Sleeping on the job

There was a particularly late night (/early morning) at work after which I couldn't recover. It compounded a week(/quarter), and, having not set a sustainable pace, I floundered the next day. Being in the office on so little sleep felt a lot like being hungover (which, I would guess is no coincidence. Hangovers & Sleep deprivation go hand in hand).

At 5:30pm on the dot, I decided to mitigate this problem by going for a nap in one of our cave-like meeting rooms. No windows, no natural light, one sofa, lots of cushions. Perfect. At the time I didn't think I was asleep. I remember being annoyed when a telephone rang outside and no one answered it. I recall a vague concern at the idea that the floor might get locked up with me inside. I batted the thought away  - if you start to give in to little worries you'll never get any rest.

When I woke I found that it was quite dark and this was exactly what had happened and it seemed a lot more important now that I wasn't asleep. Worse still I had no idea where the burglar alarm sensors were and so I didn't feel I could safely get up and walk about, which unfortunately means staying exactly where I was, re-ruffling my hair (to look more presentable) and requesting someone should come and rescue me.

That's one good thing about my office. It turns out that you can wake up in a meeting room at almost any time of the day, safe in the knowledge that at least one person will be available to free you. Never before have I seen this fact with such a rosy glow!

The least relaxing massage

One of the things my office does to try to convince you that they care about your wellbeing (other than increase headcount of course - you can't have the one thing you need) is to invite a masseuse in every month and offer us all subsidised massages. I was really looking forwards to this when I learnt that head massages were on offer and this is probably my biggest weakness in life (and when you consider the stiff competition for that title, it's clearly a big deal!) Nothing could be more relaxing. Done right, I just lie limp and grin happily. Like a cat.

At first as she began I wondered if I ought to practice mindfulness (I can never usually find the time) then I decided that was too much of a chore and instead proceeded to be entertained by my own thoughts, which is ironic, as I'm pretty sure that an observation of your own thoughts is what mindfulness is.

At the beginning the masseuse worked on my neck and my most prominent thought was; if she had it in for me I would be very quickly dispatched. I took this to be a clear sign that the relaxing effect wasn't working yet. Then she started massaging the back of my head and everything changed. I wondered if I should give some sort of positive feedback, but it was no good, I was feeling too limp to talk. My thoughts got progressively more silly (I shan't document them here, it's probably for the best!) until it dawned on me that she'd made my hair quite knotty. Not that I minded (there's little a tough hairbrush can't solve), but she was trying to run her fingers through it and they kept getting stuck. She was gently trying to tug them out again while pretending it was intentional. I snapped right out of my reflective daze. There's nothing therapeutic about this any more. Suddenly I was wide awake trying very hard not to laugh (as I thought this would be disheartening!) There is nothing unfunny about a perfect stranger who is trying to pretend she hadn't got her hand stuck in your hair!

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!