I’ve been in London for the past two weeks. Work experience. Which has been fun – and the whole London thing is beginning to grow on me. At first I found it quite depressing, getting in when it’s dark, spending far too much time holed up on the tube and battling masses of people, all as intent in getting to their destination as you are.
However, I also love the lights, the action, the sense of urgency, which is both as addictive as it is exciting. That said, I could never live in the big smoke unless I was utterly in love with my job. And paid a lot to do it.
Give me a London which lets me go for long walks in Richmond Park or along the Embankment every weekend, and gets me out and about the city during the week, taking photographs and speaking to interesting people. Give me a London that doesn’t consist solely of staying in a tiny flat on the weekends, recovering from the mother of all hangovers.
Not that I’m against partying, though. Not at all. In fact, give me a London where I can go to gigs at least every month, and visit the Ministry, Pasha, Koko or Fabric as often as possible. I want to visit exhibitions and shop to my heart’s content at Camden market.
Thing is, the poor man’s London can become nothing more than a blur of subways, hours at the office and a few small hours at home in front of the telly watching I’m a Celebrity – please kill me before I make more of an arse of myself, or subject you to truly awful TV.” Or something like that, anyway.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Our Boiler
Our boiler is broken. We could have told Roberts that this was going to happen. In fact, we DID tell them that it was going to happen. Oh, but I don't think I've yet mentioned our glorious letting agency, Roberts. Well. Let's see. We paid £700 in fees/deposit before we even moved into the property, and then found out that NOTHING worked. I'm going to post an article my housemates wrote about just how shit they actually are, because I can't be arsed to go into it myself.
Anyway. So, we wrote them a letter explaining that the boiler is dodgy, and then on Friday we discovered that our heating had packed up. Fab. Only on the coldest night of the year, mind you.
Saturday morning I ring them THREE times to find out just what they're going to do about it. Eventually 'Oh, did we not tell you. Yes, the plumbers will be round soon."
Thanks for letting us know, you silly cow.
Two 12-year olds arrive at our door an hour later. Apparently, they're the plumbers. Well, one of them is. The other one is work experience boy, and a gormless looking one at that. Seriously, neither of them looks old enough to drive the van that they've just parked (rather badly, might I add) outside our driveway.
Maggie walks into the kitchen just as they take the cover off the boiler. Both the boys stare at it. There's water dripping EVERYWHERE.
"Well, it's not 'appy" says the plumber.
Really? We could have told them that. They're not being paid £50 an hour to tell us that our boiler isn't happy.
"Well, what's wrong with it?" Maggie asks.
"I dunno. But it's not 'appy." Work experience boy nods gormlessly in agreement.
After a lengthy examiination, the plumber pronounces our boiler fucked.
"It's gonna need a real expensive repair job, or a new boiler" he says sagely.
Well done, Captain Obvious. That didn't occur to us, at all.
We ring Roberts again.
"Well, basically the plumber isn't qualified to fix your boiler," the woman says. No surprise there, love.
"So, you're gonna have to hold on till Monday for the electrician to come round."
I'm writing this wrapped in my flannel pj's, gown, wearing two pairs of socks and have a hot water bottle to boot. Thank goodness I'm going back to London tonight. It might be a rat-infested, smoggy, overcrowded, with a shit transport system that NEVER works, hellhole, but at least it's warm.
Anyway. So, we wrote them a letter explaining that the boiler is dodgy, and then on Friday we discovered that our heating had packed up. Fab. Only on the coldest night of the year, mind you.
Saturday morning I ring them THREE times to find out just what they're going to do about it. Eventually 'Oh, did we not tell you. Yes, the plumbers will be round soon."
Thanks for letting us know, you silly cow.
Two 12-year olds arrive at our door an hour later. Apparently, they're the plumbers. Well, one of them is. The other one is work experience boy, and a gormless looking one at that. Seriously, neither of them looks old enough to drive the van that they've just parked (rather badly, might I add) outside our driveway.
Maggie walks into the kitchen just as they take the cover off the boiler. Both the boys stare at it. There's water dripping EVERYWHERE.
"Well, it's not 'appy" says the plumber.
Really? We could have told them that. They're not being paid £50 an hour to tell us that our boiler isn't happy.
"Well, what's wrong with it?" Maggie asks.
"I dunno. But it's not 'appy." Work experience boy nods gormlessly in agreement.
After a lengthy examiination, the plumber pronounces our boiler fucked.
"It's gonna need a real expensive repair job, or a new boiler" he says sagely.
Well done, Captain Obvious. That didn't occur to us, at all.
We ring Roberts again.
"Well, basically the plumber isn't qualified to fix your boiler," the woman says. No surprise there, love.
"So, you're gonna have to hold on till Monday for the electrician to come round."
I'm writing this wrapped in my flannel pj's, gown, wearing two pairs of socks and have a hot water bottle to boot. Thank goodness I'm going back to London tonight. It might be a rat-infested, smoggy, overcrowded, with a shit transport system that NEVER works, hellhole, but at least it's warm.
Friday, November 17, 2006
London Calling
Okay, so I officially now loathe and detest London transport. I am now going to be a full HOUR late because they build the fucking lines so far apart. Did I mention that I was carrying the heaviest suitcase in the world as well as my macbook? And there are just so many damn people who don’t move out the WAY so it takes twice as long to get anywhere. So, missed my first train back and then had to wait haf an hour for the next one, which was late. I spent most of the wait on the phone, however, which made it go quicker. Patience is not my strong point.
It’s the magazine launch tonight and I’m going to be late. Never mind, I’ll just swan in fashionably late. Oh, but wait. You’re forgetting this is me. I’ll probably trip on the stairs on my way in, spill my drink all over someone and then attempt to kiss someone I shouldn’t. Nevertheless, I’m very excited to see the mag, Apparently it’s the best one yet.
Last night was pretty amazing though, to put a positive spin on things. One of the good things about being in London is meeting the girls after work. I’ve really missed living with them. We started at a little bar called ‘Jewel’ Picadilly which was pretty swanky, although there were quite a few old men there who attempted to chat us up and lure us in with wine. It didn’t work – Hayley started talking about her ponies (that don’t exist) and that was kind of the end of the conversation. They were mortgage brokers, though. They even tried to sell us a mortgage. Charming,
We were starving by this point, and having learned my lesson (don’t drink if you haven’t eaten!) we made our way down Regent Street and found this amazing bar that had eastern food and had sheisha’s. Sold! Two bottles of wine and some overpriced but delicious bar snacks later, as well as a cherry-flavoured sheisha, we were suitably fed and watered, and stuck for what to do next. Conveniently, we happened to be next to the Ice bar, which, funnily enough, is made of ice.
We had to wear these thermal coats with fluffy hoods and posed with loads of ice statues (even the bar counter and the walls were made of ice!) It was COLD man. But really, really fun.
Hayley launched herself on some poor unsuspecting boy on the way home, but apart from that the rest of the night was generally uneventful.
I’ve managed to calm down slightly now, so the next mission is to find a friend to have a day of fun with me in London on Monday. Any suggestions?
It’s the magazine launch tonight and I’m going to be late. Never mind, I’ll just swan in fashionably late. Oh, but wait. You’re forgetting this is me. I’ll probably trip on the stairs on my way in, spill my drink all over someone and then attempt to kiss someone I shouldn’t. Nevertheless, I’m very excited to see the mag, Apparently it’s the best one yet.
Last night was pretty amazing though, to put a positive spin on things. One of the good things about being in London is meeting the girls after work. I’ve really missed living with them. We started at a little bar called ‘Jewel’ Picadilly which was pretty swanky, although there were quite a few old men there who attempted to chat us up and lure us in with wine. It didn’t work – Hayley started talking about her ponies (that don’t exist) and that was kind of the end of the conversation. They were mortgage brokers, though. They even tried to sell us a mortgage. Charming,
We were starving by this point, and having learned my lesson (don’t drink if you haven’t eaten!) we made our way down Regent Street and found this amazing bar that had eastern food and had sheisha’s. Sold! Two bottles of wine and some overpriced but delicious bar snacks later, as well as a cherry-flavoured sheisha, we were suitably fed and watered, and stuck for what to do next. Conveniently, we happened to be next to the Ice bar, which, funnily enough, is made of ice.
We had to wear these thermal coats with fluffy hoods and posed with loads of ice statues (even the bar counter and the walls were made of ice!) It was COLD man. But really, really fun.
Hayley launched herself on some poor unsuspecting boy on the way home, but apart from that the rest of the night was generally uneventful.
I’ve managed to calm down slightly now, so the next mission is to find a friend to have a day of fun with me in London on Monday. Any suggestions?
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Cabbages and Queens
Our house has bee turned into a recording studio. Martin is working on the track for his minor film project, which is all very well, just not when you have to listen to it about fifty times A DAY!
I'm awoken every morning by a strange buzzing noise. I soon come to realise that it's the obscenely loud baseline that he insists on playing at a ridulous volume because 'I can't hear it properly otherwise.'
Well, then invest in some bloody headphones, you idiot. We dont want to listen to the lyrics about ' two dodgy looking men' ad nauseum. It's all very nice and a well produced record, well done, but as wonderful and as talented as you are, we're a little sick of it by now.
I'm awoken every morning by a strange buzzing noise. I soon come to realise that it's the obscenely loud baseline that he insists on playing at a ridulous volume because 'I can't hear it properly otherwise.'
Well, then invest in some bloody headphones, you idiot. We dont want to listen to the lyrics about ' two dodgy looking men' ad nauseum. It's all very nice and a well produced record, well done, but as wonderful and as talented as you are, we're a little sick of it by now.
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