It’s official. Summer is well and truly on its way. We’ve had two glorious Bank Holidays and, even though it’s been threatening to chuck it down for a little while, we haven’t had enough rain to stop us enjoying the Great Outdoors.
Of course, enjoying the Great Outdoors is a bit of a challenge in good old London Town. And I’m not just talking about the reported smog we had over Easter. I am talking space. Oh yes, it is at a premium, and even more so when the sun comes out to play. The parks become rammed with Londoners desperate to catch a few rays on their lunch break and the trains heading out overflow with city dwellers gasping for air.
But I have a confession to make. I am one of the lucky ones. Yes, I too like to escape once in a while and visits to friends and family out of town are welcome breaks from the madness. But I have my own little haven. My terrace. Okay, so it isn’t exactly Kew Gardens, but I love it. What’s even more amazing is that, even though I have what most estate agents would rub their hands at with glee, my rent is only ten quid a week more than what I paid for the flat upstairs before I moved nearly two years ago. And, you guessed it; it didn’t even have a balcony.
This Christmas I received a lot of garden-related gifts and last month I started to plant a variety of seeds, from salad to courgette to several herbs. I know I am not the most green fingered of people, but seeing my labours come to fruition gives me a real sense of satisfaction. Pottering outside, even if it is just watering my pots or picking out a few weeds, has become my favourite way to wind down after a day at work. Last week I decided to add to my collection and bought a Gerbera plant, some Heather and Sunflower seeds to add a bit of colour. On Friday I dug out my solar lights and dusted off the chimnea.
Needless to say I was more than a little bit pleased with myself when my friends came to stay this weekend. Sitting outside on Saturday evening with a glass of wine was a real treat and I kicked off the barbeque season on Sunday with a Moroccan feast of salad, couscous, chicken and lamb meatball kebabs.
Tonight I noticed the first flower on my strawberry plant as I filled up a potato grow bag with compost and nestled in half a dozen sprouting potatoes. My salad leaves are multiplying, my fig tree is looking even greener than last year and my seedlings are looking better every day. I can’t wait to sit down at my little mosaic table to my first home grown salad of the year, followed by fresh strawberries and cream.
Ah. Happy days!
Tuesday, 10 May 2011
Wednesday, 4 May 2011
Just Do It
I have a confession to make. Tonight I have been to college. No, not to improve my IT skills or to learn a new language, but to learn how to sing.
I have another confession to make. On Friday, I have a cycling lesson. Not to improve my technique and to make me safer on the roads, but to learn how to cycle. Nope, I never learned how to ride a bike as a kid. And yes, I am doing something about it at the grand old age of 31.
You see, recently I have come to the conclusion that it is about time that I get around to doing all the things that I really want to do, or think it is about time I got to grips with. I always loved singing at school, and although I know I will never win the X Factor, I would love to have the confidence to belt out a power ballad or two in a karaoke bar. So, a couple of months ago I searched the net and enrolled at the Working Men’s College in Camden. So far I am loving it, even if I seem to spend more time laughing than singing. As for the cycling, well, after over eight years of having the mickey taken out of me by Him Indoors, I decided it was about time I got myself in the saddle. Okay, so I doubt that I will start cycling around London to work every day, but at least I will be able to wobble around Centre Parcs when I go on my jollies. And the added bonus? My council are providing me with up to four hours of tuition absolutely gratis.
So, what has happened? Why have I suddenly started to do all these weird and wonderful things? Well, I think there are a lot of factors to it. One is suddenly finding myself in my thirties and in a job that makes me go “meh” rather than “WOOHOO!” Another is the wakeup call the possibility of redundancy gave me earlier this year. But mainly I think it has been the “sod it” attitude that I have developed over recent months.
You see, I have come to the conclusion that, if you don’t give it ago, you will never know. How will I know if I can sing or ride a bike unless I give it a try? Okay, so the ability to warble along to Celine Dion or wobble along a bridle path in the middle of the Cotswolds is not going to change my life. But learning how to set up my own business and attempting to write a novel? Well, who knows what could happen?
I can’t say that I have got to this state of mind completely on my own. About 18 months ago I went to my first “More To Life Than Shoes” meeting and, before I knew it, I had committed to writing 1,500 words of my “long piece” every week. Over a year later and I am now on my second edit. Slowly but surely, I am producing a piece of writing that, even if it doesn’t even get sniffed at by a publisher, I can be proud of and say, I did that.
It doesn’t stop there. In March I went to a London Business Link seminar about setting up your own business. You see, I dream of opening my own cafe one day and had come to the conclusion that it was about time I dip my toes into the business world. So I have decided I will try out the concept by selling some of my crafty work on the internet and at market stalls around London. I admit, I haven’t got far with it yet, but it is a work in progress. And, you never know, I might even sell something.
Full of enthusiasm I then turned to my old favourite – the “self help” book. I am in the throes of “Creating a Life Worth Living” with Carol Lloyd and have just finished “More To Life Than Shoes” by Nadia Finer and Emily Nash. Written by two of the founders of the support network, it explores how women have overcome various obstacles to get where they really want to be in life, whether that is as a speaker in the House of Commons, a fighter pilot or a novelist. And, even if you don’t fancy any of the career paths the 100 women interviewed for the book have followed, you will be inspired by how they got there, whether they had to fight sexism in the workplace, juggle their career with family commitments or overcome their greatest fear.
So, whatever you feel like doing, wish you had tried or have never got round to, just do it. Okay, I am not suggesting you jack in the day job just yet, but put the feelers out, do some research on the net, enrol on that college course, get inspired by others. In London alone there are dozens of colleges, social groups and life coaches who can give you the help that you need to try it out and say you gave it ago. And okay, so you might fall off your bike, but you can pick yourself up again and always try skateboarding instead.
I have another confession to make. On Friday, I have a cycling lesson. Not to improve my technique and to make me safer on the roads, but to learn how to cycle. Nope, I never learned how to ride a bike as a kid. And yes, I am doing something about it at the grand old age of 31.
You see, recently I have come to the conclusion that it is about time that I get around to doing all the things that I really want to do, or think it is about time I got to grips with. I always loved singing at school, and although I know I will never win the X Factor, I would love to have the confidence to belt out a power ballad or two in a karaoke bar. So, a couple of months ago I searched the net and enrolled at the Working Men’s College in Camden. So far I am loving it, even if I seem to spend more time laughing than singing. As for the cycling, well, after over eight years of having the mickey taken out of me by Him Indoors, I decided it was about time I got myself in the saddle. Okay, so I doubt that I will start cycling around London to work every day, but at least I will be able to wobble around Centre Parcs when I go on my jollies. And the added bonus? My council are providing me with up to four hours of tuition absolutely gratis.
So, what has happened? Why have I suddenly started to do all these weird and wonderful things? Well, I think there are a lot of factors to it. One is suddenly finding myself in my thirties and in a job that makes me go “meh” rather than “WOOHOO!” Another is the wakeup call the possibility of redundancy gave me earlier this year. But mainly I think it has been the “sod it” attitude that I have developed over recent months.
You see, I have come to the conclusion that, if you don’t give it ago, you will never know. How will I know if I can sing or ride a bike unless I give it a try? Okay, so the ability to warble along to Celine Dion or wobble along a bridle path in the middle of the Cotswolds is not going to change my life. But learning how to set up my own business and attempting to write a novel? Well, who knows what could happen?
I can’t say that I have got to this state of mind completely on my own. About 18 months ago I went to my first “More To Life Than Shoes” meeting and, before I knew it, I had committed to writing 1,500 words of my “long piece” every week. Over a year later and I am now on my second edit. Slowly but surely, I am producing a piece of writing that, even if it doesn’t even get sniffed at by a publisher, I can be proud of and say, I did that.
It doesn’t stop there. In March I went to a London Business Link seminar about setting up your own business. You see, I dream of opening my own cafe one day and had come to the conclusion that it was about time I dip my toes into the business world. So I have decided I will try out the concept by selling some of my crafty work on the internet and at market stalls around London. I admit, I haven’t got far with it yet, but it is a work in progress. And, you never know, I might even sell something.
Full of enthusiasm I then turned to my old favourite – the “self help” book. I am in the throes of “Creating a Life Worth Living” with Carol Lloyd and have just finished “More To Life Than Shoes” by Nadia Finer and Emily Nash. Written by two of the founders of the support network, it explores how women have overcome various obstacles to get where they really want to be in life, whether that is as a speaker in the House of Commons, a fighter pilot or a novelist. And, even if you don’t fancy any of the career paths the 100 women interviewed for the book have followed, you will be inspired by how they got there, whether they had to fight sexism in the workplace, juggle their career with family commitments or overcome their greatest fear.
So, whatever you feel like doing, wish you had tried or have never got round to, just do it. Okay, I am not suggesting you jack in the day job just yet, but put the feelers out, do some research on the net, enrol on that college course, get inspired by others. In London alone there are dozens of colleges, social groups and life coaches who can give you the help that you need to try it out and say you gave it ago. And okay, so you might fall off your bike, but you can pick yourself up again and always try skateboarding instead.
Wednesday, 27 April 2011
Treading the Boards
This year it would appear to be the year of random theatre.
Although I enjoy the occasional jaunt to the West End, I must admit that I don’t see as much theatre as I would like to. I have the occasional flurry but could not call myself a regular theatre goer. I also much prefer a straight play to some ropey musical which just rips off a film or a pop star of yesteryear. Enough already!
This year, however, I have been to the theatre a couple of times and thoroughly enjoyed it. And on both occasions I can quite honestly say I have never seen anything like it.
Last month I went to see The Red Shoes at Battersea Arts Centre. A friend invited me along so I decided to give it a go. After getting over some initial confusion (I thought the BAC stood for Barbican Arts Centre, you see) I turned up with an open mind. As we sat in the bar having some pre-show tapas the cast appeared in white vests and y-fronts and a variety of musical instruments. They serenaded us with strange, almost childlike melodies.
It didn’t get any less weird, but was fantastic all the same. Other than the narrator, who was dressed in elaborate drag, the rest of the cast wore simple costumes and used basic props. In silence they performed the tale of a young girl who was made some red shoes which she loved. However, when she wore them, she couldn’t stop dancing. Exhausted, she tried to take them off to find they had become a part of her, and, in desperation, she turned to the local butcher for relief.
My introduction to weird and wonderful performance art did not stop there. A few weeks ago I met a couple of people from the Roundhouse who gave me a flyer for their up and coming production, The Fat Girl Gets a Haircut and Other Stories. I was intrigued by the title and the illustration on the front of the flyer so decided to give it a go.
I was not disappointed. The actors were all young people who had got involved in the Roundhouse two years ago when they were aged only 12 to 15 – making the oldest member on stage today a mere seventeen. The show was made up of 12 short plays, many of which were performed in silence. Although I was often left unsure exactly what each story was about, they were beautifully performed and so emotionally charged and cleverly choreographed that, quite frankly, it didn’t matter. Again, the set was simple, props were kept to a minimum and the pastel costumes reflected the actors' vulnerability and innocence. The live music that supported them reflected the melancholy mood fantastically and the curved walls of the Roundhouse were used to project illustrations and animations that gave the experience yet another dimension. Needless to say, I was impressed.
Alas, some of the audience members were not happy, and I saw quite a few leave. Unfortunately in a space like the Roundhouse there was no way for them to sneak out the back and it was very obvious and distracting – even more so for the actors I am sure, who had to use the same entrances and exits as the early leavers. I couldn’t help but feel outraged on their behalf, especially as such a public snub would no doubt be felt more deeply by such young performers. Alas, you can find good theatre, but there appears to be no escape from bad manners.
Unfortunately The Red Shoes has been and gone, but if any of you fancy something completely different, get your tickets for The Fat Girl. But please don’t blame me if it isn’t your cup of tea. And, whatever you do, please don’t leave early.
Although I enjoy the occasional jaunt to the West End, I must admit that I don’t see as much theatre as I would like to. I have the occasional flurry but could not call myself a regular theatre goer. I also much prefer a straight play to some ropey musical which just rips off a film or a pop star of yesteryear. Enough already!
This year, however, I have been to the theatre a couple of times and thoroughly enjoyed it. And on both occasions I can quite honestly say I have never seen anything like it.
Last month I went to see The Red Shoes at Battersea Arts Centre. A friend invited me along so I decided to give it a go. After getting over some initial confusion (I thought the BAC stood for Barbican Arts Centre, you see) I turned up with an open mind. As we sat in the bar having some pre-show tapas the cast appeared in white vests and y-fronts and a variety of musical instruments. They serenaded us with strange, almost childlike melodies.
It didn’t get any less weird, but was fantastic all the same. Other than the narrator, who was dressed in elaborate drag, the rest of the cast wore simple costumes and used basic props. In silence they performed the tale of a young girl who was made some red shoes which she loved. However, when she wore them, she couldn’t stop dancing. Exhausted, she tried to take them off to find they had become a part of her, and, in desperation, she turned to the local butcher for relief.
My introduction to weird and wonderful performance art did not stop there. A few weeks ago I met a couple of people from the Roundhouse who gave me a flyer for their up and coming production, The Fat Girl Gets a Haircut and Other Stories. I was intrigued by the title and the illustration on the front of the flyer so decided to give it a go.
I was not disappointed. The actors were all young people who had got involved in the Roundhouse two years ago when they were aged only 12 to 15 – making the oldest member on stage today a mere seventeen. The show was made up of 12 short plays, many of which were performed in silence. Although I was often left unsure exactly what each story was about, they were beautifully performed and so emotionally charged and cleverly choreographed that, quite frankly, it didn’t matter. Again, the set was simple, props were kept to a minimum and the pastel costumes reflected the actors' vulnerability and innocence. The live music that supported them reflected the melancholy mood fantastically and the curved walls of the Roundhouse were used to project illustrations and animations that gave the experience yet another dimension. Needless to say, I was impressed.
Alas, some of the audience members were not happy, and I saw quite a few leave. Unfortunately in a space like the Roundhouse there was no way for them to sneak out the back and it was very obvious and distracting – even more so for the actors I am sure, who had to use the same entrances and exits as the early leavers. I couldn’t help but feel outraged on their behalf, especially as such a public snub would no doubt be felt more deeply by such young performers. Alas, you can find good theatre, but there appears to be no escape from bad manners.
Unfortunately The Red Shoes has been and gone, but if any of you fancy something completely different, get your tickets for The Fat Girl. But please don’t blame me if it isn’t your cup of tea. And, whatever you do, please don’t leave early.
Tuesday, 19 April 2011
Cynical in the City
Three days and counting before the double bank holiday and I cannot wait. Like a lot of people I’ve booked off the three days between Easter and the Royal Wedding/May Day weekend which means I have eleven blissful days away from the office for the price of three. Bring it on.
So, how will I be spending these days of freedom? Well, there will be a trip up to Yorkshire to see Him Indoors’ clan, followed by three days in London pottering to my hearts content. Then it will be the Royal Wedding.
Will I be getting out my Union Jack and hitting the streets of London? Throwing a street party to celebrate? Splashing out on a commemorative teacup? No. I will be escaping to my mum and dad's for the weekend where I will be going to a craft workshop with my mum on Saturday and attending an old chum’s birthday barbeque on Sunday.
I’m sorry but I’m just not into the Royal Family and quite honestly don’t see what all the fuss is about. Thousands of people get married all the time and many of them end up divorced. And, let’s face it, the last two big Royal Weddings didn’t exactly end well, did they?
Okay, so maybe it’s an excuse for a party. But do I really want to head down to Westminster Abbey (I am assuming that is where kick-off will be) to get crushed by hundreds of tourists, pay through the nose to use the loo at the nearest pub and have to queue for three hours to get on a tube home? I don’t think so.
It is quite possible that I am a little cynical about these things. Take two recent sporting events, the Boat Race and the London Marathon. Lots of people turned up to cheer those amazing sportsmen and women on – and trust me, after attempting to improve my running beyond the occasional sprint for the bus, I have much respect for anyone who attempts the latter. But can I really be bothered to get up early on a Sunday morning to watch people running past me? I did consider heading down to the Boat Race this year but, along with the possible disruption caused by the protests, I didn’t fancy getting stuck on the South Bank with a load of Oxbridge types with no means to make a quick escape. As for the protest? Well, I had other plans.
Then there’s the Olympics. According to the government, EVERYTHING is going to be great by 2012 – public transport, homelessness, street cleanliness, you name it, it will be sorted by next year. Needless to say, I’m not holding my breath. Nor have I rushed to buy tickets. Despite Mr Johnson’s promises, something tells the that London will grind to a standstill, unable to cope with the sudden influx of people, and travelling anywhere, let alone to Stratford, will become near impossible. So next summer I will be planning my summer holiday to neatly coincide with the mayhem which I predict will ensue.
I know that some people fail to understand my apparent apathy. “What is the point of living in London if you don’t go along to these things?” You might say. And you may have a point. But there is plenty in London that I do enjoy - the galleries, the theatre, the nightlife, the shopping – and take full advantage of. But standing around on the side of the street waving just to catch a glimpse of a couple of aristocrats? I’ll give it a miss, thanks all the same.
So, how will I be spending these days of freedom? Well, there will be a trip up to Yorkshire to see Him Indoors’ clan, followed by three days in London pottering to my hearts content. Then it will be the Royal Wedding.
Will I be getting out my Union Jack and hitting the streets of London? Throwing a street party to celebrate? Splashing out on a commemorative teacup? No. I will be escaping to my mum and dad's for the weekend where I will be going to a craft workshop with my mum on Saturday and attending an old chum’s birthday barbeque on Sunday.
I’m sorry but I’m just not into the Royal Family and quite honestly don’t see what all the fuss is about. Thousands of people get married all the time and many of them end up divorced. And, let’s face it, the last two big Royal Weddings didn’t exactly end well, did they?
Okay, so maybe it’s an excuse for a party. But do I really want to head down to Westminster Abbey (I am assuming that is where kick-off will be) to get crushed by hundreds of tourists, pay through the nose to use the loo at the nearest pub and have to queue for three hours to get on a tube home? I don’t think so.
It is quite possible that I am a little cynical about these things. Take two recent sporting events, the Boat Race and the London Marathon. Lots of people turned up to cheer those amazing sportsmen and women on – and trust me, after attempting to improve my running beyond the occasional sprint for the bus, I have much respect for anyone who attempts the latter. But can I really be bothered to get up early on a Sunday morning to watch people running past me? I did consider heading down to the Boat Race this year but, along with the possible disruption caused by the protests, I didn’t fancy getting stuck on the South Bank with a load of Oxbridge types with no means to make a quick escape. As for the protest? Well, I had other plans.
Then there’s the Olympics. According to the government, EVERYTHING is going to be great by 2012 – public transport, homelessness, street cleanliness, you name it, it will be sorted by next year. Needless to say, I’m not holding my breath. Nor have I rushed to buy tickets. Despite Mr Johnson’s promises, something tells the that London will grind to a standstill, unable to cope with the sudden influx of people, and travelling anywhere, let alone to Stratford, will become near impossible. So next summer I will be planning my summer holiday to neatly coincide with the mayhem which I predict will ensue.
I know that some people fail to understand my apparent apathy. “What is the point of living in London if you don’t go along to these things?” You might say. And you may have a point. But there is plenty in London that I do enjoy - the galleries, the theatre, the nightlife, the shopping – and take full advantage of. But standing around on the side of the street waving just to catch a glimpse of a couple of aristocrats? I’ll give it a miss, thanks all the same.
Wednesday, 13 April 2011
Spinning Around
Ah, music. It makes the world go round. Or am I getting confused with money? Either way, I like my music, to the point that I think I would give up my sight before my hearing if I had to make the choice, purely so that I could continue to appreciate its mood enhancing melodies. Naturally living in London gives me a wide variety of music at my finger tips. When I lived south of the river I made regular pilgrimages to the Brixton Academy alongside less frequent outings to the Hammersmith Apollo and Wembley. Friends have introduced me to many a smaller venue too, from the basements of pubs to cool Blues bars. The Charlotte Street Blues Bar was one of my favourites – okay, so the music wasn’t exactly cutting edge, but the cocktails were. Sazerac, anyone? I was gutted to hear that it has closed down. One of the most memorable weekends of my youth (don’t mock!) was when I headed west to the infamous Glastonbury. I had an amazing time, the combination of music, sunshine (yes, really!) and beer ticking all my boxes. Although I haven’t been to many music festivals since, I am hoping to re-create that Glasto vibe when I go to see the Kings of Leon at Hyde Park in June. And I have just bought tickets to go and see Seasick Steve and the Electric Ballroom too – the only act that has enticed Him Indoors to anything resembling a gig since I have met him. Again, with the help of a Whiskey Sour or two I am hoping to be transported to my happy place, ideally without the intervention of a paramedic. On Monday night I went to a gig that was a complete freebie. With free food. And drink, for that matter. The venue? The O2. The act? Oh, a little known Australian singer…called Kylie. Yes, you read that right – a good friend of mine works for one of the companies that sponsors the arena and managed to land two tickets in their VIP box. Needless to say, I didn’t turn him down when he offered to take me along. Okay, so I’m not exactly a huge Kylie fan, but I appreciate a nice bit of pop as much as the next person. And, let me tell you, she didn’t disappoint – and neither did her rather tasty male dancers. I think I could get used to the Grecian God look. Especially after a couple of free Hoegaardens. Needless to say, a good night was had by all. It started off with a nice bit of shopping (I am now the proud owner of the Campest Teacup Ever – and for the bargainous price of £5!) and a couple of beers in the VIP lounge where we enjoyed superiorly comfortable chairs. Well oiled, we wandered over to our box to be greeted by a rather charming young man who took our jackets and poured us another beer. After filling our faces (the bagels were particularly good!) we settled down to an excellent show. There was something for everyone (and every sexual persuasion) and Miss Minogue did not disappoint, singing a wide range of her ditties from the late eighties to present day. And, it has to be said, she sang them exceptionally well. What was a real pleasure was to see a world famous musician who seemed genuinely chuffed at her crowds’ appreciation and humbled by her own popularity. I wish I could say the same for lesser established stars I have seen perform live, mentioning no names of course (meat dress, anyone?). I won’t go into anymore details – I wouldn’t want to spoil if for anyone, or bore anyone who isn’t a music fan for that matter. But it just goes to show that, in London, you don’t have to spend a huge amount of money to have a great time. You just have to know people in high places. Or, in my case, an electrician.
Monday, 4 April 2011
... ;-)
Today is the first day of my new job. It is 11.21am, and I am bored. I know I am going to live to regret saying this – in a couple of weeks I’m pretty confident that I will be running around like a headless chicken. But that is okay. Good, even. I can cope with busy. What I can’t cope with is doing nothing. This doesn’t just apply to work, although I do feel excessively guilty if I am busy doing nothing and getting paid for it. It applies to my own time too. It has got a little bit silly. My diary is full – not necessarily with social events, but also with little reminders of things I “need” to do – writing, going to the gym, calling the landlord, paying the bills, doing the gardening. Even when I read a book in bed it is for my book club or some kind of career development guide. I have heard a lot of people talking about using their time wisely, but I think I have started to take it to the extreme. Even my television viewing is limited to things that I really want to watch. Gone are the days when I used to sit in front of the box in my pyjamas on a Sunday morning. Every now and then I do give myself a bit of time out. Take this weekend, for example. On Saturday I had a Hen Do followed by a Birthday Boogie. After a frantic bit of writing work I headed into town to do some errands before heading south of the river to meet my fellow Hens. We met in The Hope on Wandsworth Common before heading off to You Make a Cake where we, you guessed it, made cakes. Cupcakes to be exact. I have to say I was particularly proud of my pink lemon offerings. Even Him Indoors said they looked professional (like the ones from the Hummingbird Bakery, in fact!). Several glasses of champagne later we headed to another pub in Balham (The Regent) where it was burgers all round, washed down with copious amounts of wine. Cocktails and dancing followed before I headed to Soho and joined in the festivities for my friends’ 31st birthday at Madame JoJo’s. Needless to say it turned into a very late night, and an uncharacteristically lazy Sunday ensued. I finally emerged from my pit in the early afternoon and, after some much needed sustenance, popped down to the supermarket to buy a chicken for a Sunday Roast. One episode of Deal or No Deal and the last in the series of True Blood later and it was about time to go to bed. Had I been to the gym? Nope. Made a start on my next craft project? Certainly not! But had I had an enjoyable weekend? For sure. I know I am not alone. A few weeks ago a friend confessed to me that she sometimes finds herself sat at the bottom of the stairs, trying to figure out what she needs to do next, feeling guilty for finally resting after running around for hours doing the cleaning, the shopping, making dinner. Why do we do this to ourselves? What do we fear? That the world will stop turning if we dare to do nothing once in a while? That we will not succeed, be fulfilled, meet our full potential? I know that my dreams will not be dashed if I take it easy once in a while and that I need to re-charge my batteries every now and then. But I still keep going. I think the real fear is that if I stop, I won’t be able to start again. Which is ridiculous. What is more likely is burnout if I carry on putting so much pressure on myself to be doing something all of the time. So, I have a new plan. Along with my resolution to enjoy London more often and go to all those places I’ve never been to and really fancy, I am going to make myself to nothing once in a while. Maybe for five minutes every day, or possibly for a couple of hours once a week. I haven’t decided yet. But it’s going in my diary, alongside the gym and my writing group. And with the exact same amount of importance.
Monday, 28 March 2011
City Sights... For Sore Eyes
I often find myself saying to my harassed colleagues, my stressed sister and my frazzled friends, “Life just gets in the way, doesn’t it?” And although I might say it with a wry smile on my face, it’s true. I admit that my attempts at being Superwoman (trying to write a book, investigating setting up my own business, going to the gym, cooking for friends, keeping the flat decent etc) often mean that I neglect the part of me that likes to explore London, wander around the shops and poke about museums for no particular reason other than because, well, I fancy it. This weekend, however, I had an excuse to do just that. A friend from Up North came down for the weekend. Last week I spent a bit of time investigating what was happening around town and emailed her a few suggestions. So, when she arrived at Kings Cross we headed down to the Museum of London to see the popular London Street Photography exhibition. Luckily we only had to wait fifteen minutes to get in and had a good old chin wag about my friend’s ambition to study photography as we peered at the sepia prints. Our artistic needs met, we trotted down to Bank to meet a City Guide who took us on a “Spooktacular” tour of the area. Wandering through the narrow streets in the oldest part of London (and coming across some very peaceful and beautiful churchyards in the process) whilst listening to chilling tales of apparitions, devils and poltergeists made a refreshing change and reminded me how interesting the history of the city I live in actually is. The following day we headed down Holloway Road to mooch around a small craft market in a pub. Unfortunately the Horatia had been swamped with football fans having a swift pint or three before a friendly at Arsenal, so we didn’t see much nor stay for Sunday Lunch. However I made a mental note to pop down again soon and my Scotsman-loving friend got to eye up lots of young men in kilts. We jumped on the Piccadilly Line to South Kensington and made our way to the Natural History Museum. Although not really my cup of tea it was nice to wander around such an impressive old building and, although we both agreed that some of the exhibits we in dire need of updating, my teacher chum got some inspiration for her next topic at school. Our thirst for knowledge (well, childish desire to see dinosaurs anyway) satisfied, we walked to Kensington High Street for a bit of retail therapy. After a well deserved Chai Tea Latte and slice of Rocky Road we hit the shops. It was a joy to splash the cash in an area of London that I don’t visit very often – usually if I need the high street it is Oxford Street, just for its convenience rather than enjoyment. High Street Ken felt decidedly more civilised – even pleasant. By the time I waved my friend off on her train at Kings Cross I was knackered. Yet somehow, refreshed. The good weather was sure to have helped, but spending a weekend doing nothing but exploring the city and taking advantage of its free museums was certainly food for the soul. We have already decided that next time she comes down we are going to go to the Tower of London and I am going to investigate 2 for 1 offers. However, I know that I won’t be leaving it so long to enjoy London purely for the sake of it, whether it is finally getting up to Highgate Cemetery or wandering down Brick Lane on a Sunday afternoon. After all, it is all very well doing all these worthy things in my free time, but at the end of the day, there is more to life than keeping fit, cooking amazing meals and finally finishing “the novel.” Not that I am going to give up my pursuit for perfection, you understand. But every now and then I am going to give myself a day off and go explore. Just as soon as I have proof read this blog…
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