Picture of the Day

Graffiti near Borough Market
Originally uploaded by dan taylor

So maybe it's becoming a bit of a tradition.

Here's another fun sign. This one's a bit closer to home. It's graffiti near Borough Market

Watch your step

A fun thing about living in Bloomsbury is that even the sidewalk isn’t boring. It’s splattered with famous faces.

Apparently they’re were part of a welcome event for the nearby University College London. In case, walking around is a lot more interesting you’re worried about stepping on Darwin, Ghandi or Charles Dickens.

Image: Londonist

London Fashion Week 2009

London Fashion Week S/S 2009
Originally uploaded by K Gillett

Happy London Fashion Week!! Don't panic, this hasn't transformed into a fashion and beauty blog, though I've read enough of those I could probably be pretty good at it.

As this blog keeps those of you who can't be here updated on the goings on in London and my life, you might be interested in this. Last week was the New York Spring/Summer 2009 shows, where designers show off their upcoming collections, thereby setting the trends for the next few seasons. This week (actually it started Friday) is the beginning of what promises to be a quirky week. Though this year's shows are smaller, yet another effect of the stellar economy we're currently experiencing.

In any case, I'll let you know of any sightings of hungry models or bored British celebrities. I doubt they'll journey over to my end of the city. We all know models won't read unless they're paid to.

Sweet Primark

There are things that I have had to do without while in London that have hurt me. Bagels is a big one. Another is new clothes. It is brutal living in one of the capitals of fashion and being unable to partake in the fun. Markets and shops abound adorned with gorgeously dressed mannequins, and fabulously dressed women walk down the London streets while I watch in envy.

This fashion fast is partly self-imposed. I don’t have room in my suitcases or my tiny room for my entire wardrobe. But part of it is a result of consequences. The British pound is worth twice as much as the Canadian dollar. Let that sink in a bit. Every price you see must be doubled. That hurts a bit. If I were making pounds it wouldn’t be so bad, as if you compare one to one, things aren’t that more expensive than Toronto. But adding the exchange makes you want to kill yourself. It really puts a downer on going to the Gap, Selfridges, Topshop or any other store here and seeing a shirt for £25, taking a moment, doing the math to realize that’s $50 for a top. Not worth it. Then there’s Primark.

Primark on Oxford Street

What is Primark you ask? A godsend, heaven, incredible, frustrating, unbelievable. All these words are applicable and none are exaggerated. Primark is similar to Forever 21 and H&M, a discount retailer that takes trends from the runways, shifts them slightly and then sells them for cheap. What’s special about Primark is that it sells it cheaper than I’ve ever seen—even with the exchange! Here are some of the stuff I’ve bought at Primark in the last four months.

All this glory doesn’t come for free. There are two problems with Primark. The first is obvious: quality. My friend Nicole once said it’s cheaper to wear Primark stuff once and throw it out than wash it and have it tear, rip, or deteriorate before your eyes. While not fully true, it’s close. Because you get sweaters for £4, they won’t be the best quality. I have a grey sweater (not pictured) that is 32% cotton, 30% nylon, 26% viscose and 8% wool, which isn’t bad, but it’s not going to last years. That’s why you have to be strategic about it. If you’re looking for a foundation item such as a white button shirt, you’re better off getting it at the Gap where it’ll last longer. But if you’re looking for a party dress, the trend of the moment for £8 is good enough. There are some exceptions. My red patent high heels are leather interiors which was a surprise.

Just one of many stalls'o'fun at Primark

The other downside is the crowds. I have never seen mobs like the ones constantly in Primark. Even on a Wednesday at noon, the line up for the dressing room is a few meters long. I once went on a Sunday afternoon, which was a huge mistake. But if you’re brave enough to navigate the crowds, and know how to work the trends, Primark can be your best friend.

Snow Day

The following are pictures of London from February 2nd to 3rd. For average Canadians, this could be a picture of a normal day from December to (sometimes as late as) March. But for London, England, theses scenes represent the apocalypse.





It started Sunday night when it started snowing and, two hours later, was still on the ground. This already distinguished it from other snowing episodes I’ve lived through here. It was still snowing at 1am when I went to check out the Super Bowl half time show. The British kids and some other Europeans who’d never seen snow before were having a jolly old time looking out the window, throwing snowballs and making snowmen. Being Canadian, I went to bed unimpressed at the few centimeters on the ground.

Eight hours later, when my alarm went off, I heard the city had shut down: the highways (or motorways) were a parking lot, buses weren’t running, the Tube (subway) was closed save for one limited line. Airports were closed, flights were delayed, schools were closed (including mine) and they were encouraging people to stay at home and make no unnecessary travel.


Still in bed and a bit groggy I texted my friends to cancel our plans to go to the library that morning. As I did I absently wondered at how much snow had fallen to make London (population 7.5 million) come to a complete standstill like this. There was barely 10cm outside! Ten lousy centimetres of snow brought London, a great city that had withstood bombings from Nazis in WWII and angry rebellious Protestants during the 80s and 90s to a grinding halt.

I read later that up to 20 cm fell that day. But the problem isn’t snow it’s infrastructure.

“We're not in Russia here," said Guy Pitt, a Transport for London spokesman. "We don't have an infrastructure built for constant snow."

He’s absolutely right. London doesn’t have snow-plows or salt to deal with the snow. So they let it be, accumulate, freeze and turn into ice. All the while people are trapped in their homes. And they have to wait for it to melt. School was cancelled Monday and Tuesday as the city slowly recovered from it’s “onslaught” of 20cm of snow. We didn't care. I had an extra day to do work and some people went tobogganing on nearby Primrose Hill.

But, as a Torontonian, who is the perpetual butt of every "wow-it's-snowing-why-don’t-you-call-in-the-army?” joke, I was mortified to find myself in another city that can’t hack the elements.

Images: Flickr

A note about the weather.

Before coming to London, I was warned constantly about the weather. Rain, clouds, gloom was what awaited me. After a summer in Brussels, enjoying less than summery weather, I was even less excited weather-wise. Then I arrived here and I have a confession to make: I love London weather.

I am in love with London weather. Who wouldn’t love 14 degree weather in October? Who wouldn’t like fall in November? Who wouldn’t love 8 degrees in December?

I know I’m prejudiced. I’m from Canada and Canada is a cold place. And Ottawa, my home for the majority of the year these last four years, sometimes feels like the coldest place in the world. So when I come to a country where I can wear a light jacket in December, no mitts and no hat and my Converse sneakers, I’m happy as a clam. Yes it’s cold, but a lot of places are cold. London doesn’t have the bone-chilling, feels-like-swords-are-ripping-at-my-skin feeling of sub-zero temperatures. Sometimes it rains—OK, more than sometimes—but rain is just water. There’s no snow, no salt stains on my pants. I now realize why I have so many jeans: it’s not for fashion but because every winter I had to wash my jeans every day after coming home with huge salt stains up to mid calf.

This will revolutionize my life: I'll spend less on pants and do less laundry. I'll buy lighter clothes with less material and therefore spend less money. I'll take less time getting dressed in the morning because I'll have less layers. And I'll use less moisturizer because it's not as cold--or dry--in London than Ottawa. This will save me time and money.

Don’t get me wrong, there are parts that suck about London weather. It gets dark at 4:30pm here, and I am not down with that. That extra hour makes a huge difference. And the grey when it rains, doesn’t make me feel cheery inside. But it just makes you appreciate the sun when it does come out. But there’s something to be said for going outside and not feeling the hairs in your nose freeze.

Halloween Across the Pond

Halloween swept up on me like a thief in the night and, like always, I was not prepared. As I’m not such a fan of the holiday—and haven't been since I was in the single digits, (and even then I thought it was way too much effort for candy)—I thought I’d coast by. Halloween was a North American holiday. Ensconced in London I thought I could get away with letting the day pass peacefully.

Any chance of that soon evaporated. Turns out like SUVs and smog, Halloween has traversed the ocean and made it to Europe. My whole residence seemed to get in the spirit with a big themed dinner (Human BBQ ribs, Sponge cake as lungs, etc), decorations and a party. So I got in the spirit too. I went as a mime—I already had the striped shirt, I just had to buy the beret. Presto, change-o, Halloween here I come.

Me and Erika as Mime and Mickey Mouse respectively

Sarah as Little Bo Peep

Our party was held at a nearby bowling alley. Somehow I ended up beating everyone else I played with, a testament to (a) my competitors sucking, or (b) their alcohol consumption. Then there was karaoke (which required singing loudly and off-key to the Spice Girls) and getting down on the dance floor. In any case, much fun was had and here are some highlights.

Melissa, Gong, Ama (all without costumes) and Sarah

A Mickey Mouse that smokes and drinks

Little Bo Peep, a Hare Krishna, Mickey

Celeste is a Ballot Box

The Gingerbread Man sings karaoke

A Walk on the Wild Side

I live in the Bloomsbury area of London, but Camden is only a ten minute walk away. It’s also the neighbourhood of Amy Winehouse, so I knew that a trip would be a walk on the wild side of life. It’s an area known for punk rockers, hippies, skaters and just generally being hard core.

We went for the Camden market where I’d read that you can get a lot of neat stuff (rain boots, purses, piercings, vintage clothing and jewellery, fruit or wooden furnishings). And I’m also a sucker for a good market.

Camden market on a Saturday morning is a bustling place. The main road is blocked off and people fill the sidewalks, street and market like plaque on artery walls. And there really were a lot of really fun stuff there. I saw a stall of pocket watches and for the first time in my life contemplated buying a pocket watch. I started thinking of all the things I could do with it and how cool I'd look with one. Needless to say I didn’t buy it. But I walked away with a beautiful teal purse that I bartered down to £12. I left the rain boots—the reason I’d originally gone to the market—as they were too wacky for me. There were some with little cherries and others with skulls and bones.



After perusing the stalls we crossed the street to what seemed like the “higher class section,” or the hippie area. Here we were bombarded with hand crafted woodwork and jewelery, aromatic incense and plush Indian textiles. It was all gorgeously set up and the goods were all quite impressive. The friend I was with is moving in with her boyfriend next year so we had fun decorating her non-existent flat.


When we’d had enough, we sat on the locks near some body of water and took in the sunshine. I marvelled at the fact that although it was October I wasn’t wearing a jacket and was actually comfortable.


On our way back to the main road we stuck by the water. As we were leaving we saw a bunch of teenagers, all dressed in black. Some were smoking cigarettes some not, but all were listening to loud rock music I didn’t recognize and teasing each other. A small group gathered around two pre-pubescent boys fighting, while the crowd cheered them on like betters at a cock fight (though I've never been to a cock fight, this is how I imagine it to be).

Walking through it was a surreal experience. I looked at my friend Erika and we both had that pained, slightly terrified look in our eyes, despite the fact that there were hundreds of people around and it was in broad daylight. And that these kids were 15 years old. Saying nothing I tried to scoot around the brawl as quickly as possible, but was accosted by a stray flailing arm that struck me lightly in the arm. I kept walking and kept my head down. When we were free of the kids Erika and I looked at each other.

“I’m not going to lie,” I said, “but I was a little afraid of those kids for a second.”

“Me too,” she said.

“Man, we’re getting old,” I said

Welcome to the Neighbourhood

There are a lot of reasons I chose the residence I’m living in. It’s only a 20 minutes walk to school, and relatively cheap. It’s catered—a mostly fabulous dinner is included. And I have a single room. But a nice addition is the neighborhood.



My residence is located in the Bloomsbury area of London, a place that’s known to be home to artists, academics and yuppies. In the early 20th century it was home to the likes of John Maynard Keynes, Virginia Woolf and the many members of the Bloomsbury Group. In fact, you could say we’re neighbours now as their houses are on the next street from me.

Keynes' House

The proof

Meeting place of the Bloomsbury Group

the proof

A nice feature of the neighbourhood is the parks. There are no less than four parks within five minutes of my house: Russell Square, Gordon Square, Tavistock are just some. And Regent’s Park (link) is just a 10 minute walk and five minute run away (I know this because when it’s nice outside, Ericka and I would go for runs in it).

Tavistock Square

These parks are gorgeous, especially in the autumn with the leaves changing. They have fountains, statues (like one of Gandhi in Gordon Square) and plagues on the benches engraved with dedications, just like in the movie Notting Hill. They’re a nice detour from the mundane sidewalks on my walks to and from school.


I choose this place hoping that it’s chill, bohemian vibe would rub off on me and I’d learn to be relaxed, artsy and chill like them. So far, this hasn’t happened.

In fair London, where we lay our scene

Full of the excitement of being in London, living in London and studying in London, I wanted to do a bunch of London stuff. When we heard that the Globe Theatre was ending it’s season the following Sunday, my friend Nicole and her sister and I decided to make the most of cheap tickets. On a rainy (surprise surprise) Tuesday night we headed to the Globe to check out some premium theater.



The Globe is just across the Thames and based on the designs of the first Globe which was the theatre that Shakespeare played many of his masterpieces—think Shakespeare in Love, that’s the Globe. Though I’d wanted to see a Shakespearean play, none were available. Instead we saw Liberty a comedy-drama about four friends during the various phases of the French Revolution. It was spectacular. Toward the end, I was this close to shedding a tear.


The set-up of the theatre is pretty innovative. There are the stands which are in an oval around the stage. Then there are the “gallery” an empty section on the floor reserved for the “masses.” We were going to sit there—tickets were £5—except it was cold and you had to stand for almost three hours. And there’s one other thing. The unfortunate thing about the Globe is that it has no roof. I think it has to do with the idea of the people and 16th century conceptions of the theatre and bringing culture to the masses or something. In any case, it was raining and not warm, despite the fact that it had been very warm that day. So while the show was excellent, the next day I woke up with a sore throat that burgeoned into a pretty stellar cough. But it was worth it.

Home Sweet Room

Friends and comrades, for those of you seeking to place me in a setting when reading my blog, this post is for you. A picture of my room, my lair, my home.


It's not as big as my room in Brussels and I think it's smaller than my room in Ottawa. It's certainly more narrow. I'm standing in the doorway; on one side is a wardrobe, on the other, tucked into a knook are my suitcases. The sink in the middle of the room was very jarring in the beginning, but now I barely notice it. In fact, I don't know how I ever did without it. The window is also a nice part of the room. It's actually a commodity here and apparently cost a bit more (though I had no choice in the matter). Though because my desk is right beside the window, if the curtains aren't drawn, I get the mother of all drafts.

My incredibly tidy desk. Imagine this overflowing with books, papers, pens and highlighters and you'll get a more accurate vision of my life for the past few months. If you'll look at the left of the picture, you'll see my collection of cutlery at the top of the shelf. It began as a covert operation, with me smuggling one piece out at a time a la the Carleton cafeteria. But when news broke that a friend had gotten caught taking a mug and had lived to tell the tale, the free for all began. My count stands at 9 cups/mugs, 8 teaspoons, 2 bowls (one salad and one soup), one knife, one spoon and one fork.


This is a view from in front of the window. It's all pretty self-explanatory. The box with the blue lid is a convenient place for hats, mitts and gloves as well as miscellaneous clothes. But it also contains non-perishable food: pretzels, Melba toast, soup-in-a-box, etc for when I get the munchies. All in all, it's not a bad set up. The building is a renovated 19th century Georgian hotel. I share a bathroom and shower with about 7-10 people. There's a common kitchen that we share with the floor (about 20-40 people maybe). Though it gets snug in the fridge I use it to hold my milk, sandwich meet and miscellaneous dip, if I'm feeling extravagant.

The First Day

My first day in London rivals that of my first day in Brussels all those months ago. First of all, my flight left Portugal so early I had to be up at 6am, not my favourite time. Second, when I got the airport, my flight was delayed an hour and a half. So I sat in “Departures” waiting for my flight to show up on the screens. Then a lounge full of ornery British people on vacation attempted to squeeze through the only available gate, and then piled on a tiny bus to our waiting plane. Being the resilient and experienced traveller I am, I was barely fazed by this. Except for the early wake up call, I was sitting pretty: I had my book, a wheelie suitcase and my iPod. I was impervious.

My flight landed without incident at Gatwick airport and I managed to maneuver the luggage carousel, buy a train ticket and get to King’s Cross/St. Pancras without incident. Following my parents instructions I took a cab the 5 minutes (and £5) it took to get to my residence.

Full of glee and laden with two suitcases a purse and a backpack, I walked into the reception and proudly claimed I was here to check in. The young women at the desk took my name, checked her list and after a while gave me a key card to E204. She said it was in the annexes and thrust a piece of paper at me with instructions and off I went.

First, a note about the building I live in. There are 4 floors, but only 3 have rooms. Then there are three annexes located outside the building: Tavistock, Endsleigh and the one where the warden (or person who manages the hall) lives.


It took me 5 minutes just to get outside. I rode the elevator on every floor except the one I wanted, was distracted by meeting a fellow Canadian and checked every floor in the main building before realizing my room was outside. Once outside, it didn’t get any easier. I had no idea what annex I wanted. I tried the wrong two first of course: one I couldn’t get in (the warden’s probably), and the second took me climbing the two flights of stairs (with no elevator and carrying ALL my stuff) only to find my key card didn’t work. I finally realized what the “E” in my room number meant and headed to Endsleigh annex, walked up the two flights of stairs (again no elevator), waved my card in front of the scanner and saw the green light. Absolutely giddy with relief I heaved a spine trembling sigh of relief and opened the door.

Immediately something wasn’t right. The bed was made, had sheets and towels were neatly folded on the edge. There were papers and folders on the desk and cosmetics on the sink.

“Wow, way to clean up for me,” was my immediate thought. The hall is used as a hostel in the off season so I assumed someone had just moved out and they hadn’t cleaned up. Then I went to the closet and found clothes still there, shoes near the bed and a jacket behind the door. After a slight debate over whether I should leave it or complain, I decided on the latter.

At reception, the woman checked the computer. “Oh, that’s not your room,” she said. Well that explains it. Turns out I’d changed my move in date once and they gave me the wrong room. She gave me another card to my room (this one in the main building) and I went there immediately. I shed one of the layers of clothing I was wearing and went to the other room to begin the process of transferring stuff. I got there (outside, up the stairs, then up the stairs to the room, etc) and found it locked. Strange.

I went back to the reception and she gave me another card. I went back and tried it again. Nothing. I went back to reception where people know me now and this time she comes with me. She opens the door with her master key and ends up helping me to move my stuff into the other room—which considering she sent me to the wrong place, is the least she could do.

After she left, I took stock. I was drenched with sweat from the constant moving and going up and down stairs. This room was smaller than the other one and I had to share a bathroom and shower with a floor that seemed to go on for days (it wasn’t actually that bad but I was a bit hysterical). I tried to console myself that I wasn’t going to be here very long—my contract didn’t start for another 4 days and I was told this was a temporary room until then.

Then there was the matter of the Internet. A friend of mine had already moved into residence and was on the internet that night. Of course it wasn’t that easy for me. I needed an Ethernet cable, which of course I didn’t have. So with a rough map and rudimentary advice provided by reception (someone other than that woman, but still bad), I set off to find my materials. It took half an hour but eventually I found my cable—I went to three stores as the first had closed minutes before I got there—but got lost coming home (one of several times that week). I got online, checked my email sent my parents an “It’s OK I’m still alive” email.

Next was the phone. I wanted to call my friend to let her know I was in London. But I couldn’t just dial the phone in my room that would be too easy. No, I had to buy a phone card and set that up. When I arrived at her flat an hour later, I was exhausted and on the verge of tears.

London had not welcomed me.

Back to School

For those of you dying to know what I've been up to since I arrived in London, you're going to love the next few entries. They are by no means as comprehensive as the summer, as I stopped taking pictures of absolutely everything I came into contact with. And there's the whole going to school thing. But they should satisfy your curiosity for a while.

Doing My Research

I’ll be moving to London in T minus twenty five days, and like the conscientious student I am, I have been doing some prep work. I’ve pre-registered for classes, settled my accommodations, memorized the appropriate Wikipedia entries on the LSE, Bloomsbury (my neighborhood), London and England, and upped my daily intake of tea (two cups a day in case you’re wondering). I’ve also been observing British culture. As I've mostly been surrounded by the French and Dutch (with some Italians and Germans at work), this has meant watching movies. If I am to be schooled in Britain, I should get to know and understand Britons. With that in mind I’ve been watching various British romantic comedies in the hopes that I’ll be able to understand their humor and talk like they do. So here are my picks for best movies set in and around London. (FYI: Many of the descriptions contain spoilers):

1. Notting Hill: What can I say about Notting Hill? You can’t really point to anything outstanding in it but it just leaves me with a warm glow every time I watch it. It’s got all the elements of an enjoyable movie: do-gooder protagonist who can’t seem to catch a break, check; likable yet vulnerable female lead who falls for our protagonist, check; crazy roommate to provide substantial comic relief, check; a dollop of British humor added by a gang of lovable co-stars, check; tons of plot twists, check; a bit of fantasy—who really thinks a movie star would fall for a travel bookshop owner from Notting Hill?—check; a catchy soundtrack (Ronan Keating, Elvis Costillo and Shania Twain), check. A plethora of gorgeous London scenes, check. And (SPOILER ALERT) a happy ending, check. What more could you want?
   
2. Sliding Doors. There’s nothing I love more than a woman picking herself up off the matt after being beaten and bruised (not literally) and living to fight another round. This time this comes in the form of a make-over montage where Helen cuts off and then dyes her hair blond after finding her boyfriend shagging another women. The movie puts a new spin on the tradition phoenix-rising-from–the-flames motif by showing two sides to Helen’s life which is quite intriguing. A bit too intense to be that flighty flick you turn on to feel good. And yes, it stars Gwyneth Paltrow, but her accent is quite good. And John Hannah’s James more than makes up for that with his do-good earnestness. And Jeanne Tripplehorn is hilarious as the brash American.
3. Love, Actually. Major points are given for including my five favorite things in one movie: Colin Firth, Hugh Grant, international politics (the "Love Actually moment"), Portuguese people and Christmas. Top points for the scenes of London decorated for Christmas. And the interwoven stories are especially well done. Kudos to the filmmakers for showing all aspects of love: loss of love, love doing you wrong, unrequited love, friendship love and young love. I had to subtract points for including the story line of Colin, the googlieyed Brit keen on going to America where he’s convinced he’s “Prince William without the scary family,” and for guest staring Kiera Knightly.
4. Bridget Jones’ Diary. All around great movie. Great pick-me-up factor as throughout you’ll be thinking, “Well, at least my life’s not as bad as hers.” Hilarious dialogue and instant messaging sequences are pretty cute. The plot developments are rather predictable but it’s not that we’re particularly concerned with. Just frothy and ridiculous enough to be watched over and over again. I had to take points off for the choice Renée Zellweger as Bridget. The more I watch it, the less I like her accent and she's slightly annoying in it. But she did gain like a million pounds for the role, so we should give credit where credit is due. Plus Colin Firth AND Hugh Grant star. And Grant is great as the crude and suave Daniel Cleaver, instead of playing the dashing romantic lead (for the millionth time—I love you in them Hugh, but show some range my man). This marks the beginning of my love affair with Colin Firth. It’s been love ever since.
5. Sense and Sensibility. I had originally kept this spot open for when I saw Four Weddings and a Funeral but that was a bitter disappointment. So, instead, the last spot goes to Sense and Sensibility. A dark horse pick I know, but it's quite good. A stellar cast--Emma Thompson, a young Kate Winslet, Alan Rickman, and yes, Hugh Grant--but it's also mixed in with a little old school Jane Austen fun complete with fancy dress balls and snobby British high society. I know Pride and Prejudice is a theme in Bridget's Jones, but this is the real Jane Austen movie. Complete with eighteenth century empire waist dresses, high collars and top hats. The action is a bit slow and the dialogue sparse for Thompson, but it's a solid movie and worth a look.

Honorable Mention goes to:

1. About a Boy. Stars Hugh Grant and was therefore a worthy contender and the dialogue was hilarious at times. But it just didn’t resonate with me. Too melodramatic to really be a feel good comedy. I don’t want to watch this one over and over. Also, five is a small number and there just aren’t enough spots for everyone.
2. Pride and Prejudice. I badly wanted to include this into my list, and as I don’t particularly care for the Kiera Knightly version, I'm talking about the BBC miniseries which is many times better. But alas, it is a TV mini-series and does not fit the aforementioned movie criteria. But still very worth a watch. All 6 hours of it. In case you’re still on the fence, I’ll say this: Colin Firth. ‘Nuff said.
   

Those are my picks. Yes, I am aware that the majority contain Hugh Grant and that most are created by the same people but I don't care. I like what I like. Thoughts?