Mootpoint

(Although Bishy reckons he looked like Tim. But I don’t ever recall a carved-into-white-marble, ten foot high depiction of Tim as the Roman god Mars though, so I stand by the title of this blog.) (Although Tim does still have a few decades left, so I may live to be corrected on this score…)

The British museum is feckin’ enormous. Seriously, it’s a vast place. Until this evening, I’d only been in the immense Egypt/Greece/Rome/Assyrian section. Tonight I headed into the main central bit (the Reading Room) where the Hadrian: Empire and Conflict exhibition is currently housed. This is an amazing space, both the courtyard outside and the domed reading room that stands in the middle of it. And now, even after spending several hours wandering through these two huge areas, I think I’ve still got a good third to half of the place to go. Good work having an empire and using it to steal a lot of cool shit from all over the place, that’s what I reckon.

So yeah, Hadrian was cool, the end. You should go, if you’re in London. If not, watch the videos on the website, they also rock quite hard.

I was rereading a couple of posts back, and wondered whether it came across as me dissing London public transport. If it did, that wasn’t the intention – the range, and regularity, of options for getting about the place here is stunning. Whether it be buses, the tube, trains, the DLR, or the Thames Clippers that ply the river, there is almost always something going towards where you want when you want. And while it feels like a lot of money each week when you shell out for a weekly pass, I’d be willing to bet it’s far less than if you were maintaining a car around these parts. And probably equally as useful.

Of course, the system does break down sometimes. And don’t try to get to Si’s place on the weekends, that way lies madness. And occasionally (tonight) certain lines are closed due to a “person under a train” event. (They broadcast this over the intercomms in the stations. It’s kind of weird to hear it when you’re sitting there, waiting for your own tube… turns out to be a relatively regular thing.) And the Clippers, they have those big tvs endlessly playing ads. I hate these things at the best of times, but they only have like ten ads playing over and over, and the trips can be upwards of fourty minutes… I no longer care that Stevie Wonder and Leonard Cohen are playing at the O2, seriously. More annoyingly they never seem to change. I haven’t travelled on one for weeks, but last weekend I took a boat ride, and the same ten ads were cycling through. Ack.

But otherwise, public transport here is one more thing that’s super cool.

On the actual things that happen in my life front, work is ok, in an inoffensive, please give me something to do, please, kind of way, (turns out it’s not only the tie I don’t have to wear – tshirt and jeans works fine as far as they’re all concerned, unless meeting with external stakeholder types); I’m applying for real jobs, had an interview for one today (cross some fingers, people); I’m increasingly annoyed at being a transient, dragging my suitcase about the place; and, I’m really looking forward to starting again.

I’m also looking forward to doing sething fun so I can write a blog that contains no reference to public transport in this city.

Speaking of which, we’re having a party at Mog’s on Saturday. You’re all invited. Go on, you know you want to, Mog’s old now and everything.

“Back home, friends don’t let friends drink at Starbucks. But here, well, it’s often not the worst choice there is.” Random Kiwi co-worker, earlier today.

It’s not the first time the first thing I’ve talked about with someone else from home is coffee. Why? Wanna bond with a Kiwi or Australian you’ve just met in London? Then start a conversation about just how overwhelmingly shit you’ve found the coffee to be here.

It seriously seems to be a better bet than talking about the rugby, or which city you’re from, or politics, or the weather (less depressing than talking about the weather, anyway), or which school you went to… The love of good coffee seems to transcend a lot of the other usual divisions within and between the two countries, and the fact that you are a person who places a high level of importance on finding a place (of which there seem to be about three in the city, two of which are owned by the same people, all of which are owned by New Zealanders) that makes good coffee, almost instantly marks you out as a fellow Australasian.

What’s even more amusing is the look of surprise on many people from this hemisphere’s faces when you profess to caring that much about this particular caffeinated beverage. Some have even expressed surprise that I (being from New Zealand) have even experienced espresso style coffee before.

I set them straight.

I got it, oh yes. Every time I get on the Tube, regardless of how tired I am or what music I’m listening to or book I’m reading, I have to fight he urge to fall asleep. Even when I’m standing up. Which pretty much means I spend my time traveling in a half-asleep state, counting the number of stops before I’m due to get off, forcing myself to stay awake lest I end up somewhere exotic and vaguely dangerous sounding. Like Cockfosters, for example.

I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m actually surprised at the sheer volume of time that is wasted getting from A to B in this city. I’m sure someone probably told me it was like this, but it’s not until a one hour trip home from a friend’s place becomes an accepted part of your day that you realise why the days just don’t seem as long here. I’ve heard people say that when you go out and find an apartment or flat, to make sure it’s near where your friends are living, otherwise it’s easy to never see them. I’m beginning to think they have a point. Even my daily commute, which is really only one stop on the train from Clapham Junction to Victoria, takes me 30-40 minutes door-to-door…

So yeah, daily commute. Which implies I have a job. Which is the case.

I now work for www.tda.gov.uk on a temporary contract that lasts some indterminate length of time. (I’ve heard several lengths, from six weeks to three months, not sure which one is correct.) (Some might say that should’ve been in the contract, can’t recall seeing it though.) (Hmm, note to self: read contracts better before signing them.) Anyway, regardless I only have to give a week’s notice should something else come up. Hopefully the contract length won’t be an issue.

One day in, and it seems like a relatively cool place, doing pretty important stuff. I’m working for the man in an office, but in a good, betterment of society kind of way. Which is nice. I don’t have to wear a tie either. Which is also nice, as at this point in time I only own one of the damn things. Although, James C will be pleased to know, I’ve actually learned how to tie one since I arrived here, so I guess that’s a step in the wearing-ties-all-the-time direction.

Otherwise things are pretty much as they have been, only with less moping about the place and more walking dogs in parks, as you do.

So I’m in London, apparently. And have been for just over a month now. And it appears I haven’t blogged for considerably longer. Sorry bout that, doing stuff and other life type things got in the way some. I covered many miles since my last effort on these pages, met many people, travelled by a variety of means through a variety of countries, ate and drank a range of tasty food and beverages, and met and made friends old and new.

I must admit that I had grand plans of blogging this whole travel thing. Providing those following the blog with worldly insights, pithy commentary on the way the wheat fields in Leon stretch away as far as the eye can see in all directions when you’re up on top of the meseta, or amusing anecdotes about Americans and snakes and why you shouldn’t pick even the little ones up by their tails or their heads. But when it came down to it, I never found the time or the place or the motivation to do so.

The trip has been amazing, on a whole lot of levels, and I have actually recorded it in a decidedly old school fashion on paper, mostly for my own edification. I’m thinking that as I rediscover my blogging mojo, perhaps some of what I saw and did will make it to these pages. But don’t hold your breath, as I’m not sure where that mojo has gone… I’ve been here five weeks and felt the urge to blog, er, twice? Something like that.

And what have I done/achieved in those five weeks otherwise? That’s a good question, and even I have to scratch my head and wonder. I’ve certainly slept on many couches (or their equivalents) belonging to many generous friends. I’ve signed up to numerous temping and recruitment agencies, and listed my cv on many job sites. I’ve even applied for the few jobs that looked relevant. (Piece of advice here: don’t come to London at the beginning of August looking for work. It’s the equivalent of turning up to New Zealand in late December/early January… not much is going on.) I’ve visited a couple of museums, many cafes, and had many bad coffees. And a couple of good ones as well. I’ve drunk bucket loads of alcoholic beverages, and explored the joys of the London public transport system by day and by night. Often post – alcohol, which certainly adds to the fun. I’ve rediscovered my US politics addiction (it’s like a soap, only it actually matters!), and have won with a Civilisation or two, although still not by conquest I must admit.

But mostly I’ve fallen into a bit of a funk. Which I guess explains the lack of writing even though the amount of free time has skyrocketed lately, and the lack of real exploring that’s gone on. The lack of photographs taken and music played.

I’m hoping to sort that out though, and this blog will hopefully signal the start of climbing back on the fun wagon (note I said <i>fun</i> wagon there, Pen).

Promise the next post won’t be so morbid. Or boring, for that matter.