CHRISTMAS EVE – LONDON (Thurs 24 Dec 2009)

It’s midday Christmas Eve and I am sitting in a bar faced with a plate of bangers and mash, mushy peas, lots of gravy and a pint of cider. There is the soft murmur of English spoken word around the room with the occasional outburst from the resident drunk who seems to have got a very healthy head start on everyone else in the room. He is showing no signs of abating, and seems to have his mind set on sampling each of the plethora of beers on the wall behind the bar. From the looks he is receiving from the other patrons, I suspect that he isn’t from around here and is displaying unacceptable bad form, well at least for this time of the day.

The TV on the wall is predicting more snow, but on what we have experienced so far we know better than to trust this entirely. You would think that with several thousand years of occupation in this part of the world, they would have become pretty good at this weather forecasting thing … they haven’t. Either that or they just like to keep us on our toes.

The pokey machines across the room are flashing out of time with the abundance of Christmas lights that are shrouding the streets outside. Streets that would definitely benefit from a romantic dusting of the white stuff. Instead we are treated to the sight of myriads of people trudging past in the couple of inches of muddy, slushy remnants of the snow of a few days ago.

Looking out the window, we sometimes think that this could be anywhere in the world, this could be home in NZ, people bustling around doing their last minute Christmas shopping. The damp, grey sky could be a classic winters day in NZ. However on closer inspection this could really be no other place. The accents in the pub cover the gamut of the English speaking peoples of the world, the buildings outside were built long before NZ was conceived as a likely antipodean destination, the buildings are fronted by wrought iron and the pubs that line the streets have names that include Fox, Hound, Rose, Crown, … in any imaginable combination and variant.

The people here seem less concerned with fashion than we have seen elsewhere in Europe and appear to be more concerned with the practical aspects of beating the weather into submission within the confines of their jackets, coats, boots, gloves and scarves. The predominant colour is black, only to be interrupted by the colours of fur. Of course there are regular exceptions to this rule, where there seems to be an alarming number of short skirts and bare legs, complete with the purple goosebumps to complete the fashion statement.

The black cabs, bright red double decker buses and the quintessential bobbies in their round helmets and reflector gear complete the picture. This really could be nowhere else in the world. This is London.

LONDON – England - UK (Sun 20 Dec)

We’ve been treated this week to cold weather (sub zero), snow, and as of today ice everywhere. The forecast over the last week sounded quite exciting with heavy snow predicted off and on for most of the week. What we got was a few snow flurries, but not much that settled in. They predicted major traffic disruptions on Friday morning and school closures. It seems that this was the case in some areas but certainly not where we were. However it was quite cool to see the dustings over the city and the experience of walking to the train amongst the snow flakes.

We were told when we got here that most Londoners hibernate indoors over winter, but we decided to buck the trend and explore the outside world. A welcome experience after a week of staring at blank faces (on the tube) and looking longingly out of the windows at work. We soon discovered why the majority of people hibernate … it is b***** cold!

Yesterday we went for a walk. Our intention was to walk through Wimbledon Common and into Richmond Park and hopefully see some of the deer, squirrels and fox that habituate the park. However we became a bit lost going through the Common. Everything looks the same when it is covered in snow and the lack of signposts doesn’t help. We asked directions of a very nice gentleman whose instructions went something like, “go straight ahead until you reach Caesar’s Well, and then turn right, don’t go down the hill, and keep the sun over your left shoulder.” This is fine except that we had no idea what Caesar’s Well looked like, the area is filled with hills and hollows and the sun soon disappeared in thick grey cloud. We did eventually find the windmill (not where we were intending to go) and managed to warm ourselves up in the café with a large bowl of soup, just enough to thaw ourselves out a little.

We managed to find our way to Richmond Park, but considering the size of it and the disappearing light (it starts getting dark here at 4pm) we decided to head home. We were surprised with the amount of snow still lying around. We did see a squirrel, and we spotted lots of burrows and holes in the dirt banks on the way home. When we asked who the inhabitants of these burrows were, we were told it was probably the Wombles. Of course. After all we are in Wimbledon.

Just in case we don't get to talk to you before ... have a great Christmas, a fantastic New Year and rest assured that we will be thinking of you.

Merry Christmas, from us to you.

LONDON – England - UK (Sun 13 Dec)

We’ve been in London town for three weeks now and things are starting to come together … slowly. All the day-to-day boring things like bank accounts, phones, and jobs. I have been doing some temp work over the last ten days, and have been booked in for next week as well. So it seems that there is plenty of temp work around. Justine is becoming a little frustrated with how slowly the wheels are turning for her. The frustrating part is the lack of follow up. She gets excited emails from recruitment agents and potential employers, and then just no follow up. The last she heard was that it maybe three weeks before she gets a face-to-face. Grrrrrr! Maybe everyone has switched into their Christmas party mode prematurely.

Christmas is certainly here, with Christmas trees, and decorations everywhere we go. Frigid temperatures (although the locals say it is relatively mild), the population hunkered down under their piles of duffle coats, hats and scarves, and the squirrels rushing around hoarding their nuts. The ‘traditional’ Christmas certainly seems to make more sense here.

We’re staying with Gray and Megan in Wimbledon at the moment. They have been kind enough to let us rent their spare room and share their apartment, until we find more permanent work and accommodation. They have two lovely five year old twin boys, who keep us perpetually entertained, and make us feel at home.

As I’m writing this Justine is online checking out the latest offers from RyanAir, and trying to decide where we want to go for a cheap weekend. For the cost of two pounds each way, where, oh, where shall we go? Dublin, Glasgow, Cork, or perhaps somewhere in southern Portugal, maybe somewhere in Poland that we have never heard of? Any suggestions? Meanwhile I am looking across the room at a Christmas tree laden with decorations and twinkling lights, whose base is piled high with presents, a pile that grows at a daily rate that indicates that it has attained a life of its own … but who feeds it?

Aside from Christmas and the day to day chores, this city is certainly entertaining. One step onto the underground and you will be amused, mystified and grossed out, in quick succession. Usually by different people and sights, but it is just as likely to be by one person. The daily journey to work is like a box of chocolates, but you can never be quite sure what kind of chocolate, what they contain, or just how old, crusty and smelly those things are going to be. Usually squeezed on like sardines, squashed face to face with complete strangers, I count myself lucky on a daily basis that my stature exempts me from the privilege of having to thrust my nose into someone’s armpit. Although the struggle for room doesn’t prevent the majority of patrons from opening up their tabloids three inches from their own noses rather than making eye contact with anyone. It seems to be the unwritten rule, ‘I may have to share your personal space, I may have to suffer your aromas, but I absolutely refuse to look you in the eye.’

Having said that the underground really does have a life of its own and the buskers alone are worth the journey. Regarding the underground communication, it seems that the authorities have taken a personal mission to entertain as well. You always get the perpetual “Mind the Gap” droned out at every station, but where they really come into their own is when there is a delay or the train stops. It seems that the candidates for the position of train drivers get extra points for creativity. The scope of excuses for delays is endless, from “there is a person under the train” to “there are leaves on the track” to “don’t be alarmed, repeat, don’t be alarmed, driver error!” One thing they can be complimented for is raising the eyebrows and the occasional smile of the passengers.

This is a great city, we love it.