Time is flying. Suddenly my life is on fast forward, and I am running flat out at the horizon trying to keep up, saddled with wild hair and a misshapen tote bag.
I really have to stop my love affair with my canvas tote bag – the problem is it really does fit everything in. I could take the kitchen sink, the plumbing, and a small bewildered tabby cat to work in it. This knowledge comes at a price – the price being that everywhere I go I look like I am about to buy potatoes. Today it sported a bottle of water, two books, a shawl, a jumper (you never know with the air-con in a new company), a tree’s worth of paper to absorb, a bagel, a banana, and a shiny pen. I no doubt looked like I was transporting my home across town, rather than starting my new job.
Yes – new job started today, and everything about it seems really nice. We shall see as time goes on, but there is plenty for me to get stuck into, and it should (if I squint, and get super organised) give me time enough for the book. Something about new places really foxes me though – put me in front of a computer and I am as happy as Larry, send me to the water cooler and I will act as if I have never seen technology before in my life, let alone a tap. Admittedly this wasn’t an obvious water cooler, but even the coffee machine looked scary. It’s the sort of place where I end up filling a large mug with a squirt of coffee, and then have to act as if I really like espresso’s for the rest of my time there.
Last job is still being wonderful, as one of the people I worked with wanted me to write the copy for her website, and that was a nice assignment. She was really pleased with what I did, so that made me happy – and of course, any chance to do some published writing always goes down a treat.
And now for bed, and early start! Goodnight!
Monday, 20 April 2009
Monday, 13 April 2009
Home again
Three thousand miles later, me and J arrived home from our road trip across Europe. It was so nice to drive and see France and Italy, instead of whizzing above in the clouds. We drove along winding coastal roads hugging the mountains, past the ski resorts in the Alps, across farming country and around tiny villages, and through endless tunnels under imposing rock. Our route to the Amalfi coast stayed on the western side of Italy, so thankfully we missed the terrible earthquake that happened on the eastern side. We watched the news later that day and our thoughts were with those people that lost lives and homes, such a fragile world we live upon.
The roads in France were endless. We left the paying motorways behind, and as soon as we did that was the last time we saw British number plates. I was navigator, J turned into Jenson Button somewhere in the midst of France. We got to Lyon just as darkness fell and lights reflected off the river as we drove up (and down) alongside it to find our hotel. Praise be for sat-nav!
In the morning I practised my French. You wouldn’t think a lot would remain from a few years j’mappelling in a comprehensive school where the language teachers would frequently flee the room in tears, but my gosh, some things remain. Shame about the dodgy north London accent though. I had my first breakfast consisting mainly of Nutella (choc spread for the uninitiated) and smudge of pastry, and reawakened a dormant Nutella habit. Oh lordie – like I need another choc addiction.
Over the border into Italy, and me and J were frantically trying to recall our limited Italian. Pooled together, our sum knowledge was good day, please, thank you and bye. This seemed to work, mixed with French and occasional English. And mime – although trying to gesture that I needed a travel adaptor plug was probably a bad move – it looked more like I was describing some sort of bizarre sexual practice. Still, I got the travel adaptor. And a smile!
The Amalfi coast has curling roads high above the sea, and small towns defying gravity by clinging to the sides. Cars are concealed in the most ingenious garages I have ever seen, and scooters rule the coast. Crumbling stone steps lead to cobbled streets winding high or low to the sea shore. Purple wisteria clings to buildings, whip-thin cats doze on hot stone, and lemon trees grow in tiny orchards in ever increasing tiers up the mountain. Old men proudly promenade the sea front with their hands clasped behind their backs, old ladies negotiate the many steps with walking stick and food basket. Young men stand next to their scooters and smoke as young women walk past, everyone’s eyes hidden behind expensive sunglasses. It was bliss.
Fittingly for a family orientated place such as Italy, we were there for a family wedding, and it was lovely. Sunshine, petal blossom, the radiant bride and groom, frocks and suits, champagne by the pool, laughter and dancing under the stars. Perfect!
Coming home, and it strikes me how small England is. In France there is barely traffic, and the fields stretch for miles in all directions, rarely broken by a house. In England everything is there, but in miniature – and so many cars in all directions. It really is a country swamped with its people, yet the beauty of it is we don’t really feel it, and there are still pockets where you can go to escape. There must be magic in these hills, is all I can say.
I will try and upload a few pictures for you this week – most were snapped holding the camera high out of the car window, so expect road signs, barriers, and blurred mountains! What joy awaits you!
When I left London it was winter, I now have arrived home to a definite spring. The view from my window is lush with green – trees sprouting leaves, blossom heavy in the air. Just eight days have made such a difference! We are just a step away from the promise of summer.
The roads in France were endless. We left the paying motorways behind, and as soon as we did that was the last time we saw British number plates. I was navigator, J turned into Jenson Button somewhere in the midst of France. We got to Lyon just as darkness fell and lights reflected off the river as we drove up (and down) alongside it to find our hotel. Praise be for sat-nav!
In the morning I practised my French. You wouldn’t think a lot would remain from a few years j’mappelling in a comprehensive school where the language teachers would frequently flee the room in tears, but my gosh, some things remain. Shame about the dodgy north London accent though. I had my first breakfast consisting mainly of Nutella (choc spread for the uninitiated) and smudge of pastry, and reawakened a dormant Nutella habit. Oh lordie – like I need another choc addiction.
Over the border into Italy, and me and J were frantically trying to recall our limited Italian. Pooled together, our sum knowledge was good day, please, thank you and bye. This seemed to work, mixed with French and occasional English. And mime – although trying to gesture that I needed a travel adaptor plug was probably a bad move – it looked more like I was describing some sort of bizarre sexual practice. Still, I got the travel adaptor. And a smile!
The Amalfi coast has curling roads high above the sea, and small towns defying gravity by clinging to the sides. Cars are concealed in the most ingenious garages I have ever seen, and scooters rule the coast. Crumbling stone steps lead to cobbled streets winding high or low to the sea shore. Purple wisteria clings to buildings, whip-thin cats doze on hot stone, and lemon trees grow in tiny orchards in ever increasing tiers up the mountain. Old men proudly promenade the sea front with their hands clasped behind their backs, old ladies negotiate the many steps with walking stick and food basket. Young men stand next to their scooters and smoke as young women walk past, everyone’s eyes hidden behind expensive sunglasses. It was bliss.
Fittingly for a family orientated place such as Italy, we were there for a family wedding, and it was lovely. Sunshine, petal blossom, the radiant bride and groom, frocks and suits, champagne by the pool, laughter and dancing under the stars. Perfect!
Coming home, and it strikes me how small England is. In France there is barely traffic, and the fields stretch for miles in all directions, rarely broken by a house. In England everything is there, but in miniature – and so many cars in all directions. It really is a country swamped with its people, yet the beauty of it is we don’t really feel it, and there are still pockets where you can go to escape. There must be magic in these hills, is all I can say.
I will try and upload a few pictures for you this week – most were snapped holding the camera high out of the car window, so expect road signs, barriers, and blurred mountains! What joy awaits you!
When I left London it was winter, I now have arrived home to a definite spring. The view from my window is lush with green – trees sprouting leaves, blossom heavy in the air. Just eight days have made such a difference! We are just a step away from the promise of summer.
Friday, 3 April 2009
Off on my hols
Off to Italy tomorrow! I am very excited, even if I cannot keep my eyes open a second longer to pack. Half my clothes are still scattered on the floor. I am doing the sort of tired packing which, when my suitcase is opened later in a smart holiday destination, will reveal a snorkel, flourescent cycling shorts, a fleece jumper and a sparkly snood.
And I think I have packed too much - after all, it's only a week, right? J will have one rucksack, and I (so far) have accumulated five bags, including a small suitcase. It's a good thing we are driving, as at least I can stuff bags in around the sides. At least that is my plan. Not sure what J's is, but I doubt it involves driving off into the sunset with a car packed full of shoes.
But I really have to down tools now, and get myself to bed. We're off at six tomorrow morning, so I shall bid you all a fond farewell - have a lovely week, and will report in when I get back!
And I think I have packed too much - after all, it's only a week, right? J will have one rucksack, and I (so far) have accumulated five bags, including a small suitcase. It's a good thing we are driving, as at least I can stuff bags in around the sides. At least that is my plan. Not sure what J's is, but I doubt it involves driving off into the sunset with a car packed full of shoes.
But I really have to down tools now, and get myself to bed. We're off at six tomorrow morning, so I shall bid you all a fond farewell - have a lovely week, and will report in when I get back!
Wednesday, 1 April 2009
A wave from Mystery City
Hello! Gosh this is so weird. I am updating ny blog via the Internet connection on the hotel room's television - which means I have a wireless keyboard on my lap, two buttons that are 'left click' and 'right click', and some sort of whirly button, sort of circa a spectrum joystick, which tells the cursor which direction to go. It is like updating my blog via etch-a-sketch. In a minute not doubt all the words will disappear and all we will see is a shaky flat drawing of a house outline.
Did anyone manage to draw anything else other than a house outline on Etch-A-Sketch? The cover of the box promised so much, almost like a Leonardo Da Vinci technical diagram was within my sweaty eight year old grasp. And what did I get, after ages sat twiddling dials? A wobbly house. And when I ran with it to show ny mum, the whole thing had disappeared anyway as I had accidentally shook the box. See yer, Etch-A-Sketch. Magna Doodle was more my sort of level.
So here I am, in Mystery City, home of the 24 hour party people. Not that I am one of them, as i sit here in hotel room drinking a nice herbal tea. It's all go. I've just watched The Apprentice (poor Rocky!), and am going to do a bit of editing before bed beckons. Apart from missing J, it is a shame in a way that my surjourn in Mystery City is drawing to a close. I have been working with nice people, got to stay in hotels in the centre of town, and had a nice chance to explore in the evenings. I've also been introduced to Bikram Yoga - which is yoga done in a hot room until the sweat pours off you. Am I making that sound good or what? But it really is brilliant - ok, the first session felt like torture, but apart from that I have now been four times and can really feel the benefits. And now I find it, I have to wave it goodbye... the nearest studio in London to where I live is probably Camden... the chances of me slogging my way over there and slogging my way back with a bright red face are slim, to say the least. Darn it.
You'll have to excuse me if this post is typo galore - it is really tricky to manouvre around the screen. I see the typo, and watch as my giant cursor slowly lumbers upwards to correct. I think my time on the Internet would run out before i get there, so tonight we'll let everything hang. Now you see why editing is so important for me - this is the sort of state my first draft would be in!
And thanks Joanne, Bruno and Ben for your comments on my previous post - I did try and get there to answer but this weird set up just wasn't having any of it. Good point about not getting over-zealous with editing - sometimes I wonder if perhaps I am just delaying official response by finding reasons not to send it away. It's scary to leap into the unknown, but I'll get there!
Right, let's see if this will save and publish, or if the screen will shake and it will all disappear...
Did anyone manage to draw anything else other than a house outline on Etch-A-Sketch? The cover of the box promised so much, almost like a Leonardo Da Vinci technical diagram was within my sweaty eight year old grasp. And what did I get, after ages sat twiddling dials? A wobbly house. And when I ran with it to show ny mum, the whole thing had disappeared anyway as I had accidentally shook the box. See yer, Etch-A-Sketch. Magna Doodle was more my sort of level.
So here I am, in Mystery City, home of the 24 hour party people. Not that I am one of them, as i sit here in hotel room drinking a nice herbal tea. It's all go. I've just watched The Apprentice (poor Rocky!), and am going to do a bit of editing before bed beckons. Apart from missing J, it is a shame in a way that my surjourn in Mystery City is drawing to a close. I have been working with nice people, got to stay in hotels in the centre of town, and had a nice chance to explore in the evenings. I've also been introduced to Bikram Yoga - which is yoga done in a hot room until the sweat pours off you. Am I making that sound good or what? But it really is brilliant - ok, the first session felt like torture, but apart from that I have now been four times and can really feel the benefits. And now I find it, I have to wave it goodbye... the nearest studio in London to where I live is probably Camden... the chances of me slogging my way over there and slogging my way back with a bright red face are slim, to say the least. Darn it.
You'll have to excuse me if this post is typo galore - it is really tricky to manouvre around the screen. I see the typo, and watch as my giant cursor slowly lumbers upwards to correct. I think my time on the Internet would run out before i get there, so tonight we'll let everything hang. Now you see why editing is so important for me - this is the sort of state my first draft would be in!
And thanks Joanne, Bruno and Ben for your comments on my previous post - I did try and get there to answer but this weird set up just wasn't having any of it. Good point about not getting over-zealous with editing - sometimes I wonder if perhaps I am just delaying official response by finding reasons not to send it away. It's scary to leap into the unknown, but I'll get there!
Right, let's see if this will save and publish, or if the screen will shake and it will all disappear...
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