Freeeeeeezing

Dark when you get up. Dark when you leave work. Dark, dark, dark. And cold.

Tell me one good thing about winter, quick. I double dare you.

Week in pictures - Sunday

This is my favourite (if pretentious) cafe on Brick Lane. Just what is so hilarious about their banana frappes you wonder?

Mice on street sign.

Week in pictures - Saturday

The canal. Brrrr!












A: My dog's got no nose.
B: How does he smell?
A: Terrible!

I thank you.

Nightmare

having nightmares about work, quite literally. I have a class of 29 fantastic little kids and one little sod. It's a battle of wills and his will is stronger than mine... In my nightmare he has morphed into a cross between Damien from The Omen and the red dwarf from Don't Look Now, he's climbing the stairs to this building and I know somehow he's going to cut the cable in the lift shaft. He's wearing a spiderman costume and a burkha over his face. This sounds kind of funny when I write it now but I wake up in a cold sweat.

*this is an experiment - can you click on the picture and see it?

Week in pictures - Friday

Canary Wharf in the morning.
























Was going to do Canary Wharf in the evening, but got distracted by this - the ladies toilets in the bar we went to in Canary Wharf. Look at it. It was nearly bigger than our house, and definitely more luxurious. It has three chaises longues in it. Why?

Week in pictures - Thursday

My fun day. (I wanted to post a picture of the lovely neon shop in Mile End, but since I passed it this morning it's closed down. Neon gone. Bah.)

Bloody helicopters

No wonder we get no sleep, check this out:

During the year to October, 98 sorties - about one in 12 of all counter-terrorism flights over Greater London and Heathrow - were ordered over Tower Hamlets, which is home to huge multinational companies and a large Muslim population.

Week in pictures - Wednesday

Big mouth slide in Bob's Park

A week in pictures - Tuesday

I want this clock (in Bethnal Green tube). It's blurry because it's too early.

A week in pictures 1

Buying challah from the bagel bakery for the kids. Mmmm...

New camera

Look at my lovely shiny new camera! (photo number 2 below.) It's so light, so small, so shiny... granted the photo is pretty rubbish, but that's because I have not worked out what all the buttons mean yet. Compare and contrast with my faithful old Pentax, which has a body made of pure solid metal and weighs a ton.

10 years ago - at college I had Big Hair and a big camera.













Today - new portable camera. Hurray!!

S.A.D.

According to a report in The Guardian, hamsters get depressed in the winter.


A sad hamster.





A happy hamster.

How would you know?

On money

While we don't like the phrase "work-life balance" (see below) we are quite keen on the phrase "tax rebate". Hurray for the Inland Revenue!

The options are -

a. pay urgent bill
b. keep as a float so you are not broke all the time (but how long can it keep you afloat?)
c. buy boots that you have had your eye on for a while
d. go to the dentist
e. blow it on a weekend away
f. sign up to the gym/photography class

Hmm. a b or d seem like the wisest options, but quite tempted by the others. If I keep it as a float it will vanish quicker than snow in the sunshine, might as well do something concrete with it.

On work

Work-life balance, what a heinous phrase. Like work is something which is not a part of your life - you're waiting for work to be over so you can get on with your real life. Unless you're lucky enough to be minted, most of us spend too much time at work not to like it or get something from it.

Jobs, I've had a few... the one I loved and got the boot from.

The one working with the old folk which made me want to never get old.

The one where I was surrounded by books and not allowed to read. (Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink...)

The one where I got to talk to a million different people from all walks of life - Cuban economics professors now working as taxi drivers, Mexican surgeons,Colombian cleaners, Chilean waiters, Catalan fashion designers, stagehands, actors, diving teachers, go-go dancers, airline pilots...

The one working with the refugees where everyone was so endearingly technically clueless that by default I became the IT technician. (ha!)

The one I have now...won't be doing this forever. If I could teach the kids one thing though, it would be to use school to find out whatever it is you are good at, whatever you love, and pursue it til you get there.

Do you like your job? Do you do it just for the money? How did you get into it? How did you know it was what you wanted? If you could change it, what would you do? Spill the beans...

شوخی با مردم

A prize for anyone who knows what this language is (or what it says).

Or why they have linked here. There is Slaminsky, sandwiched between LESBIAN WORLD DAILY NEWS and AMERICAN EXPRESS PLATINUM... ooer.

What can it mean?

Blink & you'll miss it

For a limited period only, a postcard post (- before I put them together with the others on the sidebar - earlier postcards can be seen here).

You guys.... I swear, the only thing that eased the pain of going back to work was these postcards. A thousand thanks.
Thanks to Wayman Tooles, (I think this is how your name is spelled!) for this picture from the Lone Star State. I was trying to explain that Texas is bigger than the UK, but don't know if they got it!








Orangutans from lovely Jamie in Malaysia.












Shyha in Poland sent this in. Ha, I got an original Shyha work of art - the kids aren't keeping this one, oh no, it's going straight on my wall.

Feliz navidad

No time to chit-chat, so here are some photos of Spanish sweeties.

Every year I promise myself I'm going to get out of town for Christmas, and it never happens - except for this year, managed to book a ticket...














going to Barcelona.

going to drink cava.

going to walk on the beach.

going to visit the fish.


going to buy shoes.

going to escape the Christmas madness.

Feliz Navidad!

I love New York

Update: for anyone who arrived here in search of Lucky Chan's, I fear it has closed down...
(and leave a comment, why don't you.)

Warning - it's a long one...

Janine and Ben's wedding day was on October 11th, 2001, in New York. We didn't know if it was going ahead - they didn't want to cancel and all of their friends had been planning for it all year, scraping the pennies together, and finally all the flights had been booked and accommodation sorted. They spoke to the rabbi who said, life still goes on, and what better way to show this than with celebrating their wedding?

So it went ahead, and we had the best time. To be in New York makes me euphoric any time, but to be in New York with all my closest friends was the icing on the cake. Maybe it wasn't appropriate, a month after the planes crashing into the Twin Towers, because the image I have of us was like the Banana Splits on acid, scampering about the city, giddy with high spirits and approaching hysteria. So I apologize to New Yorkers if we behaved badly, we didn't mean it, because we love the city.

Chelsea Girls
We stayed in a little hostel in Chelsea where apparently Madonna stayed early on (but is there anywhere Madonna hasn't stayed?) I'd booked the "Betty Boop room" which was meant to be for 3 people, but in fact featured a kind of triple decker bunk bed; not enough room to swing a hamster let alone a cat. Our Spanish friend Veronica is from a posh family and used to the finer things - her face was a picture when she walked in. Luckily they soon upgraded us to one of their apartments, for free, so we had a kitchenette/living room and a bathroom too.

Lucky Chans
The first night, the hen night, we went to Lucky Chans, a Chinese restaurant with drag queen waitresses and a floor show . Our waitress was this beautiful black Amazon. "Are you bitches ready to order?" She sat down and chatted with us at the end, she told us that business was pretty quiet. We couldn't understand why the table of blonde girls in front of us had been throwing us filthy looks for being loud - were we being insensitive? But, wait a minute, if they were in mourning, what were they doing in a restaurant where you were liable to get lap-danced by a six foot tranny in platforms and a bustier? It seemed like that a lot of the time. People seemed normal, business as usual, but we were the loudest wherever we went. In left wing, independent, sceptical New York, American flags hung from every window, bouquets were piled up in fire stations, in the subway stations and on walls everywhere were photos of people still missing.

Champagne
The ceremony was in a loft in SoHo. They'd sent everyone a piece of material to decorate as they pleased - then we all sent them back and they were stitched together to make the hupah (the canopy you get married underneath in a Jewish wedding). The wedding itself was crazy, on fast forward, warp speed. This may have had something to do with the champagne. The waiters were walking around giving everyone refills. I felt like this had been arranged for my personal amusement and pleasure, because it seemed as if one of them was following me around with a bottle conveniently to hand. The only way to get pissed, my dear. In every photo
you can see me lovingly clutching my glass, as if scared that someone would try and take it away.

(This photo could be subtitled "Pete and Annie at the Buddy Holly convention")

SoHo Grand
Afterwards we went back to their hotel, the SoHo Grand, I think. It was very plush, very rock n' roll; the kind of place I will probably never set foot in for the rest of my life, so I enjoyed every second of it. I remember weaving down the hall and trying not to, in front of poker-faced Armani-clad hotel staff. The sofas! The flowers! The moody lighting! The snotty bar tenders! We saw their suite, with a beautiful terrace and a breathtaking view of the lights of Manhattan. It was about four in the morning, too wild and wet to stay out there long. Ben's socialite step-mother laughed at us. "I love the Brits - they say, this is normal weather for us."

Desire
Ben's friends took us to a bar around the corner for cocktails. Our waiter was very cute. "What's this?" cried Emma, grabbing his hand and scrutinising his nail polish. "It's called 'Desire'," he said, and I wanted to take him back to Spain with me. "It's called chipped," she snapped, but unlike the drag queens, he misunderstood her banter and just looked hurt.
"Ah, Em, he's like Bambi. You hurt his feelings." When he came back, she apologised.
"Sometimes I say things, but it's only in jest. I mean no harm."
"That's okay," he said, and bounced away to brighten up someone else's life. I think a lot of the time, people couldn't understand what we were saying (two nations divided by a common language) but he understood she was saying sorry.

Living on a prayer
The last memory I have of the bar is of our table of 20, arms aloft, headbanging to "Living on a prayer." "Take my hand, we'll make it I swear!"
"You're our favourite table!" said a waitress, but then, it was probably because we were finally leaving.

I love New York
Oh man, I hope it isn't the last time we're all there together. How many more stories could we generate, given longer to stay? Emily wondered if you live there, if it just turns into real life, if your heart stops beating faster when you step onto the street or into Central Park. But I don't think so. Even for a local, I think it must still be magical.



Look at their cool wedding cake!

The mean reds *

What do you do about it?

* from a favourite book, Breakfast at Tiffany's

Houses of Parliament burned down

... in Victoria Park on Saturday, for fireworks night. A huge, beautiful wooden model of Westminster was constructed in the park, complete with Big Ben, spectacularly lit up. A giant Guy Fawkes appears to a hiphop soundtrack featuring snippets of speeches from politicians like Maggie "the lady's not for turning" Thatcher and Winston "We'll fight them on the beaches" Churchill.

Boo, hiss from the liberal Hackney/Tower Hamlets audience. In a radical re-writing of history that would only happen in this borough, Guy Fawkes succeeds in blowing up the Houses of Parliament - the towers and Big Ben burn away to reveal giant skeletons, fireworks shoot from the top of the clock tower, the whole vast edifice collapses in on itself to make the biggest bonfire you've ever seen, everyone's inner pyromaniac is revealed and we all cheer. Followed by a beautiful fireworks display. It was some show, and a staggering feat of engineering.

What I want to know is, how do I find a job like that?

Plans for world domination

Or at least domination of London. Isn't it frustrating when you get ideas fizzing through your head, and you never have enough time or money, or work gets in the way of carrying them out?

So here are some of my solid-gold, can't-fail bright ideas, from small to big. Maybe you have more time, or business/charity expertise, or can pass them on. Take them, run with them, own them!

• Yarn department store in central London.

Have you ANY IDEA how big knitting is as a hobby? Forget computer games, forget
blogging, it is HUGE. They're all at it, they're crazy for the knitting.

And yet... there is no specialist, dedicated yarn shop in central London, just little sections in John Lewis and Liberty's, or little high street shops. I'm envisioning it like VV Rouleaux in Marylebone High Street, or The Bead Shop in Covent Garden. People would travel from out of town just to shop there, you could have an online store, workshops, knitting groups, art exhibitions... you get the picture.

• Central music library for kids.

Music is fun, and "inclusive" (big buzzword in education), ie, everyone can join in. Plus, we're always emphasizing the academic subjects, but what are this country's most successful exports? Music, art, fashion. Get them to play instruments! Get them to sing and write music! Get them to record stories! A central music library, available to all schools in London, you could borrow instruments, CDs, DVDs, story tapes, all the big music labels could donate and would be happy to, because they'd be promoting their product. Story-telling sessions, music sessions, performances... etc etc.

• Big Apple Greeter - London style.

This is a fantastic service in New York, entirely staffed by volunteers. You email them ahead of your trip, telling them about your interests. A native New Yorker takes you around for the day, for free! It would work perfectly here - Londoners are just as proud of their city, I'm sure they'd be up for it. (I emailed Ken about this a while ago, unsurprisingly got no reply.)

So there you have it. Just don't say I never give you anything.

I know who you are. You is Bod.

Jonny Dee's funny article from the Guardian won't mean much to you if you don't have fond memories of this surreal 70s kids programme, but you have to agree that "life would be so much better if everyone had their own theme tune."

Plus this article bigs up the god-like Derek Griffiths, virtually the first black man on British telly.

Not wired for spatial tasks

You have to try this, it's fascinating. BBC Sex ID - find out how your mind works.
I'm a freakish zero on the male/female continuum. How about you?


(via Frizzy Logic who also has a great "organic html" link in the same post.)

Bad neighbours

from Private Eye.

Since my nearest and dearest have vetoed writing about them here, I'm compelled to write about the neighbours, who will surely never read this and probably wouldn't care.

This is a story about mad Gladys, who lives upstairs. She is Welsh, maybe in her eighties, has lived here for 50 years, about 4 foot tall, always wears green, with a long black ponytail (though not much hair on top of her head). When in her cups (quite often) she stands on the balcony singing the Welsh national anthem and Tom Jones songs for the amusement of the neighbourhood.

Last winter L found her crying out on the street, and brought her in for a cup of tea. A member of the mad ASBO family upstairs had threatened to carve her up with a knife and she was in a state.

In between singing the Welsh national anthem and a freeform version of "I will always love you" her life story emerges. Came to London at age 14 to work as a maid, 7 kids who've all scattered to the winds, a no-good husband, cleaning work until retirement...

Now she's scared of her neighbours, who are always trying to tap her for money, and won't leave the house because of agoraphobia. We advised her to tell the police. She has, she said. They laughed and told her to "have a cup of tea and go to bed". "Why would I have a cup of tea and go to bed? Tea keeps you awake." she says logically.

L escorts her home and finds the place immaculately clean. Gladys insists on showing her the fridge, which is filled to the brim with Special Brew. It turns out her phone has been cut off by BT for making nuisance calls - she kept dialling 999 every time they hassled her. So we write some letters. To the local MP, the local councillors, the chief of police, BT, the social services. Her phone is re-connected and the police visit.

She puts an envelope with £100 through our door, which I return early in the morning before she can nab me. The Asbo family quieten down a little. But I feel guilty - she's on her own, and I don't visit her, because I don't want to get drawn into the world of mad Gladys.

In memory of Miriam

A friend of a friend killed on 7th July, they have set up a charity in her memory. Donations gratefully received.