The Dirty Bit

Up until recently my mobile phone provider would automatically save all sent and received text messages for my mobile number to an online repository. Think of it as an archive of all SMS communicated to and from your handset. So with the penultimate closing of my London Chapter, it's interesting to read through all the messages that I sent and received. They represent individual moments over the last two and half years. Starting with the initial messages introducing myself to my friends with my new +44 number, moving to the various dinners, catch ups, trips, birthdays, visitors, farewells, drunken text, random messages, congratulations and salutations. With enough thought I can recollect why I sent or why I received each message.

The question that comes up the most is "Why are you leaving?". I'm thankful to not be bound by ultimatums that many expats face, the most common being Visa issues and family commitments drawing them back home. The luxury of being able to decide to leave on your own accord is something that burdens many expats in London. From my experience there are two types of London Expats. The first are those who are in the UK to experience life abroad and dabble in European travel (2-4 years abroad). Secondly are those who have moved to the UK to establish themselves financially, these people usually get caught up with the appeal of Permanent Residence (> 6 years). Given that broad classification I fall into the former of the two.

To be able to travel all of Europe would require determination of epic proportions. For me, the idea of weekend trips no longer excited me and I was content with the amount of European coverage I experienced. The other factor was that of work and lifestyle, I needed a change that could only be satisfied by moving away from London.

With that being said it's only fitting that my final night in London would be spent surrounded by the familiar faces that have made my UK experience enjoyable. The night consisted of a trashy venue (Ruby Blue), cake, shots, conversation and of course, HK Diner. So with the 41 kgs (31 kgs luggage + 10 kg carry on) I left London with a small farewell party at Heathrow. Farewell London!

Bogans of the world unite

Strange that I've never celebrated Australia Day in London. Although after last night I have a suspicion that it is just an excuse for Bogans to let loose, or more possible to let loose of our inner Bogan. Happy Australia Day!


Friday 28th Jan. Last day of work.

Rumspringa

I speak from an almost wistful point of view. It's taken me somewhat unexpectedly, I always assumed leaving the UK would be a moment of anticipation, excitement and the reunification with all things Australian. The reality of it all is that I'm petrified and riddled with an insurmountable amount of anxiety almost to the point where I'm scrapping the bottom of the barrels for excuses to stay in London.

I fear the monotony of being back in Australia, an Australian in Sydney, that's nothing special. An Australian in London, well that's nothing special either but there was a inkling of uniqueness. Not even that, London was my haven from responsibility and all about living in the now. When I left Sydney I had the expectation of returning, it was an interim in life. Without sounding melodramatic, this could be the last time in London.

With this in mind I roam London with a certain sense of finality. I have limited amount of time and a list of things that I want to do. It's true, I've become a London Tourist! Deciding what to pack is another challenge stirring a lingering sense of nostalgia. Things that I want to bring home and those that I can safely toss out. Each item in my room represents a different time, a different encounter, a different moment. I go through the photos and SMSes since 2008. The LOL moments, outings, random adventures, relationships, work, travel. London was about redlining the human capacity for emotions. A maelstrom of excitement, doubt, laughter, love, appreciation, regret, sadness, betrayal, frustration, anticipation and happiness.

"I want to know if that place that I've been once before. Hasn't ever changed and remains the place that always will be there for me" - Boyz II Men, Flowers Bloom

Merry Crimbo!

"He's making a list, and checking it twice"

Employment & Relationships

One, finances the expedition known as life. The other, makes life worth living for. Yet despite the similarities, it becomes obvious that both definitions can be used interchangeably to describe either employment or relationships. In spite of this generalisation, many can go an entire lifetime without one, the other or even both. The thing about jobs and partners is that they occupy and consume a large percentage of our life. Knowing this, we tend to invest a considerate amount of time searching for what we consider our ideal. With this in mind the parallels suddenly become more apparent between both.

Recruiters and friends both play the middle man (or woman) in bringing the two parties to each other's attention. The application, the ice breaker. The resume, the initial conversation, or would that be the cover letter? Then comes the first round interview, the first date. The aptitude tests or meeting the friends and parents. Each challenge eliciting enough information to determine if a suitable fit has been found or if the chemistry is there. If all goes well, you receive a job offer thereby making it official, you're a couple. Three months down the track the probation finishes as does the honeymoon period and the relationship grows.

Similarly enough, just as it can happen in relationships, you can outgrow jobs. When this happens, no amount of negotiation, bargaining or promises can make you change your decision or your feelings. It's then when you have to let the other party know. It begins with a "When you have a spare moment, could we have a private chat?" or a "Listen, we need to talk". Ultimately, the end result is the same and then, it's over.

"It takes a few seconds to say 'hello', but forever to say 'goodbye'"

Blah

Females emotion tendencies have been linked to weakness. Males aren't so lucky either, they have to deal with the pride and 'face'. Which can be self-sabotaging. Whereas emotion is an outward display ego is perception or inner. Which is more destructive?

"Emotion is a strong engine but a weak steering wheel"

This is me in ...

My passport, my backpack, my thongs, my toiletries these are the no-brainers that I blindly grab before each trip. Clothing is slightly trickier, dependent on the destination, type of trip and climate this can vary. There are however some staples that almost always feature in travel ensemble.

My well worn jeans, my comfortable elastic band pajama slacks and more recently my multi-layer, waterproof jacket. The problem with Winter is that since you wear the same clothing, the photos start to look the same and start to become quite repetitive. The big jacket, the scarf, the beanie and the same pale face peeking through the familiar attire.

"Never explain yourself - Your friends don't need it, your enemies won't believe it."

Friday Food

We've moved from emails to webforms.

Is that it?

After 2 and a half years, I've decided to go a head and complete my London bucket list. First thing's first, Green Park, Buckingham Palace and the traditional Changing of Guard.

This also marks two years of working in London.

Same, same but different

The artificial glow emanating from the TV blankets the front of my face. Slouched, I reach for another Mint Slice. Crunch. The biscuit breaks, crumbs falling from my mouth onto my belly. Blindly my left hand pats the couch like the Adam family's Thing. The movements can best be described as haphazard as I desperately search for the remote. My eyes fixed on the TV. Crunch. Still my hand searches, it passes a half eaten packet of Oreos, through a litter of Caramello Koala wrappers before my fingers jam unexpectedly into the missing remote control. Crunch. I flick through the channels. Friends, Big Bang Theory, Holly Oaks. I feel an itch on my toe, but the laze overwhelms me. I sit, with an itchy toe, and there's nothing I can do about it. I'm a slob, at least I feel like a slob. Crunch.

Ok, perhaps that was somewhat melodramatic. It's been an entire 3 weeks free of physical activity. Physically induced elevated heart rates are but a distant memory although the mere act of climbing three steps leaves me short of breathe. The last three weeks have been spent eating out, I must have consumed 90% of all Chinese dishes known to man. It's time to break this unhealthy lifestyle. First thing's first, it's time to re-vamp the diet.

I am a Weetbix kid and have been consuming this cereal since I was just that, a kid. I still remember the day Brett Lee came out and advertised the Australian Public with his 7 Weetbix a day. "How many do you do?" he queried. I accepted this has a challenge and immediately set out to beat him. 10 Weetbix in one sitting is still my record, eaten with almost 1 litre of milk and out of a punch bowl. I remember, I skipped lunch that day and only regained my apetite come late afternoon. That's besides the point, suffice to say, Weetbix has been a staple breakfast fixture in my life for the best part of 20 years. That was until I got to the UK. You see, the English don't have Weetbix, they have something similiar. Weet-a-bix. Crazy, I know!

To the untrained eye, it's the same thing. However, you come to realise that Weetabix is nothing but an inferior imitation of Weetbix.

The consistency and texture in milk is different, the taste is different, it's not the same!

If only Brett Lee would challenge me to eat Weetabix. Currently reading: The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay

Alcoholic Paranoia

Came home last evening in a drunken frenzy and I could have sworn I saw a mouse run through the kitchen. Better safe than sorry.

Reunions in Europe

Excuses, the currency of life. Where each unmet expectation or failed obligation can be exchanged for an excuse. It's a barter system where the more plausible an excuse the smoother the transaction. "I couldn't come into work because I was sick" Bear in mind it has to be worth wild, otherwise people simple won't buy it. "I couldn't come into work because my dog ate it". So here I am bartering the reasons for my tumbleweed-excuse of blog activity.

#1. Work. There has been shock exodus of employees at work over the last couple of weeks, suddenly I find myself overwhelmed with the amount of work and the reduced amount of bludge time (proportionately correlated to blog time).

#2. Lifestyle. Despite being a somewhat unconvincing welcome of summer (unless you consider those two days of 26 degrees a season) the months of May through to July historically are the busiest for travel and out-and-about-ness.

#3. Familiar faces. Most importantly, I've been lucky enough to have a wealth of visitors from Sydney coming over to London for holiday. Those included, close high school and university friends and most importantly my family. Good times.

So, where's my change?

Kicking the bucket

Of the 12 available settings only one worked. In its hay day it would have had the godly status of being a superior piece of Washing Machinery. Unfortunately it suffered the plight of being the communal flat share equipment. Thousands, perhaps millions of cycles later the trusty Hoover had been reduced to an all or nothing setting. There was no option for a spin , no delicates-only cycle it was Synthetics Tumble or nothing. 55 minutes for a load, no more, no less.

During my stay here I've seen the washing machine flirt with death on countless occasions. Each time a technician has come by and given it a new lease of life. Unfortunately, this time around nothing could be done - it had seen its last wash. So now I wait with bated breath for the replacement. Bated probably because I had over a weeks worth of dirty laundry and a weekend trip ahead.

So out of novelty I headed down to the local Coin Operated Laundromat. It was everything I expected. A distinct early 90s feel, with washing machines ranging from small loads to extra large loads. It was filled with the characters you expected to find in a laundromat, not the ones you hoped to see (no attractive females). The old yuppie with the bright coloured shirt and thick rimmed glasses. The ethnic in a wife beater and his suitcase of bed sheets. The weird smelly guy from the subway. The backpacker with the Lonely Planet and me, the guy with a fistful of change and not a clue in the world.

Currently reading Malcolm Gladwell's Blink.

Washed

What has almost been two months since my last entry I am, to say the least, feeling extremely rusty. Much has happened since the turn of the decade. I hope to fill in those events and provide some back blogging. I have since then, returned back London, almost apprehensively. Torn emotionally between wanting my Visa to be rejected and yet still yearning for it to be approved. The outcome as you may have guessed is approval and entitlements to remain in the UK until 2013.

Arriving back in London prompted spates of idle contemplation. "Why am I back here?". "Sydney, is awesome!". "I don't remember my room being so small". "God I missed this (English) weather. They say it takes a moment to get over the first trip back to the home country. Things feel more disconnected, the paltry group of Londoners remain and walking down Regent St still stirs the feeling of excitement first felt almost 2 years ago. They anticipation of being in a new country, the only difference now, I don't have to sleep on somebody's couch and sit through countless interviews.

So here marks the beginning of the second UK stint. After much protest my jeans have finally been washed, washed, 3 years after. Symbolic perhaps?

Season's Greetings 2009

Christmas time in London is a strange beast. The CBD is noticeably quieter. Majority of my office is away with Christmas obligations. Only the ex-pats and those with Visas in their passports turn up to work. The days surrounding Christmas, the 24th and the 26th casts something of a trance over London. It's a city possessed with consumerism.

Christmas eve, where people race against the 5 pm retail curfew; Desperately trying to fulfill last minute Christmas duties. Then comes the 25th, it's the day London shuts down. Public transport stops, the streets are empty and you'll be hard pressed to find anything but a steak or anything ethnic to eat (not that that's a bad thing). Boxing Day rolls around and the city sputters back to life. Thousands of people cram into back into the retail shopping districts in hope to grab a bargain on last season's stock.

Don't blink or you might miss those 24 hours when Christmas in London is removed from the 21st century. Keeping the spirits occupied and entertained with the simplicities of a warm house, some hot food and good company.

"You want me to come over I got an excuse" - Kickstart, Example

I ♥ Winter

I challenge you to find me something more visually indelible than winter. Calm serenity. That's all winter is good for, visuals. Everything else screams pain in the ass. It takes me an extra 5 minutes to do anything.

Winter, generally means added time. Things have to be done in slow motion, walk cautiously, thread warily. Extra time required to get ready to leave the house. Extra time to try on spent shopping. Cars move slower, the underground nine times out of ten will fail. End rant.

Sydney Goodies!

Nom nom nom - Thanks sis!

Cheddar

We left work early, left London late

to explore more of England and farewell a mate.
With provisions of noodles and Vegemite to snack
our luggage and boardgames we had in the back.
For three hours we drove through the highway darkness,
the GPS useless; we had no address.

Like the old man who wandered the street
we were lost, disorientated and suffering defeat.
It was dark, it was cold we'd driven for miles
our only landmark a pub with red tiles.
Four doors from there, we were told
West Moor Cottage our haven, our shelter from the cold.

We promised her eleven, twelve no later.
She revoked the contract, that old hater.
Enlisting the help of our local Saviour
we bargained and negotiated and asked for a favour.
Until she and her husband made amend
they agreed six could stay for the weekend.

The following day we woke to eggs and bacon.
A man in the kitchen, we were mistaken.
Saturday the caves, the goats, the cheese and the tower.
All trip long we argued the word 'flour'!
An afternoon of Cream Tea, the scones were unreal
before retiring to Wells for the evening meal.

Factoids, Humdingers and Cameos the attraction.
Cheese and Gin the main distraction.
Huddled, we sung under the starry night sky
Two shooting stars, why would I lie?
We readied for bed. Too tired to shower.
Revelation! It's daylight savings, lets stay up for another hour!

The house was cleaned and the men left last.
Glastonbury's Vegetarian breakfast - what a plastic farce.
Wookey Hole was rubbish so we unanimously agreed
to head back to Cheddar for a Sunday roast feed.
The drive home was easy with no need to hurry
so we opted for a Korean Dinner in nearby Surrey.

So there it is, our road trip in poem.
An epic weekend to Somerset then back home.
The singing, the cheese and the Nintendo DS
not to be forgotten, until next weekend's fancy dress.
A great trip. Good company. An indelible time.
So much so, I blogged this awful rhyme.

Always take the weather with you

This week marks two departures from London. Firstly, I think it's safe to say that London has felt its last ounce of warmth; Winter has set in. It's become bloody cold, bloody quick. Temperatures have dropped below 10 degrees and with that we bid farewell to the thongs and t-shirts and become reacquainted with jackets and our radiators. The upside is that I no longer have to properly iron my business shirts. A quick iron over the collars plus a fresh sweater and I'm ready for work; Little consolation really.


Over the last 18 months I have been fortunate enough to have met some really awesome people. I usually categorise my close friends as people I've shared life-changing experiences with or those who have been with me over a life-defining period. The two groups that immediately spring to mind are: High school friends and University friends.

So to this I add a new group: The London expat group. I had expected to come overseas and gain a greater perspective on the world. Live independently, travel abroad, open my eyes. What I had not expected was to meet people that I would share with me some of the best times of my life. The red eye flights, the same over crowded hostel, the same lousy discount carrier experience, the smiles, the laughter and even the tears of seeing friends leave.

The second departure ushers in the end of an era. My London initiation was void of the usual heartache of having to re-establish a social circle. Upon arrival I had the luxury of knowing people from Sydney here in London. It made the first couple of months bearable. I had a couch, advice on being an expat and for me, the most desirable, familiar faces. The last 6 months has seen people slowly return back to Sydney with the last person leaving this week. All the people I knew prior to coming to the UK have all but gone home. It just means less chance of somebody trying to derail your detox plans for the week; Little consolation really.

"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened." - Dr. Seuss

My Birthday cameo

I celebrated last year's Birthday completely sober. Read: Completely sober. After 7 successive Birthdays being utterly intoxicated 2008's sober experience felt alarmingly foreign yet somewhat appropriate. This was a sign of things to come, I had mindfully pulled the handbrake on the reckless train of self-destruction. Maturity and self-preservation had prevailed. Unfortunately this was not a forecast of future Birthday processions. It would be a premature call and nothing more than an outlier; a statistical exception.

My recollection of October 9th is hazy at best. I remember being seated at my desk, a head popping up from the monitor in front of me saying "Are we going to the pub for your birthday?". I also remember rocking up to my birthday dinner at the Crown and Goose one hour late and extremely tipsy. I recall ordering the Roast Chicken and Pavlova. I remember not eating the pavlova. I remember a heartfelt Birthday speech. I remember being called "true blue", "a piss pot" and "a bastard". I remember drinking. I also remember being in a cab. I distinctively remember and vomiting 4 times at various places in Trafalgar Square much to the screaming of delirious passersby. I recall spending the best part of 5 minutes in Thai Square. I remember that SMS.


What a Birthday: Bring on 27!