Who would have thought I'd be in the middle of a White Easter?
Sunday, March 23, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
London Update 3
There’s been some major developments – I’ve surfed to another couch in a new neighbourhood, started a new job and found an apartment within the space of four or five days. Surprising really, given how slow things were moving in the first few weeks.
In the shadow of the Giant Gherkin
From Wendy and Deno’s IKEA fold out bed in Dalston, I surfed over to Emma’s ‘couch’ in Whitechapel last weekend. Whitechapel is in the heart of the East End, around the Brick Lane area – you can’t miss Sir Ian Foster’s Giant Gherkin every time you look up to check if its still raining. It’s another smorgasboard of cultures and flavours in this exciting and eclectic part of town – ofcourse the stronghold of London’s Bangla population, the home of the cockney, and a playground for the young alternative sub culture of semi punk bohemian types that are too cool for the yuppie rules and etiquettes of the West End and the increasingly toursity and plastic Camden.
I can’t stop singing the East Enders theme song every time I walk past this cute little cozy pub on the corner. 1, 2, 3, 4 – dodo do do do doo dooooo, dodo dodo doo do do do do do deehhh doooooh. The girls and I celebrated St Pats day there with a toothful of Guinness. The complimentary hats make us look a bit like Qing Dynasty concubines some how though.
In the shadow of the Giant Gherkin
From Wendy and Deno’s IKEA fold out bed in Dalston, I surfed over to Emma’s ‘couch’ in Whitechapel last weekend. Whitechapel is in the heart of the East End, around the Brick Lane area – you can’t miss Sir Ian Foster’s Giant Gherkin every time you look up to check if its still raining. It’s another smorgasboard of cultures and flavours in this exciting and eclectic part of town – ofcourse the stronghold of London’s Bangla population, the home of the cockney, and a playground for the young alternative sub culture of semi punk bohemian types that are too cool for the yuppie rules and etiquettes of the West End and the increasingly toursity and plastic Camden.
I can’t stop singing the East Enders theme song every time I walk past this cute little cozy pub on the corner. 1, 2, 3, 4 – dodo do do do doo dooooo, dodo dodo doo do do do do do deehhh doooooh. The girls and I celebrated St Pats day there with a toothful of Guinness. The complimentary hats make us look a bit like Qing Dynasty concubines some how though.
And on the right is Alutesia (Emma’s Brazilian flatmate who is a diving instructor in England to learn English and the only Dyke on Bike in the Tribe... ), myself and Daiv hanging out in Brick Lane last night, where we met more random enlightening English people (on the left). OK, the one in the Samosa hat is actually Norwegian.
New Job in Holborn
My new job is on Lincoln’s Inn Field, around a public square/park which used to be a former execution ground in Holborn. Holborn is a very commercial area full of offices and numerous good pubs (when you have lots of offices you have lots of pubs, its just how it works here), it lacks much more character than the neighbouring busy Covent Garden. However, Lincoln’s Fields which is only one row back from the mainstreet is in an alternative universe in a beautiful surrounding much inherited from the 17th century. Most of the buildings in the area had been built through out the last three or four centuries and many of them are historically protected, a notable one being the Old Curiosity Shop which Charle’s Dicken’s book was based on. The law courts next door is a giant secluded almost mysterious Ivy League campus styled area with grand brick castle like wings and beautifully manicured flowering gardens – all just one steel iron gate away from the hustle and bustle of Fleet Street and Kingsway’s buses, black taxis, pedestrians, marketers and free London Lites, completely left at peace and in dignity. I just can´t wait to immerse myself in the middle of this great neighbourhood in the lunch times - when it gets warmer though, I suppose!
New Apartment in Bayswater
Another interesting turn in my mad life. I will be sharing an acclaimed architectually dsigned apartment in Bayswater next to Hyde Park and the Nottinghill markets with its landlady Victoria, who is an Italian-Ethiopean former Italian Literature lecturer turned Fashion buyer in her 60s. why would I want to share an apartment with someone older than my parents you ask? Victoria is crazy and eccentric and full of fascinating stories from a life of rich events and experiences. She speaks six languages, been married three times, and have traveled pretty much all over the world four or five times over. She just knows SO MUCH about things like history, food, spirituality, art, etc, I really think I am going to learn a lot from her. Vicky is charging about a quarter of the current market rent for the room just to get someone to amuse her and keep her ideas young. She usually take Japanese girls (the ad was posted at the Japan centre when Em and I dropped in for Miso) as they are very ‘agreeable’ and ‘well behaved’ – but she decided that a near enough version will do because we pretty much clicked instantly. I have a feeling that I will be very much like her when I get to her age. I think it will be fascinating to live with her and can’t wait to meet some of her interesting friends. I´ve always found friendships with older women of my mum´s age really fruitful for me because they mentor me and play a mother figure to me without the intensity of family members or treating me like a complete child, I think its gonna be great.
New Job in Holborn
My new job is on Lincoln’s Inn Field, around a public square/park which used to be a former execution ground in Holborn. Holborn is a very commercial area full of offices and numerous good pubs (when you have lots of offices you have lots of pubs, its just how it works here), it lacks much more character than the neighbouring busy Covent Garden. However, Lincoln’s Fields which is only one row back from the mainstreet is in an alternative universe in a beautiful surrounding much inherited from the 17th century. Most of the buildings in the area had been built through out the last three or four centuries and many of them are historically protected, a notable one being the Old Curiosity Shop which Charle’s Dicken’s book was based on. The law courts next door is a giant secluded almost mysterious Ivy League campus styled area with grand brick castle like wings and beautifully manicured flowering gardens – all just one steel iron gate away from the hustle and bustle of Fleet Street and Kingsway’s buses, black taxis, pedestrians, marketers and free London Lites, completely left at peace and in dignity. I just can´t wait to immerse myself in the middle of this great neighbourhood in the lunch times - when it gets warmer though, I suppose!
New Apartment in Bayswater
Another interesting turn in my mad life. I will be sharing an acclaimed architectually dsigned apartment in Bayswater next to Hyde Park and the Nottinghill markets with its landlady Victoria, who is an Italian-Ethiopean former Italian Literature lecturer turned Fashion buyer in her 60s. why would I want to share an apartment with someone older than my parents you ask? Victoria is crazy and eccentric and full of fascinating stories from a life of rich events and experiences. She speaks six languages, been married three times, and have traveled pretty much all over the world four or five times over. She just knows SO MUCH about things like history, food, spirituality, art, etc, I really think I am going to learn a lot from her. Vicky is charging about a quarter of the current market rent for the room just to get someone to amuse her and keep her ideas young. She usually take Japanese girls (the ad was posted at the Japan centre when Em and I dropped in for Miso) as they are very ‘agreeable’ and ‘well behaved’ – but she decided that a near enough version will do because we pretty much clicked instantly. I have a feeling that I will be very much like her when I get to her age. I think it will be fascinating to live with her and can’t wait to meet some of her interesting friends. I´ve always found friendships with older women of my mum´s age really fruitful for me because they mentor me and play a mother figure to me without the intensity of family members or treating me like a complete child, I think its gonna be great.
I move in tomorrow!
ps.
I´d like a to wish all Taiwanese people and Mr Frank Hsieh very good luck for tomorrow´s Presidential Elections and the UN referendum. May courage and integrity be on our side!
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Who Let the Bombs Out?
Bush! Brown and Blair!Barked one of the chants at yesterday’s anti-war rally in London. I´m alive!!!
This is one of the biggest rallies I’ve ever been to, with a superb mixture a good cross section of the society, of all ages (great Gen Y turn out for example), ethnicity, political factions and groups. I am becoming more and more impressed with the political culture in London, not just the depth the media analysis goes but also the kind of discussions and dissent it has created amongst its people. Democracy isn’t just a tick on a ballot paper or a blue print emailed across overnight. It’s a process of education, self awareness, altruism, community, sharing power, and reclaiming that power should it be gone via every day actions and interactions. It’s a culture, it takes time. Throughout the last many centuries, London in the heart of England has bred that culture through witnessing some of the most brilliant and influential moments and periods in political history – if not blood, tears and a whole lot of kicking and screaming. No one said it was easy, and every community will have a different experience, but it sure is rich and vibrant when we have it and when its here to stay. 
Its been five years since the illegal invasion of Iraq (and six for the one in Afghanistan) had started and it is still dragging on. As a concerned global citizen, as a member of the human race I do not support the US led military presence and “democracy strategy” in the Middle East. Sure Saddam and the Taliban were one of the most repressive regimes in the world (though there are many others, some even admits to having nukes – lets start with China, North Korea, …so why aren’t they taken out?), but their riddance and the chaos and hatred that followed is being mismanaged by the wrong people and the wrong agendas. The UN and its security council, which can be very powerful but useless if not damn unhelpful at the same time, could be more courageous in leading the collective international community in addressing the power vacuum in Iraq and Afghanistan, like it has done in the recent past, say in East Timor or the former Yugoslavia. Its never easy, but at least it would better accepted and more transparent, and participated by the international community. But that is a world called Idealism and we are stuck in a world called Pragmatic Gutlessness, which has gotten worse and worse as the years go by. So on we complain, or perhaps hope. Because its our right, and absolutely our responsibility.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Quick Take 1
(imagine hearing this in a Hugh Grant sort of accent)
“Emma tells me that you’re some sort of a professional darts player. Very sought after field of expertise, I’m sure you’ll have no troubles earning a living around here,” – J. G.
I am about to begin my third week in London. I guess I am finally regretting dropping out of law school. Would have been nice to be able to walk straight into a job that earns three times as much as my current going rate and instantly upgrade my scruffy wardrobe and buy cocktails in South Kensington – but – I am trying not to let this job hunting business get to me too much. I’ll give myself till end of the month – otherwise I might just have to get a pub job or move to Wales….
It’s a great change in mindset not being a tourist anymore and thinking about this city as if its going to be a place where I am going to live and be part of rather than just an observer passing through. I do love being in London. It is a fascinating city. It has to be the diversity and the innovation which it spins off that I appreciate the most. Its where the world converges and diverges and reinvent itself within the proximity of 20/30 kilometers square. Because its so big and there are so many different people here, conformity is hard to come by.
There’s no single style or trend, just a multifacet of them living side by side in parallel like the rainbow pikellets they serve down the road. Yet everybody is edging forward everyday, trying to out do each other (and out drink each other), to be the greatest in the world in your small corner of the world. I like this pressure actually, it makes me not take things for granted and keep me wanting to offer myself and the world the best I can give. But there are so many expectations and costs about being who I want to be and who I can be in London, all I’m hoping is that I’ll try not to burn out, fingers crossed.
“Emma tells me that you’re some sort of a professional darts player. Very sought after field of expertise, I’m sure you’ll have no troubles earning a living around here,” – J. G.
I am about to begin my third week in London. I guess I am finally regretting dropping out of law school. Would have been nice to be able to walk straight into a job that earns three times as much as my current going rate and instantly upgrade my scruffy wardrobe and buy cocktails in South Kensington – but – I am trying not to let this job hunting business get to me too much. I’ll give myself till end of the month – otherwise I might just have to get a pub job or move to Wales….
It’s a great change in mindset not being a tourist anymore and thinking about this city as if its going to be a place where I am going to live and be part of rather than just an observer passing through. I do love being in London. It is a fascinating city. It has to be the diversity and the innovation which it spins off that I appreciate the most. Its where the world converges and diverges and reinvent itself within the proximity of 20/30 kilometers square. Because its so big and there are so many different people here, conformity is hard to come by.
There’s no single style or trend, just a multifacet of them living side by side in parallel like the rainbow pikellets they serve down the road. Yet everybody is edging forward everyday, trying to out do each other (and out drink each other), to be the greatest in the world in your small corner of the world. I like this pressure actually, it makes me not take things for granted and keep me wanting to offer myself and the world the best I can give. But there are so many expectations and costs about being who I want to be and who I can be in London, all I’m hoping is that I’ll try not to burn out, fingers crossed. Quick Take 2
Hackney on a Monday 
I am surviving on lots of bananas that cost one pound a bowl at the markets and Iceland (as in, the supermarket) alcohol, 50 pence/hour internet, and back on the IKEA fold out bed in Wendy and Deno’s living room. The number of times I’ve picked up money on the ground since my arrival is amazing. Five times in two weeks – that’s got to be a record. Although Deno reminds me that one pence coins aren’t actually money. But they are.
The Tube on a Tuesday
(……. …..…..….. …...)(……. …..…..….. …...)(……. …..…..….. ….....)
(.. …..…..….. …...)(……. …..…..….. ….....)
(……. …..…..….. …...)(……. …me....….. …...)(……. …..…..) …...…..)
(…... …..…..…..….. …..…..….. …. …..…..…....…..…..)
Brick Lane on a Wednesday
I caught up with Daiv finally. We haven’t seen each other for about four years – it’s a miracle that we are even in the same town at one particular given time. He’s doing great by the way, not that any one will need to worry, he’ll always be as old as the day I met him at the back of the kitchen at the Copthorne. We were tucking into curry in Brick Lane when randomly joined by a bunch of artists who are friends with his artist friend who he stayed with when he broke his leg in France. Daiv had to teach the next morning and left early so I stayed on partying with these guys. We found a manga gallery in a basement before going to one of the guys place which is upstairs of his a futuristic furniture shop. It reminds me of a mini version of the warehouse that Jane and I used to live in on Marion Street in Wellington all those years ago, kind of industrial and post-mod. He had a collection of really interesting knives and tropical fruit. There was lots of Balkan music as far as I can remember and my new friends and I danced around the table mimicking a medieval sward fight except we had tongs and broomsticks instead of axes and cross bows. I remember spotting a fox (although I used the word “wolf” at first) pounding the pavement from the window – it was a skinny lanky orange thing, a lot bigger than I thought, with haunted eyes and spooky Beijing-opera style marks on its face. It gushed when it saw me and disappeared into the night as quickly as it had appeared.
Post Office on a Thursday
I ventured up north of Dalston Junction to collect registered mail from the bank (see previous post). Dalston Junction is a big mixture of African, Indian and Turkish communities and has a chaotic and eclectic market scene during the day. Up the road towards Stamford Hill it’s a little more quiet with quaint little cafes and book shops. Further along near the post office there is a large orthodox Jewish community. Its actually the first time I have actually ever seen men with curly side burns and top hats and black suits like they wear, and hear Hebrew being spoken. Its quite an amusing sight on the main street seeing one of these guys riding around on a bike pass a girl in the brightest in your face red patent leather shoe-boot which has forced her to walk like a pigeon with her eyes semi closed behind real Guccis. One block back a couple of “Emo” boys in tight jeans and floppy hair were sucking away at their cigarettes outside a bakery where two plump Turkish ladies with big aprons making pancakes on a big flat pan. This is grassroot London at its best.
Soho on a Friday
Soho on a Friday night reminds me of Bangladesh on a Monday morning – crowds of people swarming around the footpath and the road, rubbish and puddles of water all over the ground, construction holes here and there, beggars sitting in the corner, and rickshaws lined up in rows waiting for a rich customer and his mistresses.
House Party on a Saturday
Emma took me along to Keat’s house warming near Archway. It was a fun but long night, so in summary, I had the most delicious grilled mushrooms with bluecheese in the world; shots of something that appeared to be absinthe; had a few puffs when I said I wasn’t ever going to do it ever again only last week; pashed some random guy when I said I wasn’t ever going to do it ever again only last week; skidded along the kitchen in my Kurt Geigers; … on the way home I ‘interacted’ with some people who were eating a piping hot meal on top of a filthy rubbish bin, had a discussion about tellytubbies, the war on terror, and the fact that Robin Hood is Dead with a guy from Nottingham on the bus back home; found five pounds in my bra. Emma and I spent it on some head scarves the next day at Spittalfields. So it was well used to say the least.
Museums on a Sunday
This is part of the new installation at the Tate – Shibboleth by Doris Salcedo or affectionately known as The Crack. It had some fascinating effects on the people around it.
I am surviving on lots of bananas that cost one pound a bowl at the markets and Iceland (as in, the supermarket) alcohol, 50 pence/hour internet, and back on the IKEA fold out bed in Wendy and Deno’s living room. The number of times I’ve picked up money on the ground since my arrival is amazing. Five times in two weeks – that’s got to be a record. Although Deno reminds me that one pence coins aren’t actually money. But they are.
The Tube on a Tuesday
(……. …..…..….. …...)(……. …..…..….. …...)(……. …..…..….. ….....)
(.. …..…..….. …...)(……. …..…..….. ….....)
(……. …..…..….. …...)(……. …me....….. …...)(……. …..…..) …...…..)
(…... …..…..…..….. …..…..….. …. …..…..…....…..…..)
Brick Lane on a Wednesday
I caught up with Daiv finally. We haven’t seen each other for about four years – it’s a miracle that we are even in the same town at one particular given time. He’s doing great by the way, not that any one will need to worry, he’ll always be as old as the day I met him at the back of the kitchen at the Copthorne. We were tucking into curry in Brick Lane when randomly joined by a bunch of artists who are friends with his artist friend who he stayed with when he broke his leg in France. Daiv had to teach the next morning and left early so I stayed on partying with these guys. We found a manga gallery in a basement before going to one of the guys place which is upstairs of his a futuristic furniture shop. It reminds me of a mini version of the warehouse that Jane and I used to live in on Marion Street in Wellington all those years ago, kind of industrial and post-mod. He had a collection of really interesting knives and tropical fruit. There was lots of Balkan music as far as I can remember and my new friends and I danced around the table mimicking a medieval sward fight except we had tongs and broomsticks instead of axes and cross bows. I remember spotting a fox (although I used the word “wolf” at first) pounding the pavement from the window – it was a skinny lanky orange thing, a lot bigger than I thought, with haunted eyes and spooky Beijing-opera style marks on its face. It gushed when it saw me and disappeared into the night as quickly as it had appeared.
Post Office on a Thursday
I ventured up north of Dalston Junction to collect registered mail from the bank (see previous post). Dalston Junction is a big mixture of African, Indian and Turkish communities and has a chaotic and eclectic market scene during the day. Up the road towards Stamford Hill it’s a little more quiet with quaint little cafes and book shops. Further along near the post office there is a large orthodox Jewish community. Its actually the first time I have actually ever seen men with curly side burns and top hats and black suits like they wear, and hear Hebrew being spoken. Its quite an amusing sight on the main street seeing one of these guys riding around on a bike pass a girl in the brightest in your face red patent leather shoe-boot which has forced her to walk like a pigeon with her eyes semi closed behind real Guccis. One block back a couple of “Emo” boys in tight jeans and floppy hair were sucking away at their cigarettes outside a bakery where two plump Turkish ladies with big aprons making pancakes on a big flat pan. This is grassroot London at its best.
Soho on a Friday
Soho on a Friday night reminds me of Bangladesh on a Monday morning – crowds of people swarming around the footpath and the road, rubbish and puddles of water all over the ground, construction holes here and there, beggars sitting in the corner, and rickshaws lined up in rows waiting for a rich customer and his mistresses.
House Party on a Saturday
Emma took me along to Keat’s house warming near Archway. It was a fun but long night, so in summary, I had the most delicious grilled mushrooms with bluecheese in the world; shots of something that appeared to be absinthe; had a few puffs when I said I wasn’t ever going to do it ever again only last week; pashed some random guy when I said I wasn’t ever going to do it ever again only last week; skidded along the kitchen in my Kurt Geigers; … on the way home I ‘interacted’ with some people who were eating a piping hot meal on top of a filthy rubbish bin, had a discussion about tellytubbies, the war on terror, and the fact that Robin Hood is Dead with a guy from Nottingham on the bus back home; found five pounds in my bra. Emma and I spent it on some head scarves the next day at Spittalfields. So it was well used to say the least.
Museums on a Sunday
This is part of the new installation at the Tate – Shibboleth by Doris Salcedo or affectionately known as The Crack. It had some fascinating effects on the people around it.
(ops, I think uploading this thing just caused the whole internet lounge to crash... shikes... watch the space... here is a non moving pic in the interim)
..............................hhhhheeeeeeyyyy presto!
A parallel universe of London also exists in the form of an ant colony in the Natural History Museum, see the 24/7 live feed here. ITs fascinating, I promise!
http://www.nhm.ac.uk/kids-only/naturecams/antcam/index.html
Priceless *61
Time is money – Anon.
Time to organize all my paper work when I applied for a UK bank account through my NZ bank manager – 30 minutes
Time for the UK Bank manager to contact me via snail mail requesting for more paper work which they didn’t tell me I had to have – 4 weeks
Time for me to organize the paper work requested via email as I have already left NZ – 2 days
Time for the UK Bank to get back to me with a relevant email address because the previous four addresses I tried to email the paper work to bounced back – 2 weeks
Time I spent in the phone cue to speak to an operator for the UK bank – 25 minutes
Number of people I got transferred to before I got to the right person – 4
Time it took for me to get really pissed off because my paper work can’t be “electronic” and no one specified this – 1 second
Time it took me to convince them to just have a look at it because it really doesn’t need to be an original – 5 minutes
Time for me to take a bus down to a branch to fax over the paper work – 24 minutes
Time I waited in the cue at the branch – 15 minutes
Time the branch person waited in the cue to speak to the person who should be receiving the fax – 21 minutes
Time it took the branch fax machine to turn on – 7 minutes
Number of failed attempt to fax the paperwork – 3
Time I spent in the phone cue waiting to see if they received my fax – 13 minutes
Number of operators I got transferred to before I got to the right person – 2 (which is an improvement)
Time it took for me to get really pissed off because after all this they didn’t receive the fax – 0.5 seconds
Time it took for me to tell them what I thought about all of the above – 6 and a half minutes
Time it took for the branch to find the fax file and refax it – half a day
Time I spent on the phone following up on the above – 25 minutes
Time the UK bank manager spent approving the opening of my account – 2 minutes
Time for my card to arrive at my address – 5 working days later
Time I spent walking to and fro the post office because they didn’t bother ringing the bell for me to sign for it and then it wasn’t there at the post office for me to collect because the postie still had it – 1.5 hours
Time spent at the branch cue to sort out a pin number – 7 minutes
Time at the next cue to sort out a pin number because the first teller “don’t do pins” – 8 minutes
Time for the teller to tell me that my pin has been sent to me already – 4 seconds.
Time for her to realise that its been sent to New Zealand – 15 seconds
Time for me to get really pissed off because why would they send my card to me in London and send my pin to NZ?? – 1 second
Time the teller women spent in her own cue waiting to use the office phone to call those people with the faxes – 12 minutes
Time for the teller women to find forms because “they’re not where they should be” – 5 minutes
Time for me to fill out forms to fix various administration issues – 9 minutes
.. so after all this…
Time to activate a “proper” change of address – 3 days
Time there after to request a new pin and for it to be delivered to me – another 4 or 5 days
Time till my bank account is fully operational – who knows
The cost of the ongoing death of my brain cells – priceless.
Time to organize all my paper work when I applied for a UK bank account through my NZ bank manager – 30 minutes
Time for the UK Bank manager to contact me via snail mail requesting for more paper work which they didn’t tell me I had to have – 4 weeks
Time for me to organize the paper work requested via email as I have already left NZ – 2 days
Time for the UK Bank to get back to me with a relevant email address because the previous four addresses I tried to email the paper work to bounced back – 2 weeks
Time I spent in the phone cue to speak to an operator for the UK bank – 25 minutes
Number of people I got transferred to before I got to the right person – 4
Time it took for me to get really pissed off because my paper work can’t be “electronic” and no one specified this – 1 second
Time it took me to convince them to just have a look at it because it really doesn’t need to be an original – 5 minutes
Time for me to take a bus down to a branch to fax over the paper work – 24 minutes
Time I waited in the cue at the branch – 15 minutes
Time the branch person waited in the cue to speak to the person who should be receiving the fax – 21 minutes
Time it took the branch fax machine to turn on – 7 minutes
Number of failed attempt to fax the paperwork – 3
Time I spent in the phone cue waiting to see if they received my fax – 13 minutes
Number of operators I got transferred to before I got to the right person – 2 (which is an improvement)
Time it took for me to get really pissed off because after all this they didn’t receive the fax – 0.5 seconds
Time it took for me to tell them what I thought about all of the above – 6 and a half minutes
Time it took for the branch to find the fax file and refax it – half a day
Time I spent on the phone following up on the above – 25 minutes
Time the UK bank manager spent approving the opening of my account – 2 minutes
Time for my card to arrive at my address – 5 working days later
Time I spent walking to and fro the post office because they didn’t bother ringing the bell for me to sign for it and then it wasn’t there at the post office for me to collect because the postie still had it – 1.5 hours
Time spent at the branch cue to sort out a pin number – 7 minutes
Time at the next cue to sort out a pin number because the first teller “don’t do pins” – 8 minutes
Time for the teller to tell me that my pin has been sent to me already – 4 seconds.
Time for her to realise that its been sent to New Zealand – 15 seconds
Time for me to get really pissed off because why would they send my card to me in London and send my pin to NZ?? – 1 second
Time the teller women spent in her own cue waiting to use the office phone to call those people with the faxes – 12 minutes
Time for the teller women to find forms because “they’re not where they should be” – 5 minutes
Time for me to fill out forms to fix various administration issues – 9 minutes
.. so after all this…
Time to activate a “proper” change of address – 3 days
Time there after to request a new pin and for it to be delivered to me – another 4 or 5 days
Time till my bank account is fully operational – who knows
The cost of the ongoing death of my brain cells – priceless.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Positivity
You say what you want to say
Your diamonds are drops of rain
Your smile is your credit card
Your currency is your love
And the morning is for you
And the air is free
And the birds sing for you
And your positivity
You play where you want to play
On the main streets where the creeps all prey
And you can feel like you're in dynasty
You could be what you want to be
And the morning is for you
And the air is free
And the birds sing for you
And your positivity
And the cars crash for you
And the sunshine is free
And the sirens call you
Yes, the morning is for you
Yes, the air is free
Yes, the world spins for you
And your positivity
Positivity
"Positivity" by Suede
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ipX71-P7Cpk
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ipX71-P7Cpk
I am rocking along nicely to this song that was playing on Deno's ipod. I am cold, jobless and homeless in London, but its OK, this song is nice. and daffodils and cherry blossoms are popping out. the world is ablaze because I want it to. Please ring, mobile...
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