The time is drawing near
Good day faithful readers. One of the novel features of the bathroom in my new place is that it has mirrors directly opposite one-another, one of which is able to be moved. This allows you to basically look at yourself from whichever angle you choose, rather than just face-to-face.
This morning while I was doing my hair I was checking myself out from all angles to make sure it was just so. It was while doing this that I saw myself in profile and noticed that, despite what the front view was telling me, my hair line seemed to be just a little further back than I had remembered it being. This, along with the growing number of… “silver” hairs that keep turning up, has me thinking that the time is drawing near when I’m going to have to pull out the clippers.
Neither going bald, nor going grey really concerns me too much, but for the sake of style I’ve always said that when the time comes I’m shaving my hair. I refuse to have an involuntary mow hawk, with long hair in the middle and nothing covering my temples. As such, the lot must go! Well, maybe just a stylish number 4 to start with anyway.
At least I have my Dad to thank for the fact that I most likely won’t go entirely bald or develop the dreaded bald patch, like one of my best friends, who if he’s reading this will know exactly who he is. Now that really would be cause to get out the gun!
That's him officer
Good day faithful readers. Last night started off magnificently. After work I headed over to some friends' place for dinner, after which we all walked to their local pub to watch the crucial game that would decided whether or not Australia's World Cup campaign would continue for at least one more game or come to a grinding halt. It was a tense game, with Croatia scoring in the first few minutes off a free then Australia equalising nearing half time. Then tragedy, the substitute goal keeper let a seemingly easy stop go through to the back of the net. We all thought that the dream was over, but Australia fought back and equalised again at around the 80minutes mark. After an edge of your seat final 10minutes we were finally through into the second round to play Italy.
After the game I headed home, all abuzz with excitement from the game, adrenaline still flowing through my system along with a little bit of alcohol. I was just beginning the final part of my trip home, the walk from the tube station to my house. I looked back down the road to see if my bus was coming, so I could make the trip a little quicker, when I was attacked!
Hit square in the side of the head, I staggered across the footpath in a daze. The woman who was walking behind me gasped. What kind of man mountain, with fists of iron had hit me with such force? I turned to face my attacker. Tall and black, thin but sturdily build, it's no wonder I hadn't seen him lurking there on the corner waiting for me...
Damn lamp posts!
Just like 1,000 peas in a pod
Good day faithful readers. Every morning I take the Tube to work at pretty much the same time, and every evening I catch the Tube home again at pretty much the same time. One thing that I’ve found to be consistent during my travels is that I’m packed into my carriage from when I get on to when I get off again. But this all changed about a week ago.
It was then that I noticed that there were slightly fewer commuters to contend with each day. I wasn’t spending my entire trip with my face in someone’s armpit trying to figure out what deodorant they had chosen to wear that day… “hmm, Issey Miyake, nice choice!” I was able to move relatively freely around the carriage.
This phenomenon peaked last Thursday afternoon. I caught the Tube at my normal time and not only was there less people to contend with, but there were seats! Seats during rush hour! I quickly grabbed one for fear that the mob was right on my heels. But needn’t have feared, because my entire trip home there were always seats available.
It was only as I walked into my apartment block and heard as huge cheer as England scored that I realised why I’d had such a pleasant trip home. Three cheers for the World Cup. May England go all the way and all their games be played at 5pm!
My miniture house
Good day faithful readers. While I was working at the world famous Blue Anchor pub my accommodation was provided for me. Now, when I left to start my new job this little arrangement that we had was terminated. Quite ungrateful of them I though after so many month of loyal service. Anyways, that’s how it was, so it was necessary for me to go out into the big wide world and find myself somewhere else to live.
The criteria:
- close to the city
- nice area
- rent below 100pounds per week
- gorgeous female flatmates
Amazingly I managed to find such a place in a single afternoon, and unsurprisingly my only question was “where do I sign?”
Unfortunately there is something of downside. Firstly, there’s no internet access just at the second, which is why I’ve been so slack in updating my blog (I'm currently at Starbucks uploading this - this is how devoted I am to you people, I hope you appreciate it). Secondly, after I’ve only been in the place a week the gorgeous Hungarian girls who occupy one of the rooms have decided that they’re going back to their homeland… I swear, I didn’t touch them! Apparently they had made up their mind that they’d had enough of London well before I arrived.
The other issue is that in London, even if you’re sharing, you don’t get a hell of a lot for 100pounds. In fact I would go so far as to say that you get bugger all. I think that the apartment was originally designed as a two bedroom place, but here it seems that what was the lounge room has been turned into a third bedroom, for great money making potential. I’m sure that in such confined quarters most people would end up killing each other in a week. Thankfully everyone here at the moment pretty much keeps to themselves, which is probably how it manages to work.
The main reason that I chose to move into such a small place, was that ever since I’d been in London all my food and accommodation had been provided for me. That being the case I thought that it would be remiss of me to spend too great a proportion of my salary on rent and then discover that I couldn’t afford to eat because I’d misjudged how much living expenses are. If I find after a few months that I’m able to afford something a bit more spacious then I may well take that option… of course it all depends on what my new flatmates look like too!
God help me i'm becoming english
Good day faithful readers. Firstly, let me state for the record, at no point have I ever put lemonade in my beer!
Since I've come over to the UK I've noticed that don't have the same drinking habits as Australians. In fact some of their habits would get you run out of town if you even suggested them in an average Australian pub.
Let me start with tea, which we all know that the British are famous for, but in Australia is kind of regarded as a grandma drink. Now obviously when I came over here I expected to see more people drinking tea than I normally would back at home. The extent of it didn't really hit home until I was serving breakfast one day at the world famous Blue Anchor. First thing in the morning, a bunch of workers, real manly men, staying at the hotel come in for something to eat. "Would you like something to drink guys? A coffee?" I ask them. The response I received from each and every one, "no thanks, tea please"! Now if there's any group of people that I would have expected to see drinking coffee over tea it's the manual labourer, but apparently not.
The second strange drinking habit that the English have is that they drink a much greater quantity of cider (eg. Strongbow) than I've ever noticed being drunk in Australia. In Australia ciders are really seen as a bit of a girls drink, mainly because it tastes like a soft drink. It's basically an alco-pop in disguise. Over here though they valiantly argue that it's every bit as manly as beer, if not more-so. This is because there are a lot of ciders that have alcohol contents even greater than most wines. Don't change the fact that they're sweet and tangy though!
The final and most appalling drinking habit that they have over here (I'm ignoring the warm beer thing, we all know about that one) is that they continually put lemonade in their beer. I don't think that I've ever heard someone order a shandy in Australia but I used to pour them quite regularly here. They weren't as popular however as the lager top, which is basically a pint of lager with a splash of lemonade. Can you imagine the look you would get if you ordered such a drink in an Australian pub... "You want me to do WHAT with your beer? Why don't I just spit in it while I'm at it, after all you're not going to be able to drink it".
Now as I initially stated, at no point have I ever even had the inclination to put lemonade in my beer, let alone gone through with the act. I will however hang my head and admit that I have taken to drinking tea and cider. Only occasionally though! I'm still firmly on the side of coffee and beer! It's nice having a cider while your sitting out in the sun with your shirt off soaking up the few minutes of rays we get... did I really just admit to that?
Lovely day for a walk in the countryside
Good day faithful readers. The weather here in London has finally started to improve and actually start to resemble something close to the summer that we're supposed to be having. Although I'm not sure if the "24C Bake Britain" headline that appeared in the newspaper the other day was really called for. Twenty-four degrees! That's barely early spring weather in Australia!
Anyways, I'm getting off track. Since it was such lovely weather the other day I decided that I would definitely take the opportunity to go for a walk in the countryside and test out the new hiking boots that I bought the other day. In order to get something at least partially resembling the Pyrenees I decided to walk up Box Hill, which is quite famous in the area due to the fact that it's pretty much the only significant hill amongst relatively flat surroundings. This and the fact that the area is just nice and green probably explains why there are so many walking trails all over the place.
Previously when I'd gone up Box Hill I'd always taken the road to the top, mainly because I was running and wanted somewhere that wasn't too steep and didn't put me at risk of twisting an ankle at any given moment. Now that I had my chunky boots though I felt that it was definitely time to take on the muddier route. Although its quite steep, the path is generally designed so that the average family can make their way to the top. As such hiking boots probably were not really required. Nevertheless they performed admirably, allowing me to traverse slippery stepping stones, dusty steps and tree routes with ease.
At the top of Box Hill is a nicely grassed area where a large portion of the local population seem to go on nice days to have picnics, sunbake or just relax. I can't blame them really, it's a very nice view from the top over the rolling hills of the area. That's one thing that I'll say about the England that I've seen so far. There is some very nice countryside about the place. The only problem is that, at least in the SE of the country, everyone is so tightly packed in together that you can't really go anywhere and get that feeling of solitude. That being said it is still very nice to get away from the constant drone of cars going past and breath in some relatively fresh air. Now I just can't wait to get over to France and do the same thing on a much grander scale.
And so ends that chapter
GOOD day faithful readers. What makes it such a good day you might ask. Well I'm only too happy to tell you. Today I was offered a new job! This of course means that in just over a weeks time I'll be hanging up designer set of shot measures for good, saying goodbye annoying customers and endless drunken conversations and waving adieu to smokey air and a constant cough. I don't think that I'll need to grieve for too long... I might have the occasional longing for free alcohol, but I'm sure that I'll get over it given time.
Of course my next task is finding somewhere to live. Much easier said than done in London apparently. Particularly if you want to still have enough of your weekly wage left to eat after you've paid your rent. Speaking of food I'll have to remember how to cook. I don't think that I've cooked anything more involved than porridge in the last 6 months! That then means that I'll have to go shopping. I wonder how I'm going to cart my food around? I wonder how I'm going to get to work? Maybe working in a pub wasn't so bad after all. Yeah right!
This morning while I was doing my hair I was checking myself out from all angles to make sure it was just so. It was while doing this that I saw myself in profile and noticed that, despite what the front view was telling me, my hair line seemed to be just a little further back than I had remembered it being. This, along with the growing number of… “silver” hairs that keep turning up, has me thinking that the time is drawing near when I’m going to have to pull out the clippers.
