Tu vuoi far' Americana

Statue of Liberty
Originally uploaded by Pragmatic1111.

Ok so I've been back "home" 24 hours and already it feels like the best decision I've ever made.

My flight was on time yesterday and even though I wasn't sad about leaving London i still felt weird about going through Heathrow. In fact I was so distracted that I picked up all my stuff off the security conveyer belt EXCEPT my bright pink carry on suitcase! I got a few minutes away before I realised how lightly I was travelling and by the time I got back to security, nobody had even noticed my abandoned suitcase. I'm not sure how I would have been able to explain myself had they decided to detonate my stuff. Ugh.

I flew over on a BA flight and I don't think I'll ever do it again. K tells me that no trans-Atlantic flights offer good TV services but honestly, it feels positively archaic when the airline tells you that they're screening movies in two cycles. You have no control over the stop-start of whatever you want to watch. As it was, I half-watched "The American' with George Clooney (yawn) and half of "The Kids Are Alright" with Annette Benning. Otherwise I was drinking red wine to try and drown out the noise of two young baby girls who were seated behind me. Ugh it was really annoying but what's the point of getting annoyed at babies on planes? The air pressure blocks their little ears and they can't help but get distressed by it. I just wish they could be a bit quieter when distressed, that's all. I'm so mean, I know.

But I got to NYC and all was well. I settled in to K's place and slept like the proverbial dead. This morning we got up and went to a diner not far from K's place, for some breakfast. I was craving some rye toast and it proved totally worth the effort to go to the restaurant for something to eat. After that I went across the street and chose a queen size bed to store in the new apartment that K and I have rented.

The flat is really beautiful, I have to say. The bathrooms are dated but the rest of the place is bright, airy and perfectly suited to the two of us. K has an ensuite bathroom and mine is the main bathroom, so we worked really hard to scrub both rooms today and make them something that we're going to be able to use every day. My bathroom walls were so filthy - mostly dust really - but when I was done, I was really pleased with the result. My bedroom is quite spacious too and I think when I finally get my furniture in there, and my luggage unpacked, things are going to be really great.

Photos will follow of course, when things are in their places and we're a bit more settled. We move in on Tuesday - my new bed & mattress included - so the new NYC lifestyle will really kick in then!

Closing Time

Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.

So it is on my last night in London, I'm sitting here thinking about what an amazing six months I've had here. I was going to write a bit about the things I loved (and the things I didn't) but I just don't think my brain is up to it.

This past week has been a whirlwind of handover during the day, and eating waaaay too much at night. I did get to try some fantastic new restaurants though, so that was a definite plus. This week's gluttony has reached such a zenith that I'm pretty sure that my blood is no longer full of red blood cells; rather, I now consist simply of red meat and red wine. I am going to have to take things easy for a while...and perhaps eat something green, for a change.

When the dust settles and I'm safe and sound in New York, I'll kick my brain in gear and provide a better wrap-up of my last week in London. It will be a literal retrospective, but I am confident you'll cut me some slack on that one.

So until then friends, stay safe and well and I'll see you back "across the pond"!

Call the waaaaa-mbulance!

A friend asked me the other day whether I will be sad to leave London. Quick as a flash I answered "no". We laughed about that - I think my rapid response shocked her. Days later I still stand by my answer but in retrospect I would like to have taken longer to respond. I've been thinking about it ever since and I just wish I could feel torn about moving on from here. But I don't.

Please don't misunderstand me - it's not that I don't like London. This is a beautiful city that has so much to offer its residents and tourists alike. I would recommend that everybody visit here because for architecture and tourist treats alone, London is an absolute winner. The museums and galleries are incredible. The transport links are great, even when the carriages are overcrowded and their ventilation a little sporadic. The shopping is fantastic too - wonderful and cheap choices for groceries and market foods, but also amazing boutiques and high street stores for the fashion-conscious too. The public parks and gardens are relaxing and well-used spaces that are gorgeous in summer and awesomely spooky winter wonderlands. And that's saying nothing about Europe being right on the doorstep.

But let's face it, being in London on your own is a bit of a fizzer. Hey, being in any foreign city on your own probably is too, to be honest. Spending the last six months on my own here has been a real learning experience. While I'm not sad to be leaving here, I think for my own future recollections I should probably remind myself why.

For starters (and at the risk of stating the bleeding obvious), London is a really expensive city. To live well but also within my means (as I was really desperate to do), I knew I would have to share a house and I found that really hard. Not conceptually - I was happy about the idea of sharing, but I was just continually disheartened by constant rejections and the ridiculous competition for fleabag s**thole apartments that I identified within my budget. I was just looking for somewhere warm, comfortable and affordable, close enough to the city that I could still stay out late at nights and not be stranded in the city if I missed the last train home. I wanted a house I could come home to after a night at a funky restaurant, or going to the theatre - a place where friends and family could stay when they came to visit me. I think those are fairly simple things but I struggled to make them happen for myself. Too many other people seemed to want exactly those same things. Typical!

From my experience, London has not been the friendliest city in the world either. Many of the Aussies I've met seem so settled here and breaking into their established friendship groups is really tiring. Maybe you get too old to keep trying? Being an Aussie is nothing special here either and I confess that was a bit of a surprise to me. As I have often said to people when talking about the Aussie invasion here, the guy next to you at the pub is an Aussie, but the guy pouring your beer is too. We're just everywhere - the city is crawling with Aussies. At first I thought that would be kinda cool - an easy familiarity and a friendly, welcoming environment. It just hasn't been that way....for me, I mean. I know lots of other Aussies for whom this whole posting will be weird and the polar opposite of their London experience but I can only comment on what I know.

My immediate workmates were really supportive and in that family atmosphere, their encouragement really helped. I was even fortunate enough to stay with a couple of them during the horrible transition times and that was so generous. I maintain that so much of my enjoyment of London is a direct result of my love for my job and my workmates. Then again, I know people outside of my immediate office (but still within my building) had made snide remarks about what a snob I was being and how if I just looked further out of the city and settled for a longer commute my accommodation problems would surely be over. Fair enough perhaps, but what about my quality of life and the things I wanted to do here (theatre, restaurants, entertainment)? Long commutes be hanged. Did they think that comments like theirs wouldn't get back to me?! Discouraging attitudes like that I will definitely not miss.

In answering my friend the other day, I know I'm not sad to leave London because I don't regret coming here. If I hadn't have come to London, I know I wouldn't have been as qualified for my new role in New York. The challenges I've faced here have made me curse, cry and generally be a complete grouch at times, but I am glad I dealt with them. For six months I have done a job that I've loved, and worked with an amazing bunch of people. I'll certainly be sad to leave them - but for now I feel ready to skip back across the pond and see what the Big Apple has in store for me.

Let's start with a well-ventilated public transport system, and go baby steps from there.

A grey day out, and one head still attached

The last time I visited the Tower of London I arrived after hours to observe the Ceremony of the Keys. This time I was up early to join the first tour of the day, "headed up" by Yeoman Warder McGrath. [See what I did there? "Headed up" - Tower of London - beheadings - oh man. Tough crowd.]

Anyhoo, the Yeoman Warders are the guards of the Tower and keepers of its history. Our tour guide was full to the brim with anecdotes and tall tales of the bloody, tragic and mysterious that have come to characterise the Tower of London. There were a couple of young kids in our tour group and the Yeoman Warder always made sure that they could see and hear everything. I stood not far from them, so I could see and hear everything too. The tour went for about 45 minutes, after which time we were released and left to explore on our own time.

The skies were getting darker by the minute, so I headed indoors to go check out The Crown Jewels. The sparkly collection is truly beautiful. Hard to believe that the jewels have been in the Tower's care for over 600 years - and some of the collection is over 900 years old. In the main gallery room, I rode a small travelator (those moving walkway thingies in airports - aren't they called travelators?) that tootled me past the most impressive collection of precious stones I've ever seen in one place.

After that I stopped into the gift shop (of course) and proceeded on to the chapel, into the White Tower to see the armoury, and back onto the lawns. When I came to see the Ceremony of the Keys I didn't get to see the six ravens that live in the Tower, but I did today. Legend has it that if the ravens leave the Tower of London, the kingdom will fall. Have you ever seen a raven? They're damn big. I reckon if one flew into the Tower, that might be enough to knock it down. Or perhaps I've been playing Angry Birds on my phone a little too often these days. To the sound of the ravens squawking at me, I left the Tower of London (through two more gift shops) and had some lunch at the nearby pub, Hung Drawn and Quartered. Their house pie is excellent, but their vegetable side dish is not so much.

I've scored a new job in the US and I start at the end of this month, so I've only got two weekends left to see some key London tourist attractions on my bucket list. Tomorrow is a long overdue haircut (not a tourist attraction) and an afternoon hiding out in one of the city's - and probably the world's - best-loved galleries.

Some Yum Dim Sum

In the interests of word economy on this site, I've decided henceforth to refer to Gus the Wonderdog's parents as S&M. After all, this way I'm giving an accurate representation of both their initials - and there's no risk of confusing them with a supermarket.

So S&M are headed into their literal home stretch, getting ready to head back to Australia after an enjoyable four-year stint here. I know I've really enjoyed hearing their stories about it and I will certainly miss them when they go away. We don't have many days left together, so I was really pleased when they invited me out tonight for dinner in Chinatown and a movie in Leicester Square (in the same theatre where the movie premieres are held).

I have eaten in Chinatown a couple of times since I moved here, but I find it such a confusing place that I've never been to the same place twice - cause I can never find the same place twice! Typically dodgy sense of direction.

Tonight the girls took me to Dumplings Legend, a place that they had been to before, and really liked. The place was doing a roaring trade and while we waited for a table, we got to see inside the dumpling-making kitchen. We could clearly see two very practiced chefs fill and mould a huge variety of little flavour pockets, and ready them for the bamboo steamers. It was quite mesmeric actually. In almost no time we had our seats and I took a look at the menu. Crikey - so much choice! Naturally we deferred to M to select our items.

I think tonight was actually my first authentic dim sum meal since 2005, when Reg and I were in Hong Kong and we went to a floating dim sum restaurant called Jumbos. I remember being totally overwhelmed by that place, but I loved it all the same . Like Jumbos, Dumplings Legend was cheap, cheerful and really tasty. M ordered about 8 little plates and at first I thought that might have been a bit ambitious but I tell you, it was the perfect amount. M made some great choices too and the meal was just delicious. I was particularly intrigued by the soup dumplings, where the soup was actually inside the dumpling! S kindly demonstrated the art of eating them and I did my best not to slop anything down the front of any of us - hooray, success!

After my gluttonous experience, I was really relieved when we took our slow walk back to the cinemas in Leicester Square. We called into Stanford's Map Shop en route and I somehow managed to avoid buying anything, though the NY subway map shower curtain was very tempting...

Having very much enjoyed "The King's Speech" when I saw it in Chicago, I was really hoping that S&M would like it too. The Odeon in Leicester Square is one of those cinemas where you have to choose your seats beforehand, and we were fortunate that the three seats we picked were far enough down the back and away from other people that we felt like we had some space to ourselves. I actually found the movie to be more enjoyable the second time around, and I'm totally back on the Colin Firth Admiration Wagon again. After our Dumplings Legend experience, Mr Firth was definitely our 9th tasty dish of the evening!

The V&A is AOK

I've only been back in London a week and I've become a bit of a culture vulture again. Case in point, on Monday I spent several pleasant hours wandering around the Victoria & Albert Museum. A big fan of the Queen Victoria & Prince Albert love story, I couldn't resist calling in.

In fact, we'd only been talking about the V&A when I was in New York for NYE so I was really looking forward to exploring it when I got back to London.

Having visited the place now, I have to concur with AH that the V&A has the most beautiful and diverse gift shop I think I've ever seen. I couldn't resist buying some goodies, though I only scored one gift for myself and bestowed the others on my Mum & sister. Gold star for me.

I didn't go into any of the special exhibitions that the Museum was showcasing, simply because I figured there was so much else to occupy my attention. I spent a long time browsing the jewellery collection, and nearly got kicked out for photographing a really ugly jewel-encrusted Jack Russell brooch that I wanted to show Gus the Wonderdog's parents. Fortunately the museum guards didn't see me photograph the 19th Century amethyst & diamond grape necklace that I emailed to K. I'm such a rebel.

I was equally impressed with the silver & gold collections (anything sparkly, it seems). Some of the cases had really comprehensive information panels so I learned a bit about how silver was used in the olden days as a symbol of wealth and prestige - and passed down to family members through the generations. There was so much to see that I didn't know where to look next.

It's a good thing that like the V&A, most London museums and galleries are free to visit. I love to visit them, but I find it really easy to overdose on all the information and spectacle that I find there. Having left the V&A I seriously thought about calling into The British Museum across the road, but I didn't because I thought my head might explode. Still, they have an Egyptian exhibition on at the moment that I simply HAVE to see - a job for next weekend, maybe.

Back in Londonland

It's such a wrinkled cliche but time really DOES fly when you're having fun and before I knew it, my Christmas/New Year break was over and I was back to London to get ready for work.

When I got back on Sunday I settled into yet another sublet arrangement, this time looking after a bedroom for a NZ guy who's gone back home until 23 January. So far, so good. I have my own room at the top of the house where I can close the door and read, or muck about on my computer, or I can go to bed early. This may sound anti-social to you, but bear in mind these are the sorts of things I would do if I lived by myself anyway, such is my dynamic nature (not).

I don't know...I think I'm probably just getting old and grouchy. I'm over the whole 'share-house' thing - too many people living in a house make me think of hippy communes. I can only take a shower every day if I don't think about how many other people have showered in it since it was last cleaned (shudder). Ditto the toilet, whose seat one room mate insists on leaving up, even though I know there are at least 2 other girls living here. I guess I shouldn't complain too loudly, as said male room mate at least has good aim.

I haven't cooked any meals in the kitchen yet; indeed, I haven't even been into the kitchen since I moved in, so I'm not sure what state that's in. I know that the washing machine is down there, so I'll check it out this weekend. I hope the machine isn't complicated. I also hope it has been serviced recently - I don't think I could take it if my underpants got stuck in yet another strange washer's rinse cycle and refused to come out.

The NZ guy that rents this room does have a good DVD collection though, and I'm tempted to borrow some to watch on my computer. I'm sure he wouldn't mind, but just as I'm about to grab one I wonder what would happen if a disc got jammed in my machine. How would I explain that? What if I broke it and my computer wiped the movie? In total lameness, I leave all the DVDs on their shelves - untouched, and where they belong.

Subletting is a weird way to live, I'll admit - but at the same time, I've met some nice people and managed to get to know the city a bit better (or at least experimented with new bus routes). It feels weird sleeping in a bed that's not yours, on sheets that aren't yours, hanging your clothes in a wardrobe that's not yours (and isn't entirely empty either). I desperately want to spin this guy's bed around so it faces the other way because I honestly think it would be more spacious but I don't do it because a) it's not my room and b) I couldn't be stuffed. Obviously.

From a financial standpoint though, subletting is a really good idea. The rent is cheap and most people are happy to pay their bills while they're away, so you don't have to. At Tube stations around the city this week I've seen billboards for some great art exhibitions and theatre shows that I really want to see, so having some discretionary dollars for those diversions is great. A subletting silver lining, if you will.

I've settled back into work well this week; it was almost like I never had a holiday at all. We've been busy, but we're all getting through it and counting down the hours until the weekend. The office Christmas tree got taken down yesterday too, and that's a sure sign that the silly season is over and it's back to real life again. So it's a deep breath and as the English like to say, "Keep Calm and Carry On".

New Year, New Town, New York

There is something really great about getting off a plane and knowing exactly where you're going. I love being able to stride past the jet-lagged masses to the luggage carousel, fetch my bag without smacking something with it (accidentally or on purpose), then exiting the airport terminal through the one door that takes you straight to the end of the taxi queue.

There are only three airports in the world that give me these experiences each time. The first is Adelaide Airport; in my home town, so of course familiarity reigns. Good coffee, great toilets, Coopers beer. Gold.

The second is Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. Sure it’s big, noisy and full of grabby TSA staff who give you an enthusiastic pat down, but at least they don’t give you a dirty-old-man grin as they do it. I love O’Hare for its cold beers, huge food court, and peaceful airport lounges. I also love the Chicago accent on the dude that does the voice overs to tell us that the transport safety rating is "o-range". No really, I love that.

And last, but by no means least, is La Guardia Airport in New York. I’ve only flown in and out of here a couple of times but already I've totally taken to it. The bars are sadly non-existent, but the souvenir shops are fabulous and the taxi guys like to laugh - which really helps when you're so jet-lagged that you hate everybody.

So you’ll appreciate the irony of how relaxed I was, when I landed at La Guardia on 31 December, arguably one of New York City's busiest party days of the year.

Breezing through the terminal to reclaim my baggage, I took my place at the end of the taxi queue and was ushered into a cab in a matter of minutes. Zooming towards the concrete jungle I chatted amiably with the taxi driver about the state of the city’s roads after the horrible blizzards. Sure enough snow was piled high along the sides of the roads – waiting until the next fleet of ploughs, or perhaps just a good drenching rain, could come along to clear them away.

On the day I arrived, K and her family were helping to strengthen the US economy at the outlet malls, so I let myself into her apartment and watched a couple of episodes of “Criminal Minds” – man, I love that show. When the family came home, we all got ready and had some pre-dinner drinks before heading out in the cold (but clear) night.

Dinner on New Year’s Eve was at a French restaurant called Millesime and it was just gorgeous. The follow-up Restaurant Review in the NY Times probably hasn’t hurt its reputation either (click here to read that). There were 10 of us at the table and I shared a lobster soufflé starter with K’s Mum and then enjoyed a tuna steak with a sauce vierge, plus a side order of potatoes cooked in duck fat (duh) as my main course. The duck fat tried to clog my arteries, but the tuna steak wouldn’t let it, so all in all it was a well-balanced meal. Sort of. Kate’s Dad took charge of ordering our dinner wines and they were so good. As with the rest of the silly season though, I totally over-indulged in the food and drink sensations, and basically put myself in a food coma by about 2am. In the midst of my blame spiral, I was cursing my enthusiasm for the punch-you-in-the-face red wine that Kate's Pa ordered - I think that's what finished me off.

The next day started with brunch and admittedly I was feeling pretty ill – though not as sick as K who had to go home from the brunch restaurant and sleep all day. Stupid gunky gems had invaded her and she looked and sounded pretty rotten. The rest of us stayed in the fresh air and headed into Bryant Park behind the New York Public Library (Breakfast @ Tiffany's moment, anyone?). We wanted to check out the little Holiday village they’d set up there and the outdoor skating rink that was still proving really popular. We then wandered in and out of stores on Fifth Avenue, peeked across the street at the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, then wound up back at the apartment. Nobody really had the energy to head out, so we stayed in and got pizza and watched Eddie Izzard DVDs. Loved it.

Time really does fly when you’re having fun and this holiday proved it. I awoke on 2 January feeling much better than I had the day before, and ready to face a great day. Rain had already started to fall, which basically declared it a Museum Day, but I didn’t mind a bit. While K’s parents explored flea markets on the other side of the city, we met up with PL at the Museum of the City of New York – incidentally the one museum in town that I’d actually been to already! Never one to resist a gift shop, I picked up a book about John Jacob Astor and his fantastically wealthy life. I haven’t started reading it yet but I can’t wait.

Later in the afternoon we called into a Mexican restaurant around the corner from K’s place and had a few too many margaritas but we needed to – how else to wash down the ultra spicy guacamole and salsa?!

Pouring myself back into a taxi, I bade farewell to P & K and headed for New York’s JFK airport – not my preferred option but as Mick Jagger said, “you can’t always get what you want”. The lovely dude at the British Airways counter let me board really early, so I was happily seated down the back of the plane with my book and music before the other yahoos came aboard. What followed was a full but happy flight, where I didn’t sleep a wink (again), but had a great time thinking back over the wonderful holiday that I’d had in the US cities – and airports – that I love.

See you soon, gang!

Post #2 (or The One Where Gab Leaves On A Jet Plane)

Mrs Gump may have maintained that life is like a box of chocolates but for my money, you never know what you're gonna get when you pack a suitcase a) drunk or b) hungover.

After the Boxing Day birthday lunch, I returned home to finish the last of my packing and then watched “Sister Act” on TV. I cried whenever Whoopie Goldberg and her choir of nuns sang, and again when Harvey Keitel finally got arrested. I have seen that movie thousands of times and never cried, so I’m totally blaming the red wine and general holiday gluttony for this one.

To be honest, I really should have known better than to over-indulge on this particular occasion, because I had been looking forward to the next morning (December 27) for ages. Not only did that date herald a move to my new sublet situation, it was also the day I was leaving for my US holiday.

On the day in question I got up quite early and was mercifully spared anything resembling a hangover. That said, I did enjoy a breakfast of Nurofen and Diet Coke, so perhaps that helped.

After a quick shower and a last cleanup of the bedroom, my car service turned up on time to take me to my new (albeit temporary and sublet) home. Lugging all my suitcases down the four flights of stone steps and into the car represented the only cardio exercise I have done in months, so even though it nearly killed me it was probably worth it. While my fledgling biceps were still warm (or at least momentarily stunned), I then dragged a couple of suitcases UP three flights of stairs into my new place, before locking the door behind me and driving off.

The car then took me out to Paddington Station, where I paused for a coffee before taking the Heathrow Express out to the airport. I arrived 5 hours early which I’ll admit was not really my plan and in retrospect was both unnecessary and kind of ridiculous. I am not really sure what was going through my head when I booked the car so early. It was probably a combination of fear that the car wouldn’t show up (or else show up late), and my worry that the airport train would be late (or not running at all), which would all ultimately result in my being late to Heathrow and potentially missing my flight. Totally irrational fears when you lay them out like that, but when you’ve had a couple of madcap weeks like I have, perhaps I was really sensible in the long run.

Things weren’t so bad once I actually got to Heathrow. I was one of the first people to check in for my flight when the gate opened and by that time, the thunder & lightning storms in London had blown themselves out, leaving us with grey – but very clear – winter skies. As a result, boarding happened without incident and we actually took off on time. Whee!

The flight was uneventful, for which I am of course grateful. I didn’t sleep a wink because I was so excited to be visiting Chicago for the first time in nearly two years and instead, I watched a bunch of movies that I can’t remember, and started reading a new book I’d bought at the airport.

Once I arrived at O’Hare I was shocked and annoyed to be part of the longest passport control & immigration queue I think I’ve ever seen. It took me nearly 90 minutes to get to the front, all the while three Italian tourists behind me invaded my personal space every time the line moved. They poked me with their jackets, kicked my ankles a few times, and the guy even tripped over my roll-along suitcase in his haste to get as close to me as he could. And just when I got to the front of the queue, a customs official appeared out of nowhere and opened a brand new line that the Italians rushed to join. Turns out they got to the front of that line and cleared passport control a good 20 minutes before I did. Bastardi.

Once I was through passport control and customs, I caught up with LH in the Arrivals Hall at O’Hare – she was so good to wait for me that whole time! We drove to Target to pick up some supplies and then headed back to her place where the adorable Preston was waiting for us. I don’t know anything about dog memories, but Preston had not seen me for nearly two years and he still remembered me like it was yesterday. Every time I sat on the couch, he sat right on top of me – almost as if he wanted to pin me down and not let me leave him again. Adorable.

The allergy tablets I’d picked up at Target helped me coexist with the two Persian cats that populate LH’s apartment. The cats (Simon and Norman) belong to LH’s room mate who was visiting his family in California at the time of my visit. They are friendly enough as far as cats go, but they are used to sleeping on room mate’s bed (where I was) so I didn’t want to be attacked by nasty allergies or pink-eye or something because of them laying on the bed and shedding all over me.

Tuesday morning, after a wonderful sleep, we got up and headed into the city for lunch with my friend, Courts. We met in this little Lebanese diner in the Loop, built at the back of a jewellery store. You actually have to walk THROUGH the jewellery store to get there; it’s a weird concept. We had a really lovely lunch, though it wasn’t a long one just because Courts was on her lunch break. Since I left Chicago I had been keeping up with Courts’s life through her blog so I was across all her major news, but that’s not the same as seeing her in person and catch up properly, you know? Lovely.

Speaking of lovely, LH and I spent the rest of the afternoon just wandering down Michigan Avenue, before we jumped on the bus and headed back to her place. Packing an overnight back, we drove back into the city (with Preston this time) to spend the night at the Peninsula Hotel. In 2009, LH and all her work colleagues had each been given a gift voucher from the hotel to thank them for their work and partnership during the year. The gift voucher was about to expire, so LH cashed hers in to treat us both to a night’s accommodation. It was AMAZING. We actually had a suite with two of the most comfortable double beds ever. The room overlooked Michigan Avenue and we had a great view of the John Hancock building, the Water Tower, and even NoMI at the Park Hyatt a block over. The suite we had is valued at $950 a night, and I’m not sure whether that’s cheap or expensive by Chicago five-star standards, but I was well and truly spoiled rotten, it was wonderful. Preston was a little angel too and seemed to know that he was in a fancy-pants place and needed to be on his best behaviour.

For our evening meal I decided I wanted to have a traditional Chicago deep-dish pizza and when the line up for Giordano’s proved too long to bear, we crossed the street and ate at Pizzeria Due instead. The pizza was amazing and the pomegranate margaritas were too. The combination of those two dining choices put me in a delightful, if not a little bit drunken, food coma.

The next morning we were up early-ish and I had coffee with a friend Downtown while LH drove Preston back to the apartment. We met up again at the Lucky Strike bowling alley in the city, where my friend LB is the Sales & Events Manager. A delicious lunch followed and it was lovely to see LB again and chat about the plans for her wedding later this year. My good friend LA joined us for lunch too, and it was great that my friends got along so well together and we all chatted freely during lunch.

Afterwards, I went along with LH and LA to see “The King’s Speech” at the cinema that is part of the bowling alley building. Hmm perhaps the bowling alley is part of the cinema building. Ugh whatever, you get the idea. The movie was fantastic and we all really enjoyed it. Funny because only the week before at Christmas, Gus the Wonderdog’s parents had asked me whether I thought Colin Firth was hot. I replied that I was certainly in love with him as Mr Darcy (in “Pride & Prejudice”) but I fell out of love with him when I saw his dodgy kissing in “Bridget Jones’s Diary” – good kissing is a selling point, you see. Having seen “The King’s Speech” I can certainly tell you that I’m back in love with him, kissing prowess aside. I think he is amazing in that film and I don’t know whether acting ability wins Oscars anymore but in Colin’s case it certainly should.

It was really nice to just hide out and do relaxing things in Chicago, without the added pressure of seeing tourist attractions or museums etc. It was great to be able to revisit my old haunts and see the city as I used to do. It was a shame that I wasn’t in Chicago on a Sunday night, because I had really wanted to get back to Sidetrack for Sunday showtunes. I especially wanted to enjoy a vodka slushy (single colour of course, as history has proven that the rainbow coloured ones are totally deadly). Sadly the calendar was against us, but LH came up with the alternative option to visit a showtunes bar in her neighbourhood. So after a delicious pasta dinner with LH and her cousin, we met up with our Sidetracks staple boyfriends at the proxy showtunes bar. It was great to see the guys again and catch up on old times. The only down side was that in addition to having show tunes that evening, the bar was also hosting a very amateur awards ceremony for very amateur local theatre. There were probably about 30 people in the bar in total, and I reckon we were the only people in the bar NOT associated with the awards. Lame. It was equally lame that we had to politely stop talking every time the music stopped and another award winner was announced (and made their inevitably lame acceptance speech in praise of their cast, crew, and God). Once I’d caught up with the boys, and enjoyed one watery Cosmopolitan, we were all ready to head home and the night came to a bit of an abrupt end and we went our separate ways, vowing to catch up again soon, though next time I will insist that we wait until Sidetracks Sunday when we can have a proper do-over.

Sleep came very easily that night and I remember getting up the next morning so relieved that the day’s social engagements did not start early. We headed to Ann Sather's in LH’s neighbourhood for a delicious brunch, including a takeaway order of the famous cinnamon rolls that I had been mysteriously craving for days. They did not disappoint.

In the afternoon we drove to the South Loop for a catch up and dinner with RG & LZ at their house. It was also the first time I got to meet their baby boy, who is now an utterly gorgeous 9-month old. I gave him some Harrods toys and a Chicago counting book, so that he knows his Aunty Gabs loves him. In return he devoured my cheeky with his gummy, slobbery mouth and it was the best thank you I’ve had in ages. Equally fabulous was the delicious pizza and red wine we enjoyed, and our shared stories about Christmas, old times in Chicago, and the new adventures that 2011 promised to bring.

Early the next morning it was time to farewell my sweet home Chicago. I said a hasty goodbye to Preston, all the while trying not to let on that I was leaving him again. LH drove me back to O’Hare and I hugged her goodbye before boarding my flight to New York.

But hey, that’s a story for another time. Or at least for Post #3.

Festive Fun

Bless me dear reader, for I have sinned. It has been far too long since my last posting. But we’re both here now and let me tell you, we have a lot of catching up to do.

I am not very good at telling stories in chronological order, I’ll admit. I start strongly but then I get bogged down in detail and take myself – and my audience – off on some ridiculous tangent that may (or may not) help enrich the original story. See, I’m doing it right now? ARGH.

The point of this particular divergence though is to explain how I’m going to approach our huge and essential catch up. In order to bring you up to speed on my life since we last met, I intend presenting my stories as a series of postings, prepared in the order in which the events happened. It will be a revelation for me, not least a rebellious departure from my usual style, but I reckon it will work. After all, I figure that if I wrote one bumper posting to wrap-up three weeks’ worth of activities, I risk leaving out fun and potentially important details from my anecdotes. As unintentional as those omissions might be, they would certainly irritate me – and nobody likes it when I’m irritated.

So let’s kick off this chronological story-telling exercise with a look back at the silly season; or as I prefer to think of it: Gab's First London Christmas.

In the lead up to Christmas, snow had fallen quite solidly for a couple of days, leaving the city paralysed but beautiful. I battled through the slushy weather; gingerly at first, and with growing confidence as the thaw began. Work itself slowed down as more people started their Christmas holidays. I left a couple of projects on my new year ‘to do’ list and at around 4pm on 23 December, I shut down my computer for the last time in 2010, blissfully aware that I would be on holidays myself until 5 January.

Later that evening and very early the next day, I packed up most of my belongings in the bedroom I was subletting. I was alone in the house during this time; what with one room mate already back in Spain to spend the holidays with her family, and the other scampering about the city somewhere with his mates. The silence was actually helpful, because I was able to concentrate on what I was doing and not leave any stuff forgotten in random drawers or cupboards.

By the afternoon of Christmas Eve I was ready to relax and make the trip up to Marylebone to spend the following couple of days with Gus the Wonderdog and his parents. Laden with food, sleeping bag, and any clothes I would need to get by, I joined the throngs of people trying to criss-cross the city on the trains. Unfortunately I did not read the train station screen particularly well and ended up on a train to Woking instead of Waterloo. To those unfamiliar with English geography, this does not seem so bad – except for the fact that these two stations are in entirely opposite directions, and about 45 minutes apart. As the train left the station – obviously in an unintended direction – I realised my mistake immediately. As the guard read out our list of stops over the loudspeaker, I realised that I had also managed to catch an express train to Woking. Oh joy.

You’d be proud of me though, cause I didn’t cry or stress or anything. I just figured that when the train got to Woking, I’d get off, change platforms, and head back to Waterloo. What else could I do really? I’m becoming terribly practical in my old age, I think. Then of course to compound my embarrassment, the train conductor made his way through the train to check everyone’s ticket. Given that Woking is a regional destination, the ticket I used to get on the train was not actually valid for the journey. I confessed to the conductor – with a self-deprecating eyeball roll - that I had made a gross error and that I’d actually been headed for Waterloo, so I knew that my Oyster card was not good for the fare to Woking. He just shook his head and playfully said, “silly girl” – but he didn’t fine me or anything, presumably because it was Christmas and I was foreign and he was a nice man.

Once at Woking, my ticket card obviously wouldn’t let me back through the gates to the ticket machines. I appealed to the gatekeeper and again the spirit of Christmas prevailed. In no time at all, I had purchased a ticket and was on my way – on an express train no less – to London’s Waterloo station.

Fast forward to Marylebone (my favourite neighbourhood), and I had finally arrived at Gus’s house with no real desire to head out again into the grey and fading day. Fortunately the girls had the same inclination to hibernate and we had some drinks, I roasted a chicken to eat cold the next morning for breakfast, and we all had an early night. Now that I think about it, I reckon we were all hungover actually. The pantomime – or more accurately the sheer amount of red wine we drank before, during and after it – had totally wiped us all out.

Christmas morning was a late one for me. The girls let me sleep in and I felt a bit weird about that. You know what it’s like when you’re a guest at someone’s house and you feel like you should at least get up when they get up, even if realistically you could continue sleeping forever? Well that’s how I felt anyway. When I say I slept in, it was only until about 10am which is not criminal, but on Christmas morning it is a bit weird. When we were growing up, J and I weren’t allowed to get out of bed on Christmas morning until the digital clock on the microwave read “7 dot dot something”. Naturally from about 5am onwards we would take it in turns to creep out of bed to check the time. We would do this in two minute intervals and we’d heartily wish that time would speed up so we could open our presents. At 7 dot dot 01, we would burst into Mum & Dad’s room to wake them up, to share the news that Father Christmas had been and they needed to get up NOW so they could see the bounty for themselves.

This year, Father Christmas didn’t visit me, but Gus’s parents were his agents of generosity and they bestowed upon me the latest Dawn French book, a fantastic striped scarf (to replace the one I shrunk trying to clean up after the great Starbucks spill), and a very cute little coin purse. I was mortified that I hadn’t bought them anything, but I honestly believed that we’d agreed not to do presents. I know I should have ignored that. Ugh I still cringe when I think about that.

The chicken & champagne breakfast that I had organised went down so well and I was really pleased that I’d insisted on having it. The roast chicken was tender and moist (ugh I hate that word), and when sandwiched on the yummy bread with herby cream cheese, it made for a satisfying but light breakfast. Overnight I had chilled some Laurent Perrier brut champagne, which was a dry and delicious accompaniment to the informal chicken sandwiches.

The girls and I were full of bravado about walking to our lunch venue but once we hit the footpath (and face-first into the cold air) we quickly abandoned that option. We hailed a taxi on Oxford Street and within minutes we were in Soho and at the Dean Street Townhouse (check out the link to their Christmas menu), to honour our lunch reservation. I hoisted myself up on the tallest bar stool I think I’ve ever seen and bravely ordered a mint julep, in honour of my trip to Memphis a few years ago with K. What I received was rocket fuel in a glass, much stronger and much less minty than the Peabody Hotel’s version. The girls laughed at me, because I reckon the booze in my small beverage would have been enough to power a Smart car around the block. A couple of times. Yikes!

Taking my half-finished drink to the table with me, we exchanged our giant barstools for a low-slung dining table with large, equally-low plush armchairs. The table setting reminded me very much of the Mad Hatter’s tea party and the candlelight just added to the festive, cosy atmosphere. We enjoyed a set menu for our Christmas dinner. Ironically we all chose the same starter; the mixed mushrooms topped with a fried duck egg, then because I’m not a fan of roast turkey, for my main I chose the roast beef with all the trimmings. It was cooked perfectly and complemented the red wine we had ordered to accompany our meal. The whole menu was really delicious. I could not eat any of the cheese or chocolates that came next, but the peppermint tea I got helped to soothe my full but very satisfied belly.

Walking home from the restaurant was not an attractive option either really, as we were all lapsing into food comas. Once we got home, we all had a little sleep to help us recover from our gastronomic punishment and even though I woke up with a nasty headache (thanks I’m sure to the nasty mint julep & fabulous red wine combination), I headed back to bed around 10pm.

Come Boxing Day morning I was a bit more disciplined in terms of getting out of bed. I was aided in this endeavour by the fact that we were all expected at Putney before lunch time, to meet at my boss’s place and head to a nearby pub for his birthday. As our bus turned left from Baker Street onto Oxford Street, I couldn’t believe the crowds lined up around the block to get into the Boxing Day sale at Selfridge’s. You honestly couldn’t have paid me to go inside the store that day, much less work at it! Ugh it would have been horrendous.

After what I’d shoved into my body on Christmas Day, you’d think that eating would have been the last thing on my mind at the pub. Still I found room for yet more red wine and a pork belly roast (again with all the trimmings). Fortunately for my waistline, it was literally impossible for me to eat all of my meal. I just couldn’t fit it in. Ugh. Fast forward to more post-lunch red wines and then it was back to the bus to head home.

Making Christmas Hoff-tastic

Growing up in Australia, I was quite a fan of Neighbours, though I have to admit that my viewing ceased pretty much around the time that Scott & Charlene headed up to Brisbane. I did tune in when Harold got washed off the rocks at the beach, but I never saw how they found him - all I know is that he waded out of the ocean eventually. Weird.

My point is that when I was younger, I recall that Neighbours stars used to go missing all the time and usually around this time of year. As it happened, they would turn up to tread the boards (as they say in the industry), in the London pantomimes.

At the time I didn't know what pantomimes were, but owing to the "mime" part of the word, I guess I figured they were high-brow, but silent pieces of performance art. Then again I used to think that oral sex was talking about it, so full marks for naivety over here.

Where was I? Oh yes, pantomimes.

Last night I went along with Gus the Wonder Dog's parents to Wimbledon, to see my first ever pantomime. The girls had seen Pamela Anderson as the genie in last year's "Aladdin" panto, so they were really looking forward to this year's season.

We saw "Peter Pan" and I can now tell you for sure that a pantomime is the total and unadulterated opposite of what I thought it was. A pantomime is not silent - it is boisterous, raucous and totally entertaining. It is not high-brow either, rather it is engaging, familiar, and for absolutely all ages.

No Neighbours stars made a cameo in the production I saw but hey, when you've got David Hasselhoff hamming it up as Captain Hook, who needs Ramsay Street?!

Our Peter Pan Pantomime (try saying that three times fast) was also a great celebration of campy music and lots of audience interaction. I loved it when we all started boo-ing the Hoff as he hatched his nasty plan to trap the Lost Boys and to kill Peter Pan. Then as Hoff's pirates were sneaking up on the unsuspecting Peter Pan, we all screamed out "They're behiiiiind yooooooou!" - it was so funny, we all got into it. As the Supremes-style trio of singers belted out some great hits, and Hoff's pirates perfected their cruise ship dance routines, we all likewise grooved in our seats - it was a truly great show.

I think what I also liked about the panto is that everybody behaved themselves. Well, everyone except some drunken woman who was lectured by security during intermission for booing the Hoff too consistently. She maintained she was just being enthusiastic. Security dude suggested she'd crossed the line. Awkward.

Another thing I really liked about the panto is that it had nothing to do with Christmas. Sure there were carols playing as we were leaving the theatre, but the show wasn't dripping in yuletide sweetness. In fact, you could stage that panto at any time of year and it would STILL be a hit. I would certainly see another one, no problems at all. As it happens, when the Hoff hangs up his hook soon, his role will be taken over by Jerry Springer. I don't even need to tell you how awesome that would be, right?

Sunday Status: Warm and Vertical

After spilling coffee over myself yesterday and subsequently being irritated with life, I was a bit worried about heading out into the big, weird world today. I had made plans with LW to catch up for a Christmas lunch at Putney and while I really wanted to do it, I didn't want a repeat of yesterday or the horrible behind-the-eye headache that it gave me.

My morning turned out to be lovely, giving me the chance to Skype with my parents and otherwise have a lazy lie-in kind of day, which was nice. Before catching the bus I thought I'd do the right thing and take the rubbish out. Given that my sneakers have no treads whatsoever, I went skidding down the three icy back cement steps and ended up lying on my back, contemplating the sky. I stayed there for a few minutes, making sure I hadn't broken my a$$, and fortunately I realised I had emerged quite unscathed. I dropped a couple of f-bombs for good measure, and thanked all the angels and saints that nobody had actually been outside to see me fall.

Hobbling towards the bus stop, I realised that I was running quite early for lunch so when I arrived at the station, I had plenty of time to stop for a coffee. This time I didn't spill a drop on myself, which was probably handy given that I had already succeeded in splotching dirty snow all over my butt - in the same jeans I'd soiled with Starbucks only yesterday. Honestly, my life is THAT ridiculous.

So with dirty jeans, and some time to spare, I sat away from the crowds and warmed myself with some yummy coffee, then caught the train to the lovely Putney neighbourhood.

LW and I then wandered down to Rump, a really lovely steakhouse that advertised a Christmas menu but didn't actually offer it when we were there. That wasn't really a big deal as it turned out, because we were quite content with a cocktail each, a traditional Sunday roast to share, and then a bottle of red wine between us. Oh and I had the creme brulee, which ended up having some sort of Christmas pudding base to it - a bit of a surprise, but not an altogether unpleasant one.

I've returned home tonight with plans to make a roast chicken dinner for my room mates - but none of them are home. I'm not sure if they're likely to wander in any time soon, so I might have to rain check till tomorrow night. We'll just have to see...

Snowy Saturdays and Starbucks

I had a cracking start to my Saturday. I got up early(ish) and made the best cup of Twinings English Breakfast tea, accompanied by hot toast with the perfect ratio of butter to Vegemite. Dressing warmly, I headed out into the light flurries to pay my deposit on the room I'm subletting for the next month.

By the time I got to the new apartment, the snow was coming down much more heavily and, of course, it was falling towards me so I kept getting stinging snowflakes in my eyes. Fellow pedestrians were coming at me from all sides, and it was all very slow going on my part. Deposit paid, I headed back into the storm, thinking that on the reverse journey I might actually enjoy a pleasant walk with the snow at my back. Um, no. Snow will fall wherever the wind blows it and on this particular occasion, the wind was enjoying nothing more than blowing right into my eyeballs again.

I jumped into a charity shop to donate a bagful of clothes, and used the opportunity to dust myself off and chat with the peculiar store owner about the weather, Christmas and the delicious mince pies on sale at M&S.

It is well worth mentioning that all this activity was actually taking place PRE-coffee, so it's ridiculous how nice I was being to everyone. It also explains what happened next.

I shuffled up the High Street, making a mental note to call into Waitrose supermarket so I could buy the ingredients for the beef stew I planned to make. But the first order of proceedings was coffee. The Jamie Oliver store (Recipease) was chock-full of very weird people today, some of whom were most unhelpfully wheeling suitcases around the store. Whyyyyyy?! Needless to say I left the store, abandoned my principles, and headed into Starbucks.

I haven't had Starbucks in ages - probably not since I was last in the US actually. I used to buy it every day, en route to work, and it was nice to know I could still remember my usual order:

Starbucks language: I'd like a venti coffee with room, thanks.

English: I'd like the largest filter coffee you sell, with about an inch of room left in the top - to make room for milk, please.

Coffee in hand, I headed to any empty table and laid out the reading material that I'd brought along with me. I'd taken off my scarf and waterproof coat and settled them into my lap, ready to relax and unwind.

Attempting to shuffle my chair in a bit closer to the table, I leaned my feet on the table leg for leverage and....well, I think you know the rest.

My coffee cup tilted over and hit the table with an awful thud. Every drop of coffee - and I mean every single last bloody drop of it - splashed across the table, over my reading material, down my front, onto my jeans, and all over the floor. I hadn't even had a sip of it.

I didn't cry and I didn't drop the f-bomb. A man at the table next to me materialised with a stack of napkins and I began blotting and mopping up the spill. Another man went off in search of the cleaning crew, and I searched for a way to get the hell out of there without making an even bigger spectacle of myself (if that were indeed possible). My woollen scarf was soaked in coffee, rendering it completely useless, so I didn't even bother getting dressed again - I just left wearing soaking wet jeans and an unzipped hoodie, dragging my waterproof coat with me.

Stomping back down the High Street, the snow falling even more heavy now, there was not a cab to be found. I got back to my bus stop and shivered until the bus FINALLY arrived to take me home.

I'm washing my scarf in the machine right now and I've no idea if I'm going to ruin it or not, cause I never read the laundering instructions on anything anyway. All I can smell is coffee and while that aroma would normally make me indescribably happy, today it just makes me want to cry.

Needless to say I didn't stop in at Waitrose to get the ingredients for my stew - I have lost the mojo to make it now. That might have to be a job for tomorrow.

"I love it when a plan comes together!"

I had a job interview late last year and the guy running the panel asked me whether, in the broader context of my life, I was a planner. I replied that I was not so much a planner; rather I had a rough idea of enjoyable things I wanted to pursue in life; and goals I thought I wanted to accomplish but I suggested that to date, much of my life had been lived as a series of happy accidents.

I didn't get the job.

Now I'm not sure whether I wasn't hired because the guy didn't like my answer to that question, or if all my other answers were complete nonsense but it hardly matters. And anyway, I stand by my answer; I'm not a planner in the strict, driven and one-eyed sense of someone who has always known what she wants to do. But I know what I'm good at and I know what I love to do and insofar as I can, I'm going to steer my life in the directions that work for me.

So it is that I confirmed yesterday that I have holidays between Christmas and New Year. For some weeks I had suspected this to be the case, but because I wasn't planning on doing anything during that period, it had never really occurred to me to follow things up with anyone. Faced with a week of literally no plans, I weighed up my options. Do I explore Europe? Do I hang around London and visit tourist attraction after tourist attraction? Do I sit at home and watch DVDs while snuggled in a quilt with obscene amounts of red wine and chocolate at the ready?

All of those plans sounded pretty good to me - and still do, to be honest.

A bit of Googling and browsing cheap/last minute holiday websites revealed that even a four-day break in a cultural paradise like Venice was going to cost me about 900 pounds. I do love that city but I just couldn't justify spending all that money for four days on my own. It was then that I had my EUREKA moment - brought to me by the letters U, S and A.

After a bit more Googling and website browsing, I found a couple of cheapish deals to Chicago and New York (in and out of Heathrow) all from 27 December to 3 January. It all came together in a way that was almost too good to be true. I'll celebrate four days in Chi-town, my old sweet home, and stay with former room mate LH (who in a freaky and almost psychic twist of fate has holidays EXACTLY the time I'm there). Then it's off to NYC to celebrate NYE with KH - which is so much more than exciting I can't even describe it. Loose plans, but plans nonetheless.

I get the distinct impression that I will still be drinking red wine and eating chocolate, and still be snuggled up in a quilt watching DVDs - I'll just be doing it on a completely different continent.

In my case, not planning was the best plan of all.

Knowing Your Beeswax

I don't think I've used this site for a great deal of critical review in the past - but friends, the time has come. I have just finished watching "Any Human Heart" streamed down the internet superhighway of brilliance from the 4od website, and onto my very own computer screen. Technological marvel, that.

I am not sure if this four-episode miniseries is likely to screen in Australia but if it does, watch it with Kleenex at the ready. And you may wish to print the list of back catalogue films for Matthew Macfadyen from the IMDB website because once you've watched him in this series, you will want to see a lot more of him. Not in THAT sense, ya perverts - sheesh! He was just wonderful. Oh and on the subject of Matthew, you can skip his performance as Darcy in "Pride and Prejudice" - not that he's bad or anything, it's just that the wretched stick insect trying to play Elizabeth Bennett ruins everything. Matthew redeems himself delightfully as the Sheriff of Nottingham in our Russell's "Robin Hood" though, rotten teeth and greasy hair to boot.

I am obviously not good at critically reviewing anything, as I've told you nothing about the plot of "Any Human Heart" - nor am I going to. Just Google it and work out how to get your eyeballs on it. You will not be disappointed. And if you are, then you are an emotional rock and I demand to know how you got through it without bawling. There's a dog in it for heaven's sakes. What's not to like??

It's all about the meat

Today was the staff Christmas lunch for work and it was such a wonderfully relaxed affair. We had our team Christmas party a few night's back, but that had a client focus so we were technically working and schmoozing and all that good stuff. By contrast, today was just about our team - and it was indulgent, relaxed and really wonderful.

We went to Barbecoa, the latest restaurant venture for Jamie Oliver and his fellow chef and business partner, Adam Perry Lang. Located in the new shopping complex next door to St Paul's Cathedral, the restaurant is modern and lovely.

I could smell meat cooking as soon as I walked in the door, which pleased me greatly. We shared starters of crispy pig cheeks; crispy calamari; and baby back ribs. I enjoyed it with a glass of prosecco, but only because I was starting slowly. Then for my main course I had rump steak (cooked perfectly medium rare), and shared some side orders of cannellini beans and also some spinach. My steak came with some eggplant which was nice at the start but as it cooled it got kind of gluggy, so I didn't eat it all. I was just excited to be enjoying my first steak EVER in London and it was so delicious.

All of a sudden, M squeaked that Jamie Oliver was in the house and sure enough, the man himself was shaking hands and moving from table to table to greet lunch guests. Slowly but surely he made his way to our table and we got to have a photo taken with him. I'm not the most photogenic person so I normally hate having my picture taken, but I was pleased to have the chance to see Jamie and say hello and he was so obliging. In fact, I wanted to post the photo to this site, but my computer's settings are playing up so you'll just have to settle for clicking here to view it.

Fast forward a few hours and some more drinks, and we were ready to head out from lunch. The restaurant had emptied out and the sky had grown dark really quickly - something I shall have to get used to up here at this time of year. We all took the glass elevator to the top floor of the shopping complex and got some lovely shots of St Paul's Cathedral and finding a quiet pub for a 'roadie', before heading home again.

As Christmas lunches go, I have to say that this was one of my favourites - not just for the celebrity encounter, but for the delicious food; great location; and wonderful company. We laughed a lot and told stupid stories and enjoyed a delicious meal besides. All terribly adult of us, really but what a way to celebrate a great year (or half-year, in my case).

Do you hear what I hear?

I'm in quite a fortunate position at the moment with my subletting situation, that I can either take the train or the bus home (well, more accurately I can take the bus then a train then a different bus; or just two buses). Hmm that all sounds convoluted but trust me, it's not. The point is, I have options. Tonight I decided to take the bus-train-bus combo.

I got off the first bus just before Waterloo Station because I'd been on the Time Out London website and read about the Cologne Christmas Market on London's Southbank, and so I wanted to check it out. The website suggests that there are about 60 stalls but perhaps that's only on weekends - tonight there were only about half that amount but it was still really lovely. Not having been to Christmas Market in Germany (save for the Chicago version that also purported to be authentic), I am not sure if this Cologne Christmas Market was like the real thing. But it seemed to have all the ingredients: carols were playing, mulled wine was...mulling?, and English guys with German accents were selling bratwurst in buns nowhere near big enough to accommodate them. All this on the banks of the Thames, complete with sub-zero wind chill.

I bought a couple of Christmas presents and cards for friends & family, plus a mulled wine and bratwurst for myself (it must have been the faux accents what done it). I walked up and down with my refreshments, perusing the various stalls and bemoaning the fact that trying to send some of those gifts home would be a risky - and costly - nightmare. One stall had some great wooden puzzles but I didn't think Australian Customs would take too well to those (they might be OK if you declare it, but I figure why chance it?).

I left the Cologne Market just as it was getting crowded, and I swapped that crowd for the commuter rush in Waterloo Station. Always a soul-destroying exercise.

They tell me that public transport in London completely shuts down on Christmas Day. I suppose that's quite fitting - the one day of the year when we're supposed to be nice to each other, life won't even give us the opportunity to shove someone out the way.

A sneak-peek at a weak week

It's the end of my first week in my sublet accommodation.

I don't have a bad thing to say about the apartment, except that I thought I'd broken the washing machine tonight. The cycle finished and the machine beeped at me, but the door wouldn't open and nothing was happening. I twisted knobs, pressed buttons, flicked switches on and off, and then settled for kicking the thing and swearing at it a bunch of times. The machine is now happily chugging away, swirling my unmentionables around and around. I've got no idea if it will ever release them, but for now things seem to be going smoothly so I'm not going into the kitchen lest I jinx everything.

I've not been in a great mood this week, I'm afraid. Fortunately this has nothing to do with hormones, but rather more to do with the fact that I can't get rid of this sore throat (despite finishing my second course of antibiotics) AND I must be grinding my teeth when I sleep because my jaw is killing me. When I rub my temples I can even feel the pain there, so I must be under more stress than usual.

I don't write all of this to complain, mind. I am just irritated by the holding pattern I seem to be in right now. I know that my living situation isn't permanent; I'm planning our office Christmas party for 200+ people on Wednesday; I've got a bunch of office deadlines looming; and I haven't done a stitch of Christmas shopping.

I got my hair done yesterday and as you know, this bit of pampering is normally my cure-all. Unfortunately I got really annoyed with my hairdresser because he's one of these serial apologisers. We had a bit of a mix-up with my appointment time, and the voicemail message my hairdresser left for me to advise of the time change didn't get to me in time. So after I had to leave the salon for 90 minutes and go off to amuse myself, my haidresser kept apologising to me every 2 seconds. ARGH. If I said "It's okay, these things happen" once, I said it a thousand times. In the end I almost wanted to scream at him, but I don't suppose it's wise to annoy somebody when they're carrying scissors, so I kept my mouth shut. My haircut looks good, by the way.

I spent most of today in my room, which was glorious. After some early technical hiccups, my computer is once again working like it should and I scoured the BBC website for online programs that I hadn't had the chance to watch when they first screened. I have discovered a relatively new show called "Any Human Heart" and I watched both of the episodes available online - the third (and latest) episode screens on BBC tonight at 9pm. Let's pause for a minute and high 5 the BBC for its wonderful programming; I just love it.

I'm well aware of how this latest post is sounding - I'm all over the place and to be honest I'm finding it all really frustrating. I just can't wait until all my ducks are in a row and I'm a bit more settled. When the Christmas party is over (and it WILL be a success, I promise you), I'll be so much happier. I am anxious about it because we've invited people I don't know, and we're having it in a fancy venue that I've not used before. I want to make the evening really special for my bosses, who have been so welcoming to me and also because for two of my bosses, this will be their last London Christmas (they return to Australia in January). The weather forecast for Wednesday suggests things will be cold, but snow is not expected - so hopefully that suggests a good guest turnout. Fingers crossed, please.

For now I'm trying not to think about the scary sounds coming from the washing machine in the kitchen (though even scary sounds are better than silence). I will have a good night's sleep tonight and start afresh tomorrow.

Wish me luck for the Christmas party Wednesday - party pies, Aussie beer, and Christmas carols. How could we go wrong?

Steady as she goes

It's hard to believe that I've been back in London for nearly a week already.

The weather has been pretty shocking, with heavy snowfalls over the past few days especially. I have been reading the online newspapers about deaths in Poland, and indeed across the UK, so while I'm still warm and vertical I really don't think I have anything to worry about.

Come to think of it, I don't reckon it's easy to stay either warm or vertical when the weather gets like this. Mamma bought me a couple of pairs of shoes with really good treads while I was home last week, and one pair has particularly come in really handy this week. The shoes aren't anywhere near proper snow boots, so they're not warm by any stretch, but they have (so far) kept me upright as I try and navigate the slippery, slushy footpaths to my office. I do suspect that if the weather stays like it is, I'm going to have to invest in a pair of proper zip-up boots, similar to the sort I had in Chi-town, but at the moment I'm not in a rush for them.

Speaking of rushing, it always surprises me the number of people (public transport commuters especially) who don't see the point in slowing down when the weather gets like this. They don't walk gingerly, taking good care of themselves and sparing an even fleeting thought for anyone around them. Rather, they run like the clappers for their train/bus, as if it were just another sunny, Spring day. One such lady got her comeuppance right in front of me this morning and it was pretty sweet. Actually that's not fair, she fell pretty hard on the tiled floor of the train station, and it would have hurt. But she bounced - and THAT was the only funny part about it (to me, I mean). I helped her up, which seemed like the right thing to do, and the poor woman was so embarrassed but the only thing I think she hurt was her pride. She also got slushy crap all over her woollen coat, but that's just karma for you really.

I actually love this time of year in the northern hemisphere. The frosty weather is pretty to look at, and even OK to be out in - assuming you're dressed appropriately and don't have TOO far to travel. Commutes to work take way longer than they should, but you just need to adjust to that. This time of year also brings Christmas decorations and I've always been a sucker for fairy lights and tinsel. Anything shiny or sparkly, you know how it goes. We set up our office Christmas tree today and I've been playing Christmas carols through my computer speakers (though this is part of my ongoing campaign to make my boss lose ALL of what remains of his hair).

It's probably too early to tell if we'll have a white Christmas, but we've certainly made a cracking start to it.

It speaks!

It has been a long time between posts, I know. Over the past few weeks when stuff has happened, I've caught myself thinking inane things like Oh, I really must blog about that. Yeah you know the drill - obviously nothing ever came of it. Totally my bad.

After the football game a few weeks back, S&C disappeared for the next stage of their European adventure and my life chugged on as normal for a few days. I had changed house again by this stage, so I was enjoying being back with Gus the Wonderdog and taking our morning constitutionals around his local gardens. I still gag when I have to pick up his deposits - each one more warm and squishy than the last - but in the world of dog ownership (even temporarily), you've gotta do what you've gotta do.

On the Tuesday I took a half-day at work and that evening I flew to Adelaide for A&A's wedding. As you do. I was feeling really poorly, owing to a nasty cold that had been brewing for about a week. It hit me full-force a day or so before I flew, making the flight a rather nasty experience for everyone. I slept a fair amount, which was good, but I suspect I probably snored my head off - which was probably not so good for my fellow passengers. Plus I flew with our nation's flagship airline and I am not entirely sure I'll do that again. It was right at the time when the airline's fleet was having those nasty engine disasters and lengthy delays etc and so I was all gung-ho about showing my support for them. Still, I didn't find the flight attendants all that attentive, and in comparison with some of the other airlines I've flown over the years, they were pretty average. Then again, I'm not sure I'd do great work at 37,000 feet with a bunch of snoring, snotty-nosed Australians on board either. Perhaps I'll just cut them some slack and move on.

The wedding was beautiful. Jammin' Jems bought me a belted summer dress for my birthday but hadn't mailed it over to me, so she just gave it to me somewhat (ie very) belatedly when I got home. The dress fit like a glove and with a little bolero cardigan that I had bought at the shopping centre the day before, I felt very comfortably dressed for the sunny weather that appropriately blessed the happy couple for their big day.

The rest of the week passed by way too quickly, as all good holidays seem to do. I was still feeling pretty average throughout the week which was a real shame. I had been to see my Aussie doctor and she had given me some pretty good antibiotics, but they nixed my plans for cocktails with friends - lousy timing. The pills were effective but I still needed a second prescription to feel like I was really kicking the lurgie. Even as I type this my throat is still a bit sore, which is just really annoying.

A couple of meals with friends and family, followed by some shopping with Jammin' Jems in the lead up to her own wedding next year, and before I knew it the week was over. On Friday afternoon I said goodbye to my family and it was off to Adelaide Airport for the journey back to London. Our nation's flagship airline was not quite ready to let me leave incident-free however, and what followed was a horrible 29+ hour journey "home", with delay after delay preventing me from just crawling into bed and sleeping for a month. When I finally did get back to the northern hemisphere, I collapsed into the hotel room and didn't move very far at all until the early hours of the following morning.

Back at work on Monday, I discovered that my intray wasn't as full as I thought it would be (wahoo!), but there is still enough for me to work on that will keep me busy until Christmas (not so wahoo!). I've also moved into some new - temporary - digs, subletting a room from an Australian girl until 3 January. It has been great to unpack my luggage and hang clothes up again - such simple pleasures these days. Not sure what the future holds in terms of my accommodation, but perhaps the search just continues.

For now at least, I'm looking forward to some good sleeps ahead, and a chance to enjoy this burst of snowy London weather. Stay tuned for more (frequent?) updates...

I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles

It isn't often that you get offered a chance to do something really fun for someone, knowing that they will get such a kick out of it. When life presents you with an opportunity like that, I think you owe it to yourself just to grab it. And so it was with the tickets I managed to find for my cousin Sco for last night's English Premier League Game, West Ham United v West Bromwich Albion.

It was the first time I'd seen S&C since they returned to London as a stopover on what I'd definitely call their 'European Odyssey'. With their new friend L in tow, the guys came to meet me at The Walkabout - chosen by yours truly because it was the closest pub I could find to the Tube station, and far enough away from the destructive/passionate student protesters that had taken over the City Centre late yesterday afternoon.

We had a bit of a catch up over a cold drink and I got to hear about some of their favourite places - and foods - along the way (who knew that Poland made great kebabs - or kebabs at all, come to think of it?!). I loved the stories of S&C's overnight visit to the winery that S's ancestors started - such lovely hospitality from relatives he'd never met before. Oh and apparently the wine was pretty good too.

Dashing next door to Temple tube station, we jumped on the eastbound District (green) line bound for Upton Park. I have no idea where Upton Park is, other than on the Tube map, so I'm so glad that the 45-minute Tube ride was uneventful and we got to the station safely. As we collected more and more passengers, we started to see supporters sporting the West Ham colours (blue and claret). I was wearing pale blue socks, and I remember feeling quite disappointed - and possibly a bit surprised - that they were the only pale blue items in my three suitcases! I pretty much knew I didn't have anything claret-coloured, since I don't think anyone other than West Ham supporters really knows what colour claret is anyway.

Alighting the Tube at Upton Park station we allowed ourselves to get swept along in the crowd in the general direction of the Boelyn Ground, West Ham United's home stadium. The air last night was pretty cold, and getting colder by the minute, so we paused en route and picked up some hot chips & burgers to munch along the way.

Two minutes later we were at the venue and I picked up our tickets. The ticket window dude assured me that our tickets were great - right in the thick of all the singing and chanting. Little did I truly realise how cool the tickets REALLY were. We were in row D (4 rows from the front), right behind the goals! Sco was delirious at how great our seats were, and for the first 10 minutes we could only marvel at our good fortune to secure such great tickets less than 48 hours before the start of the match. In what weird universe does THAT normally happen?!

The game started and for the 90 minutes that followed, I had no idea what was going on. Soccer/Football is not a game I've ever followed, owing in large part to an involuntary biological resistance to understanding the offside rule - though my boss maintains that this phenomenon is unique to females (!).

We were sitting with the home side fans, so we quickly learned the team's song - "I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles". If you ask me, it's a bit of a girly song for such a ragtag bunch of East London blokes, but nobody asked me really. I loved the energy and enthusiasm of each team's supporters when their boys were doing well, and I loved the way that the supporters heckled each other when fortunes were reversed. One chant that was particularly easy to learn goes "Your support, your support, your support is s**t". Beautiful in its simplicity, no?

First West Brom scored (Boo!), then we scored (hurrah!); then we scored again (Hell yeah!); then West Brom scored again (Nooooo!). Scores were tied at the end of the game and everything kind of fizzed from there - lots of head shaking and downcast expressions, and we left the stadium to shiver out in the cold streets.

Getting home was a bit of an adventure, as return journeys so often are with me. In the interests of public safety, the transport geniuses in London had closed the Upton Park station during the game - so the stadium announcer suggested we should find alternate routes home. I didn't even understand the route we took to get there, so what hope did we have?!

It took the combined brain power of the four of us to make sense of the buses on the main street outside the stadium and we soon found ourselves aboard some bus or other en route to the remote northeast of the London Tube map (Zone 1,000,000 or something), but ultimately the bus announced the Tube station I'd been hoping to find - and we jumped off the bus. Somewhat serendipitously, it turned out that the Tube station was serviced by just the right Tube line that we needed to get us back to our respective lodgings so we relaxed into our seats and reflected on the great game experience we'd just shared.

Even though I came away from the game with about as much football knowledge as I'd always had, I still loved it. S&C reckon I need to get to a Chelsea game next and as they are currently on top of the football ladder, I think they will be quite an impressive team to watch. More songs and more chanting? I can deal with that.

The Week in Review

This past week has been the usual rollercoaster of apartment searches; apartment viewings; and apartment rejections. I am so sick of the whole thing myself that it's not even worth talking about anymore. At the end of the ride, I just keep getting back in line to go around again. Fortunately I am buoyed in this process by the continued good wishes of friends and family, and the occasional therapy cupcake (bring those on, big time!).

Two fun-filled events punctuated my week, and these managed to cheer me immensely. Firstly I had a visit from KH and her hubby who were in town from Canada. I couldn't believe it when KH first said they were coming - we hadn't seen each other since our days in Chicago and though we'd kept up on email and Facebook, that is not really the same. We met up outside my office one night after work and retired to The Wellington, down the street. When KH used to work in London, she used to eat lunch at this pub quite often, but I had never been in there. I have made a note of it now though. After that, we farewelled Mr H (so he could cleverly get home early), and we headed to the newly re-opened Savoy hotel for cocktails at its famous American Bar. Again, this was another one of KH's old London haunts and it was great to see the place with her. I had been waiting for the Hotel to reopen since I got here - and we were not disappointed. I found the hotel interior to be very flashy and a bit overwhelming to be honest - lots of colour, lots of fabrics, textures etc but it just looks so opulent and beautiful you can't help but be impressed. We got seats right at the bar and were therefore treated to the great artistry of the resident bartenders. I can't remember the names of the cocktails I had (not because I had too many, but because they were specialties of the house rather than classic drinks). No matter though, because I really enjoyed them and I think KH and I solved all the problems of the world that night.

Fast forward a couple of days and London celebrated Guy Fawkes Night, also known as Bonfire Night. Traditionally celebrated on 5 November each year, the City of London's parks come alive on 6 November with fireworks displays and family-friendly celebrations. From our lofty location on the riverfront, we could clearly see the bright lights over Battersea Park and it was really great. My contribution to the night was a couple of bottles of Pinot Grigio and a plate of bacon-wrapped dates which the visiting Americans declared to be delicious, which pleased me (though they require no skill, save for not stabbing yourself with a toothpick or setting the sticks on fire under the grill). We over-catered of course, but there is something lovely about cold sausage rolls the morning after a big party. Tipping half-empty beers down the kitchen sink is not quite so glamorous though...

The coming week heralds the return to London of S&C, whose European adventures have been the source of great amusement on Facebook. I hope they're coming back to me with some great photos to match those stories. I also hope I can score soccer (oops, football) tickets for myself and Sco this week - it might take all the flirting and bossing down the phone that I can muster, but I feel totally up to the task.

No doubt there will be more to report next weekend, so stay tuned.