Too much of a good thing will give you flu

Applying for a Ghanaian visa has made me ill. Well, indirectly at least. The trouble is that they require me to travel all the way to London in order to submit a print out of the application form that I filled in on their website along with my passport. (There is an option to do this by post, but after seeing the level of organisation present in the Ugandan embassy I wanted to supervise the whereabouts of my important documents in person as much as possible). After travelling all the way to town, it would seem a bit rude to go home again and neglect the many wonderful people I happen to know are living there. Particularly considering that (by virtue of being granted a visa to Ghana) I know I won’t now be available to see them again for at least 3 months – that kind of ultimatum focuses the mind! As such, in the duration of 4 days I have been delighted to see old uni housemates, ex colleagues, current colleagues, a school friend, the sailing community, friends from Kenya, and Londoners from when I was a Londoner. It’s been intense!
Luckily for me (and my limited budget), I am now very easily pleased. Freshly returned from Uganda all I really want in life is to sit on a sofa with a cup of tea, talk to a friend and to go on walks. This begs the question though, how much of a good thing is too much? I have shin splints from all these relaxing walks! I veritably hobbled home from the station at the end of it all. I actually had to take a rest and sit down on someone’s garden wall. The trouble is that if you burn the candle at both ends, ever so occasionally the whole candle gets too hot and melts. Before I left London I sprawled on the sofa with the wonderful friends who hosted me, all of us wrapped in scarves, croaking, eating ice cream and oranges. If Ghana's high commissioner could see me now, he probably wouldn’t let me in!

Goodbye London!

So the time has come and I've moved from London home. If I had any more possessions at all it wouldn't have fitted in the car. It was dangerous enough as it was. The local children were quite excited at the sight of me with my jam packed vehicle and got involved, helping to post coat hangers into the crevices between the jumble. Just as I  was about to leave, one of my housemates reminded me that I also own a large vase, 2 casserole dishes, a cake tin and a saucepan. Disaster!

I drove with the uncomfortable feeling that I might kill myself off during the journey. I had just as many blind spots as I did clear ones, such was the amount of baggage in the car and so I did the whole journey without changing lane. As motorways merged and split off the M25 I found that the lane I was in changed and so when in the slow lane I settled behind drivers at 50mph and when I was in the middle lanes I enjoyed driving at 70mph. Basically, my driving style was more flexible than my choice of lane!

I felt sad as I travelled. It hit me for the first time that I'd given everything up. I'm in just the same position now as when I first graduated (not that I want to engage in a game of one-upmanship against my past self!). To make matters worse 'London calling' then came on the radio. I'm going to miss the city so much! However, when I walked in through the front door it was lovely to see mum and dad. Mum had cooked supper and being catered for felt like a real luxury. After eating we watched a film together, packed in 3 in a row in the sofa, all holding hands, such was our happiness at being reunited. I do very much appreciate these elements of being at home. I really ought to ask them about how they feel about my being here, giving up everything and leaving my job...I dread to think about the answer!

Some sort of learning at the British Museum

I recently went to the British museum for the first time ever. What a great place! When you arrive you know it's special. It's in the type of building that has droves of tourists outside taking selfies in front of it. I have no idea if the architecture is as significant as it looks because what's inside is even more distracting. The British Museum basically houses everything we Brits ever stole from another country as we expanded our empire throughout the world.

Did I make full use of this fantastic resource and learn extensively about all the relics of rich culture around the globe? No. Well, maybe sort of.

During the course of that museum visit, I came to develop a theory that one's experience of an exhibit depends entirely on who you go with. I just so happened to be there with  Jess (who you may remember from the aqua aerobics class). We are two highly energetic and distractable souls, so happy to see each other that we couldn't stop talking long enough to read any of the placards in the building. In this way we educated each other about everything we saw. I told her all I knew about Roman coinage and she taught me about the Rosetta stone. Neither of us knew much about mummies so we swept through the Egypt section and speculated briefly. Sometimes if something was particularly  interesting, we would read half the placard, usually out loud in order to share the information with the other (and stop them from talking!) When you look at a sign and a particular word jumps out, that's how you know you've found the half worth reading. If you're wrong, you'll never know. Sometimes we stood in front of the sign, intending to read it, but couldn't get to a suitable point to pause our conversation and so just generally got in the way.

One of my favourite stories was the Elgin marbles (a great game - I suggest you ask a member of museum staff how to play). Apparently Greece want them back but we keep telling them that the marbles are too delicate to move and so for many years now we've been bound to keep them in the British museum. Our lies were then totally blown open when we took the marbles on a tour of Russia. That's awkward! But our blushes were spared as the Greeks then accidentally blew up the Parthenon (an old building storing old Greek treasures and, apparently, gunpowder) so now we tell them that they are too irresponsible to have their marbles back and we'll be keeping them safe in the British museum for the foreseeable future. At least, that is my recollection of Jess' version of events and with a story like that who cares for an alternative?!

The Elgin Marbles. To be honest, they're already broken.

Loving what we're seeing. Don't know what it is.

It's the type of architecture that tourists take selfies with.

Every Londoner should know about The Euston Tap

This post is not a narrative for once, but instead I have to write and report a fantastic new discovery, which I feel I should have learnt about within my first week in London. I can't believe it's taken me nearly 18 months to find the Euston Tap and I now feel obliged to spread the word! One very serious blog post coming up...The Tap impressed me for several reasons. Firstly it seems to be built inside a monument reminiscent or marble arch in style. Secondly it serves pints for under £4 (which is a big deal in London) and thirdly the graffiti in the toilets is so amusing that I must have been in there for a good 10 minutes just reading it. As you would imagine, the place is full of hipsters who are quite friendly (they have to be, it's cosy) and also very beardy.

So if you haven't already been, here's another bar for your London bucket list.

Some sort of Victorian gatehouse.
Don't be put off by my crummy photography

Some self (re)discovery up London's Monument

Oh my gosh! I've just been up the monument at Monument. I think my legs are still shaking.

Initially I'd never thought to question how the tube stop got its name, so was slightly surprised to discover that an actual monument existed (it does make sense though) and even more surprised to find you could go inside. I mean, look at it, it looks like it's made of solid stone! But, as I now know, there's a little door hidden at the back. Inside are an awful lot of steps that go up in a tight spiral. I started climbing these with a great gusto that had thoroughly worn off by the 200 step mark. At this point I looked over the banister to see how I was doing and realised that I was afraid of heights. Also I was a long way up on a flimsy looking staircase. It's horrible to think about how much stone vs thin air is under your feet!

When you get up to the top the view is great. You can see quite far in all directions and get a good view of Tower Bridge off to the South West. However, my capacity to appreciate any of this was severely compromised by vertigo, which had kicked in like a bucking bronco giving up heroin. It was extremely windy up there and I had an irrational feeling that I might blow off the viewing platform if I didn't hold on to the wall. Why didn't I remember this fact about myself before climbing the massive tower!?! It would be a highly relevant fact for someone to recall when gazing up at the massive pillar they're about to climb (something that I'd only done about 10 minutes before). I suppose I haven't been off the ground in anything less rickety than a large passenger aeroplane in so long that I'd forgotten it might be an issue.

There's a scene in Pretty Woman where Richard Gere climbs up the fire escape to Julia Roberts' room to give her flowers. His character is afraid of heights and keeps holding on to the wall. I remember wondering what on earth he was up to when I first watched it but I've now become that person!

Gere puts the Roses in his mouth so as to use both hands to hold onto the wall.
Very sensible.

The view from the top is excellent, but you do have to let go of the wall if you want to take pictures of it.

It feels like there is an almost infinite number of steps (seriously, can you see the bottom here?) My advice: don't look down! Taking photos like this is an extremely bad idea as it is likely to cause you to realise how high up you are, sending unhelpful survival instincts into overdrive.

When I got down they gave me a certificate of achievement to show I'd climbed the 311 steps to the top. To me it was so much more - proof I'd kept calm (and successfully held on to the wall) 50 meters high. I'll consider framing it.

If you would also like to have a go at climbing the monument and finding out if you too have a fear of heights it costs £4 and is right next to Monument tube station on the district, circle & northern lines.

Be a tourist in your own city...but don't visit tower bridge

Tower Bridge is one of London's greatest landmarks and worst tourist attractions. Can someone please shut down its visitor centre to save Londoners the embarrassment?

The view from the top is similar to any other bridge in London, only you pay £9 for the privilege

You might think that its overpriced views are excusable, and that interesting information on the famous structure would more than compensate. Yes, I thought  that too, only it turns out there wasn't any!!

There are a limited number of facts provided, but the staff haven't managed to memorise them yet in order to impart the knowledge to guests. One member told us that 4 million rivets were used in the making of the bridge. A second told us there were only 2 million used. Frankly I didn't care how many rivets had been used until it dawned on me that I was standing on a bridge with 2 million of them missing!

The exhibition feels like it has been made by someone who doesn't like Tower Bridge very much and doesn't want to draw any attention to it. I can't help but wonder if some of the displays were actually donated by another museum that was having a clear out. Subjects include: the role of institutions in London; the role of Women in London; the role of Philanthropy in London. We already have Wikipedia for this and it's free!

Throughout the exhibition there is an evident determination not to tell you anything about the landmark that you have come to see. Makers of the exhibition are so desperate to achieve this that they have resorted to listing the types of fish in the Thames. Not depicting them. Not describing or conveying any type of information. Just listing the names of the fish. In Latin and in English

There is a quiz machine where you can chose a range of subjects. All are totally unrelated to tower bridge. e.g. The wives of Henry VIII

Happily, a little information about the bridge is provided but it is not particularly useful (or interesting!). The bridge is made of metal. Mechanical power is used to open the bridge...No shit Sherlock!

Such is their desperation not to tell you anything about tower bridge, that facts and pictures of all sorts of other bridges in the world are provided. Although information is quite brief, it is interesting and well chosen. I can't help but wonder why on earth tower bridge is not included in this display. Instead you're tantalised with all the very interesting bridges in the world which you are not currently visiting.

This is actually a real shame because the bridge should be interesting. It has some great heritage and some interesting stories. For instance a bus once jumped the gap between the two halves as it was raised unexpectedly and the driver chose to accelerate over the gap. It fell several feet and some passengers had to go to hospital but no one was seriously injured. The bus driver was given a £10 reward. There was also chaos once when Blair and Clinton crossed the bridge, but their security escort were stuck on the other side as a ship came along and the bridge was raised. Our security forces went nuts thinking that there was some kind of conspiracy to assassinate both leaders at once but the 'bridge driver' refused to lower the bridge to let them cross because 'them's the rules'. In the visitor centre both of these stories are mentioned...but in a single sentence: "a bus jumped the bridge and a president was held up". You actually learn more about the bridge by going on a tour of general London (I know this because one of my house mates was doing that that while I was in the visitor centre and he told me both stories when we got home)

There is a selfie mirror on the ceiling above the glass floor. So if that's your thing it might be a redeeming feature. Lots of people sit or lie down in order to get a better picture and it is quite amusing watching grown adults do this.

Fight through tourists to take your photo on the glass floor. For us it was Chinese, but  you can chose any type of tourist you like.

This was my favourite part of the exhibition. I have no idea what it has to do with Tower Bridge. Frankly I no longer care. As art goes, it's a fun picture.

If you are visiting London, my advice is to go on a tour of the East End's street art, make sure you try some interesting food (Ethiopian is a current favourite) and the British museum is also worth a visit. Hyde park rowing boats in summer are great. Go to parliament, watch a debate in action. Get a workout climbing the monument at monument.  Or use a discount website to get some cheap theatre tickets and make the most of the West End. There are loads of options. Just, whatever you do, don't visit Tower Bridge!

Eating jellied eels in East London

Every Londoner knows that waves of migration over the years have blessed the capital with a stunning range of culinary options, which make it a wonderful place for adventurous eaters. We have tongue singing curries from India, character filled Caribbeans, filthy posh eggs from France and even alarming Germanic-Argentinian sausages for less fortunate explorers. What we don't have much of is London's own culture that hasn't been 'borrowed' from somewhere else. It is for precisely this reason that Tim and I have long harboured an ambition to eat eels. (Pretty much the only delicacy London can call it's own - Such is the bounty of the Thames!)

Our other motivator was the amount of fuss that our housemates made when we proposed the idea. The landlord had been given them as a child and hated it (he grew up in East London so it was a right of passage) but even more shock and horror was expressed by his girlfriend who had never even seen a plate of eels but was disgusted by the very idea. This was therefore a chance to out-London them both!

We live in deep dark East London. Upton Park to be precise, which means that there are eel sellers locally. There had been a West Ham match on, it was drizzling and people were making themselves scarce, all except for those taking pictures of themselves outside the Boleyn stadium and those queuing outside the pie & eel shop. I was pretty excited but also a bit nervous about what I'd let myself in for (could there be a reason that today burritos are more popular than eels?), but as I weakly rationalised to Tim: At least eels don't have bones in. I can cope with anything as long as there are no bones. (There's few things I find more frustrating than messing about with a complicated skeletal choke hazard on my plate.)

When we got in through the door we could see the whole shop was full of customers all eating pies (not eels!) and nearly all wearing West Ham shirts.

"Whatever happens don't tell anyone I support Arsenal," whispered Tim, very quietly but quite unnecessarily. Even I know what happens to misplaced Arsenal supporters here.

The ladies at the counter were cute, they all looked like they'd been working there since West Ham won the world cup in 1966 and eels were still popular. Not one was below the retirement age. They were delighted to hear I was trying eels for the first time too and as they put down my plate,

"There you go lovie, this is yours and there's a plate for the bones"

Bones! What do eels want bones for!? I was not impressed with this prospect. My key sliver of positivity had just been deleted.

Not winning any prizes for good looks

My assessment of the eels, mash and liquor is that they're not too bad. I was told in advance that liquor would be like water, which sounded gross but turned out to be wholly untrue. Liquor is like very thick, rather good gravy and gives flavour to the whole thing (because there's so much of it!) The eels are ok, not least because they don't taste strongly (and they don't have much need of their bones so it's not like trying to faff about with a regular fish). The texture however is the key turnoff - I know jellied eels have the texture of jelly, but this is identical in practice to the texture of gelatinous fat, which I found a much harder thought to swallow. Nevertheless, at the end of the meal we'd both got clear plates and were feeling rather pleased with ourselves. Tim even said he'd eat them again (but perhaps not if pie was available as an alternative).

What's important is that we walked into that cafe mere people and left as real Londoners.

Nervous smile before my first taste

Welcome to London where we put the ‘strange’ into Stranger

This morning I met a man in a bagel shop and started a conversation regarding the peanut butter and Nutella cheese cake in front of us. I don’t make it my habit to talk to strangers in the city, in fact, like all Londoners, quite the reverse, but the sight of this cheese cake was too exceptional not to comment on. It was overwhelmingly gorgeous. The conversation quickly moved to nutrition and he very sincerely advised me not to eat potatoes too late at night (as it may be fatal) or more than 6 or 7 bananas in a day. I didn’t laugh; he was being serious. But who is in danger of eating 6 or 7 bananas in one day?! He did look like he did body building for a living, so maybe that’s it. (Also he was eating a turkey bagel for breakfast, which proves it). Maybe this is why Londoners don’t talk to strangers - you never know what strange (and potentially ill-applicable) advice you might get.

However, if anyone is interested in seeking out the type of cheese cake that will make you too forget your principles regarding stranger danger, it’s available from the bagel shop on Goswell road.

Being ladylike is difficult

I am absolutely baffled at the way in which some people can be effortlessly ladylike ALL THE TIME! 

This story actually starts in Borough market and with a valuable lesson for any Londoners looking for somewhere nice to visit at Sunday lunchtime: Don’t go there. It’s shut. Learning this was how I ended up in a rather cute little café nearby called Le Pain Quotidien with my good friend, Charlotte. Think freshly baked bread, wooden furniture, and earl-grey-mango-iced-tea. 

We did that awkward thing that everyone tries to avoid when they go out to eat together and ordered exactly the same thing. Consequently we were both brought 2 identical baked eggs sprinkled with smoked salmon, served in little round pans alongside 2 slices of dark rye toast (and thereby taking ‘cute’ to new levels).

I always say that I learnt everything I know about appearing ladylike from Charlotte (such as how to chose shoes and store jewellery, On one occasion I even sent photo of something that I thought might be a bra to ask what it was and how to wear it!) For this reason I was shocked when she tipped her egg onto the toast in its entirety and proceeded to eat it as if it were a large slice of ham. How very unladylike!

I thought I’d take the moral high ground (for once!) and approached mine it as if it were pâté in a way that I thought my mother would have approved of. It was a very unimaginative approach - basically spreading egg on toast. However, Charlotte's method looked like such sensible, tidy and effective idea that I copied it for my second one. When she did it, it seemed very neat and practical. When I did it yolk went absolutely everywhere in just the way you’d expect if you’re silly enough to lay a baked egg on toast and bite into it. Not only did I manage to get egg on the surrounding table but also all over my face. Luckily there were napkins on hand but, to put this in perspective, it was even necessary to mop my eyebrows!

Charlotte of course remained immaculate throughout as did the area of table surrounding her. Of course she would. I don’t understand how some people can be so dignified and ladylike while the likes of I are limited by reality! Baked eggs are just the start of it. Nigella can give a potato skin sex appeal and Kate Middleton can run on sand in high heals.

I’m going to have to mull this over. In the meantime, does anyone know a sophisticated method for eating baked eggs?

Charlotte with her perfectly neat baked egg

I can't show you a picture of me with mine!

Argentinian cuisine : proceed with caution

After work I went to see Bill at an Argentinian restaurant called Moo on brick lane. I don't think I've ever had Argentinian food before so I was quite excited. I ordered something off the menu called Salachichi* or something like that, reassured by my trusty mantra that it's always a good sign when you can't pronounce what you're ordering, it means you're expanding your food repertoire. I was vaguely expecting something classically Argentinian that was to come with guacamole (which now I come to think about it, should have made me suspicious, but didn't). What then arrived was a VERY large sausage! It looked distinctly German (an unexpected cultural influence to be sure). The type of low grade knockwurst that could be vegetarian and you wouldn't know. I'd also misjudged the sides and ended up with both chips and mash. I can no longer remember what part of ordering unknown items off menus is sensible!

*Turns out it's called a 'Salchicha' - I looked this up in case any aficionados judged me!

The Mysterious Dorothy

When Tim (my housemate & honorary brother) and I went to ‘Dorothy’s Caribbean’ we did joke that the restaurant might be the front for some kind of shady operation because it has opaque windows. This offhand comment suddenly seemed more likely when we got inside and found that the owners of the establishment had no idea how a restaurant was supposed to work! As we walked in, the good lady herself was sat on the wrong side of the bar watching TV. It was far from obvious that we could buy food, but upon asking we were told that indeed today was the first time in 3 weeks that Dorothy was serving food, owing to the fact that the roof had been leaking. Then we learnt (unwillingly) about the history of her roof and the cultural heritage of her landlord. Tim tried to steer the conversation back on track by asking what our options were but she totally missed the point - apparently one option was a solicitor but she felt it was a bit expensive. After this, I tried again and asked (very unambiguously) what was on the menu. She looked a bit confused but offered us jerk chicken. We agreed. She then took the initiative to ask if we wanted a small portion. I asked how small is small, to which she responded by holding up a large box saying it was large. It’s tough to know how to proceed from here but somehow we did eventually get the boxes full of food. As she gave them to us she asked if we wanted them heated up. WTF who goes to a take away for cold food?! To speed the process up we said we’d do it ourselves at home and asked her how long to heat it up for. Of course she didn't know. We laughed to ourselves as we walked down the street. It was almost as though no one had ever ordered food there before. She didn't know what to do. Definitely this was the operating front for a drugs cartel. We stopped laughing when we got home and put the thing in the microwave and the possibility of food poisoning occurred to us. We re-cooked that chicken so well. Nervously giggling once more at the absent aesthetics as we dished up. But then we had a change of heart when we tasted it. Dorothy actually knew her stuff after all! It was a huge plate of very spicy Caribbean goodness and highly evident that Dorothy was a great cook. We even agreed we’d be happy to go back.


Then again, if I was going to get my mum to front my drugs cartel, I'd probably make sure she could cook too.

The most upsetting cinema trip

One of the things I enjoyed most today was going to the cinema with the girls to see Suffragette! Our age means we get in for £5 at the Barbican and so we basically couldn't go wrong from there. To my disappointment the film turned out not to be feel good comedy as I'd expected (like Made in Dagenham) but an emotional roller coaster that had us laughing and then crying to such an extent that I began to fear for the safety of my contact lenses. We all came out with very different opinions of it too. Rebecca and Tash felt a sense of righteous indignation and believed that it was a film everyone ought to see. However I had a number of issues with it. Firstly I felt that the main characters marriage wasn't very convincing. It fell apart so easily. Secondly I wondered why our heroine kept going to feminist meets when she didn't believe in the cause at first - that behaviour made her life very complicated! Third I wondered whether they glamorised violence a bit and overplayed the roe of media attention. After all, if violence really was all that effective then the IRA would be respectable by now and if press  coverage were that big a deal then fathers for justice would have justice by now. I kind of felt that there was more story that didn't get told. Yes a woman died in front of a racehorse but (aside from the question of whether the rider survived) it's not clear how this translated into votes then or my ability to buy a cinema ticket using my own money today. Tash says that's the point, the story isn't over yet. To be fair, that's one thing the film did really well. There was so much we wanted to talk about afterwards and I've been thinking about it all week. It's struck me that since the film industry is one of the most unequal industries today, this is an ironic meta study of inequality. In fact I've found the film so thought provoking that I've started recommending it to people. This in itself is a great reason to see it.

Casual Sunday fancy dress

I'm waiting for some friends at the station and I've got an excess of luggage. My bags have had to contain outfits for Paris on Thursday, day in the office Friday, windsurfing gear for Saturday, house party Saturday night and I also picked up a Roman centurion costume for a future occasion. There's no space in my bags and so I've had to carry my helmet on my head as I just can't fit it in any other way. I've got some very funny looks at London Waterloo - If only they understood where I'd been then it wouldn't seem so strange.

Needoo Curry House

This evening after work we were supposed to go to the increasingly famous curry place Tayyabs. It's in the 'up and coming' backstreets of Whitechappel. They feel pretty rough but I suppose that this must be what brick lane was like before it 'up and came'. However, I spoiled all of our plans by not managing to leave work on time. It was 7pm before I got away and by the time I arrived, Tayyabs, which by now has a reputation for itself, was full, with queuers loitering between the tables. As such we went to the spin off restaurant around the corner. Needoo was apparently founded by a rogue waiter after an altercation at Tayyabs. From the outside it looked so seedy that we nearly didn't go in but it was by now so late that we were hungry enough to risk it. All in all I'm glad we did. There were no people queuing in awkward places, the service was exceptionally fast and there was giant cutlery mounted on the wall which amused me. If anything the food was actually too authentic as Sam and Joe struggled with the spice. All the dishes were said to be 'medium' so there was no way out for the faint hearted, unless you are preprepared order from the less authentic 'chicken tikka masala' section of the menu, which no one was. We speculated that even the mint sauce had a kick to it and had to call in emergency yoghurt. I personally quite liked it but must admit that the level of spice did stop me from comparing the 4 dishes we'd ordered as they all tasted of 'robust heat' to me. In a nice way. Sam disagreed, but then he had begun an affliction of wild heat-induced hiccups.

Posh kebabs?!

I was so tired by the time I left work this evening that I couldn't decide what to do about food. I even texted mum to tell her this, which is a reflection of the extent to which I totally wasn't functioning! (This also made me worry (briefly) about the content of the emails that I'd been sending before leaving the office!) Anyway, I ended up going to get a 'posh Kebab' at a shop called Chifafa. This is something I've been meaning to try for a while - There is everything intriguing about an oxymoronic concept like that. The problem is that I was then too worn out to develop a comprehensive opinion on the matter! The 'medium' level of spice was significantly more lively than it was mediocre and I'm not sure if I can ever feel indulged while eating meat wrapped in bread - it's not really that far removed from a glorified sandwich. On the other hand it was significantly better than the kebabs I was served in Istanbul at the weekend; the meat was properly BBQ-ed and it wasn't served out of a polystyrene tray but a foil wrap (like any self respecting burrito). No one could accuse it of being a greasy late night option for desperadoes (not least because the shop shuts at 9pm).  This synopsis seems to have covered everything but taste. The problem is that I like eating, most things taste good to me and this was no exception. Certainly it was good enough to go back another day. In my wretchedly tired state I then slipped into some sort of philosophical stupor. Can a kebab ever be up-market? Is it really enough to put good quality ingredients in or is it by nature a squalid supper. Then, even if it is posh, is it ever any good?! I never did answer these questions, I think they may be the basis of hardcore philosophy. The next time someone tries to draw me in on politics or God I'm going to ask them if they think a kebab can ever be posh. That'll stump them!