"Out Of Control" - C. Lum
Today I slept in. We all slept in. In fact, the whole of London slept in. No one got out of bed until 11am at the very earliest. No really, it was a nation-wide event. Someone said Europe joined in as a show of solidarity.
Okay, maybe we just had a late one and we all paid the price. We started the day late, we ate a big breakfast and took the day sloowwwwly. This was also because we had an appointment to catch up with some of D's friends, who lived in various parts of England, Lorna and Ben. The five of us met at Holborn, a place I had previously grown to know as an interchange for various Tube lines, but apparently also has above-ground civilization – who knew? We met and trolled off to a nearby bar.
The night was a good one, drinking at most every place we came across that supplied alcohol, which in London means at least once every street block. The style and layout of pubs here seems to be an entire artform of it's own. Some follow the very straight-forward, front-door-big-space-long-bar, which seems to be the favoured form. But others, such as “The Princess Grace” (I think – I was a little worse for wear) are very different. This place had four front doors, each which led to a seperate segment of the room, with the circular bar in the centre. Each segment was seperated by glass and carved wood panels, giving a very cosy and private feel to what otherwise was a pretty bustling establishment. I liked this, not somewhere I'd go every friday, but it was different.
Soon, conversation turned to food. We wanted food, and we wanted it NOW. A few people suggested chinese. I grinned, and J suggested none other than the Mecca of Zevon. (Lee Ho Fook's), and so we did.
I was very quiet, and approached the front door as one would a place of worship. The wooden floor did not give away my presence, the door did not have a bell or chime to signal an entrance – I was standing on the hallowed ground previously trod by werewolves. The place was almost full, waiters doing that particular fast walk they do, clink of plate-on-plate as dishes are arranged on to an already jammed table-top, the distant riff based on a D to C to G pattern...
So we ate dinner. I ordered a “big dish of beef chowmein”, which really was the only choice I could have. The others had a variety of dishes, all were happy with the choices and quality, but i have to say that using the phrase “big dish” might have been a tactical error, as it was a BIG dish. We ate and drank, it was all good, until on the way I tried to buy a menu (it's a souvenir, honest!)
thenick: I'd like to buy a menu, thank you.
maitre'd: I'm sorry?
thenick: I'd like to buy one of the menu's, please.
maitre'd: The menu's? But...we need them. (she gestured behind her, looking dismayed as she realised the bustling restaurant still left a big stack of the menu's behind her)
thenick: so how much would one cost?
maitre'd: ah...20 pounds! the leather...it's expensive. (she looked like this would dissuade me)
thenick: sounds good. I'll have one, thank you. (she hadn't expected that)
Finally, another waiter came over, heard what was going on, and he gave me a look. He then said “you want a menu, huh?” I nodded, and he reached for a back-up supply of menu's, and passed it over with a hairy-hand, flashing a smile. A toothy, little-old-lady-got-mutiliated-late-last-night smile. He obviously was in on it, and so was the pile of menu's on the shelf. I thanked them and left.
We went outside. It was raining, I was carrying a chinese menu, I had found the place. I'm pretty impressed with how this all came together! We spent the rest of the night drinking in various places, imbibing a blue almost luminous liquid named “aftershock” and stumbling into a Tube station just in time to catch the last Central line train.
I think tomorrow will require another sleep-in. And plans to hunt down Trader Vic's.
New Thing Learnt Today – Missing the last Central line train is exponentially worse than missing the last Craigieburn train
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Day 5 – A View To A Kill and All Tubes Day
It had to happen sooner or later, I knew it. After my first night in London, the thought had occurred to me, and was constantly dogging me during my sleep and waking hours. It was always there, every bit of travel-planning being a constant reminder...
Sooner or later, I was going to have to use every Tube line.
As it turns out, this is neither a stress, or a radical thing to do. Unlke Melbourne where the train-lines all splay out from the city, like spokes of a giant, metropolitan transit wheel, in London it's far more like a spider's web. In fact, I have the sneaking suspicion that 12 seperate people were given a mandate to create a train-line to take them to all their favourite places. By concidence these routes have overlapped in multiple locations, and created the spaghetti-mess that is the Underground system. But more on that later.
I had a number of small tasks to achieve whilst travelling. Some of these were purely selfish (awooo), and others were more philanthropic. Today's fell into the latter category, as I decided it was time to finally hunt down and experience the city's most often re-named attraction: the London Eye.
Considering this optically-titled wheel has only existed for a few years, it's suffered a tremendous amount of temporary re-branding. Opened officially in 1999, it refused to carry passengers until 2000. This type of insolence is not commonly found in major attractions, but then London is a funny place. The wheel is designed to offer a 'flight' of 30mins duration, with boarding and disembarking taking place while the wheel remains in motion. Not as dangerous as it sounds, as it moves pretty darn slow. The use of aviation terminology stems from the sponsorship initially provided by British Airways. They no long sponsor the beast that at one time was known as “The McCartney Eye”, but that doesn't stop them using it all the same.
So I took a 'flight', and found myself in a capsule with a princess (well, she acted as if she believed she were one), a small child who had no fear, and three men who could have been close blood relatives of Super Mario. Many happy snaps were taken from up here, but I found the 30mins began to drag after a while. Of note, was that the struts connecting each glass pod to the wheel itself, had an arrangement of pegs jutting out, that I can only assume were for climbing by someone in the line of work such as Jackie Chan – no sane mortal would leave a pod at any point of the journey that would make those pegs of any use. As I am not up to date on the world of amusement ride building, i will have to take this supposition as a logical possibility, and like a gypsy caravan, move along (and get people to cross my palm with silver, i guess)
Marching down the remainder of South Bank (which, I might add, maybe older but not more exciting than OUR Southbank – note the lack of spacing), I visited an exhibition going by the dubious title of “The Movieum”. Turns out this exhibition is a work of legitimate movie history, detailing the british contribution to cinema (ie; Michael Caine), and the achievements of their production companies and studios. Of particular interest to me was the number of authentic costumes, props and sets they had on display – Darth Vader, Batman and Superman costumes, The TARDIS, The blue Mini from the original Italian Job, Pinhead and the puzzlebox (sounds like a 70's pop band), it was truly impressive. One of the gallery assistants, dressed as a period director, gave me a personal tour among a number of the exhibits, pointing out the cinematic treasures and giving me the stories behind their inclusion. It was through this man, that I was introduced to the gong used in the Rank Foundation opening sequence (to most of you, this means nothing. to a slim few, you will share my grin). He also showed me a set with a real R2-D2 and C-3P0. Whilst the set was a reproduction, it was an actual set used by Lucas when filming some of the new footage added into the original trilogy – which vindicated it, as it was built to very exacting standards.
Finishing up with this extraordinary collection, I trundled off again and found that dark was now falling. It wasn't quite lunch-time (ho ho, you are all so very funny), but it didn't leave me time to see the Dali exhibition. I wanted to, but eventually the bleeting of the Town Cryer out the front decided my inner quandary. Feeling strong in my knowledge of the Tube, I found the closest station, and navigated my way home. SUCCESS!
I have now travelled all lines, to many locations, (sometimes in circles), but I can claim an experience that puts me on par with many Londonites. I feel like I am one step closer to being one of them...one of them... Evening was a good one. Fish found tickets to a comedy night, which we went along to and were thoroughly amused by it. I was frisked by a large black lady upon entry, which left me a little perplexed, and met the most hyperactive spanish woman on the planet – she was awesome, never stopped moving! Fish, J and I tubed home and played Zombies!!! and watched Metalocalypse. I haven't mentioned it before? Greatest metal cartoon ever. Go wiki it.
New Thing Learnt Today - “Robot World” does not contain any “Robots”
Sooner or later, I was going to have to use every Tube line.
As it turns out, this is neither a stress, or a radical thing to do. Unlke Melbourne where the train-lines all splay out from the city, like spokes of a giant, metropolitan transit wheel, in London it's far more like a spider's web. In fact, I have the sneaking suspicion that 12 seperate people were given a mandate to create a train-line to take them to all their favourite places. By concidence these routes have overlapped in multiple locations, and created the spaghetti-mess that is the Underground system. But more on that later.
I had a number of small tasks to achieve whilst travelling. Some of these were purely selfish (awooo), and others were more philanthropic. Today's fell into the latter category, as I decided it was time to finally hunt down and experience the city's most often re-named attraction: the London Eye.
Considering this optically-titled wheel has only existed for a few years, it's suffered a tremendous amount of temporary re-branding. Opened officially in 1999, it refused to carry passengers until 2000. This type of insolence is not commonly found in major attractions, but then London is a funny place. The wheel is designed to offer a 'flight' of 30mins duration, with boarding and disembarking taking place while the wheel remains in motion. Not as dangerous as it sounds, as it moves pretty darn slow. The use of aviation terminology stems from the sponsorship initially provided by British Airways. They no long sponsor the beast that at one time was known as “The McCartney Eye”, but that doesn't stop them using it all the same.
So I took a 'flight', and found myself in a capsule with a princess (well, she acted as if she believed she were one), a small child who had no fear, and three men who could have been close blood relatives of Super Mario. Many happy snaps were taken from up here, but I found the 30mins began to drag after a while. Of note, was that the struts connecting each glass pod to the wheel itself, had an arrangement of pegs jutting out, that I can only assume were for climbing by someone in the line of work such as Jackie Chan – no sane mortal would leave a pod at any point of the journey that would make those pegs of any use. As I am not up to date on the world of amusement ride building, i will have to take this supposition as a logical possibility, and like a gypsy caravan, move along (and get people to cross my palm with silver, i guess)
Marching down the remainder of South Bank (which, I might add, maybe older but not more exciting than OUR Southbank – note the lack of spacing), I visited an exhibition going by the dubious title of “The Movieum”. Turns out this exhibition is a work of legitimate movie history, detailing the british contribution to cinema (ie; Michael Caine), and the achievements of their production companies and studios. Of particular interest to me was the number of authentic costumes, props and sets they had on display – Darth Vader, Batman and Superman costumes, The TARDIS, The blue Mini from the original Italian Job, Pinhead and the puzzlebox (sounds like a 70's pop band), it was truly impressive. One of the gallery assistants, dressed as a period director, gave me a personal tour among a number of the exhibits, pointing out the cinematic treasures and giving me the stories behind their inclusion. It was through this man, that I was introduced to the gong used in the Rank Foundation opening sequence (to most of you, this means nothing. to a slim few, you will share my grin). He also showed me a set with a real R2-D2 and C-3P0. Whilst the set was a reproduction, it was an actual set used by Lucas when filming some of the new footage added into the original trilogy – which vindicated it, as it was built to very exacting standards.
Finishing up with this extraordinary collection, I trundled off again and found that dark was now falling. It wasn't quite lunch-time (ho ho, you are all so very funny), but it didn't leave me time to see the Dali exhibition. I wanted to, but eventually the bleeting of the Town Cryer out the front decided my inner quandary. Feeling strong in my knowledge of the Tube, I found the closest station, and navigated my way home. SUCCESS!
I have now travelled all lines, to many locations, (sometimes in circles), but I can claim an experience that puts me on par with many Londonites. I feel like I am one step closer to being one of them...one of them... Evening was a good one. Fish found tickets to a comedy night, which we went along to and were thoroughly amused by it. I was frisked by a large black lady upon entry, which left me a little perplexed, and met the most hyperactive spanish woman on the planet – she was awesome, never stopped moving! Fish, J and I tubed home and played Zombies!!! and watched Metalocalypse. I haven't mentioned it before? Greatest metal cartoon ever. Go wiki it.
New Thing Learnt Today - “Robot World” does not contain any “Robots”
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Day 4 – Time Travel and Egyptian Gods
The british have long been known for their fascination with Time Lords who travel in Police property, but did you know this is because they themselves ARE Time Lords?! TRUE! I learnt this fact after a day of wandering, but I'll start at the start.
The turning of the millennium brought about a strang affliction that left various government bodies foaming at the mouth, and deliriously planning celebrations. London was no exception, but rather one of the more ambitious, as an entire arena-sized structure was built for the occasion – a large, swollen white bubble called “The Millennium Dome”. Filled with millennium-inspired attractions, it was a highly expensive (if not well-publicised) affair, and genearlly thought of as “a complete waste of time” This is according to Sophie at the O2 store. After the year had passed, the Dome was emptied and lay dormant until 2007, when it was bought out by O2, the english equivalent to Telstra. They re-named the expo-oriented pustule, and began redeveloping it. and what a job they did. The initial Dome incarnation was criticised for it's lack of content in the displays, and a generally expensive/poor program. The O2 Dome now features an arena for concerts (including the upcoming Neil Diamond tour! Wow!), a circuit promenade of eateries and stores, and space for exhibitions such as the current Tutankhamen expo.
This last bit calmed my nerves, as upon arrival to the Dome I had seen Anubis, God Of The Dead standing out the front, just hanging out with some Japanese tourists. I feared for my soul, just a little. Turns out he's cool; he just posed for photos and went about his day.
After wandering the Dome, chatting with the O2 shop staff (they asked what i did, we ended up comparing their crappy Yell.com to our far superior yellow.com.au) I headed out to see what I could see of that near-fictitious town of Greenwich, where they make the time. Greenwich was not what I expected: no expansive mines where the mercurial ore of time is drilled out, no distillation plants to remove the impurities that would no doubt make the time slower or too fast. Instead, it's more of a maritime town, with a large University, the Royal Navel College, the Cutty Sark (currently burnt down – give it a miss) and the Royal Observatory. Being as in-tune as I am, I had no idea how to get to the time-oriented sections, and so walked in a massive circle throughout Greenwich, following various signs. This was fairly unproductive, but I did get to see the town, and I found it was time to test “Nick's Theory of Finding Places”.
“Nick's Theory of Finding Places”
I've found recently that I've developed a habit of walking around looking for somewhere, following all the cues, and ending up back where I started. Here is where the theory kicks in. “Once you have successfully completed a circle of reconnaisance, walk directly through the centre of it, as this is where your destination lies.” Worked like a charm, too.
I found the Tourist Info office, and after twiddling my thumbs waiting for the Info Woman to get off the phone, twigged that the Royal Observatory (building for looking at the sky) was inetricably linked to the production of time. With this realisation, I grabbed the pamphlet that sparked the brainwave, and marched out to climb the hill. Forethought would have told me that the Observatory would be on a hill, so it really shouldn't have surprised me, but it did. The climb was worth it, as the Observatory was full of cool stuff. The original Royal Observer (sounds like a flash name for an authorised pervert), okay “Astronomer Royale” was a guy named John Flamsteed, who invented time. His initial work was on solving the “longitude puzzle”, namely, whilst a ship could calculate it's latitude from the equator, there was no constant that could be used for longitude. After crashing various ships, the world gathered together, and decided on a constant. Flamsteed now getting on in his years, liked his comfort, and so suggested they draw a line through his observatory, as a universal measure of 0 degrees longitude. I can only assume no one had a better suggestion, and so it stuck.
In the mean-time, Flamsteed was getting sicker. This was due to his over-exposure to raw time, and finally his body failed. Being a Time Lord, he regenerated into Edmond Halley. This change brought about a whole new personality, which Mrs Flamsteed couldn't reconcile, and so by continuing life as if Flamsteed was dead, she moved out of the observatory – and took all his belongings with her. Halley continued working as Astronomer Royale, producing copious materials on the sky and stars. Unfortunately, a great deal of this is useless due to his idiosyncratic laxity regarding the recording of time. He soon grew tired of this position, and used his Tardis to travel the galaxy.
After this discovery, I made my way to Chiswick, home of J's work. We chatted with his boss, Anton The Mad for a while, and then met with D for dinner. Quite tasty. Fish, one of the other housemates encouraged us to come out and see a friend-of-a-friend play live music. As dubious as this connection is, the night was a blast! Daisy B played her heart out – fantastic music, fantastic voice, and we all marched off to the Tube before going our seperate ways.
I could grow to love London. Could stay here.
New Thing Learnt Today – My accent, as vague as it is, has now been classified as “New Zealand”. By another Australian.
The turning of the millennium brought about a strang affliction that left various government bodies foaming at the mouth, and deliriously planning celebrations. London was no exception, but rather one of the more ambitious, as an entire arena-sized structure was built for the occasion – a large, swollen white bubble called “The Millennium Dome”. Filled with millennium-inspired attractions, it was a highly expensive (if not well-publicised) affair, and genearlly thought of as “a complete waste of time” This is according to Sophie at the O2 store. After the year had passed, the Dome was emptied and lay dormant until 2007, when it was bought out by O2, the english equivalent to Telstra. They re-named the expo-oriented pustule, and began redeveloping it. and what a job they did. The initial Dome incarnation was criticised for it's lack of content in the displays, and a generally expensive/poor program. The O2 Dome now features an arena for concerts (including the upcoming Neil Diamond tour! Wow!), a circuit promenade of eateries and stores, and space for exhibitions such as the current Tutankhamen expo.
This last bit calmed my nerves, as upon arrival to the Dome I had seen Anubis, God Of The Dead standing out the front, just hanging out with some Japanese tourists. I feared for my soul, just a little. Turns out he's cool; he just posed for photos and went about his day.
After wandering the Dome, chatting with the O2 shop staff (they asked what i did, we ended up comparing their crappy Yell.com to our far superior yellow.com.au) I headed out to see what I could see of that near-fictitious town of Greenwich, where they make the time. Greenwich was not what I expected: no expansive mines where the mercurial ore of time is drilled out, no distillation plants to remove the impurities that would no doubt make the time slower or too fast. Instead, it's more of a maritime town, with a large University, the Royal Navel College, the Cutty Sark (currently burnt down – give it a miss) and the Royal Observatory. Being as in-tune as I am, I had no idea how to get to the time-oriented sections, and so walked in a massive circle throughout Greenwich, following various signs. This was fairly unproductive, but I did get to see the town, and I found it was time to test “Nick's Theory of Finding Places”.
“Nick's Theory of Finding Places”
I've found recently that I've developed a habit of walking around looking for somewhere, following all the cues, and ending up back where I started. Here is where the theory kicks in. “Once you have successfully completed a circle of reconnaisance, walk directly through the centre of it, as this is where your destination lies.” Worked like a charm, too.
I found the Tourist Info office, and after twiddling my thumbs waiting for the Info Woman to get off the phone, twigged that the Royal Observatory (building for looking at the sky) was inetricably linked to the production of time. With this realisation, I grabbed the pamphlet that sparked the brainwave, and marched out to climb the hill. Forethought would have told me that the Observatory would be on a hill, so it really shouldn't have surprised me, but it did. The climb was worth it, as the Observatory was full of cool stuff. The original Royal Observer (sounds like a flash name for an authorised pervert), okay “Astronomer Royale” was a guy named John Flamsteed, who invented time. His initial work was on solving the “longitude puzzle”, namely, whilst a ship could calculate it's latitude from the equator, there was no constant that could be used for longitude. After crashing various ships, the world gathered together, and decided on a constant. Flamsteed now getting on in his years, liked his comfort, and so suggested they draw a line through his observatory, as a universal measure of 0 degrees longitude. I can only assume no one had a better suggestion, and so it stuck.
In the mean-time, Flamsteed was getting sicker. This was due to his over-exposure to raw time, and finally his body failed. Being a Time Lord, he regenerated into Edmond Halley. This change brought about a whole new personality, which Mrs Flamsteed couldn't reconcile, and so by continuing life as if Flamsteed was dead, she moved out of the observatory – and took all his belongings with her. Halley continued working as Astronomer Royale, producing copious materials on the sky and stars. Unfortunately, a great deal of this is useless due to his idiosyncratic laxity regarding the recording of time. He soon grew tired of this position, and used his Tardis to travel the galaxy.
After this discovery, I made my way to Chiswick, home of J's work. We chatted with his boss, Anton The Mad for a while, and then met with D for dinner. Quite tasty. Fish, one of the other housemates encouraged us to come out and see a friend-of-a-friend play live music. As dubious as this connection is, the night was a blast! Daisy B played her heart out – fantastic music, fantastic voice, and we all marched off to the Tube before going our seperate ways.
I could grow to love London. Could stay here.
New Thing Learnt Today – My accent, as vague as it is, has now been classified as “New Zealand”. By another Australian.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Day 3 – Cold Weather and Crusade Destination
Before I left, everyone impressed upon me that the UK is cold. COLD. Dad pushed this point by buying me gloves – very warm, very good against frostbite. Mum worried that I didn't really understand what cold was all about. J told me it was like a Melbourne winter, and as he was at ground zero his opinion was holding a lot of weight.
Yesterday was amusing. It was a little chill (about 10 degrees), so I wore my light jacket and felt fine. Unless the wind picked up, things were a-okay. Jayson had bitched and moaned about the cold, which J and D found very amusing as the Melbourne boy had no problem, yet the lifer was having a rough time. So this built a sense of foolish bravado. Today seemed a little colder, so I decided to break out the heavy jacket (I've got light, heavy, and long coats.) And I'm glad I did. The wind was not push-you-down-the-street wind, but it was carrying an icy edge that sliced right through you, leaving you pining for the warmth of a blizzard. In a characteristic move, I decided this was a good day to put my Tube-knowledge to the test and in quite a maverick-style, take on London.
First stop was Tower Bridge. This location is remarkable for the following: The Tower Of London, and Tower Bridge. If you ever hear people talking about “London Bridge”, they are most likely incorrectly referring to Tower Bridge, or a rocky formation in Australia. London Bridge itself is quite boring, and I don't think anyone would be too fussed if it fell down, my fair lady. I wandered around the Tower, and took some photos. Having been there last time, I decided to give it a miss. I then foolishly decided I'd walk to the next Tube station, so as to see a bit of the real world. This wallk was re-planned 30mins into it, when I realised I had no idea where I was going. So I back-tracked along the Thames, had a nice time enjoying the bleak warmth from the sun, and finally ending up back at Tower Bridge. This time, I walked over Tower Bridge (a much smarter move) To my left, ferries and assorted warehouses. To my right, the HMS Belfast, moored in the river and all guns pointing at The Tower – interesting!
I wandered many streets, and stumbled across the London Dungeon. This place is a theatrical, gory-display oriented museum that show-cases the nastiness of british history (London in particular). Amongst the mannequin corpses, we were treated to interactive displays of the Black Plague, the Great Fire, Jack The Ripper and Sweeney Todd. To cap it all off, we were sentenced to hanging, via a theme-park styled ride. Fun! I learnt a lot about presentation theatrics, and how easy it is to scare people in darkly lit areas. Oh and London's history.
From here I found that I had arrived at a Tube station, and so got back on to see what else I could see. Covent Garden was my other place of interest today and I got there quite quickly. Covent Garden Market is the real crux of this area, and the easiest way to describe it is a re-purposed open-air market. It's quite a trendy place now, some boutique clothing outlets, hand-made jewellers and a Games Workshop store. The last one made me laugh. After seeing all there was to see here, I casually walked back through the streets, having been assured by someone that Oxford St was only a few blocks away. The definition of city blocks seems to be one of those context-dependent values, especially as London isn't built on a grid like fair-old Melbourne. I soon found myself in Chinatown, not far from Oxford, so the directions were not so bad. Wandering down the main street, I was dopely looking in windows and admiring paper lanterns, when I saw three words marked out in gold, that brought me to a halt:
LEE HO FOOK
To some of you, this makes perfect sense and you're already rolling your eyes. To others, this will be as useful as recanting “Klaatu Verata Niktu”. So allow me to quickly fill you in:
“I saw a werewolf with a chinese menu in his hand, walking through the streets of Soho in the rain/ He was looking for a place called Lee Ho Fook's – gonna get a big dish of beef chow-mein”
AWOOO. They have a poster of Warren in the window! They also have a brightly lit Mickey Mouse motif for the Year of The Rat/Mouse/Rodent in the window. I mentally mark this place on the map of London in my mind, take a snap of the front, and walk off grinning like an idiot. If only I'd found it a day earlier! J, D and I have already made dinner plans, but I make sure that I can take them past the place, so we can go there in future. We dine at Wong Kei, a chinese place that provides more than enough food for the three of us. We do what we can to it, and then head over to a nearby Dutch bar for a drink. This bar is famous in J's circle, as a friend who visited once managed to completely up-turn a plate of sausage and mash on to the floor before taking a bite – the others now know it as “That Mash Place” hence I don't know it's name. After a drink here, we decide we want another one – and so leave for another pub. This type of bar-hopping is not something I usually associate with pubs, but I think it has something to do with what's on tap. (or too much sugar) After the second drink, we call it a night and head for the Tube. D now confirms the existence of Tube Mice – J now confirms that he doesn't believe either of us, even though we can see the brown-furred ones below. We arrve home late, and I crash.
New Thing Learnt Today – Whilst the invention of chopsticks clearly explains why the chinese never developed custard, it doesn't explain why they chose rice as their staple food.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Day 2 - Plane Socks and Tube Mice
(no really, it does make sense)
Today the adventures began! J is still stuck at work this week, so it's up to me to amuse myself in a foreign town full of foreign speakers. This works out for the best, as he's most likely done all the touristy things he wants to, and so isn't forced through them all again. I woke at 8am, and promptly went back to sleep. I woke again at 8:09am, and slept again. Finally, I acquiesced and got up. My goal this week is to feel like a native, so I did what the Romans do, and made a cup of tea. I read the paper, too. (it's like the MX, but with more trash) Got ready, met another house mate (Jayson, a funny guy) and then left, walking to the big street at the end of the road, just to see what I could see. Today as an experiment, I was wearing the complimentary socks I received on the plane. Coloured like a first-aid bandage (and feeling like one), I was curious as to just how durable they were.
My walk took me to Maryland station, where I purchased a recommended ticket and found me a train. The job for today was to bend the Underground to my will, to understand it's bizarre machinations and make it a tool for my use and not a puzzle for my confusement. The interesting thing about the “Tube” is that it has 12 distinct lines, which all criss-cross each other at different points. No where is impossible to get to, it just may involve multiple changes. And they run every 5 minutes, making it a very simple matter to travel “across the grain” as it were. Something worth noting about the Tube is how aggressively noisy it is. I'm not sure what brings the cacophony about, but something about the design of the doors lets in the roar from the tunnel, meaning even with headphones you're not really getting much peace.
I then spent the day travelling around London, walking the streets and seeing the sights. I mooched my way up and down Oxford and Regent streets, and it was halfway down one of these, that I suddenly ripped my headphones out. Not due to any type of obscenity suddenly pouring from them, but rather I realised that I was in a foreign land, and following my usual patterns for avoiding the noise of the outside world. With those headphones in, I was suddenly gaining a deeper insight into the sociology classes I'd taken at Uni, and began to really click as to what Sony were all about. Plus, with the headphones in I could have been walking down a street in Melbourne – the accents would remove all doubt.
This casual stroll took me all the way up to Marble Arch, where I caught another train and got off at a random stop to continue my prowling. I eventually made my way through the edges of Soho, the theatre district, Picadilly Circus and Leicester Square. if I was really following my Monopoly board idea, today would have gained me bonus points for the locations I hit (quite by accident, too).
The day was drawing to an end and I thought it best to retreat back to Casa Di J. I had his house-key after all. Getting back to the required station, I stood on the edge of the platform, and noticed movement below. Small mice were zipping in an out of the rail-tracks, their brown forms blending in with the dirty concrete foundations. I had to look around and check that other people had seen them, as at first I thought I was getting delusional. Nope, they were definitely there. Then all of a sudden they vanished – not disappeared, just ran away. I figure they could sense the trains coming (like Tonto used to do) as the train did indeed arrive right after this. I boarded, like a piece in Tetris, fitting awkwardly yet precisely into the available gap. Unlike Tetris, this didn't result in a whole bunch of people disappearing and freeing up space. Eventually arrived back at J's, and fell asleep. All this walking around on 4 hours sleep is tiring! J and D prepared a lovely dinner, accompanied by chinese lager (pretty good, too) and we talked nonsense for hours.
Calling it a night, I unpacked my sling bag and took stock – camera worked like a charm, phone works like a charm (but you guys will never be able to call it), and as for the plane socks? Worn through on both big toes. Top marks for comfort, but failure in the durability department. Not quite sure what the airline expected me to do with them either.
New Thing Learnt Today – The Tube is chaos incarnate, but the british people have harnessed it's power and run it efficiently. Kudos!
Today the adventures began! J is still stuck at work this week, so it's up to me to amuse myself in a foreign town full of foreign speakers. This works out for the best, as he's most likely done all the touristy things he wants to, and so isn't forced through them all again. I woke at 8am, and promptly went back to sleep. I woke again at 8:09am, and slept again. Finally, I acquiesced and got up. My goal this week is to feel like a native, so I did what the Romans do, and made a cup of tea. I read the paper, too. (it's like the MX, but with more trash) Got ready, met another house mate (Jayson, a funny guy) and then left, walking to the big street at the end of the road, just to see what I could see. Today as an experiment, I was wearing the complimentary socks I received on the plane. Coloured like a first-aid bandage (and feeling like one), I was curious as to just how durable they were.
My walk took me to Maryland station, where I purchased a recommended ticket and found me a train. The job for today was to bend the Underground to my will, to understand it's bizarre machinations and make it a tool for my use and not a puzzle for my confusement. The interesting thing about the “Tube” is that it has 12 distinct lines, which all criss-cross each other at different points. No where is impossible to get to, it just may involve multiple changes. And they run every 5 minutes, making it a very simple matter to travel “across the grain” as it were. Something worth noting about the Tube is how aggressively noisy it is. I'm not sure what brings the cacophony about, but something about the design of the doors lets in the roar from the tunnel, meaning even with headphones you're not really getting much peace.
I then spent the day travelling around London, walking the streets and seeing the sights. I mooched my way up and down Oxford and Regent streets, and it was halfway down one of these, that I suddenly ripped my headphones out. Not due to any type of obscenity suddenly pouring from them, but rather I realised that I was in a foreign land, and following my usual patterns for avoiding the noise of the outside world. With those headphones in, I was suddenly gaining a deeper insight into the sociology classes I'd taken at Uni, and began to really click as to what Sony were all about. Plus, with the headphones in I could have been walking down a street in Melbourne – the accents would remove all doubt.
This casual stroll took me all the way up to Marble Arch, where I caught another train and got off at a random stop to continue my prowling. I eventually made my way through the edges of Soho, the theatre district, Picadilly Circus and Leicester Square. if I was really following my Monopoly board idea, today would have gained me bonus points for the locations I hit (quite by accident, too).
The day was drawing to an end and I thought it best to retreat back to Casa Di J. I had his house-key after all. Getting back to the required station, I stood on the edge of the platform, and noticed movement below. Small mice were zipping in an out of the rail-tracks, their brown forms blending in with the dirty concrete foundations. I had to look around and check that other people had seen them, as at first I thought I was getting delusional. Nope, they were definitely there. Then all of a sudden they vanished – not disappeared, just ran away. I figure they could sense the trains coming (like Tonto used to do) as the train did indeed arrive right after this. I boarded, like a piece in Tetris, fitting awkwardly yet precisely into the available gap. Unlike Tetris, this didn't result in a whole bunch of people disappearing and freeing up space. Eventually arrived back at J's, and fell asleep. All this walking around on 4 hours sleep is tiring! J and D prepared a lovely dinner, accompanied by chinese lager (pretty good, too) and we talked nonsense for hours.
Calling it a night, I unpacked my sling bag and took stock – camera worked like a charm, phone works like a charm (but you guys will never be able to call it), and as for the plane socks? Worn through on both big toes. Top marks for comfort, but failure in the durability department. Not quite sure what the airline expected me to do with them either.
New Thing Learnt Today – The Tube is chaos incarnate, but the british people have harnessed it's power and run it efficiently. Kudos!
Day 1 – Duty Free Time Travel
Things started just fine, and then inexplicably went downhill. I'm not one to worry about the vaguaries of travel (otherwise right now I'd be nigh-catatonic), but late Saturday I was gripped by a fully-fledged panic attack. At this point, little things began going wrong, but my hyperventilation was quicky inflating them to Marshmellow Man size in a few frantic heartbeats. That's now in the past, for which I'm thankful.
After that frenzied state, everything went well. Customs and Check-In were easy (But the other way aroud). I did get swabbed for bombs (lucky I had already swallowed the nitro-glycerine), and I fell into instant relaxation once on board. And by instant I mean I slept through take off. Slept almost the whole trip to Hong Kong, where we arrived a 7:15am. There's only a few hours difference (3) between HK and home, so felt great.
The airport is quite nice. Not the first place on my list of places to be kept in captivity for a day, but definitely one of the most stylish. I can't tell if my experience is indicative of all Hong Kong, but space does not appear to be a premium: Everything is arranged with abundant wiggle room. The concourses (of which the largest must be close to a kilometre in length) are designed with a vaulted ceiling motif, very much invoking the external look and dimensions of a hangar. Considering I had a whole day here, I thought it best to get some currency, and so headed rght to an exchange where I gave them all my Australian cash. ALL.
Swanning around with the resulting stack of bills, I thought the best thing to do before the daydreams of grandeur reached critical mass, was to get a coffee. Coffee, like the Big Mac is a pretty universal measure. Unfortunately, science does not reckon on the immeasurable, and my hunger got in the way, ordering a “quick fried beef with egg” as a close match for breakfast. It was better than close – It was! The repaste cost me $45, approximately $6.80Aus. Not bad! I spent the rest of my time walking around the gargantuan halls, meandered the free internet briefly, and then decided it was time to slake the thirst and start recording my thoughts. Ordering almost $100 of drinks (my perspective is shot), I went for my pen only to discover it had fallen in battle. The ink had erupted and filled the barrel. It was a sad moment for ball points everywhere. I finished my binge, and bought a new smooth writer for the princely sum of $15 ($2.20Aus). I still need to get over this exchange rate – when it's close to one-to-one, I can handle it, but when it's 6.7:1, I get confused.
So the days go by, and the airport begins to grow old. I waited at the gate for the connection and tried to focus on my book, but my brain was hammering away that it was almost time to eat. Naturally, brain is correct but flight comes first. We board, and this time my seat-mate is a lovely young lady who is almost the spitting image of Petreen. We didn't talk, but share a smile that puts her miles ahead of Captain Psycho from the morning.
Captain Psycho dressed in fatigues, had wild hair and an intense stare that looked determined enough to pull triggers on it's own. He didn't speak, but spent the whole flight watching Disney's “The Hunchback of Notre Dame”...repeatedly.
I promptly fell asleep, but this time am woken by the Captain announcing a fault on the plane that cannot be fixed, so we are being transferred. He hands it over to Ground Control, who opens with the very Shaun Micallef-styled intro: “Hello, my name is Director Manager of Ground Control.” I snigger. The joke is on me, as the concourse and I are re-acquainted for another hour. I contact family and friends to tell them of my plight, and eventually re-board. This time, all systems are go.
The flight passed quickly, again my mutant super power kicked in and allowed me to sleep through the majority of the trip. Pseudo-Petreen was good company, as it turned out we are in similar lines of work, and so we talked a little shop. She also worded me up on what to expect from english people – apparently they don't strike up conversations with strangers like Australians do. Interesting! Eventually the flight came to an end, and we disembarked – the fun now really began. Customs was a breeze – in fact, there was no customs. I contemplated what this would have meant had I stuff to declare, but this was a moot point as the declaration channel was empty too. After probing questions about who i was related to (part of me bit back the urge to say “The Queen”), I was let loose into the UK.
Relying on the train system to get me from Heathrow to Stratford, I found out that the delay had convenient had us arrive and get out of customs with about 30mins lee-way for travel. The first bit of advice from the train staff was “get to Liverpool St as fast as you can.” Which I attempted. I crossed paths with a traveller trying to do the same, a developer from Microsoft, and we tag-teamed our way through various stations and station staff (at one point I mused out loud that a bear had been stuck at Paddington station once – he looked at me like I was suggesting something absurd.) Eventually we got to Liverpool St and we parted ways. I walked out of the station to my connecting bus and took a deep breath – this was the first time I had stepped outside in God-knows how many hours...Getting on the bus, I popped out my trusty iPod and listened to the tune that was guiding me all this time. Man it felt good.
Finally got to my destination, and 30mins later so did my brother – he'd sent himself out as a search party to find me, and Heathrow had declared a delay that was a whole lot different to the truth. In the meantime I caught up with one of J's housemates, a guy who had been at high school with him. And another housemate, a french girl. Apparently the french greet strangers with hugs and kisses on both cheeks. To quote the All Stars, I really really love the french! :P At 4am we went to bed, and the travel officially ended.
(further posts will be shorter – this represents a period of 29 hours of experiences)
New Thing Learnt Today – I begin to act like a caged animal if kept inside for too long.
After that frenzied state, everything went well. Customs and Check-In were easy (But the other way aroud). I did get swabbed for bombs (lucky I had already swallowed the nitro-glycerine), and I fell into instant relaxation once on board. And by instant I mean I slept through take off. Slept almost the whole trip to Hong Kong, where we arrived a 7:15am. There's only a few hours difference (3) between HK and home, so felt great.
The airport is quite nice. Not the first place on my list of places to be kept in captivity for a day, but definitely one of the most stylish. I can't tell if my experience is indicative of all Hong Kong, but space does not appear to be a premium: Everything is arranged with abundant wiggle room. The concourses (of which the largest must be close to a kilometre in length) are designed with a vaulted ceiling motif, very much invoking the external look and dimensions of a hangar. Considering I had a whole day here, I thought it best to get some currency, and so headed rght to an exchange where I gave them all my Australian cash. ALL.
Swanning around with the resulting stack of bills, I thought the best thing to do before the daydreams of grandeur reached critical mass, was to get a coffee. Coffee, like the Big Mac is a pretty universal measure. Unfortunately, science does not reckon on the immeasurable, and my hunger got in the way, ordering a “quick fried beef with egg” as a close match for breakfast. It was better than close – It was! The repaste cost me $45, approximately $6.80Aus. Not bad! I spent the rest of my time walking around the gargantuan halls, meandered the free internet briefly, and then decided it was time to slake the thirst and start recording my thoughts. Ordering almost $100 of drinks (my perspective is shot), I went for my pen only to discover it had fallen in battle. The ink had erupted and filled the barrel. It was a sad moment for ball points everywhere. I finished my binge, and bought a new smooth writer for the princely sum of $15 ($2.20Aus). I still need to get over this exchange rate – when it's close to one-to-one, I can handle it, but when it's 6.7:1, I get confused.
So the days go by, and the airport begins to grow old. I waited at the gate for the connection and tried to focus on my book, but my brain was hammering away that it was almost time to eat. Naturally, brain is correct but flight comes first. We board, and this time my seat-mate is a lovely young lady who is almost the spitting image of Petreen. We didn't talk, but share a smile that puts her miles ahead of Captain Psycho from the morning.
Captain Psycho dressed in fatigues, had wild hair and an intense stare that looked determined enough to pull triggers on it's own. He didn't speak, but spent the whole flight watching Disney's “The Hunchback of Notre Dame”...repeatedly.
I promptly fell asleep, but this time am woken by the Captain announcing a fault on the plane that cannot be fixed, so we are being transferred. He hands it over to Ground Control, who opens with the very Shaun Micallef-styled intro: “Hello, my name is Director Manager of Ground Control.” I snigger. The joke is on me, as the concourse and I are re-acquainted for another hour. I contact family and friends to tell them of my plight, and eventually re-board. This time, all systems are go.
The flight passed quickly, again my mutant super power kicked in and allowed me to sleep through the majority of the trip. Pseudo-Petreen was good company, as it turned out we are in similar lines of work, and so we talked a little shop. She also worded me up on what to expect from english people – apparently they don't strike up conversations with strangers like Australians do. Interesting! Eventually the flight came to an end, and we disembarked – the fun now really began. Customs was a breeze – in fact, there was no customs. I contemplated what this would have meant had I stuff to declare, but this was a moot point as the declaration channel was empty too. After probing questions about who i was related to (part of me bit back the urge to say “The Queen”), I was let loose into the UK.
Relying on the train system to get me from Heathrow to Stratford, I found out that the delay had convenient had us arrive and get out of customs with about 30mins lee-way for travel. The first bit of advice from the train staff was “get to Liverpool St as fast as you can.” Which I attempted. I crossed paths with a traveller trying to do the same, a developer from Microsoft, and we tag-teamed our way through various stations and station staff (at one point I mused out loud that a bear had been stuck at Paddington station once – he looked at me like I was suggesting something absurd.) Eventually we got to Liverpool St and we parted ways. I walked out of the station to my connecting bus and took a deep breath – this was the first time I had stepped outside in God-knows how many hours...Getting on the bus, I popped out my trusty iPod and listened to the tune that was guiding me all this time. Man it felt good.
Finally got to my destination, and 30mins later so did my brother – he'd sent himself out as a search party to find me, and Heathrow had declared a delay that was a whole lot different to the truth. In the meantime I caught up with one of J's housemates, a guy who had been at high school with him. And another housemate, a french girl. Apparently the french greet strangers with hugs and kisses on both cheeks. To quote the All Stars, I really really love the french! :P At 4am we went to bed, and the travel officially ended.
(further posts will be shorter – this represents a period of 29 hours of experiences)
New Thing Learnt Today – I begin to act like a caged animal if kept inside for too long.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
God Save The Queen
Because apparently a live-in security service, state of the art systems, guard dogs and a bunch of castles don't make her safe enough...
Q: What do you see when you turn out the lights? A world without Ringo Starr's nose.
Song For The Day: "Werewolves Of London" by Warren Zevon
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