It never ceases to amaze me how different America and England truly are. I mean, I get it that there are McDonald's and Starbucks here, and that one can shop in a Gap or even dine on Nando's legendary, Portuguese, flame-grilled, peri-peri chicken (which inevitably makes me want to yell out for "The Amazing Nandoooo!" I've no idea why...). But yet even with all of these, our countries do differ in oh-so-many ways.
Let's look at the newspapers...This evening, I picked up The Sun, which I already do realise isn't exactly the most serious media outlets. However, there's an entire page-6 spread on last night's X Factor show. (Gasp! The twins were knocked off by the judges!) A more serious article two pages later focused on flood-ravaged Workington, where the headline "Looters target washed-up cars" was accompanied by an image of a stripped Audi (buh-bye hubcaps and wheels) with the caption, Looted...stranded Audi stripped by lowlife thieves. It's the "lowlife thieves" thing that cracks me up. Gotta love the manners here, and the absolute disgust for criminal acts. And I'm not even going to go into the space taken up for random celebrity news and gossip within the first few pages of the paper. (Wait -- Posh Beckham bought her boys yoghurt in Hollywood whilst sporting a new curly 'do?!? Oh, my goodness! Turn to page 8 -- stat! Gotta get the story!)
Newspapers aside, there are some things that, while I don't necessarily understand them, I just adore. Let's take some of the fun names here...Whilst walking to the Berry Shoppe (that's Sainsbury's, by the way -- Steve just makes fun of the way I pronounce it) the other morning, I paused to enjoy the River Wandle. As I watched the babbling stream below the bridge, I noticed a sign with a map of the area: Pickle Ditch. Now one must pause for a moment to reflect on this interesting name: Were there really once oodles of pickles thrown into the ravine below the bridge? Did ancient explorers find empty jars of pickles in the river, tossed in by careless passers-by post-purchase from the Berry Shoppe? Or was it just an evolution of a proper name from years gone by? Meh, whatever it is, I like it...And it reminds me of the just-'round-the-corner tradition of hiding the German pickle (or Weihnachtsgurke) in the Christmas tree for an extra treat to the one who finds it...which turns out to be an urban legend, it seems.
One of the more...um...head-scratching that I've seen yet thus far: Last Sunday morning, I'd run down to get a newspaper from the corner store and saw this interesting ladybug walking toward the tube. Not quite sure why anyone would be dressed like this on a Sunday morning at 10 a.m., particularly as Halloween was three weeks ago, but um...ok. To each her bug-y own, I s'pose...I only wish I'd been better able to capture the expression on the guy at the right. Classic. (giggle)
Ah, at the risk of sounding like oh-so-many blogger folks out there, I have sadly fallen behind in my postings. I suspect it's because I've been working so hard during the weekdays to find a job, that all else has taken a bit of backseat until the weekend. Let's recap...
We started the weekend with a Friday dinner at Rehab...um, the restaurant here in the Wood 'Hood (not to be confused with Therapy in Charlotte). Whilst munching on calzones and drinking some red wine, Steve got a text from Nic that she and Clint were on their way down for dinner, too. Following their arrival, we all four chatted in the front lounge. Moments later, in walk Ruth and Tree. Then Greg. Then Kerry-Ann. It became a nice little gathering and we found ourselves laughing and sharing stories in the back private room. Bonus: After the jazz-y/blues singer finished his set, he joined our little party. Interesting touch for the evening...good times.
Steve's mom hopped into London on Saturday for an afternoon of laughs with her son. The day before, I'd sent Steve an e-mail list of about two dozen field trips that I'd like to do as a bouncing off point for what we could plan for his mom (e.g. touring Number 1 London/Apsley House, the Old Operating Theatre museum, the Petrie Museum of Egyptian Archaeology, in which staff offer torches for gloomy corners and Gallery 2 holds Minnie, the head of a mummy -- y'know, the creepy and macabre that I love oh-so-much). We figured we'd see what his mom would care to do and make a day of it.
On Saturday morning, Steve and I drove to Maz and John's and, after a short discussion with his mom, we decided that it'd be nice to hop up to Little Venice in Maida Vale and then ride up the canal to the London zoo. (Note: Little Venice does not guarantee fabulous Italian restaurants in the same way that Little Italy in Manhattan does; rather, it's known for its canals. However, Steve was quick to try to allay my disappointment, saying, "Well, I'm sure there are Italian restaurants there...")
We trained/tubed it on out to Maida Vale and, as we exited the tube, we found ourselves in the midst of incredibly high gusts of wind and a rather heavy drizzle. Taking shelter in a familiar Cust pub, Gordon Ramsay's Warrington, for a lovely bite of lunch (I've never seen a burger plated so fancily!), we rethought our original agenda. Instead, we opted to go to the National Science Museum, where we'd be dry and warm inside.
We walked down museum row, past the V&A and the National History Museum, pausing to peek at the ice skaters on the seasonal rink outside the History Museum. ("What's a Zamboni?" asked Steve...Yeah, there are Yank terms that they don't understand, either. Somehow, that makes me feel a bit better.)
As we wandered through the museum's exhibits, learning about turn-of-the-century industrial machinery, DNA, human emotions, ships, technology and more, we exchanged silly remarks that set us into high giggles. Three and a half hours later, we'd completed just three of the five floors, yet were rather beat. We walked past Maz's place of employment, the Royal Marsden Hospital, and escaped the wet weather in a charming little pub on a quiet street, The Crown. It was cosy and had a large skylight in the dining room that would've surely been beautiful in sunny weather. One quick drink later, we were back to walking the streets, and strolling down King's Road, window shopping and sharing tales. Steve's mom mentioned that during the 60's, this was a popular "swinging London" area. It was very cool and positively filled with fab shoe shops. ("Now I have to find a job quickly; I want to buy those shoes! Think I should mention that in the next interview?")
We finished the evening back at Maz and John's, eating baked ziti, and watching the movie Ratatouille (aww, too cute). It was a nice, quiet Saturday night in, and was just what I'd needed.
Up next? Um...I guess what I did six days ago...(winks) In the meantime, I'll be cleaning and prepping for Casey's arrival on Tuesday. Hooray!
Last Monday was Steve’s birthday. As I’d mentioned in a previous post, I find it a rather odd custom here in London that folks tend to organise their own birthday gatherings, but meh...whatever. The morning of his birthday, Steve sent out a reminder e-mail to all, advising that he’d be at the Tup at 7 for those who wanted to wish him a happy birthday.
After meeting with yet another recruiter that morning, I hoofed it up to Camden Market to a really fun store, Oddballs, to try to find a gift for Steve. Oddballs sells all sorts of wacky-fun things like juggling balls, unicycles, and diabolos. If you’ve never seen someone working a diabolo, take a peek. It’s pretty cool. When we’d gone there a few weeks ago, there was a guyplaying with one in the store. It’s kind of like the yo-yo's awesome cousin. Anywho, Steve had noted that he could use some new juggling balls, which I picked up (along with a kazoo...that no one seemed to recall how to play). Good times.
We met at the Tup that evening, and Landlord Dan was up there in addition to the ol’ gang. Dan bought Steve a yard of ale (which, I was told equates to about three-plus pints) and we all followed Steve outside to cheer him on and watch him pound down this ridiculous amount of beer. Now, I’m not sure if it was the pressure of it all or the fact that people don’t exactly chug-a-lug in England, but I think Steve wound up wearing more ale than drinking it. His shirt was positively soaked, so as we went inside to have some birthday cake, he put on Greg’s sweater, which Greg had so generously offered.
Thursday night was Guy Fawkes Night, celebrated with fireworks and fun. It must be noted here that the people had been setting off fireworks all week long. Every time I heard one go off, I’d cringe a little, convinced it was gunshots...then I realised I'm in London, not Charlotte. (hehe) I think Star was with me on that one, as she kept tweaking with each loud bang. It was kinda cool, however, to see fireworks each night from my windows. You can sort of make out the fireworks in the distance in this pic, taken from my bedroom window. There were several shows to see, and Steve came over that night for a birthday dinner of steak au poivre, and we dined whilst watching the Dave channel and listening to the skyrockets outside – very cool.
On Friday night, I joined Steve’s family to celebrate his birthday. We started at The Alexandra pub in Wimbledon, then moved to dinner at Suk Saran, with its fabulous Thai food, then back to The Alexandra for a quick post-dinner drink together. (You may recall that The Alexandra was included in the Wimbledon ghost walk blog post a few weeks ago...Hooray forhaunted pubs!) After returning back to our Colliers Wood ‘hood, Steve and I popped into the Tup for one last celebratory birthday drink with the other locals. (winks)
Was Steve’s birthday over then? Oh, of course not! We still had another day to go (at minimum!).
The gang met on Saturday afternoon at The Alexandra in Clapham to watch England vs. Australia in rugby. Now this is one sport with our lil’ reserved English folks don’t hold back. Whether it was shouts from across the room (“C’mon, England!!”) , exchanged stats across tables (“Did you know Jonny Wilkinson Wilkinson overtook Neil Jenkins' world test record of 1090 points last March?”), or chants of “Swing low, sweet chariot...”, they were all out in force. Best game quote goes to Chris, re: Jonny Wilkinson, rugby superstar, who was all over the field (I believe Steve even used “omnipotent”), as he said, “Those other 14 players are just superfluous!” Love it...hehe...
Following the 9-18 England loss (sigh), we wound up with great real estate in a downstairs area of the pub, watching the Wales vs. The All Blacks (South Africa). Hungry, yet not wanting to give up our area, we grabbed bites in shifts from the hole in the wall next door. As the place began to crowdin anticipation of the much-publicised David and Goliath fight, we decided to leave and return back to the Wood 'hood, where we watched the fight at South African Anton’s before calling it a night.
Good times: I returned home to find that Star had as much of a party as Steve, tearing into the garbage and making a well-distributed mess through my flat - yet again. Sigh...My kingdom for a proper trash container. Perhaps that's what I'll add to my next birthday wish list..? (winks)
Our story begins just days before Halloween, my favorite of favorite holidays...
I was bummed to find out that I didn't get the job that I wanted (for which I'd interviewed early in the week), but figure that all things happen for a reason. That may just not be the right fit for me. Another one will come along, though let's surely hope soon!
To cheer me up, Steve Mafia invited me up to The Tup to join him, South African Anton and Canadian Rob for a drink and the Arsenal/Liverpool game. Anton was already in the spooky Halloween spirit and had morphed into a ghoul during the game. Yay! The holiday was truly upon us... What better way to celebrate in an old, haunted city like London than to go on a haunted ghost walk? A special walk was scheduled through Wimbledon on Friday, just up the street from my lil' Colliers Wood. Steve said he'd be up for it, so we made plans to meet up at The Prince of Wales pub, which is just across from the tube station and bus stops, as Steve was coming straight from work. They were rather decked out in Halloween decor, and I could feel myself smiling and getting more excited at the prospect of hearing ghostly tales in a few moments' time...
The tour itself was just o.k. It was guided by an American woman wearing a pointy witch hat. Sigh. Somehow, a ghost tour in London just isn't the same when an American is telling the tales. Heck, I felt as though I were home -- and that's not really the point of it, is it?
She led us through various streets of Wimbledon, pausing here and there to point out locations (pubs, homes, construction sites) and to provide us with the spooky stories of the ghostly spirits that haunt them.
One, for example, was The Alexandra, a large pub with a wine bar ("Smart Alex") attached in the back. Apparently, the building is haunted by a screaming child that yells out for her mummy. Indeed. That would be an awful haunting to a girl like me...Yikes.
The highlight of the tour was our stop at St. Mary's Church. As we muddled across half-buried tombstones in the churchyard to get a better look at the estate home nearby, we could smell the wonderfully autumn scent of burning leaves and a creepy male figure leaning against a rake in the firelight. "Wow," I thought, "they really went all out on props for this tour." Um...No. It was actually a caretaker...just standing quite still. He was something out of a Dickensian novel and added to the eerie feel of the evening perfectly. (Not sure you can make him out in the pic, but...meh, it was worth a shot.)
After an hour and a half of trolling around with this large group of 50 or 60 ghost hunters, Steve and I were both hit with a horrible case of ADD and quietly escaped the rest of the tour in lieu of a quiet bite of Italian dinner in Wimbledon Village. Shh...They'll never know we left, we thought, as we scrambled down the footpath in the opposite direction of the tour. (winks)
Saturday was my day of days, Halloween. Hooray! Ghouls! Ghosts! Goblins and witches! Ah, how I love it. Steve took me to his sister's and brother-in-law's house (Maz and John) where a group of us could celebrate John's birthday and watch the Arsenal/Tottenham game. Oh, how interesting this game could've been, as I was pulling for Arsenal (if only because I went to a game once, courtesy of Julian) and Steve was pulling for his Spurs. I'm pleased to report that an argument did not ensue...though Arsenal pulled it off, 3-nil.
John and Maz had carved a pumpkin days before and all in the room seemed to question when I'd noted, "No, no -- it's a pumpkin before it's carved, but a jack-o'-lanternafter." Let's not go up against an American when it comes to Halloween, particularly this one!
Maz was the hostess-with-the-mostest, making a tasty lunch of roast pig and crackling and John entertained us by passing around the game controls to the group in order to play match-ups of Street Fighter. Hehe...Good times. Now, if you've never had, nor heard of, crackling -- I never had heard of it until last week -- it is the tastiest thing on earth. It's basically the crunchy, chewy skin...or fat...or something. Regardless, it's awesome. Maz served the roast pork with her own homemade applesauce. Oh, the recipes I have yet to learn!
We returned home so that I could take Star out and get ready for the evening. Later on, Steve and I met at the tube station and we continued John's birthday festivities with the group at the Leather Bottle in Earlsfield. What a lovely time! Added to the fact that I was able to break out some of my ol' goth gear of yore (jewelry, black velvet shawl, etc.), it seemed everyone was in the spirit. The pub had lots of Halloween decorations and even the pub staff were in costume, some even wearing those spooky contact lenses that made them look like wolves or vampires...or the undead. All of us 'round the table laughed and smiled all evening long. (As a side note, one of John's longtime friends was there with his girlfriend -- another girl named Andrea. She and I were the only ones that were dressed Halloween-y. Must be something about the name..?)
At one point, I was outside, and when I turned 'round, I saw a guy in a kilt. Hmm. Now there's a pickle. Is he really just Scottish or is he just dressed up for the holiday? Figuring the former, as most folks aren't really into the costume thing here, I wanted to snap a stealthy pic. Steve joined me outside a few moments later and I instructed him to stand in line of the kilt-wearer so I could take a pic. "It's too classic not to," I reasoned. Yeah... Then Steve simply took the bull by the horns and just asked the guy if we could take his pic. Um. O.k. That works, too, I guess. We even were able to get a pic of us snapped in return whilst outside, enjoying the relatively warm October-nearly-November air.
Back inside the pub, everyone was all smiles, munching on crisps and enjoying their pints. John seemed to full-well enjoy his birthday gathering, and Maz was the hostess-with-the-mostest, having made us lunch that afternoon and then arranging the pub outing for her hubby. Anywho, one can easily tell how happy they are as they donned Frankenstein masks in celebration of the holiday. Aww, aren't they a cute couple of monsters? After leaving the Leather Bottle, Steve, Tree, and I hopped down to pick up some Chinese take away, which we brought back to Tree's house before calling it a night. Interesting: They don't have egg rolls here, just spring rolls. I think I've yet to see egg rolls on any Chinese menu. The spring rolls are good, but have an earthy taste (no, not quite like dirt). I can't place the spice used, but it's oh-so-familiar...
...Which brings me to tonight's dinner. One of the most fantabulous traditions that this country has is that of its Sunday roasts. Whether eaten in a pub with friends or cooked at home and enjoyed, roasts are the quintessential Sunday meal. Now, it must be said that I fully adore Sunday dinners. I suspect it's a throwback to my own upbringing, as Sunday dinner was always special and time for the family to gather 'round the table.
In keeping with my familial traditions and also adopting those of my borrowed country's, I made a roast this evening. I'd picked up the smallest chunk of beef sirloin I could find, as I worried that Star and I would be eating it until Christmas otherwise. The recipe from my Nintendo DS's "Cooking Guide" game was easy enough: just salt the lil' guy and stick 'im in the oven. Admittedly, I cheated on the Yorkshire puddings and used frozen ones, as I don't have my cupcake tins here, and am not really up for buying moulds. (Note: I do know how to make them! Really!)
I figured I'd need a veggie to go along with my dinner, so I hopped to the convenience store next door to pick up something. There, outside, were the longest, craziest string beans I'd ever seen. Seriously. These puppies were like, a foot and a half long. Meh, as , Ithis experience is all about trying something new picked them up, half afraid they'd be some Asian pepper or otherwise. They were tasty...not quite as crunchy as the string beans with which I'm familiar, but good nonetheless. I love trying new stuff...and I love seeing new stuff. This move has already proven that there's so much more for me to learn. It's actually a really cool feeling. Yay!
Up next..? Steve's birthday gathering. Another tradition here that confuses me a bit is that of arranging your own birthday party. That is, if it's your birthday, you're expected to choose the location, date, time, and handle the invites to those who you wish to attend. I guess we're similar in going out like that, but it does seem a bit more formal and organized here. Now the question remains of a gift...sigh...and I am the worst gifter ev-ah...unlike my brother, who can always pick the perfect gift. Wish I could get a quick trans-Atlantic lesson from him right now...(winks)
to yell out for "The Amazing Nandoooo!" I've no idea why...). But yet even with all of these, our countries do differ in oh-so-many ways.
cracks me up. Gotta love the manners here, and the absolute disgust for criminal acts. And I'm not even going to go into the space taken up for random celebrity news and gossip within the first few pages of the paper. (Wait -- Posh Beckham bought her boys yoghurt in Hollywood whilst sporting a new curly 'do?!? Oh, my goodness! Turn to page 8 -- stat! Gotta get the story!)
paused to enjoy the River Wandle. As I watched the babbling stream below the bridge, I noticed a sign with a map of the area: Pickle Ditch. Now one must pause for a moment to reflect on this interesting name: Were there really once oodles of pickles thrown into the ravine below the bridge? Did ancient explorers find empty jars of pickles in the river, tossed in by careless passers-by post-purchase from the Berry Shoppe? Or was it just an evolution of a proper name from years gone by? Meh, whatever it is, I like it...And it reminds me of the just-'round-the-corner tradition of hiding the German pickle (or Weihnachtsgurke) in the Christmas tree for an extra treat to the one who finds it...which turns out to be an urban legend, it seems.
seen yet thus far: Last Sunday morning, I'd run down to get a newspaper from the corner store and saw this interesting ladybug walking toward the tube. Not quite sure why anyone would be dressed like this on a Sunday morning at 10 a.m., particularly as Halloween was three weeks ago, but um...ok. To each her bug-y own, I s'pose...I only wish I'd been better able to capture the expression on the guy at the right. Classic. (giggle)
