La Vida London
As I've not done anything anywhere near as remarkable as attend a ukulele concert in recent days, I hope you will enjoy the following collection of random updatey thoughts...
The Weather
This is - was – a lovely time to be in London. It's definitely getting warmer, everywhere is green and covered in flowers. Clark Kent recently took the following picture which illustrates my point nicely:
(You do realise that aside from that being a very pretty tree (and a very stupid pose from yours truly), my main purpose in posting that shot was to work out how one does such a thing… check it out, I’m so skilful, my blog has pictures!).
The day I moved into my new flat, my flatmate - who needs a pseudonym, I think, and thus will hereafter be known as Mr Juicy - invested in some excellent garden furniture to equip us for a sunny, happy summer sitting in our backyard. Still pining for my sadly fading Spanish tan, I started to get excited.
Of course (in the grand tradition of clichés that persist because they are mostly true), London has been unrelentingly cold and wet every day since. It really, honestly, hasn't stopped raining for almost two straight weeks. It has become quite tiresome. There is a giant puddle on the main street near our house that has already grown lilypads and attracted a flock of ducks who seem very excited about their apparently permanent new home.
The Day Job
My temp gig has been extended for a couple of weeks, which is very useful in terms of income. One slight drawback is the fact that this means continued exposure to Extremely Crap FM, the radio station favoured by my fellow secretaries. Seriously, you guys, it is so bad the only way I can describe it is to reveal the following terrible truth: I have heard Simply Red at least once every day for the past three weeks. Help me.
In all other ways, the job is fine and I'm having a reasonable amount of fun. Today I gave one of my bosses the finger, so that bodes well. Amusingly, he later apologised for possibly having offended ME, so my impudent irreverence seems, yet again, to have been without long-term consequence. One of these days I'll learn.
Drinking
I have unpacked my luggage into my new bedroom, but apart from that have spent precious little time at the flat I fought so hard to find. I don't really mean to give the impression that I have a spectacular social life and am out and about every moment of the day, but in fact this has been a rather hectic week. There have been birthday celebrations (happy birthday, B1!), friends visiting from Forn Parts (the ever-fabulous Mitchell), acquaintances from Exeter to catch up with (the lovely DJDJK, who even after six years is still exceptionally tall) and a random assortment of impromptu visits to various drinking establishments of London town, including a lengthy sojourn at my new local, which I enjoyed very much. R to the B Dub will be especially pleased to know that in my first hour of attendance, that happiest of tunes "Paradise City" was played not once but twice.
This coming weekend is a Bank Holiday, the meaning of which is not particularly clear to me except in the sense that I am very pleased to have an extra day off. Given my exhausting round of social engagements this week I will be making a special effort to spend my long weekend as quietly as I can. Mr Juicy has hinted that he is confident of thwarting this intention, but I will resist. I will.
Navigation
One activity I have planned for the weekend is a thorough study of the bus routes leading to and away from my new neighbourhood (I sure know how to party). Caught in the pouring rain late last night at Kings Cross, having discovered that apparently my tube station was closed 'at the request of the police'*, I realised how unhappily ignorant I am of the options available to me on the London bus network. In my defence, I haven't lived here long and the tube has serviced my travel needs more than adequately during that time so there hasn't been a pressing need - until now - to know how to get home any other way. I was lucky last night, stumbling across a useful route reasonably quickly, but it reminded me that it is really very stupid not to have investigated how one is to get home safely in a town where the trains stop running at midnight but I often do not.
* Because – get this – someone was shot there last night. Don't tell my mum.
The Weather
This is - was – a lovely time to be in London. It's definitely getting warmer, everywhere is green and covered in flowers. Clark Kent recently took the following picture which illustrates my point nicely:
(You do realise that aside from that being a very pretty tree (and a very stupid pose from yours truly), my main purpose in posting that shot was to work out how one does such a thing… check it out, I’m so skilful, my blog has pictures!).
The day I moved into my new flat, my flatmate - who needs a pseudonym, I think, and thus will hereafter be known as Mr Juicy - invested in some excellent garden furniture to equip us for a sunny, happy summer sitting in our backyard. Still pining for my sadly fading Spanish tan, I started to get excited.
Of course (in the grand tradition of clichés that persist because they are mostly true), London has been unrelentingly cold and wet every day since. It really, honestly, hasn't stopped raining for almost two straight weeks. It has become quite tiresome. There is a giant puddle on the main street near our house that has already grown lilypads and attracted a flock of ducks who seem very excited about their apparently permanent new home.
The Day Job
My temp gig has been extended for a couple of weeks, which is very useful in terms of income. One slight drawback is the fact that this means continued exposure to Extremely Crap FM, the radio station favoured by my fellow secretaries. Seriously, you guys, it is so bad the only way I can describe it is to reveal the following terrible truth: I have heard Simply Red at least once every day for the past three weeks. Help me.
In all other ways, the job is fine and I'm having a reasonable amount of fun. Today I gave one of my bosses the finger, so that bodes well. Amusingly, he later apologised for possibly having offended ME, so my impudent irreverence seems, yet again, to have been without long-term consequence. One of these days I'll learn.
Drinking
I have unpacked my luggage into my new bedroom, but apart from that have spent precious little time at the flat I fought so hard to find. I don't really mean to give the impression that I have a spectacular social life and am out and about every moment of the day, but in fact this has been a rather hectic week. There have been birthday celebrations (happy birthday, B1!), friends visiting from Forn Parts (the ever-fabulous Mitchell), acquaintances from Exeter to catch up with (the lovely DJDJK, who even after six years is still exceptionally tall) and a random assortment of impromptu visits to various drinking establishments of London town, including a lengthy sojourn at my new local, which I enjoyed very much. R to the B Dub will be especially pleased to know that in my first hour of attendance, that happiest of tunes "Paradise City" was played not once but twice.
This coming weekend is a Bank Holiday, the meaning of which is not particularly clear to me except in the sense that I am very pleased to have an extra day off. Given my exhausting round of social engagements this week I will be making a special effort to spend my long weekend as quietly as I can. Mr Juicy has hinted that he is confident of thwarting this intention, but I will resist. I will.
Navigation
One activity I have planned for the weekend is a thorough study of the bus routes leading to and away from my new neighbourhood (I sure know how to party). Caught in the pouring rain late last night at Kings Cross, having discovered that apparently my tube station was closed 'at the request of the police'*, I realised how unhappily ignorant I am of the options available to me on the London bus network. In my defence, I haven't lived here long and the tube has serviced my travel needs more than adequately during that time so there hasn't been a pressing need - until now - to know how to get home any other way. I was lucky last night, stumbling across a useful route reasonably quickly, but it reminded me that it is really very stupid not to have investigated how one is to get home safely in a town where the trains stop running at midnight but I often do not.
* Because – get this – someone was shot there last night. Don't tell my mum.
posted by jLo at 9:38 PM
4 Comments:
"so my impudent irreverence seems, yet again, to have been without long-term consequence"
I was just about to say that.
One day I'm going to get what's coming to me, Ed. Don't think I don't know it...
"I was lucky last night, stumbling across a useful route..."
One potential spelling error away from something else not to tell your mum, Ms L.
'Paradise City' always adds such a lovely sense of occasion, I find.
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