- no headphones! It would seem this is the same gadget that they've been using since 1958!), my first internal palace experience was a great one.

Hmmm- which one will be next?

Never say Never

I have started doing something that I never thought I would.

I have become one of those people you see walking to work, looking all sharp and polished, until you look a little bit closer... and notice that they are wearing their sneakers. Now, just for the record, I always thought that it was great to see people walking to work because I would think: a) they are keeping fit b) taking steps to saving the planet c) most likely saving money. However, I wouldn't usually say this, but it just looks wrong. Yet, I am now one of 'them'.

And how did this all come about, you ask?

It all came about because of the 48-hour Underground Tube strike in London last Wednesday and Thursday. I didn't realise the extent of the hold up until after I finished my second G&T for the evening on the Wednesday (I had been out for a farewell with the Eaton House staff ), and made my way to catch a bus home. I waited about 45 minutes for a 319 bus, and thought that maybe it was just the wrong time of day to be catching it (rather than around 4pm when I would normally catch it, it was closer to 7pm), but, no- once I actually got on the darn bus, it ended up taking well over an hour to make it back to Cabul Road- a trip that would normally take no longer than twenty five minutes.

Knowing that the strike would be on the following day, I decided to catch a really early bus to work (to avoid the overcrowded bus, and make it to work on time), and pack my sneakers, and walk home to see how long it would take me.

Low and behold, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that when I strapped on my sneakers and made the journey home, all the way down King's Road, over the Thames and down Prince of Wales drive, it was not only a gorgeous trek, but it only took 40 minutes! And so, now I walk home, sneakers and all, from work. And I couldn't care less what it looks like! Professional-dressing-sneaker-wearing workers of the world unite!

So, I'm thrilled-this is something I never experienced whilst working in Melbourne, that's for sure- and now, I'm working on my fitness, making a 'greener' travelling choice and saving money! Woo Hoo!

There you go. Wish I'd done it sooner! :)

Kids Say the Darndest Things

This afternoon I was watching the 2009 Eaton House Production of Treasure Island on dvd with the Form 3 students and two of their teachers in the school library, when one of the boys came over and asked me, completely out of the blue,

"Miss Angela, do you think life is a multiplying test? Or a true or false test? Sometimes I wonder if maybe it's a million words competition."

All I really know is that I didn't have an answer.

The Twits

After a Games session down at Hyde Park this afternoon, Miss Ann asked me to read to the Form 1 boys. Turns out they were reading a personal favourite of mine, The Twits, by Roald Dahl. I should note that his works are huge here in England, and particularly at this school, which I love. My absolute, absolute, absolute favourite is George's Marvellous Medicine. It still makes me laugh 'til I cry! And I'm supposing you know about my luv for little-miss Veruca Salt...:)

Aside from the humour, I love Dahl's wisdom, and the truth he speaks in his work. Here's what I found on the second page I read today...

"If a person has ugly thoughts, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly thoughts every day, every week, every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until it gets so ugly that you can hardly bear to look at it.

A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely."

How lovely, eh? How true.

Bless.

I took the tube over to Camden, To wander around

At the back of my Lonely Planet Travel journal, I have a list of things I plan to do and see in London, in England and in Europe. It really helps to keep me focused on what I came here to do, and I'm slowly, but surely, making my way through the list, ticking them off as I go...but, it seems the more I do, the more I find out about, and so the list has grown a bit of late.

The weather forecast for the weekend just gone predicted showers on Saturday, and on Sunday, thunderstorms in the morning, with light showers and sunshine throughout the day on Sunday. Although the weather forecasts are not always entirely accurate, I made my plans accordingly.

Caitlin and I made our way to Clapham Junction a bit before lunchtime, and got on a train to Vauxall, via Queenstown Road- we didn't mean to get off at Queenstown road, but Caitlin had her i-pod headphones in, and caught the tail end of the announcement that the train was going via Vauxall. She thought we were actually at Vauxall station, and made a mad dash out the door! The women we were sitting across from us said "This isn't Vauxhall", which I also knew because I was paying attention (!), and I chased Caitlin out the door, and narrowly escaped being left on the train or jammed in the door!

Caitlin was all flustered, pulling out her earphones, and I was shaking my head, saying "This is Queenstown Road station!" and pointing at the sign. Caitlin was looking around, very confused, when the train driver poked his head out the side window. "Where do you want to go to?" he asked, "Vauxhall!" I replied, and he let us back on the train, via his little side door. Thank goodness we had been on the first carriage, because otherwise he wouldn't have seen us floundering around on the platform like chickens without heads. I was too embarrassed to go back and sit in our seats opposite the women who saw the whole thing, and were giving us knowing smiles, and so I stood for the remainder of the trip.

It didn't take long to make it to Vauxhall, where we were able to walk over the Vauxhall Bridge (from which we had a really amazing view of the Battersea Power station- as featured on the front of Pink Flyod's 'Animals' album cover) to the Tate Britain.

The Tate Britain Museum is fantastic, in terms of both content and structure. As per usual, I decided to head straight to the section containing Historic British Art, which was absolutely superb. I now have a new favourite artist, the exquisite painter, Sir. John Everett Millais. Millais' works, such as Flowing to the River, The Vale of Rest, Ophelia and Christ in the House of his Parents were enthralling. Paintings also of interest, featured in this section, were John Brett's The British Chanel see from the Dorsetshire Cliffs (which was simply stunning!) and the work entitled Lucretia Borgia Reigns in the Vatican in the Absence of Pope Alexander VI was as equally captivating as the story behind it! The nature and landscape section of the Historic British Art was stunning, and I was particularly taken by the landscapes and impressions by John Constable. His works are like looking in the 18th and 19th century British landscape; the paintings and landscapes are equally divine.

Following the History section, I wandered through the Turner Galleries, which I quite enjoyed, though not nearly as much as the Historic British Art, or the Contemporary British Art, which included the likes of Gilbert & George and the Kettle's Yard feature (I have now added the real-deal Kettle's Yard in Cambridge to my list of must-dos...the whole thing made me think of Melbourne's Heide Musuem of Modern Art...how I love Heide at this time of the year in Australia. It's just so beautiful...feeling home sick pangs coming on...(must.stop.this.nostalgia)

The final section of the gallery that I made my way through was Tudor and Stuart Portraiture Section, which houses an amazing collection of works from the 14th and 15th century, and has
brought on a new obsession (which involves me wanting to know everything about King Henry the VIII and that whole shamozzle) after seeing a fabulous portrait of Elizabeth I...and so the googling has began. But more about that another time.

We ended up spending hours at the Tate Britain Museum on that Saturday afternoon, and after walking back to Victoria Station, past Westminster Abbey and the [New] Scotland Yard (where some friendly policemen poked fun at me for taking a photo of the revolving sign!), we decided to head home and rest for the remainder of the evening (we had planned to do this on Friday night, but around 10pm, our housemate Ben arrived home at Cabul Road, silly as a wheel, and convinced us to get up off the couch and head down to a club called 'Revolution' in the Clapham Junction. His enthusiasm and complete silliness inspired us to walk the five minutes in the pouring rain, down to the junction, and without intending to do so, we ended up having a rather late night).

The following morning, refreshed and revived, I awoke to thunder storms, but by the time we were organised, and ready to leave the house, the sun was shining. Welcome to English weather! We caught a train, via Waterloo Station, to the North, to wander around old Camden town. Camden is renowned for it's Gothic/punk inspired scene and markets (as well as a crackin' general arts and music scene), and it did not disappoint. Trouble is, or was, is that Camden is such a tourist hub, and the streets were packed, and given that there was nothing that I needed or wanted to buy necessarily, we decided to cross over the Lock Bridge, and go and sit on the banks of Camden Lock. When I first heard of Camden Lock, I thought it to be 'Camden Loch' (as in a lake)- and presumed there was a lake there. But, no, rather Camden Lock is a very scientific-type-process-feature on the Regent's Canal. There is no way I could possibly explain how this whole process takes place, but somehow, people open and close gates, to raise and lower the canal's water levels (so they can move under bridges!) as they leisurely steer and sail their little tug boats through canals, and make it out onto the Thames river. We sat on the bank of the Lock, looking at the poor duck (just the one), floating alongside coke bottles and a pineapple (just the one), and watching the whole Lock process take place. It was rather impressive, indeed.

It was decided that we would spend the remainder of the afternoon watching the French Open tennis final at the Earl of Camden pub, where we watched Roger Fedderer win very comfortably over his Swedish rival- it's fair to say the Swede sitting across from us at our table was less than impressed. But thems the breaks, as they say.

All in all, a splendid weekend. Tick, tick.

My Two Pence

From a tube map, London looks like one big, complex, crazy maze.

From a picture postcard, it looks like a dream destination.
But when one looks at this city up close, from street level, you find things like:

* Look left and Look right: Printed on the road at pretty much every road crossing, these helpful directions printed boldly on the bitumen, have saved me from getting squashed by on-line-shopping delivery trucks on more than one occasion. This is something I love about London, and think that Melbourne should definitely get onto. Do it!

*Chicken shops: These are everywhere! There is so much supply and apparently, so much demand. They're not necessarily good, but they definately out number fast food hubs like McDonalds and Burger King. There are approximately five different chicken shops between our house and the Clapham Junction train station, which is seriously a five minute walk. They are usually named after American states (Mississippi, Tennessee, Dallas, New York...but not Kentucky...hmmm) and have a range of fried chicken meal deals, that usually come with a fries and soft drink. No charcoal option, mind you, just fried. I would never eat chicken in Oz normally, but here, I've had more chicken than I'd care to admit. Not good, but the smell on the way home from the pub ropes you in. This has to stop.

*Planes in the sky: Whenever you look up, there is at least one plane in the sky, if not two or three. And more often than not, there's a helicopter up there just for good measure. Anytime of the day or night, oh yep, there's a plane.

*No service stations: Okay, well, maybe I've seen two or three since stepping off the plane, but still... Although I don't have a car, and I'm guessing that 5 out of the 10 million Londoners don't even own or have access to a vehicle of any kind, service stations can be good for a number of reasons: somewhere that you know is open 24/7 (around here the only thing open 24/7 are the bleepin' chicken shops!) and can get all the basic essentials (despite the exorbitant price mark-ups). I never thought I'd say this, but I miss Caltex!

*Kids with big sticks: I first noticed this when we had our brief stint in Putney, and I thought it odd that in a suburb with a demographic of waspy, yuppie, pram-pushing, loafer wearing, Volkswagen golf driving whiteys, there would be a group of about six 'tween' aged girls walking the streets, smoking cigarettes, carrying big sticks and wooden stakes. They walked past, asked us if we lived there or owned the place, and we gave them lots of closed answers so they'd quickly continue on their way, which thankfully, they did. Minutes later we heard some shouting, and they ran back past again, with their big sticks in their hands. Since then, I've seen so many kids carrying sticks- usually aged between six and ten, but sometimes, they seem older. Last night, outside the local Baptist church, there was a group of kids (that looked like they could have been 14 or 15) standing around the parking meter box, having heated conversations, and holding- you guessed it- big sticks! I haven't seen any fights yet...but, I'm waiting. Hopefully I'll be well out of the way when a stick fight breaks out! They better not start bringing them to school! Local councils and boroughs should seriously consider building more skate parks or something. But on the bright side, sticks are always better than knives. Aren't they??

*Digestive biscuits: Found on supermarket shelves everywhere- but don't fall for their 'digestive' promises! These are largely wheat based, chocolate covered biscuits (much like the commonly known Weston's Chocolate Weaton found in all parts of Australia and New Zealand), and are highly addictive. Especially the dark chocolate variety. If anything, they mess with the digestive process, and with close to 100 calories per biscuit, they push you closer and closer to having to attain a life-time gym membership.

* Keeping with tradition: England is an amazing country, with an equally impressive history. Previous generations of English people have managed to 'discover', conquer and colonise (also known as killing off and obliterating indigenous communities until they got their way *cough cough*) a staggering amount of the planet given their actual size, and yet, the more I learn about these people, and work in their education system, the more I am surprised at there lack of common sense and forward thinking. They hold on tightly to the notion of 'tradition'. It doesn't work, but it doesn't matter, because it's tradition. Let's not reassess- why bother fixing it?- it's tradition after all! It's bloody barmy, that's what it is! For example, it's raining today, let's not drive the kids to the park, and sit on a stationary bus for 15 minutes, and then drive them back to school- How about we save the petrol and the planet, and play board games in the hall instead?- NO! Couldn't possibly! It's tradition to go to the park, so even if we don't get off the bus because it's raining, we're going. It's tradition! Or, one and two pence pieces- even Australia, former convict nation, phased out the brown coins- I believe yet another Commonwealth nation, the great white north, aka Canada, phased out pennies, but no, not us! Not Old Blighty! Not England! Who cares that your wallet is weighed down with brown crap- crap only good for throwing in fountains (and forget about giving it to homeless beggars- there are regular announcements at all trains stations saying 'Don't encourage the beggars- don't give them money!', and station masters ready to brow beat you when you reach into your pocket...).

Please note: This post is currently under construction- a work in progress you might say, as I've only been here five weeks, after all- keep checking back for on-going observations :)

It's Alright!

For you all on this Saturday night.

Yet another English/London classic.

Enjoy!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ul_hcxlA5KU

A Whole New World

It's been a cool and drizzly day, but what a fine week I've had working at Eaton House Belgravia.

The school, steeped in tradition, is filled to the brim with kind and dynamic staff, and eager, bright eyed and well mannered students, dressed in caps and ties.

At this time of the year, it's sheer madness around the place- exams, cricket matches, golf games where Eaton House versus the Manor House, and lunch times are spent at either Battersea or Hyde Park- as you can imagine, it's quite the experience.

I spend my days running up and down the stone stair cases, from class to class, sneaking a cup of Earl Grey tea when I can, or stopping to look out over the Thames and the Houses of Parliament from the windows at the top of our school building. It's a far cry from from the humble halls of the Tolworth Nursery school...

We meet every morning at ten past nine, for a whole school assembly in the hall, where the Head of the music department plays on a baby grand piano- hymns are sung, prayers are said, poetry is recited and general 'house keeping' is attended to. In stark contrast to the Headmistress I likened to Maisie's (in Uncle Buck), Miss Lucy is full of praise- so many "Brilliant, gentlemen, brilliant!", as she wipes away a tear of joy when the boys have finished singing or reciting or just being boys- and in light of all this encouragement, the boys at Eaton are thriving!

On the morning of my birthday, I arrived at Eaton House, without breathing a word that it was in fact my birthday, and went off to a special assembly for Miss Sarah, who I was replacing, as she was leaving the school and moving up to the north of England. The head of the music department had organised for a singing-round to be performed in her honour- he started to play away, and asked the students and teachers to start a melodious chant that went something like "boom-bi-da, boom-bi-da, boom-bi-da, boom!", and then the junior choir stood up and began to sing a song about tree tops and daffodils, keeping perfect time, and harmonising beautifully. When they had finished, applause erupted throughout the hall, and Miss Sarah (and many other members of the staff) wept and wept. Then the senior choir stood up, behind Miss Lucy's podium and sang (with the words adjusted to farewell Miss Sarah) Leonard Cohen's (or some may know it as Jeff Buckley's) 'Hallelujah'. It was spell binding! I'm not sure I've ever heard young children sing so magnificently- and when they had finished, the entire school stood up, giving them a standing ovation and endless rounds of applause!

By the following day, the assistant Headmistress, Miss Annabel had found out that I hadn't told anyone it was my birthday (I'd had to hand in a next of kin form, stating my birthday), and told me I should've made a fuss, and that birthdays are a huge deal at Eaton House. So, at assembly that Wednesday, when the general business was complete, Miss Annabel announced, "Our new member of staff Miss Angela was rather cheeky yesterday, and didn't tell us that is was her birthday!" The whole school turned and looked at me and I would have happily suck into the floor boards, "So gentlemen..." she continued "Who can tell Miss Angela what we do at Eaton House when a teacher celebrates their birthday?", and from the boys came a loud chorus of "SING HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" All of the boys turned themselves in my direction, the junior and senior choir stood up in their positions, and the pianist started up a rather elaborate version of the Happy Birthday tune. Although it was a day late, it was the most incredible "Happy Birthday" that has ever been sung to me, and I was the happiest lass in the world!

That same day, a parent who owns a hotel in Chelsea- our neighbouring suburb-decided to bring in a stem of a yellow orchid for each member of staff, and on Fridays (as I found out today)- the staff are given a gift- today it was a basket of exotic fruit! Aside from having breakfast and lunch catered for each day by an in house chef (for both the staff and students...no beans or cheap ham in sight!), and a social once a month where limitless cocktails are provided, it's the students at Eaton House that make it such a pleasant place to be- "Miss Angela, you do look beautiful in that coat today!" ,"Miss Angela, may I go to the loo?" ,"Miss Angela, have you seen this episode of Tin Tin? It's simply scandalous!"- but I suppose the world is all sunshine and lollipops when you've got it this good.

Just call me the Sloan Ranger

Remember I said that last week was the mid term break, and I had the whole week off? Well, after I posted that little entry, I got two phone calls- one asking me if I wanted to work at an ACS International school out in Egham (out on the road to the infamous township of Slough, would you believe- my Oyster card didn't even work on the buses out there!) on Thursday and Friday, and another call from my teaching agency saying that a head mistress from a prestigious boys school in Sloan Square had got a hold of my CV, and wondered if I'd come in for an interview on Wednesday afternoon.

Now, the first time I heard of Sloan Square was when Caitlin first came back from Europe in July 2006 and kept imitating the voice-over at the Sloan Square tube station (extra posh). The second time I heard of Sloan Square, was when I purchased Tina Brown's book Diana. I went and bought this book after I read an review for it in the Herald Sun sometime in 2007, and to be honest, I didn't enjoy it. It really was badly written, overblown and over-hyped, and although I'm a bit ashamed to say so, there was too much detail and information (which was largely inaccurate anyway, bordering on fictional), and not enough dirt!
There, I said it.

However, I did manage to chew through the chapter that detailed Diana's time as a Sloan Ranger, and was somewhat informed about the general culture and people that came from that part of London- and hung out, in and around- Sloan Square: royals, socialites, actors and other 'It' people. Regardless of all this, I decided to give the job a shot, and show up for the interview.

I caught the 319 bus from the street over from Cabul road, and it took very little time to make it over to Sloan Square, only about twenty minutes, and I had some time to look around; swish buildings, a Pret a Manger (best coffee in London, by far), beautifully groomed people, Tiffany and Cartier, even a M!Mco... but the best thing there on that overcast Wednesday afternoon, was the choir of about twenty women in matching black t-shirts 'signing' to Abba's greatest hits, being blasted out on two huge amps in the middle of the Square. Grand! I picked up a coffee from Pret, watched the women signing and singing away, bit my fingernails, and prayed that I wouldn't mess up the interview.

Of course I arrived a bit early, and got even more nervous when I saw the building, and had to buzz in at the security door. Very swank indeed, and I felt totally out of my league. Annabel, the assistant-principal equivalent, buzzed me in, and came down in the lift to meet me in the lobby of the school. She shook my hand, and led me up a few flights of stairs to meet Lucy, the headmistress. I was immediately taken aback by her- zany and off-beat, but utterly brilliant, and a totally unique character! Not at all what I had been expecting, I guess. She gave me the spiel about the school, and how everything ran, and then asked me some questions about my previous teaching experience. Lucy asked me what my strengths were, and I told the truth (which I kept going over in my brain later that night, neurotically dissecting the things I remembered saying, and decided that would probably have been the end of me right there) and what I liked to do in my spare time...I can't even remember what I said, I just kept trying to hold it together.

The interview took about twenty minutes, and as they let me out the front doors, I really thought I had snow-flakes chance of getting semi-permanent work at that school. Lucy and Annabel told me they'd let my agency know what their decision was the next day, because the job started on Monday, and needed to let the successful applicant know a-sap. But, I was grateful for the experience, and shot at the interview (my first here in London), and left my fate in the hands of God himself.

That night I was a bit feverish (lingering swine flu I suspect), and had a dream that Rachel, the girl from my teaching agency, called me to give me some "feedback" about the interview. In the dream, Rachel told me that I did very well, but when I walked into the school, I didn't ask the school gardener what the balance of the till was, and as a result, had missed out on the position. When I woke up, I was convinced that this position wasn't going to happen. I went off to work out in the International school that day, and checked my phone at 10am, 11am and then at 12 noon, but no calls...and I decided that I probably had a kind rejection letter in my hotmail inbox.

When I took my lunch break a bit after one, I checked my phone again, and there was a missed call from Rachel, and a message on my phone bank saying she wanted to give me some "feedback" on the interview. Hmmm. So I called her back, to hear what I thought was the inevitable.

"Well," Rachel said "You did very well in the interview...and Lucy was wondering if you'd like to start on Monday."

I believe I shrieked down the phone line, poor Rachel. I hope her ear drums are still intact.
I was completely shocked. Still, I managed to accept the position, or at least ask Rachel to do it on my behalf, and am now employed at Eaton House Belgravia until the end of the school year!
I had my first day today, which I thoroughly enjoyed, and I am hoping to do a really good job so that they might consider having me back after the summer break.

Fingers and toes, peeps, fingers and toes.

1 month in London, 29 years on Earth

The 2nd of June marks exactly one month since I arrived here in London, and 29 years since I was expelled from the womb. Funny that.

Caitlin and I decided to have a joint little-London-party to celebrate our birthdays- as we do every year, given that they are only a day apart- we also celebrated with Erin (one of Caitlin's besties), because her birthday is also on June 2nd.

Our little soiree took place at The Sun Hotel on Saturday evening, out in the beer garden. There weren't many of my people there, but I still had a good time. It had been a beautiful warm day (so much sunshine and a 25 degrees Celsius day), and the beer garden was packed with shiny, happy people.

Last time I had a birthday in a foreign country, 12 years ago now, it was the hardest day of my entire time away. I don't want to be so sad this time around...although I must admit, I am really missing my friends, and I missed them more than ever on Saturday night...but I'm going to stop here, 'cause I really want to try and enjoy my favourite day of the year.