Well, it’s the end of another year. This one has been full of interesting, exciting, frightening and fascinating adventures for me.
In 2007 I left my family and friends and a secure job in a lovely town, packed up all my belongings and took off for the unknown. This scared me witless, but I just knew I had to do this or face a lifetime of wondering what if…? I had to challenge myself to grow or I would have stagnated. And I think I rose to that challenge.
I have found a new job and a place to live in a foreign country. I have found new friends and a different kind of family. I have visited Hong Kong, Stockholm, Krakow, Edinburgh, Amsterdam, Paris, Brussels and Berlin and explored to my hearts content. And I have found confidence that I never knew I had, rediscovered my courage and my sense of adventure and seen enough beautiful sights to fill my heart and dreams with wonder for years to come.
All up, this year has been one of the best I’ve ever known. As fate would have it, I’m going to be alone for New Year’s Eve itself, but I don’t actually mind that. It’ll be the first one I’ve ever had alone, and I’m going to use it to really think about what I want to do next year. I’m looking forward to further challenges you can be sure.
I’ll reminisce on Snowboarding in Austria later, but I had an amazing time there too.
I hope everyone has a safe and happy New Year’s Celebrations and I’ll see you in 2008!
Monday 31 December 2007
Friday 21 December 2007
Austria here we come...
I am packing madly for Austria right now. Frantically. I'm panicking as usual. I don't know if I've got enought or too many clothes, some of the presents I wanted to give will not be turning up until after I leave and I just remembered I forgot a rather important thing... bit late now.
*Deep Breath*
Never mind. Upshot is I will be absent as of tomorrow for a well-deserved (I think) break from the lights of London. Which means that I shall likewise be absent from this blog until after the new year hails in.
So, I would like to take this chance to wish you all the best for the festive season.
Merry Christmas and a Very Happy New Year to Everyone!
Drive safely, eat copiously, drink to satiation and enjoy. I hope to see and /or hear from you all soon.
Best Wishes,
Love Kat.
*Deep Breath*
Never mind. Upshot is I will be absent as of tomorrow for a well-deserved (I think) break from the lights of London. Which means that I shall likewise be absent from this blog until after the new year hails in.
So, I would like to take this chance to wish you all the best for the festive season.
Merry Christmas and a Very Happy New Year to Everyone!
Drive safely, eat copiously, drink to satiation and enjoy. I hope to see and /or hear from you all soon.
Best Wishes,
Love Kat.
Thursday 20 December 2007
An Invitation to the Ball
As a 'long term' contractor, I got an invitation to the official work 'do' which was held last night. It was at the Science Museum, and had the theme of 'Black and White'... which basically meant that all the decorations were either black or white and it was black tie so the guys had to dress in tuxes! My department head was even nice enough to spring for a limo for us all, so we got to go in style.
Whilst it was lovely, and seeing all of my work compatriots dressed in their best was really cool, and I always love getting up in costume and pretending to be something I'm not, it was a distinct disappointment.
The food was lovely, the decorations were nice, the alcohol was plentiful, and the company good... but we were housed in an empty exhibition space, so could have been anywhere in the world and you wouldn't know the difference. I was expecting to be in amidst the exhibits I suppose, so that was disappointing. And the raffle didn't hold a candle to the one's I've had with the guys in Canberra... it was pitiful really.
I guess I just didn't drink enough to enjoy it as some of the others did. I'm not really ready to make a fool of myself with these people yet - although they are all lovely - which meant that I was watching other people make fools of themselves and felt it was all a little silly.
A good time was had by all though, so no real complaints, just ... something was missing.
Whilst it was lovely, and seeing all of my work compatriots dressed in their best was really cool, and I always love getting up in costume and pretending to be something I'm not, it was a distinct disappointment.
The food was lovely, the decorations were nice, the alcohol was plentiful, and the company good... but we were housed in an empty exhibition space, so could have been anywhere in the world and you wouldn't know the difference. I was expecting to be in amidst the exhibits I suppose, so that was disappointing. And the raffle didn't hold a candle to the one's I've had with the guys in Canberra... it was pitiful really.
I guess I just didn't drink enough to enjoy it as some of the others did. I'm not really ready to make a fool of myself with these people yet - although they are all lovely - which meant that I was watching other people make fools of themselves and felt it was all a little silly.
A good time was had by all though, so no real complaints, just ... something was missing.
Wednesday 19 December 2007
Gilgamesh
I was taken out to dinner last night, along with a gaggle of other people from work, by our agent. It was a lovely evening, if a very expensive one, and I got to see a side of my own backyard I didn't even know existed.
We went to Gilgamesh, which is a very exclusive restaurant in the Camden Stables Market, and it is incredible. It's not just a restaurant but it's also a lounge bar, cocktail bar and Oriental teahouse (where you can experience the full Japanese Tea Ceremoney if you have enough money!). All the walls are panneled with carved wood, the tables are all inlaid with brass designs and there are stone statues everywhere. It apparently has a floor space of 15,000sq ft and seats up to 500 diners and drinkers. I can believe it. It is HUGE!
It was an experience not likely to be forgotten quickly.
We went to Gilgamesh, which is a very exclusive restaurant in the Camden Stables Market, and it is incredible. It's not just a restaurant but it's also a lounge bar, cocktail bar and Oriental teahouse (where you can experience the full Japanese Tea Ceremoney if you have enough money!). All the walls are panneled with carved wood, the tables are all inlaid with brass designs and there are stone statues everywhere. It apparently has a floor space of 15,000sq ft and seats up to 500 diners and drinkers. I can believe it. It is HUGE!
It was an experience not likely to be forgotten quickly.
Monday 17 December 2007
Word of the Day: Sinistral
Recently, the highlight of my lunchtime (being the reading of the blogs of my favourite authors), led me to a most distracting website. It is called FreeRice and it’s a site where you can test your vocabulary (and indeed, expand your vocabulary) whilst donating rice to poor countries, as every correct answer earns a donation of 20 grains of rice to the UN. Now I’m not really sure about the rice side of things… who on earth would count out 20 grains of rice? But the game side is very addictive if you like words. I have so far only managed to get up to level 46, which isn’t that high actually. It’s frustrating and fun, but I came across one today that really intrigued me, so I looked it up.
Sinistral: It means of, pertaining to, or on the left side. It is the opposite of Dextral (which I never actually knew means on the right side), and it is used to mean a person who is left-handed.
As you can see from it’s root though, the word has it's origin in the word Sinister, which is what got me thinking – how do you get ‘on the left side’ from ‘evil’?
So, Word of the Day two is...
Sinister: The first known use of the word is in 1411, meaning "prompted by malice or ill-will," from the Old French. sinistre "contrary, unfavourable, to the left,". In Latin it is sinister "left, on the left side" (opposite of dexter). The Latin word was used in augury in the sense of "unlucky, or unfavourable" (omens, especially bird flights, seen on the left hand were regarded as portending misfortune), and thus sinister acquired a sense of "harmful, unfavourable or adverse." This actually due to Greek influence, reflecting the early Greek practice of facing north when observing omens; in genuine Roman auspices, the left was favourable. Bend (not "bar") sinister in heraldry indicates illegitimacy and preserves the literal sense of "on the left side." This is seen as a bar across the heraldic shield starting from the left.
So there you go. If you were left handed six centauries ago the Greeks would have called you ill omened and if you were born on the wrong side of the sheets, you'd be illigitimate, but either way, you're sinister. Doesn’t that just make your day?
No time to think!
I have only five days before I leave for Austria and I have too many things to do! I have two dinners to attend - one of them a ball - and packing and washing still to do, and I haven't found Christmas presents for everyone who I'm going to be spending Christmas with yet, and I still need to buy ski-socks and thermals and ...
ARGHHH!
I want 48 extra hours please! NOW!
ARGHHH!
I want 48 extra hours please! NOW!
Thursday 13 December 2007
Baby, It's Cold Outside!
Winter has finally really hit. It’s been minus three overnight for the past couple of days and this morning I woke up to white rooftops and ice on the windows. And on the ground – walking to the bus stop this morning was positively hazardous! There was a coating of ice on all the paths and it was damn slippery. I almost wished I had crampons on my sneakers, just so I wouldn’t end up on my back side.
I am actually enduring the conditions here quite well. London has the weather of Melbourne combined with the temperatures of Canberra, both cities which I have successfully survived. Admittedly this means that London is both very wet and very cold, but at least it is nowhere near the snow-fields so the wind chill factor of minus 30 that you get in Canberra is thankfully absent.
It is still bloody cold!
I am actually enduring the conditions here quite well. London has the weather of Melbourne combined with the temperatures of Canberra, both cities which I have successfully survived. Admittedly this means that London is both very wet and very cold, but at least it is nowhere near the snow-fields so the wind chill factor of minus 30 that you get in Canberra is thankfully absent.
It is still bloody cold!
Xmas Belly Do
We had our divisional Christmas dinner last night. It was held at a Moroccan restaurant called Ayoush of all places; downstairs, candle-lit and cavernous. Rather more like being in some part of Morocco than England.
It was a strange choice for a Christmas venue, being a place where we couldn’t actually converse with everyone easily. The music was too loud and we were put into hidey-hole booths of 12 people or so. We sat on bench seats where cushions were everywhere but did nothing to soften, and had our meals on tables that the word precarious does not begin to describe. The food was good however, and it was a bit of fun, especially watching the English members of our group enjoying their beverages. There were also belly dancers who pulled the diners out onto the floor to dance with them, and watching several of the more sedate guys having bra’s and skirts put on them was hilarious.
I probably wouldn’t go back there, but James Street, where it located, is a absolute hive of restaurants I never even knew existed, so could be worth a second or even a third visit at some stage.
All in all, a little too much of a good time had by some, but a reasonably good time had by everyone else.
It was a strange choice for a Christmas venue, being a place where we couldn’t actually converse with everyone easily. The music was too loud and we were put into hidey-hole booths of 12 people or so. We sat on bench seats where cushions were everywhere but did nothing to soften, and had our meals on tables that the word precarious does not begin to describe. The food was good however, and it was a bit of fun, especially watching the English members of our group enjoying their beverages. There were also belly dancers who pulled the diners out onto the floor to dance with them, and watching several of the more sedate guys having bra’s and skirts put on them was hilarious.
I probably wouldn’t go back there, but James Street, where it located, is a absolute hive of restaurants I never even knew existed, so could be worth a second or even a third visit at some stage.
All in all, a little too much of a good time had by some, but a reasonably good time had by everyone else.
Wednesday 12 December 2007
Word for the Day: Nong
In Australian slang, the word Nong is used as a pretty mild and/or endearing insult. A bit of a twit, or idiot. Possibly derived by the shortening of an earlier Australian and British slang word, Ning-Nong.
On the Ning Nang Nong
On the Ning Nang Nong
Where the Cows go Bong!
and the monkeys all say BOO!
There's a Nong Nang Ning
Where the trees go Ping!
And the tea pots jibber jabber joo.
On the Nong Ning Nang
All the mice go Clang
And you just can't catch 'em when they do!
So its Ning Nang Nong
Cows go Bong!
Nong Nang Ning
Trees go ping
Nong Ning Nang
The mice go Clang
What a noisy place to belong
is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!
Spike Milligan
On the Ning Nang Nong
On the Ning Nang Nong
Where the Cows go Bong!
and the monkeys all say BOO!
There's a Nong Nang Ning
Where the trees go Ping!
And the tea pots jibber jabber joo.
On the Nong Ning Nang
All the mice go Clang
And you just can't catch 'em when they do!
So its Ning Nang Nong
Cows go Bong!
Nong Nang Ning
Trees go ping
Nong Ning Nang
The mice go Clang
What a noisy place to belong
is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!
Spike Milligan
Tuesday 11 December 2007
Welcome to Swamp City: Berlin
Strange but true facts: Berlin is actually built on a swamp and so occasionally smells like a sewer. All land is reclaimed land, and they have to be careful about constructing and removing buildings as adding or removing such a lot of weight has an effect on the landscape. The origin of the name Berlin actually means swamp town. Honestly people, why?
Day one was a Saturday this time. Got up bloody early, met Brads at Heathrow and flew to Berlin. Not sure if I'll do that again - catching a flight on Saturday I mean. We didn't get to our hotel until after lunch and it really shortened the day. I am convinced our Taxi driver took advantage of us being tourists and drove us via the scenic route, but that was also ok as we saw more of the city. We got there in the end and that's all that really matters.
It was very cold. Below zero temperatures overnight and quite windy at times during the day. There was a tour company running a free tour in the afternoon that we would have liked to have done, but we were too late and missed it. This was probably a good thing, as we walked to the Brandenburg Gate and only got as far as the Reichstag before I somehow got my second migraine in two weeks, so the afternoon got curtailed (sorry Andrew!). I refused to be completely governed by my head though, so we wandered through the Christmas markets slowly instead, me doing some Christmas shopping while A tasted many different brews trying to find the exact one he had enjoyed previously. He failed entirely but had fun doing it. We crashed quite early as we'd both had long weeks. Grumble...grr... bloody stupid head!
We did however manage to visit a real German restaurant for dinner. It was called Zur Letzen Instanz and has been feeding people since 1621, including Napoleon and Beethoven. The meal was quite incredible actually. We both had lamb shanks with potato dumplings and red cabbage stewed in mulled wine. It was delicious, very spicy, very large, very filling and almost impossible to carve – I mean, the chunk of meat they gave each of us was bigger than two large mugs put together and we didn’t get steak knives, so eating it was an exercise in juice avoidance. But it was heavenly. Highly recommend going there for real German food if you’re ever in Berlin (although booking in advance is a good idea).
Day two, being Sunday, we got ourselves into gear and had a strange but interesting breakfast at the hotel (Stollen..yum!) and managed to make the tour this time. New Berlin Tours run two tours daily at 11 and 1 and even thought it was freezing and we got wet and a little miserable, I'm really glad we did it.
It was fascinating. I can't honestly say I like Berlin, it's too square, too military and too hard for my liking, but it is a really interesting city. The tour started at Pariser Platz, which is where the Brandenberg Gate (Tor in German) is located, and then looked at The Reichstag, whilst our guide gave us volumes of information about everything.
Then we walked to the new Holocaust memorial. That was quite disturbing. It was built on a park in the middle of town (a place with no relation to the holocaust at all) so that it would remain an all-pervasive and unavoidable reminder of what had happened. The stone blocks reminded me of coffins but the artist left it very open to interpretation. He wanted people to think about it, and it does make you think. We walked through it, as is intended, and it is very strange. You can be with many people in there and not see them at all. And the blocks tower above you in the middle.
Next we went past the place where Hitler's Bunker was. There is only a small sign showing what was there, as the government doesn't want it to become a focus of attention. Then we visited the Luftwaffe HQ and the 17 June Memorial where 200 people shot for protesting against the East German government. There is an interesting juxtaposition on the wall of the HQ behind the memorial and the memorial itself which is on the ground. We couldn't really see it, as there is construction work happing, so I didn't get a photo, but there is a mural on the wall of people singing and dancing, being happy little Germans, which was put up a year before the protest and the deaths. So they put a memorial to the protest in front of the mural. Very neat.
Then it was onto The Berlin Wall, the Former SS Headquarters and Checkpoint Charlie. It's almost impossible to conceive that a government would do such a thing to its citizens. No one wanted to remain in East Germany, so they built the wall and stopped them, separating families and stopping workers from going to their jobs.... Very eerie. If you were a soldier on the wall, you got paid more if you shot people. How...? I mean honestly... what? I just don't have the words to describe what I felt, what I am feeling now...
Anyway, after such a course in the most recent history of Berlin, we went back several hundred years. Gendarmenmarkt is a plaza that has two churches (a German and a French one - the German one being slightly larger than the French) and the Konzerthaus in it. Built by the Kaiser (king) of Prussia Frederick William I. After the plague went through Berlin twice, the population was decimated and reached a low of 20,000 people. The French King was ejecting all Protestants (the Huguenots) from his realm, so the Kaiser said they could come and live in his city and boost the economy. He built the French Cathedral so the new emigrants could worship, and then the native Germans complained, so they built a slightly larger German church (aka Dom). The plaza was sporting a posh Christmas market as well - pay 1 Euro to get in!
Then it was onto Bebelplatz and this place disturbed me the most. On May 10, 1933 a massive book burning took place there. 20,000 books were burnt. Only, it wasn't the Nazi's who did it - or rather, not only the Nazi's. It was the professors and students of Humboldt University, which overlooks the square, who voluntarily raided their own library, and extracted all the books that didn't 'conform' to Nazi thinking. They lit the bonfire. They burned the books.
There is a memorial to the book burning in the middle of the square. It's quite simple and hardly noticeable - you probably wouldn't see it if someone didn't point it out to you. There is a glass panel (which you can walk across) which looks down into a deep cavity filled with empty white book-shelves, symbolizing the destruction of knowledge. There's enough space on the shelves to house all 20,000 books that were burnt. There is also a plaque on all four edges of the memorial with a quote from one of the writers whose books were burnt. Written in 1820 by Heinrich Heine, it is an eerily prescient quotation. It reads: 'Das war ein Vorspiel nur, dort wo Man Bücher verbrennt, verbrennt Man am Ende auch Menschen' ('That was merely a prelude. Wherever they burn books, eventually they will burn people too'). The memorial was just so eloquent and such a stark commentary on the war it almost made me cry.
Now a-days, there is a second hand book market in front of Humboldt University every day of the week that the weather isn't too horrible. A lovely reparation I think.
We moved on to Neue Wache - Which is a memorial to the Victims of War and Tyranny. It has a sculpture by a famous local artist, Käthe Kollwitz, who lost her son in the first world war, and then her husband and grandson during WWII. It's a very simple, but also very eloquent statue, of a mother holding her dying child. Buried underneath are the remains of an unknown German soldier and a victim of a concentration camp along with soil from the different battlefields and camps of WWII. The ceiling is open, so that whatever rain or snow affects the city reaches the statue. It suffers along-side the people.
We finished off the tour at Museum Island. Museum Island is literally that; an island where they've put all their museums. Then we went Christmas Market hopping again, and this time, I got to taste some of the brews... very interesting I must admit. I had Apple Punch and Strudel in the Posh Christmas Market, and then JagerTea and some eggy concoction elsewhere... it was all a little strange to my pallet. We also visited the most Amazing Chocolate shop I’ve ever seen. Check it out!
Day three was Monday morning and the last place we visited was the Pergamon. It's one of the most infamous museums in Berlin. They have the entire front half of The Pergamon Alter, one of Turkey's most famous temples, reconstructed inside the museum, and the giant Market Gate of Miletus, a 2nd Centuary AD gate also taken from Turnkey. The Turks want them back, obviously, but they remain in Berlin. It was very interesting, but I think A was a little bored... I tend to go a little ga-ga over ancient things.
Then it was time to go home.
Visiting Berlin really made me think. Unlike every other city I've been to, Berlin is heavy with history. It is so close to the surface, and so all-pervasive that it was almost unsettling to be there. I found it fascinating, but I'm not sure I enjoyed it all that much.
I had just become a teenager when the wall came down. I remember it falling. I remember the cold war and Mikhail Gorbachov and Perestroika and Glasnost. It didn't have much of an impact on me as I had no concept of the implications of such events, but I do remember it happening.
I can remember when East Germany was not a place you could visit, and then when there were two Lonely Planet Guides; one for each half. And then when reunification occurred. But once it was whole again the fact that Germany had ever been two countries sort of slipped from my consciousness. I had no understanding of the ramifications, so it didn't have an impact on me, and I sort of forgot.
Now, it means something to me. And I find that very disturbing. It's good to remember, and to know, and to feel. But it's not comfortable.
Day one was a Saturday this time. Got up bloody early, met Brads at Heathrow and flew to Berlin. Not sure if I'll do that again - catching a flight on Saturday I mean. We didn't get to our hotel until after lunch and it really shortened the day. I am convinced our Taxi driver took advantage of us being tourists and drove us via the scenic route, but that was also ok as we saw more of the city. We got there in the end and that's all that really matters.
It was very cold. Below zero temperatures overnight and quite windy at times during the day. There was a tour company running a free tour in the afternoon that we would have liked to have done, but we were too late and missed it. This was probably a good thing, as we walked to the Brandenburg Gate and only got as far as the Reichstag before I somehow got my second migraine in two weeks, so the afternoon got curtailed (sorry Andrew!). I refused to be completely governed by my head though, so we wandered through the Christmas markets slowly instead, me doing some Christmas shopping while A tasted many different brews trying to find the exact one he had enjoyed previously. He failed entirely but had fun doing it. We crashed quite early as we'd both had long weeks. Grumble...grr... bloody stupid head!
We did however manage to visit a real German restaurant for dinner. It was called Zur Letzen Instanz and has been feeding people since 1621, including Napoleon and Beethoven. The meal was quite incredible actually. We both had lamb shanks with potato dumplings and red cabbage stewed in mulled wine. It was delicious, very spicy, very large, very filling and almost impossible to carve – I mean, the chunk of meat they gave each of us was bigger than two large mugs put together and we didn’t get steak knives, so eating it was an exercise in juice avoidance. But it was heavenly. Highly recommend going there for real German food if you’re ever in Berlin (although booking in advance is a good idea).
Day two, being Sunday, we got ourselves into gear and had a strange but interesting breakfast at the hotel (Stollen..yum!) and managed to make the tour this time. New Berlin Tours run two tours daily at 11 and 1 and even thought it was freezing and we got wet and a little miserable, I'm really glad we did it.
It was fascinating. I can't honestly say I like Berlin, it's too square, too military and too hard for my liking, but it is a really interesting city. The tour started at Pariser Platz, which is where the Brandenberg Gate (Tor in German) is located, and then looked at The Reichstag, whilst our guide gave us volumes of information about everything.
Then we walked to the new Holocaust memorial. That was quite disturbing. It was built on a park in the middle of town (a place with no relation to the holocaust at all) so that it would remain an all-pervasive and unavoidable reminder of what had happened. The stone blocks reminded me of coffins but the artist left it very open to interpretation. He wanted people to think about it, and it does make you think. We walked through it, as is intended, and it is very strange. You can be with many people in there and not see them at all. And the blocks tower above you in the middle.
Next we went past the place where Hitler's Bunker was. There is only a small sign showing what was there, as the government doesn't want it to become a focus of attention. Then we visited the Luftwaffe HQ and the 17 June Memorial where 200 people shot for protesting against the East German government. There is an interesting juxtaposition on the wall of the HQ behind the memorial and the memorial itself which is on the ground. We couldn't really see it, as there is construction work happing, so I didn't get a photo, but there is a mural on the wall of people singing and dancing, being happy little Germans, which was put up a year before the protest and the deaths. So they put a memorial to the protest in front of the mural. Very neat.
Then it was onto The Berlin Wall, the Former SS Headquarters and Checkpoint Charlie. It's almost impossible to conceive that a government would do such a thing to its citizens. No one wanted to remain in East Germany, so they built the wall and stopped them, separating families and stopping workers from going to their jobs.... Very eerie. If you were a soldier on the wall, you got paid more if you shot people. How...? I mean honestly... what? I just don't have the words to describe what I felt, what I am feeling now...
Anyway, after such a course in the most recent history of Berlin, we went back several hundred years. Gendarmenmarkt is a plaza that has two churches (a German and a French one - the German one being slightly larger than the French) and the Konzerthaus in it. Built by the Kaiser (king) of Prussia Frederick William I. After the plague went through Berlin twice, the population was decimated and reached a low of 20,000 people. The French King was ejecting all Protestants (the Huguenots) from his realm, so the Kaiser said they could come and live in his city and boost the economy. He built the French Cathedral so the new emigrants could worship, and then the native Germans complained, so they built a slightly larger German church (aka Dom). The plaza was sporting a posh Christmas market as well - pay 1 Euro to get in!
Then it was onto Bebelplatz and this place disturbed me the most. On May 10, 1933 a massive book burning took place there. 20,000 books were burnt. Only, it wasn't the Nazi's who did it - or rather, not only the Nazi's. It was the professors and students of Humboldt University, which overlooks the square, who voluntarily raided their own library, and extracted all the books that didn't 'conform' to Nazi thinking. They lit the bonfire. They burned the books.
There is a memorial to the book burning in the middle of the square. It's quite simple and hardly noticeable - you probably wouldn't see it if someone didn't point it out to you. There is a glass panel (which you can walk across) which looks down into a deep cavity filled with empty white book-shelves, symbolizing the destruction of knowledge. There's enough space on the shelves to house all 20,000 books that were burnt. There is also a plaque on all four edges of the memorial with a quote from one of the writers whose books were burnt. Written in 1820 by Heinrich Heine, it is an eerily prescient quotation. It reads: 'Das war ein Vorspiel nur, dort wo Man Bücher verbrennt, verbrennt Man am Ende auch Menschen' ('That was merely a prelude. Wherever they burn books, eventually they will burn people too'). The memorial was just so eloquent and such a stark commentary on the war it almost made me cry.
Now a-days, there is a second hand book market in front of Humboldt University every day of the week that the weather isn't too horrible. A lovely reparation I think.
We moved on to Neue Wache - Which is a memorial to the Victims of War and Tyranny. It has a sculpture by a famous local artist, Käthe Kollwitz, who lost her son in the first world war, and then her husband and grandson during WWII. It's a very simple, but also very eloquent statue, of a mother holding her dying child. Buried underneath are the remains of an unknown German soldier and a victim of a concentration camp along with soil from the different battlefields and camps of WWII. The ceiling is open, so that whatever rain or snow affects the city reaches the statue. It suffers along-side the people.
We finished off the tour at Museum Island. Museum Island is literally that; an island where they've put all their museums. Then we went Christmas Market hopping again, and this time, I got to taste some of the brews... very interesting I must admit. I had Apple Punch and Strudel in the Posh Christmas Market, and then JagerTea and some eggy concoction elsewhere... it was all a little strange to my pallet. We also visited the most Amazing Chocolate shop I’ve ever seen. Check it out!
Day three was Monday morning and the last place we visited was the Pergamon. It's one of the most infamous museums in Berlin. They have the entire front half of The Pergamon Alter, one of Turkey's most famous temples, reconstructed inside the museum, and the giant Market Gate of Miletus, a 2nd Centuary AD gate also taken from Turnkey. The Turks want them back, obviously, but they remain in Berlin. It was very interesting, but I think A was a little bored... I tend to go a little ga-ga over ancient things.
Then it was time to go home.
Visiting Berlin really made me think. Unlike every other city I've been to, Berlin is heavy with history. It is so close to the surface, and so all-pervasive that it was almost unsettling to be there. I found it fascinating, but I'm not sure I enjoyed it all that much.
I had just become a teenager when the wall came down. I remember it falling. I remember the cold war and Mikhail Gorbachov and Perestroika and Glasnost. It didn't have much of an impact on me as I had no concept of the implications of such events, but I do remember it happening.
I can remember when East Germany was not a place you could visit, and then when there were two Lonely Planet Guides; one for each half. And then when reunification occurred. But once it was whole again the fact that Germany had ever been two countries sort of slipped from my consciousness. I had no understanding of the ramifications, so it didn't have an impact on me, and I sort of forgot.
Now, it means something to me. And I find that very disturbing. It's good to remember, and to know, and to feel. But it's not comfortable.
Thursday 6 December 2007
Word of the Day: Conniption
Often, conniptions. A fit of hysterical excitement or violent emotion such as anger or panic. Also called a conniption fit.
Ie, the thing you experience when you discover you have to find a Chrismas present for a person who you didn't know was invited to a party you are attending that very evening.
Ie, the thing you experience when you discover you have to find a Chrismas present for a person who you didn't know was invited to a party you are attending that very evening.
Wednesday 5 December 2007
A Motherly Rant
I am really flattered that so many of you want to read my efforts at writing. I thank you dearly for your belief and support and I would be truly honoured to have some of you read a version of it if, somewhere down the track, I come out with something that can be considered a complete draft.
But not yet.
I initially agreed to allow some people to read it, as is, but I have since changed my mind. Sorry. I’m just not ready to allow the flowerings of my brain to be subjected to the eyes of others yet!
I think the best analogy would be if you consider my book to be like a newborn baby. It is very precious to me and very fragile at the moment, and susceptible to all sorts of diseases, like disbelief and embarrassment. Should it be subjected to even mild criticism or disparagement, no matter how well intentioned, I would be so depressed and so utterly mortified that a product of my mind is less than perfect, that I would cease to continue caring for it, and it would very probably die. Mortification does have its roots in death after all.
But fear not. I will allow it to be subjected to proper correction and the guidance of others in time. One day it will be old enough to attend playgroup, then kindergarten and eventually it will go into the school system thence to be grilled by all manner of different people.
I won’t hold on to it nor protect it for ever, but while is it is still a very young book, I am going to be the best mother I can be; I am going to nurture it, encourage and feed it, protect it from the dangerous world and guard it with my life.
And at the moment, that means guarding it from the pitfalls of my own imagination and my minds capability for extra-sensory perception of the opinions of others and especially in the twisting thereof. By this, I mean that no matter how you tell me you like, or don’t like it, I am likely to read ‘FAILURE’ into every word. That’s just artistic temperament I think.
When it is a little older, can walk on it’s own, can face a reprimand without falling to pieces, and I am not so immensely attached to it, then I shall gladly seek out your assistance in guiding it further along the path to becoming a real individual, able to stand on its own and independent of my mothering tendencies.
So there you go.
I thank you for your interest, and am honoured by your requests, but if you would kindly hold off until the little darling is a little older, I would be very grateful.
A little after word: There is a great article on the WritersWrite site titled How to Parent Your Book: Six Rules for Writers by Tarn Wilson. I think it’s one of the most apt articles I’ve read and full of good advice on this subject. Advice I guess I now have to put into practice. Should be fun.
But not yet.
I initially agreed to allow some people to read it, as is, but I have since changed my mind. Sorry. I’m just not ready to allow the flowerings of my brain to be subjected to the eyes of others yet!
I think the best analogy would be if you consider my book to be like a newborn baby. It is very precious to me and very fragile at the moment, and susceptible to all sorts of diseases, like disbelief and embarrassment. Should it be subjected to even mild criticism or disparagement, no matter how well intentioned, I would be so depressed and so utterly mortified that a product of my mind is less than perfect, that I would cease to continue caring for it, and it would very probably die. Mortification does have its roots in death after all.
But fear not. I will allow it to be subjected to proper correction and the guidance of others in time. One day it will be old enough to attend playgroup, then kindergarten and eventually it will go into the school system thence to be grilled by all manner of different people.
I won’t hold on to it nor protect it for ever, but while is it is still a very young book, I am going to be the best mother I can be; I am going to nurture it, encourage and feed it, protect it from the dangerous world and guard it with my life.
And at the moment, that means guarding it from the pitfalls of my own imagination and my minds capability for extra-sensory perception of the opinions of others and especially in the twisting thereof. By this, I mean that no matter how you tell me you like, or don’t like it, I am likely to read ‘FAILURE’ into every word. That’s just artistic temperament I think.
When it is a little older, can walk on it’s own, can face a reprimand without falling to pieces, and I am not so immensely attached to it, then I shall gladly seek out your assistance in guiding it further along the path to becoming a real individual, able to stand on its own and independent of my mothering tendencies.
So there you go.
I thank you for your interest, and am honoured by your requests, but if you would kindly hold off until the little darling is a little older, I would be very grateful.
A little after word: There is a great article on the WritersWrite site titled How to Parent Your Book: Six Rules for Writers by Tarn Wilson. I think it’s one of the most apt articles I’ve read and full of good advice on this subject. Advice I guess I now have to put into practice. Should be fun.
Monday 3 December 2007
Misery on top of agony with a dash of despair thrown in..
Today I am miserable. Yesterday I was more than miserable, I was at death’s door… well, I wanted to die anyway. And the weekend started off so well too.
I’m actually not sure I really want to whinge about the pain here, except that if I write it down, I am less likely to repeat the performance, so it could server as a good reminder of how not to do things in the future…
*Sigh* Please feel free to ignore this entry… it is for self castigation purposes only.
Anyway, the good bits included going to the TGIO (Thank God It’s Over) wrap up party for the NaNoWriMo’s of London on Saturday afternoon. This was held at a pub called The Round Table down in Covent Garden, where I had a great time chatting about the writing woes of NaNo with a group of people I have never met, never talked to or indeed even heard of before. It was really fun and another tick in the box of ‘Things to do that scare you’ – walking into a room full of strangers and introducing yourself as another NaNo nut.
The good bits continued at the Motion bar down at Embankment on Saturday night, where my flat mate was holding her birthday bash. She was the only person I knew there, so I had a lot of fun getting to know another host of new people, most of who were ridiculously good looking, being of Russian decent.
Unfortunately, I forgot to have dinner, and so was nibbling on the platters of food provided, and on said platters there must have been something I was allergic to. Usually I’m very careful of not eating anything suspicious, but between the wine and the new experiences, I’d sort of thrown caution to the winds. Bad idea.
At about 1am I got the first full-blown 36 hour migraine I’ve had in about 7 years. Normally, if I am silly and eat something I shouldn’t, I catch the migraine’s warning signs in time, take the required medication and then it only lasts about 6 hours. This one I missed, and it had me crying in agony well into the wee hours of this morning… being Monday morning, not Sunday morning. I spent all of Sunday throwing up from the pain.
Now… well now I have a hang over from the Migraine.
There is such a thing as taking too many risks Kat.
I’m actually not sure I really want to whinge about the pain here, except that if I write it down, I am less likely to repeat the performance, so it could server as a good reminder of how not to do things in the future…
*Sigh* Please feel free to ignore this entry… it is for self castigation purposes only.
Anyway, the good bits included going to the TGIO (Thank God It’s Over) wrap up party for the NaNoWriMo’s of London on Saturday afternoon. This was held at a pub called The Round Table down in Covent Garden, where I had a great time chatting about the writing woes of NaNo with a group of people I have never met, never talked to or indeed even heard of before. It was really fun and another tick in the box of ‘Things to do that scare you’ – walking into a room full of strangers and introducing yourself as another NaNo nut.
The good bits continued at the Motion bar down at Embankment on Saturday night, where my flat mate was holding her birthday bash. She was the only person I knew there, so I had a lot of fun getting to know another host of new people, most of who were ridiculously good looking, being of Russian decent.
Unfortunately, I forgot to have dinner, and so was nibbling on the platters of food provided, and on said platters there must have been something I was allergic to. Usually I’m very careful of not eating anything suspicious, but between the wine and the new experiences, I’d sort of thrown caution to the winds. Bad idea.
At about 1am I got the first full-blown 36 hour migraine I’ve had in about 7 years. Normally, if I am silly and eat something I shouldn’t, I catch the migraine’s warning signs in time, take the required medication and then it only lasts about 6 hours. This one I missed, and it had me crying in agony well into the wee hours of this morning… being Monday morning, not Sunday morning. I spent all of Sunday throwing up from the pain.
Now… well now I have a hang over from the Migraine.
There is such a thing as taking too many risks Kat.
Tuesday 27 November 2007
50k and a Winner!
First a quick aside: I start writing a blog generally on the day I think of the concept for one, but I don’t usually get a chance to polish it up to publishable standard it for days after – which is why you will see backdated blogs appearing beneath ones I’ve already published. I try to get the earlier one’s written and published before I publish the later ones, so you get them in chronological order, but I was just so chuffed and excited about reaching the 50k word mark that I published the one titled Wehehehe at the time I wrote it. Sorry if it got anyone confused.
But to continue on with the subject of this blog – it is official; I now have a couple of icons and a printable certificate to say that I have completed 50,000 words of a story.
It would be ridiculously easy to cheat the system if you really wanted to get a copy of the icon, but why would you? You’d only be cheating yourself. There are no prizes – I would have to print out and write my name on the certificate myself if I wanted it done.
So why do it?
I heard a great analogy for it the other day. The people taking part in NaNo are like the people who run marathons dressed in gorilla suits. Such a person is not in the race to win it. They’re there just to see if they can finish. They do it to discover whether or not they have the stamina, the mental strength and sheer will-power it takes to make it, and for the immense personal satisfaction that comes from staggering across that finish line.
I wasn’t in this to win any races. I don’t know if I’ll ever polish this story to publishable standard. I just wanted to see if I could do it. And I was really, really proud of myself when I did. My NaNo page is here with my final word count in case you're interested. It has daily word counts achieved on the stats page - pretty neat. The photo of the cat was there to remind me of the Marvellously Malleable Madame Mephistopheles – My Muse.
I am so glad I took this risk and entered Nano. It was very well worth it.
But to continue on with the subject of this blog – it is official; I now have a couple of icons and a printable certificate to say that I have completed 50,000 words of a story.It would be ridiculously easy to cheat the system if you really wanted to get a copy of the icon, but why would you? You’d only be cheating yourself. There are no prizes – I would have to print out and write my name on the certificate myself if I wanted it done.
So why do it?
I heard a great analogy for it the other day. The people taking part in NaNo are like the people who run marathons dressed in gorilla suits. Such a person is not in the race to win it. They’re there just to see if they can finish. They do it to discover whether or not they have the stamina, the mental strength and sheer will-power it takes to make it, and for the immense personal satisfaction that comes from staggering across that finish line.
I wasn’t in this to win any races. I don’t know if I’ll ever polish this story to publishable standard. I just wanted to see if I could do it. And I was really, really proud of myself when I did. My NaNo page is here with my final word count in case you're interested. It has daily word counts achieved on the stats page - pretty neat. The photo of the cat was there to remind me of the Marvellously Malleable Madame Mephistopheles – My Muse.
I am so glad I took this risk and entered Nano. It was very well worth it.
Sunday 25 November 2007
Wehehehe!
Ok, so I've been a very bad correspondent recently. I apologise profusely and I promise that I will rectify that lapse shortly. You can be assured that I am still alive, albeit rather delirious right now.
Deliriously Happy that is.
You see... I finally did it! I have reached the target, hit the mark, and completed 50,000 words of a novel in ...well, less that 30 days. Actually it's 50,031 and I intend to grow it further, but the pressure is now off, and I can return to normal programming...
So, you can expect some posts here shortly.
Can't really believe I've actually reached the count. Very surreal, in a very good way.
Wohooo! Yipeee! Wee he he he he.... It won't happen overnight but it will happen!
.... ok, now I REALLY need to get some sleep!
Deliriously Happy that is.
You see... I finally did it! I have reached the target, hit the mark, and completed 50,000 words of a novel in ...well, less that 30 days. Actually it's 50,031 and I intend to grow it further, but the pressure is now off, and I can return to normal programming...
So, you can expect some posts here shortly.
Can't really believe I've actually reached the count. Very surreal, in a very good way.
Wohooo! Yipeee! Wee he he he he.... It won't happen overnight but it will happen!
.... ok, now I REALLY need to get some sleep!
Friday 23 November 2007
A Hairy Issue
Ordinarily, I get my hair cut every six months. I’m pretty traditional in my tastes. I get it cut dead strait to just below my shoulder in lenght so I can tie it back. That way it doesn’t get in my face and bother me. I like my hair manageable and not too styled. Dry and go, that’s me.
For various reasons, this time it had been about a year between hair cuts (one of which that it took me several months to overcome the fact that it was probably going to cost me £50 – that’s $125ish – for an ordinary hair cut…No. Will not be spending that much on what is essentially a trim… No!!!), so it was a lot longer than usual.
But finally I grew fed up. It was taking ages to wash and ages to dry in the mornings so I stopped thinking about the cost and just got it done. But this time, to shake things up a little, I gave the hairdresser room to move – give me layers I said. I wanted to be a little daring! After all, that’s what this trip is all about isn’t it?
It went from this (in Brighton)
To this
Bit of a difference hay?
Now… it annoys me. It is too short to tie back and it’s so in my face it’s making me sneeze. I do hope it will settle down soon and behave – it is so happy to be so light, it’s flying everywhere.
Grrr.
For various reasons, this time it had been about a year between hair cuts (one of which that it took me several months to overcome the fact that it was probably going to cost me £50 – that’s $125ish – for an ordinary hair cut…No. Will not be spending that much on what is essentially a trim… No!!!), so it was a lot longer than usual.
But finally I grew fed up. It was taking ages to wash and ages to dry in the mornings so I stopped thinking about the cost and just got it done. But this time, to shake things up a little, I gave the hairdresser room to move – give me layers I said. I wanted to be a little daring! After all, that’s what this trip is all about isn’t it?
It went from this (in Brighton)
To this
Bit of a difference hay?
Now… it annoys me. It is too short to tie back and it’s so in my face it’s making me sneeze. I do hope it will settle down soon and behave – it is so happy to be so light, it’s flying everywhere.
Grrr.
You Muppet!
Around my office I hear the word ‘Muppet’ used a lot as a swear word. It is generally employed as a substitute for the word ‘idiot’ as a less offensive way to describe a stupid person. ‘You Muppet!’, or ‘What a complete Muppet!’
Now, at first, I was slightly affronted by this. I admire the Muppets; it was one of my favourite programs as a kid, and love watching any Jim Henson production. Over time however, I have been converted, and it has become an essential part of my vocabulary. I find it a good word to use to describe stupidity without actually being offensive and it interjects an element of humour into what is generally an annoyed or frustrated exclamation. It is also satisfying to emphasise such a silly word.
I still admire the Muppets but, truth be told, they were intended for giggles, and it always makes me smile when I say ‘You Muppet!’. So, If you have to swear (and occasionally, that’s all you really can do), why not swear with humour?
Why don’t you try it? You Complete Muppet! You Absolute Muppet! It’s actually quite fun.
Now, at first, I was slightly affronted by this. I admire the Muppets; it was one of my favourite programs as a kid, and love watching any Jim Henson production. Over time however, I have been converted, and it has become an essential part of my vocabulary. I find it a good word to use to describe stupidity without actually being offensive and it interjects an element of humour into what is generally an annoyed or frustrated exclamation. It is also satisfying to emphasise such a silly word.
I still admire the Muppets but, truth be told, they were intended for giggles, and it always makes me smile when I say ‘You Muppet!’. So, If you have to swear (and occasionally, that’s all you really can do), why not swear with humour?
Why don’t you try it? You Complete Muppet! You Absolute Muppet! It’s actually quite fun.
Thursday 22 November 2007
A life lived in blisters, I mean, Docs.
I was going to write this blog all about the amazing shoes know as Doc Martins – Docs for short. And how wonderful they are and how I can pretty much mark my life by the pairs I’ve owned… but I forgot their one very negative effect on my life… blisters!
Mind you, I get blisters from almost every pair of shoes I buy – I have strange shaped feet, so maybe it’s not such a hard thing to write after all. It’s just that, because they last so ruddy long and are so ruddy well made, Docs give me blisters for a hell of a lot longer than any other shoes … anywoo, here goes.
It was in Year 7 or 8 or 9, I can’t remember, that I finally acquired my first pair of Docs. They were made in New Zealand, and were a slightly different shape from everyone else’s (and cheaper, which is why mum bought them for me), but I remember being ecstatic that I had finally joined the ‘in’ crowed with Doc ownership. Of course, I was never an ‘in’ person, but I felt closer to the beautiful people by owning them. And they were a very good investment too; they lasted me for 7 years. They were very comfortable (once I broke them in), very solid and sturdy and I wore them every day, until they finally disintegrated.
After that, I bought a pair of good English docs. They were my first professional shoes if you will. I coloured in the yellow stitching so I could wear them to work and in gang show. They were really good shoes, and I think I had them for five years, but it took me two years of that to break them in! They were stolen from the back of my car at age five, so I’ll never know exactly how long they would have lasted. They were also very comfortable towards the end.
At age of 21ish, during my alternative university faze (it wasn’t much of one, but I did it anyhow), I bought a pair of 18 hole docs. I felt amazingly gothic wearing them, but they weren’t the best pair I’ve ever owned. They were Australian, and the leather wasn’t that good – it tended to crack and craze, and isn’t smooth any more, and they weren’t as comfortable as the other pairs… probably because I never properly broke them in. I still have them back home, but very rarely wore them. Mind you, I could still wear them now, they haven’t died or anything.
Next, after I had moved to Canberra, I bought another professional pair to replace the English one’s I’d lost. My second professional life if you will. They were Australian again. But this time… well, they are still back home too. I lived in Canberra for five years and I never managed to break them in! The problem was that I could only wear them once and then had to take two to three weeks off to recover from the blisters. I got rather board of that after a while, and so didn’t commit to the break in, so they are still almost as good as new.
Anyway, now we come to the present, and the reason I thought of writing this blog in the first place. I’m over here in England, where Docs come from, and suddenly they made sense to me. Those non-slip soles work in a place where autumn leaves become deadly slime and the attached tongues are a very useful invention where puddles are a fact of life. So I thought to myself, well, why not buy a pair of docs? They could be very good wet weather shoes and heaven knows there is a lot of wet weather over here. So I did – I bought my first ever eight hole pair Docs. These ones are made in China, the doc manufacture having been out sourced some time ago. It’s funny really; it’s the quintessential English shoe and I’ve bought five pairs now but the only pair of actual English doc’s I owned were the one’s that were stolen.
I did remember that I have difficulty breaking Docs in, so I was smart… I bought a soft pair. Unlike every other pair I’ve owned, this pair do not have the harder-than-steel leather of the original docs, but are malleable and supple. They still have the non-slip sole, the attached tongue, and hopefully, the durability of the original, but without the stiffness. And so I thought, these ones would be less likely to give me blisters, right?
Wrong.
Ah well. They are still good shoes and they do keep my feet dry on the one day out of the fortnight I can wear them. And when I have broken them in (which I might just do before I leave England, but I somehow doubt it) they will hopefully become as comfortable as my first ones…
Sigh.
Mind you, I get blisters from almost every pair of shoes I buy – I have strange shaped feet, so maybe it’s not such a hard thing to write after all. It’s just that, because they last so ruddy long and are so ruddy well made, Docs give me blisters for a hell of a lot longer than any other shoes … anywoo, here goes.
It was in Year 7 or 8 or 9, I can’t remember, that I finally acquired my first pair of Docs. They were made in New Zealand, and were a slightly different shape from everyone else’s (and cheaper, which is why mum bought them for me), but I remember being ecstatic that I had finally joined the ‘in’ crowed with Doc ownership. Of course, I was never an ‘in’ person, but I felt closer to the beautiful people by owning them. And they were a very good investment too; they lasted me for 7 years. They were very comfortable (once I broke them in), very solid and sturdy and I wore them every day, until they finally disintegrated.
After that, I bought a pair of good English docs. They were my first professional shoes if you will. I coloured in the yellow stitching so I could wear them to work and in gang show. They were really good shoes, and I think I had them for five years, but it took me two years of that to break them in! They were stolen from the back of my car at age five, so I’ll never know exactly how long they would have lasted. They were also very comfortable towards the end.
At age of 21ish, during my alternative university faze (it wasn’t much of one, but I did it anyhow), I bought a pair of 18 hole docs. I felt amazingly gothic wearing them, but they weren’t the best pair I’ve ever owned. They were Australian, and the leather wasn’t that good – it tended to crack and craze, and isn’t smooth any more, and they weren’t as comfortable as the other pairs… probably because I never properly broke them in. I still have them back home, but very rarely wore them. Mind you, I could still wear them now, they haven’t died or anything.
Next, after I had moved to Canberra, I bought another professional pair to replace the English one’s I’d lost. My second professional life if you will. They were Australian again. But this time… well, they are still back home too. I lived in Canberra for five years and I never managed to break them in! The problem was that I could only wear them once and then had to take two to three weeks off to recover from the blisters. I got rather board of that after a while, and so didn’t commit to the break in, so they are still almost as good as new.
Anyway, now we come to the present, and the reason I thought of writing this blog in the first place. I’m over here in England, where Docs come from, and suddenly they made sense to me. Those non-slip soles work in a place where autumn leaves become deadly slime and the attached tongues are a very useful invention where puddles are a fact of life. So I thought to myself, well, why not buy a pair of docs? They could be very good wet weather shoes and heaven knows there is a lot of wet weather over here. So I did – I bought my first ever eight hole pair Docs. These ones are made in China, the doc manufacture having been out sourced some time ago. It’s funny really; it’s the quintessential English shoe and I’ve bought five pairs now but the only pair of actual English doc’s I owned were the one’s that were stolen.
I did remember that I have difficulty breaking Docs in, so I was smart… I bought a soft pair. Unlike every other pair I’ve owned, this pair do not have the harder-than-steel leather of the original docs, but are malleable and supple. They still have the non-slip sole, the attached tongue, and hopefully, the durability of the original, but without the stiffness. And so I thought, these ones would be less likely to give me blisters, right?
Wrong.
Ah well. They are still good shoes and they do keep my feet dry on the one day out of the fortnight I can wear them. And when I have broken them in (which I might just do before I leave England, but I somehow doubt it) they will hopefully become as comfortable as my first ones…
Sigh.
Sunday 18 November 2007
Caught up... finally!
After the rather (for me) alcoholic weekend in Brussels, I fell behind in my word count for NaNoWriMo. I have just managed to catch up. Today I have made a massive effort. I wrote over 6000 words and I am very proud of myself, if rather mentally exhausted.
In the process I have discovered a couple of things about this writing business;
I can write about 1000 creative words in an hour. That’s not my actual typing speed, but seems to be the limit of my creative output, as it doesn’t matter whether I hand write or type, it works out to be the same. It’s the speed at which my brain and hands coordinate to make sense I think.
So a relatively good output level.
Unfortunately after about 2 hours, my brain starts dribbling out of my ears. I simply cannot sustain creative endeavour for longer. Obviously I need to build up my level of creative stamina. In order to get to the 6k today, I had to write in blocks. Two hours of writing followed by two hours of time out and total zombie-hood. And it was truly exhausting!
The creative life is also a lot about avoiding procrastination… it is really hard to make yourself sit down to write. And I am very good at procrastinating. But that is the amazing thing about NaNo and the target of 50k words in a month. The panic induced by the deadline and word limit makes you work. It forces you to just get stuff down, and forget and forgive yourself for all the mistakes you make. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you park yr butt and DO IT!
I have, in the past, been able to sit down and spend five or six hours writing, where the story just poured out of me, for perhaps two or three days at the max. No conscious thought involved really, it just flowed. I thought that this was the way you were supposed to write. The problem was, that this only happened about once a year when the muse was feeling amiable. The rest of the time, it was sessions of a half hours flow or less, once a month if I was lucky. And these only happened when I’d actually been writing consistently – writing anything, not necessarily a story.
Not once has this happened this month… oh, for moments, maybe. For a flow of half an hour perhaps, but then, thought intrudes once more, and I plan and I stage manage and I think; character 1 needs to go over there, and maybe character 2 can come here. I keep waiting for it to catch fire. And it seems like it has been on the brink of doing so for ages. But it doesn’t.
I have had some interesting discussions with my characters… and a couple of arguments too, which is incredibly disturbing, but it has been a collaborative discussion, and each step along the road they all make has to be worked out in detail as I go along. No liquid gold.
BUT, and this is a big but, I think that what is happening now is the way a writing life should be, and the way it in fact actually is. There are occasional bursts of inspiration, but the majority of the time it is going to be all about planting your butt on a chair, and your fingers on the keyboard or around a pen, and writing. Come rain, hail or shine, hell or high water. Repeat. Ad nauseam.
In the end, it is all about perseverance. I am incredibly grateful to NaNo for giving me this insight. Oh, sure, there is the craft, and the story and a whole lot of other things to pay attention to, but if you don’t get the words onto the page then you don’t have anything.
I don’t care if I am never published, I love writing, and I love telling stories. They make my life greater than it ever could be. I can be a hero who saves the world in my own head. I can be a villain without actually killing anyone. I can be in love with a thousand people, and I can cry my eyes out in grief, crown kings, make people happy, and make people great, all without leaving my house.
Don’t get me wrong – I’m not all about living vicariously! I’m overseas doing the city hopping thing every chance I get at the moment, and intend to have a lot of real adventures before my life is through. But I don’t think I’m ever going to get the chance to save the world… well, at least I sincerely hope not. It is fun to imagine I can though…
And I can do it through writing. Thank you NaNoWriMo.
In the process I have discovered a couple of things about this writing business;
I can write about 1000 creative words in an hour. That’s not my actual typing speed, but seems to be the limit of my creative output, as it doesn’t matter whether I hand write or type, it works out to be the same. It’s the speed at which my brain and hands coordinate to make sense I think.
So a relatively good output level.
Unfortunately after about 2 hours, my brain starts dribbling out of my ears. I simply cannot sustain creative endeavour for longer. Obviously I need to build up my level of creative stamina. In order to get to the 6k today, I had to write in blocks. Two hours of writing followed by two hours of time out and total zombie-hood. And it was truly exhausting!
The creative life is also a lot about avoiding procrastination… it is really hard to make yourself sit down to write. And I am very good at procrastinating. But that is the amazing thing about NaNo and the target of 50k words in a month. The panic induced by the deadline and word limit makes you work. It forces you to just get stuff down, and forget and forgive yourself for all the mistakes you make. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you park yr butt and DO IT!
I have, in the past, been able to sit down and spend five or six hours writing, where the story just poured out of me, for perhaps two or three days at the max. No conscious thought involved really, it just flowed. I thought that this was the way you were supposed to write. The problem was, that this only happened about once a year when the muse was feeling amiable. The rest of the time, it was sessions of a half hours flow or less, once a month if I was lucky. And these only happened when I’d actually been writing consistently – writing anything, not necessarily a story.
Not once has this happened this month… oh, for moments, maybe. For a flow of half an hour perhaps, but then, thought intrudes once more, and I plan and I stage manage and I think; character 1 needs to go over there, and maybe character 2 can come here. I keep waiting for it to catch fire. And it seems like it has been on the brink of doing so for ages. But it doesn’t.
I have had some interesting discussions with my characters… and a couple of arguments too, which is incredibly disturbing, but it has been a collaborative discussion, and each step along the road they all make has to be worked out in detail as I go along. No liquid gold.
BUT, and this is a big but, I think that what is happening now is the way a writing life should be, and the way it in fact actually is. There are occasional bursts of inspiration, but the majority of the time it is going to be all about planting your butt on a chair, and your fingers on the keyboard or around a pen, and writing. Come rain, hail or shine, hell or high water. Repeat. Ad nauseam.
In the end, it is all about perseverance. I am incredibly grateful to NaNo for giving me this insight. Oh, sure, there is the craft, and the story and a whole lot of other things to pay attention to, but if you don’t get the words onto the page then you don’t have anything.
I don’t care if I am never published, I love writing, and I love telling stories. They make my life greater than it ever could be. I can be a hero who saves the world in my own head. I can be a villain without actually killing anyone. I can be in love with a thousand people, and I can cry my eyes out in grief, crown kings, make people happy, and make people great, all without leaving my house.
Don’t get me wrong – I’m not all about living vicariously! I’m overseas doing the city hopping thing every chance I get at the moment, and intend to have a lot of real adventures before my life is through. But I don’t think I’m ever going to get the chance to save the world… well, at least I sincerely hope not. It is fun to imagine I can though…
And I can do it through writing. Thank you NaNoWriMo.
Monday 12 November 2007
Brussels without Sprouts
A quick summation of my Brussels Trip
Took the Eurostar from Waterloo station to Brussels Midi, with Richard and Hillary. Had Champagne on the train for H’s birthday – very sophisticated!
Met up with R the second – H’s bro – in the hotel lobby and then with Warren (friend of R1) and Anne-Claire, Warren’s better half.
Had 18yo Whisky then it was over to an Irish pub nearby, for a smoke-filled Drambuie.
At 2 or 3am ish, home to bed.
Got up too late for b’fast, sharing a room with R1 so that R2 and H could catch up.
Nice hotel, v comfortable beds, luxurious in fact. Supplied goodies included all the usual shower caps, shampoos etc, plus a sewing kit, shoe cleaning gear, comb, toothbrush n paste, facial cleansers, and tissues. But no soap. Huh?
Wandered into town. Met up with W & AC again, saw the Manneken Pis (a fountain of a small boy pissing), the Grote Markt or Grand Place (The cities central square – beautiful!), the female Manneken Pis, and then went to a bar of 2000 beers called The Elephant Delirium café, for a drink. Had an apple beer that was very good.
Went to see the Tintin shop, and bought some Belgium chocolate (yum!).
Made H, R1 & R2 walk all the way to the top of Brussels (it’s very hilly) to see the Palais Royal ‘cause I wanted to see it. It was my one and only attempt at a cultural experience for the weekend. The others didn’t want to see anything else, so we walked back into town.
Went to another bar called Sudden Death (the Belgium version there of). Had a framboise (raspberry) beer. Saw some interesting animatronics wolves on route to Sudden Death that Chris would have gone ga-ga over. (will be in the pictures when I get them loaded)
Went to yet another pub (do you see a theme in all this?) that I think was called Coffins or something. It was a bar with a death theme. There were coffins for tables, all the walls were black, and it was lit only by candles. A good thing too, because it was one of the dirtiest, rankest places I’ve ever been to. I mean, I’ve seen worse toilets, but not in a city. If they ever turned the lights on the patrons would die of shock from the realisation of the filth they had been sitting in. Ich.
Then caught a tram thing and went to a Lebanese restaurant for dinner – had the smorgasbord which was really nice, but was way too much food to eat, and then saw some belly dancing courtesy of the restaurant. Interesting…
Next, went to a pub with a jazz theme just a couple of doors down, for afters. Had a lambic beer (one that ferments spontaneously on exposure to air) of peach, which was really delicious. And then another framboise. Came up with / invented a new pub game when R2 had finished trying to catch 25 coasters flicked from the table all at once. Took one of the coaster holders – which looked like castles – stacked all the coaster on top, balanced on each other (not exactly on top of one another, but balanced between and over each other, getting further and further out from the centre). Then H put the second coaster holder on top of the stack and we played a version of Jengo that was sort of like pick up sticks. You had to pull out a coaster at a time with out letting the top tower fall. Played two games before we got sick of this. R2 didn’t lose either time… which is not to say he actually won, but he just didn’t lose, so claimed victory over H and I.
Walked home. Went to bed.
Got up. Wrote 600 words. R1, R2, H and I left the hotel just at the time we had to check out (12pm). Left bags and went to visit the beer museum, only it was closed. So went to the comic museum instead (very big in this town, comics!) – which was very cool. Bought 3 Tintin omnibuses – which was silly. Met up with W and AC again and then went back to the hotel for a (huge) grand mariner and taxi to the train station, and pretty much walked strait onto the train.
Left Brussels, took Eurostar back to Waterloo.
Only got a couple of chocolates – very disappointed I didn’t have time to get more. Now very tired, but want to go back. Would like to spend less time drinking and more time looking around next time… and of course, purchase more chocolate!
Took the Eurostar from Waterloo station to Brussels Midi, with Richard and Hillary. Had Champagne on the train for H’s birthday – very sophisticated!
Met up with R the second – H’s bro – in the hotel lobby and then with Warren (friend of R1) and Anne-Claire, Warren’s better half.
Had 18yo Whisky then it was over to an Irish pub nearby, for a smoke-filled Drambuie.
At 2 or 3am ish, home to bed.
Got up too late for b’fast, sharing a room with R1 so that R2 and H could catch up.
Nice hotel, v comfortable beds, luxurious in fact. Supplied goodies included all the usual shower caps, shampoos etc, plus a sewing kit, shoe cleaning gear, comb, toothbrush n paste, facial cleansers, and tissues. But no soap. Huh?
Wandered into town. Met up with W & AC again, saw the Manneken Pis (a fountain of a small boy pissing), the Grote Markt or Grand Place (The cities central square – beautiful!), the female Manneken Pis, and then went to a bar of 2000 beers called The Elephant Delirium café, for a drink. Had an apple beer that was very good.
Went to see the Tintin shop, and bought some Belgium chocolate (yum!).
Made H, R1 & R2 walk all the way to the top of Brussels (it’s very hilly) to see the Palais Royal ‘cause I wanted to see it. It was my one and only attempt at a cultural experience for the weekend. The others didn’t want to see anything else, so we walked back into town.
Went to another bar called Sudden Death (the Belgium version there of). Had a framboise (raspberry) beer. Saw some interesting animatronics wolves on route to Sudden Death that Chris would have gone ga-ga over. (will be in the pictures when I get them loaded)
Went to yet another pub (do you see a theme in all this?) that I think was called Coffins or something. It was a bar with a death theme. There were coffins for tables, all the walls were black, and it was lit only by candles. A good thing too, because it was one of the dirtiest, rankest places I’ve ever been to. I mean, I’ve seen worse toilets, but not in a city. If they ever turned the lights on the patrons would die of shock from the realisation of the filth they had been sitting in. Ich.
Then caught a tram thing and went to a Lebanese restaurant for dinner – had the smorgasbord which was really nice, but was way too much food to eat, and then saw some belly dancing courtesy of the restaurant. Interesting…
Next, went to a pub with a jazz theme just a couple of doors down, for afters. Had a lambic beer (one that ferments spontaneously on exposure to air) of peach, which was really delicious. And then another framboise. Came up with / invented a new pub game when R2 had finished trying to catch 25 coasters flicked from the table all at once. Took one of the coaster holders – which looked like castles – stacked all the coaster on top, balanced on each other (not exactly on top of one another, but balanced between and over each other, getting further and further out from the centre). Then H put the second coaster holder on top of the stack and we played a version of Jengo that was sort of like pick up sticks. You had to pull out a coaster at a time with out letting the top tower fall. Played two games before we got sick of this. R2 didn’t lose either time… which is not to say he actually won, but he just didn’t lose, so claimed victory over H and I.
Walked home. Went to bed.
Got up. Wrote 600 words. R1, R2, H and I left the hotel just at the time we had to check out (12pm). Left bags and went to visit the beer museum, only it was closed. So went to the comic museum instead (very big in this town, comics!) – which was very cool. Bought 3 Tintin omnibuses – which was silly. Met up with W and AC again and then went back to the hotel for a (huge) grand mariner and taxi to the train station, and pretty much walked strait onto the train.
Left Brussels, took Eurostar back to Waterloo.
Only got a couple of chocolates – very disappointed I didn’t have time to get more. Now very tired, but want to go back. Would like to spend less time drinking and more time looking around next time… and of course, purchase more chocolate!
Thursday 8 November 2007
Personal Pollution Problem.
This is yet another case of lemming behaviour for me I’m afraid. I am really going all out to prove that even though the Darwin awards are for feats of spectacular stupidity, it may be still possible to be eligible for one through sheer bloody minded persistence and consistent striving towards idiot-hood…
The air in this city is making me dizzy – literally. I have been feeling dizzy for a seriously long time. I kept wondering what on earth was wrong with me. I would get to work in the morning feeling ill and disorientated and with my balance shot to pieces… it was kind of frightening really. And it lasted all day. And yet I couldn’t find a cause for it. My diet was good, I was walking regularly both to and from work, and I hadn’t been overdoing it on the turps, so I really had no clue. It’s not as if I’m totally unfit either. I walked all around Paris and Amsterdam without ill effect… well, except for my feet… but I wasn’t then walking along a main road with constant traffic beside me at all times.
Recently, due to the damage I caused my feet in Amsterdam, I took the bus for a few days to alleviate the pain… and the dizziness went away. But did I notice? No. When my feet recovered, I dutifully recommenced walking to work every day, rain hail or shine, and … got dizzy again.
Then around the time of the Paris trip, I got sick, and so I caught the bus again for a period of time, and lo and behold, I wasn’t dizzy. I was coughing up a lung and felt like death warmed up, but I wasn’t dizzy. But when I recovered I went back to walking, albeit with the beginnings of a suspicion in the back of my mind that even though I was doing something healthy, it wasn’t as good for me as it should have been. The lemming behaviour kept asserting itself.
At the end of last week, I was feeling seriously sick. By the time I got into work in the mornings when I walked, I felt like vomiting. This really set the alarm bells ringing and so I finally paid some attention to my suspicions.
So this week, I have been conducting an experiment. I have been walking half-way to work and catching the bus the rest of the way one day, and then catching the bus the whole way on the other. I thought that I could get away with some exercise and yet avoid the most polluted part of the city – but when I walk I still feel off kilter. However, when I catch the bus the whole way, I am fine.
Finally it dawned on me this morning that I have to stop walking to work. This is really bloody annoying, because I like walking, I need the exercise, I like waking up slowly and the walk to and from work gives me all this. But the carbon monoxide from all those vehicles is making me sick.
Damn. And yet, you can bet, I’m going to continue to walk every so often. It’s almost a compulsion – one that drives me to behaviour which is not only counter intuitive but destructive to my health. Why, why, why am I so driven? I don’t want to become a lemming, nor less a Darwin award recipient. But I like walking… I just can’t help myself.
Silly girl.
The air in this city is making me dizzy – literally. I have been feeling dizzy for a seriously long time. I kept wondering what on earth was wrong with me. I would get to work in the morning feeling ill and disorientated and with my balance shot to pieces… it was kind of frightening really. And it lasted all day. And yet I couldn’t find a cause for it. My diet was good, I was walking regularly both to and from work, and I hadn’t been overdoing it on the turps, so I really had no clue. It’s not as if I’m totally unfit either. I walked all around Paris and Amsterdam without ill effect… well, except for my feet… but I wasn’t then walking along a main road with constant traffic beside me at all times.
Recently, due to the damage I caused my feet in Amsterdam, I took the bus for a few days to alleviate the pain… and the dizziness went away. But did I notice? No. When my feet recovered, I dutifully recommenced walking to work every day, rain hail or shine, and … got dizzy again.
Then around the time of the Paris trip, I got sick, and so I caught the bus again for a period of time, and lo and behold, I wasn’t dizzy. I was coughing up a lung and felt like death warmed up, but I wasn’t dizzy. But when I recovered I went back to walking, albeit with the beginnings of a suspicion in the back of my mind that even though I was doing something healthy, it wasn’t as good for me as it should have been. The lemming behaviour kept asserting itself.
At the end of last week, I was feeling seriously sick. By the time I got into work in the mornings when I walked, I felt like vomiting. This really set the alarm bells ringing and so I finally paid some attention to my suspicions.
So this week, I have been conducting an experiment. I have been walking half-way to work and catching the bus the rest of the way one day, and then catching the bus the whole way on the other. I thought that I could get away with some exercise and yet avoid the most polluted part of the city – but when I walk I still feel off kilter. However, when I catch the bus the whole way, I am fine.
Finally it dawned on me this morning that I have to stop walking to work. This is really bloody annoying, because I like walking, I need the exercise, I like waking up slowly and the walk to and from work gives me all this. But the carbon monoxide from all those vehicles is making me sick.
Damn. And yet, you can bet, I’m going to continue to walk every so often. It’s almost a compulsion – one that drives me to behaviour which is not only counter intuitive but destructive to my health. Why, why, why am I so driven? I don’t want to become a lemming, nor less a Darwin award recipient. But I like walking… I just can’t help myself.
Silly girl.
Tuesday 6 November 2007
Mary Poppins the Musical
Saw Mary Poppins the musical at the Prince Edward Theatre last night. It was lovely. I was perhaps a little too close to the stage (I was only four rows from the front) but it was fun and an enjoyable evening out. The set design was amazing, it all fitted together rather like Lego and flew in and out with precision. The costumes were lovely, and the singers were great – especially Mary. It’s not quite as good as the Mary Poppins movie I don’t think. Julie Andrews would be a hard act to follow in any case, but I also saw the replacement cast, not the original London cast, as it has been running for quite a while and is due to close in January next year. It was still very enjoyable.
Also learned something interesting from the program; P L Travers, who wrote the books, was Australian!
I’m actually wondering if the fact that I can see so many productions, pretty much on demand, has cheapened their value in my eyes. That, because I don’t have to wait for one to come to town, and purchase the ticket and plan for the night months in advance, and have that anticipation of a special evening out to look forward to, I no longer value the show as I might once have done? I’m finding myself more of a critic here than I ever was back home, and I’m sure that the quality of the productions is as good if not better than any I saw in Australia. Interesting thought.
Mind you, although the production didn’t completely overwhelm me, I’ve had the music stuck in my head ever since. So it did actually have an impact, one that I’m hoping will go away soon! :-)
Also learned something interesting from the program; P L Travers, who wrote the books, was Australian!
I’m actually wondering if the fact that I can see so many productions, pretty much on demand, has cheapened their value in my eyes. That, because I don’t have to wait for one to come to town, and purchase the ticket and plan for the night months in advance, and have that anticipation of a special evening out to look forward to, I no longer value the show as I might once have done? I’m finding myself more of a critic here than I ever was back home, and I’m sure that the quality of the productions is as good if not better than any I saw in Australia. Interesting thought.
Mind you, although the production didn’t completely overwhelm me, I’ve had the music stuck in my head ever since. So it did actually have an impact, one that I’m hoping will go away soon! :-)
Monday 5 November 2007
I am verifiably insane...
I really am.
I am talking to my characters, and they are answering back! I was having a conversation with one of them, and another interrupted, shoving the first out of the way. She is very annoyed with me, and is telling me off.
Help!
I am talking to my characters, and they are answering back! I was having a conversation with one of them, and another interrupted, shoving the first out of the way. She is very annoyed with me, and is telling me off.
Help!
Saturday 3 November 2007
Harry Connick Jr.... yum
Saturday night at the Royal Albert hall again,this time to see Mr. Harry Connick Jnr. A slow start with the star hardly looking at the audience, but he and we warmed up and then boy did that man swing! It was amazing. He was funny and personable and seemed to be genuinely happy to be there and humbled by the audience’s response. The more vocal we were, the more of a show he put on. And I was about 10 rows from the front, so had a really good view!
The theme for the night was My New Orleans, or Nola (New Orleans Louisiana) which is his home town apparently, so all the pieces were from there. He recorded the album as a response to hurricane Katrina and urged us all to come back and visit to help the place recover.
I recognised some of the pieces, but most of the material was new to me. It didn’t matter though, as just listening to that velvet voice, and his incredible band, was treat enough. He also had the most astounding trombone player join him - Lucian Barbarin. Wow, what a staggering talent! I’ve never heard a trombone played like that. It was mind-blowing.
All up, a very enjoyable evening. I went home humming his final tune and didn’t get it out of my head until Monday. Pretty awesome.
The theme for the night was My New Orleans, or Nola (New Orleans Louisiana) which is his home town apparently, so all the pieces were from there. He recorded the album as a response to hurricane Katrina and urged us all to come back and visit to help the place recover.
I recognised some of the pieces, but most of the material was new to me. It didn’t matter though, as just listening to that velvet voice, and his incredible band, was treat enough. He also had the most astounding trombone player join him - Lucian Barbarin. Wow, what a staggering talent! I’ve never heard a trombone played like that. It was mind-blowing.
All up, a very enjoyable evening. I went home humming his final tune and didn’t get it out of my head until Monday. Pretty awesome.
Friday 2 November 2007
Battle of the choirs
Thursday night with Jason and Paul; The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra in The Royal Albert Hall, conducted by Leonard Slatkin playing The Planets Suite by Holst, and Belshazzar’s Feast by Walton.
Wow…. Wow wow wow wow wow.
I mean, I love The Planets, I know it backwards, so it was always going to be a really enjoyable night for me. But hearing it live, seeing the French horns, watching the two sets of kettle drums being beaten to within an inch of their lives, and feeling the reverberating pure SOUND of the organ in the Albert… wow. We even had the final women’s chorus coming from up in the gods – the Albert is about 5 or 6 stories high, and has a viewing promenade on the top level, and the women were way up there, with their backs to us, singing into the void, so it echoed brilliantly, and they walked away still singing in a physical fade out… it was amazing.
Slatkin seems to prefer the 19th century style of orchestra set up with the second violins directly opposite the first, the cellos and violas sandwiched in between. The more common way is to have firsts, seconds, violas and cellos in a fan in that order around the conductor. But the older arrangement gave a more balanced sound to my mind, especially in a piece which has so much juggling of the melody between sections. Oh dear…I am afraid my years of playing in an orchestra are showing. I really am not a music critic! It worked and was lovely, so that is all that matters!
Belshazzar’s Feast (a piece, to my knowledge, I’ve never hear before), requires two full choirs, and two extra compliments of brass. It is an oratorio about the death of the King of Babylon when he is disrespectful of the Jews sacred objects, and it was amazing.
The choirs (probably about 2 to 3 hundred people!) were positioned on either side of the organ and the extra brass sections were positioned in the boxes to either side of the stage. Throughout the piece, the orchestra sections and choirs play catch with the tune, bouncing it from one side of the hall to the other, from one choir to the other and this gave a remarkable stereo effect the music. It really was almost surround sound.
The impact of two choirs, three brass sections and the full power of the hall organ was incredible. We were overwhelmed by sound. At one point the choirs sing the single word ‘Slain’ in unison, and it pierces your heart, so loud, so sudden and so violent is the chord. It was really wonderful. Wow.
Thanks again for that Jase. A truly spectacular evening.
Wow…. Wow wow wow wow wow.
I mean, I love The Planets, I know it backwards, so it was always going to be a really enjoyable night for me. But hearing it live, seeing the French horns, watching the two sets of kettle drums being beaten to within an inch of their lives, and feeling the reverberating pure SOUND of the organ in the Albert… wow. We even had the final women’s chorus coming from up in the gods – the Albert is about 5 or 6 stories high, and has a viewing promenade on the top level, and the women were way up there, with their backs to us, singing into the void, so it echoed brilliantly, and they walked away still singing in a physical fade out… it was amazing.
Slatkin seems to prefer the 19th century style of orchestra set up with the second violins directly opposite the first, the cellos and violas sandwiched in between. The more common way is to have firsts, seconds, violas and cellos in a fan in that order around the conductor. But the older arrangement gave a more balanced sound to my mind, especially in a piece which has so much juggling of the melody between sections. Oh dear…I am afraid my years of playing in an orchestra are showing. I really am not a music critic! It worked and was lovely, so that is all that matters!
Belshazzar’s Feast (a piece, to my knowledge, I’ve never hear before), requires two full choirs, and two extra compliments of brass. It is an oratorio about the death of the King of Babylon when he is disrespectful of the Jews sacred objects, and it was amazing.
The choirs (probably about 2 to 3 hundred people!) were positioned on either side of the organ and the extra brass sections were positioned in the boxes to either side of the stage. Throughout the piece, the orchestra sections and choirs play catch with the tune, bouncing it from one side of the hall to the other, from one choir to the other and this gave a remarkable stereo effect the music. It really was almost surround sound.
The impact of two choirs, three brass sections and the full power of the hall organ was incredible. We were overwhelmed by sound. At one point the choirs sing the single word ‘Slain’ in unison, and it pierces your heart, so loud, so sudden and so violent is the chord. It was really wonderful. Wow.
Thanks again for that Jase. A truly spectacular evening.
Thursday 1 November 2007
Stadust
Saw the movie Stardust last night with Jane.
It was a lovely movie. A bit scatty I thought, but an enjoyable interpretation of Neil Gaiman's novel none the less. I'm sure it will become a cult classic like The Princess Bride, to which it keeps getting compared. It's a feel-good fairy tale and worth paying for in the cinemas just to experience the magic of the film and I really enjoyed it but I didn't fall in love with it.
However, it did enervate me and inspire me to stay up so that I could start writing my NaNoWriMo story on the dot of midnight... I only wrote 200 words mind you, but I did write!!
Anyway, I recommend seeing the movie if you have a fantasy bent like I do. 4/5 stars.
It was a lovely movie. A bit scatty I thought, but an enjoyable interpretation of Neil Gaiman's novel none the less. I'm sure it will become a cult classic like The Princess Bride, to which it keeps getting compared. It's a feel-good fairy tale and worth paying for in the cinemas just to experience the magic of the film and I really enjoyed it but I didn't fall in love with it.
However, it did enervate me and inspire me to stay up so that I could start writing my NaNoWriMo story on the dot of midnight... I only wrote 200 words mind you, but I did write!!
Anyway, I recommend seeing the movie if you have a fantasy bent like I do. 4/5 stars.
Wednesday 31 October 2007
Language difficulties...
I have discovered that for me, speaking french is like speaking Shakespeare. It takes a while to get your ear in tune and your tongue into gear, but once you do, a glorious world of meaning and elocution opens up in front of you...
Unfortunately, with both Shakespearean and french, the results last longer than the required duration of usage... i.e. I end up using words of ridiculous length for days after reading Shakespeare, and I am still automatically saying 'Bonjour' and 'Merci!' instead of 'Hello' and 'Thank you' ... and french is most definitely not my first language.
What?!?
Unfortunately, with both Shakespearean and french, the results last longer than the required duration of usage... i.e. I end up using words of ridiculous length for days after reading Shakespeare, and I am still automatically saying 'Bonjour' and 'Merci!' instead of 'Hello' and 'Thank you' ... and french is most definitely not my first language.
What?!?
Tuesday 30 October 2007
Hiatus Time
I am about to embark on NaNoWriMo. As a consequence this blog will probably suffer from neglect. I intend to make fewer entries here and dedicate my energies to my novel attempt – although, knowing me, I shall find every possible method of procrastinating until the very last minute and then do a mad dash for the finish line.
Typically I have booked myself in for more social engagements this month than many previously, so I will endeavour to write a little about these as they come up.
And of course, I shall be keeping you all informed of my word count here. It’s a motivation technique called shame avoidance you see – if I don’t reach the word target, you can all justifiably heap crap on me, so I will post the count as a serious motivation for myself to avoid embarrassment.
Mind you, only 17% of people that do NaNo actually reach the 50k word mark, so I have less than a 1 in 5 chance of succeeding… However I have every intention of having a damn good crack at the target!! I really want to do this – for myself – to see if I have any chance of ever becoming a writer and to prove that I can.
Wish me luck!
Temperature Management Failure
I cannot seem to get the hang of the cold weather here. Strange comment, I know, especially from someone who has survived five winters in Canberra spent largely outdoors thanks to a (now defunct) smoking habit. I don’t mean that I can’t handle the cold, that’s not the problem, what I mean is that I can’t seem to be able to judge the appropriate layers of clothing to wear to suit the conditions. I’m either boiling hot or bloody freezing and no-where in between. My jackets are either too warm or too cold, or I wear too many layers or not enough… can someone please explain to me the exact combination of clothing I need to make at each degree of Celsius to actually be comfortable?? Because I am failing entirely to manage this London weather thing. In Canberra it was fine – when it was cold, it was bloody, bloody cold and when it was warm it was sweltering. I never had a problem choosing the appropriate clothing then… what’s gone wrong? Where has my sixth clothing sense gone? … Grrr
Monday 29 October 2007
Sweet Paree! Ah How I Love Thee!
It was freezing cold, it was windy, it was overcast, I had a cold and felt pretty miserable the entire time, but I fell in love with this city.
Paris is open. It has wide stretches of grass, huge, grand boulevards, and big stately buildings. It has space that London does not, well, not in my opinion anyway. It seems to be less cluttered, less fiddly, more refined and streamlined and elegant really.
On Friday (after arriving on the Eurostar which was a painless experience), I went to Point Zero, which is where all distances are measured from in Paris, and visited Notre Dame. Now, granted I haven't seen inside Westminster Abbey yet, but ND blew me away. Its front facade isn't any more impressive than many others I’ve seen, but when you get inside, the place is cavernous! It smelt of incense and was hushed and gloomy. Unfortunately, there were many talking tourists about, so not quite the location of contemplation you'd expect, but beautiful in a grungy and well loved sort of way.
As I was determined to take this trip a lot slower than my Amsterdam experience – and as I still had the remnants of the plague – I pottered around taking pictures, and down a side street bought got a Croq Monsieur - why did no one tell me they were so yummy before this? Two pieces of bread - ham between and cheese melted on top and I'd love to know what the cheese was. But it distracted me from the impressive church… how easily I am led! :)
I stumbled onto the flower market, which was beautiful and so peaceful. I always seem to end up in the flower markets of places I visit – they tend to draw me like a loadstone. I just find them so heavenly. Maybe I should try becoming a Gardener later in life…
With a desire to extend my Parisian experience, I stopped off at a cafe for tea (with a cloth tea bag), people watching, and a lemon meringue pie that was an accident of my appalling French...I was trying to order the Lemon Tart!
Next, on the advice of my Lonely Planet guide, I went through the Palais de la Justice (Law Courts) to the Church of Sainte-Chapelle, a small gothic church touted to be incredible. There were two levels to this. Downstairs was a bit of a let down as it seemed very dark, and very commercial, as there was a shop selling medieval paraphernalia, but the ceiling was pretty. Mind you, I LUSTED after the medieval wall hangings they had for sale there. Talk about avarice! If I had had a spare 400 Euro, I’d have bought one of the replica tapestries they had so fast you'd think I was speedy Gonzalez! Upstairs – well, magnificent is the only word I can use to describe it. You climb up a very narrow spiral staircase into another world. It was literally breath taking and everyone came to the top stopped dead in their tracks with gasps of awe and ‘Oh’s of surprise for the amazing stained glass windows. Have a look at the website above - it really is very impressive!
After a suitably decent interval of taking in such magnificence, I moved onto the Conciergerie, which is the remains of a 14th centaury palace. It was cavernous and had the trademark medieval sweeping ceilings and huge fireplaces, so beautiful and ageless but achingly empty. It was used as a prison in the revolution and was where Marie-Antoinette was imprisoned.
From there, I walked to Pont Neuf bridge, which has quite amusing stone heads along it, and gives some lovely views of the Seine.
Then it was onto the Musee du Louvre… wow. It is humongous! I saw the Mona Lisa, the Venus de Milo, the Card-Sharper and lots of Egyptian stuff and then I was stuffed! Someone told me that if you looked at every item in the Louvre for 30 seconds, you’d be there for three months. I can believe it. I have never been in a place as big as that. And yet, I can honestly say that I would go back, time and again, to see more. It was never dull or boring. I wish I had had more energy, or more time, to really assimilate some of the artwork. What ever your passion, whichever century or style, I’m sure you could find it there and then some.
On the way out, I passed under the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel (a mini-version of the other) and then wandered through the Jardin des Tuileries, a lovely and spacious (28 ha) formal garden, to the Place de la Concord, with it’s gorgeous fountains and Egyptian obelisk and then decided that bed was a priority.
The Metro wasn’t as hard to work out as I feared, but it was strange to be in a square train again after the round tube ones. I eventually found my hotel… way out in the sticks. My room this time was tiny, but the single bed was very comfortable, so I didn’t mind a bit.
On Saturday I visited the Eiffel Tower, first winding my way through the Jardins du Trocadero to the Place de Varsovie to take the obligatory picture of the tower and me! J It was really cold though, and I didn’t think standing out in the wind would be good for my health, so I skipped going up. I can do that at a later date.
Another spacious formal garden later, and I found the perfect café to be Parisian in. It was called La TourviIle and reminded me ever so much of Gigi. I sat outside (under heat-lamps) and drank hot chocolate (which wasn’t sweet!) and had some heavenly French food. Yum.
Around the corner was the Musee Rodin, where I saw The Thinker and Hells Gate and had tea in the café. I was taking it easy ok? … Honestly, it was the most tranquil museum I’ve been to – mostly outdoors, with a lot of Rodin’s artwork situated in the formal gardens. The hotel in which he used to live and work is part of the museum and is quite lovely in its own right.
From there, I waked to the Musee d’Orsay: Monet, Renoir, Manet, Whistler, Van Gogh and Klimt… wow. They allow you to take photos if you didn’t use a flash, and I took so many photos it really isn’t funny. I seem to have become an art lover without any intention of doing so what so ever. If you'd asked me if I liked going to art galleries this time last year, I'd have given you a resounding 'NO' although I've been to a few in Australia. Now... well, I'm a convert. I freely admit that paintings can be truly beautiful and that the craft involved is truly awe inspiring. Maybe I just grew up or something. Horrible thought! But I can appreciate the artistry now. And I was yet again overwhelmed by the incredible paintings.
Then I walked over the Seine and up through the Jardin des Tuileries (where I finally recognised that the trees I’d been walking past were chestnut trees!), over the Place de la Concord and up the Champs Elysees. The CE is far wider than it looks in pictures. Yet more gardens line the bottom half but the top is dedicated to high-end stores. In that respect it’s very like Oxford Street only wider. And there were many, many more people on the CE. It was exhausting just fighting my way through them. At the top is the Arc de Triomphe. I had intended to climb it but got interrupted; a parade of civil protection officers (like our SES or so I assume) blocked off the road and the swarms of curious tourists were treated to a marching band and flag ceremony. I eventually got to the Arc and climbed the enumerable steps to the top – my calves were not happy and my feet were decidedly belligerent by the time I got ther. But it was worth it for the lovely, if hazy, views of Paris.
I had dinner on the Champs at the Café George V and watched the world go by, then back to the hotel for some more recuperative sleeping.
On Sunday I visited the Museum de Moyen Age at the Hotel Cluny. That was wonderful. I love medieval stuff, so I was in 7th heaven. It’s a museum housed in the remains of Gallo-Roman baths dating back to AD 200 and includes the 15th century Hotel de Cluny which has some gorgeous gargoyles!! The Lady and the Unicorn Tapestries are also kept there, and they are truly amazing. They’re a collection of six Flemish tapestries, dating from 15th Century, which represent each of the five senses with a 6th wrap-up scene. Wow.
Anyway, I decided to spend my remaining time wandering around Montmartre and to pay a visit to Sacre Coeur. The ‘Best of…’ Lonely Planet guides have these lovely directed walks in them, so I did their recommended route and saw some interesting things along the way. These included Van Gogh's house, a beautiful vineyard and bohemian pub, a courtyard of portrait artists (which I annoyingly neglected to get a photo of)...and some hazy views of Paris.
It was a lovely trip, and I’m not going to talk about the return journey because Eurostar failed to live up to expectations, but it didn’t spoil Paris for me, and I will definitely be going back, and as often as I can. It is a wonderful city… and I had a lot of fun trying out my French too!!
The photos will be following later as I took rather a lot of them and It’s going to take me a while to sort out. C’est la vie!
Paris is open. It has wide stretches of grass, huge, grand boulevards, and big stately buildings. It has space that London does not, well, not in my opinion anyway. It seems to be less cluttered, less fiddly, more refined and streamlined and elegant really.
On Friday (after arriving on the Eurostar which was a painless experience), I went to Point Zero, which is where all distances are measured from in Paris, and visited Notre Dame. Now, granted I haven't seen inside Westminster Abbey yet, but ND blew me away. Its front facade isn't any more impressive than many others I’ve seen, but when you get inside, the place is cavernous! It smelt of incense and was hushed and gloomy. Unfortunately, there were many talking tourists about, so not quite the location of contemplation you'd expect, but beautiful in a grungy and well loved sort of way.
As I was determined to take this trip a lot slower than my Amsterdam experience – and as I still had the remnants of the plague – I pottered around taking pictures, and down a side street bought got a Croq Monsieur - why did no one tell me they were so yummy before this? Two pieces of bread - ham between and cheese melted on top and I'd love to know what the cheese was. But it distracted me from the impressive church… how easily I am led! :)
I stumbled onto the flower market, which was beautiful and so peaceful. I always seem to end up in the flower markets of places I visit – they tend to draw me like a loadstone. I just find them so heavenly. Maybe I should try becoming a Gardener later in life…
With a desire to extend my Parisian experience, I stopped off at a cafe for tea (with a cloth tea bag), people watching, and a lemon meringue pie that was an accident of my appalling French...I was trying to order the Lemon Tart!
Next, on the advice of my Lonely Planet guide, I went through the Palais de la Justice (Law Courts) to the Church of Sainte-Chapelle, a small gothic church touted to be incredible. There were two levels to this. Downstairs was a bit of a let down as it seemed very dark, and very commercial, as there was a shop selling medieval paraphernalia, but the ceiling was pretty. Mind you, I LUSTED after the medieval wall hangings they had for sale there. Talk about avarice! If I had had a spare 400 Euro, I’d have bought one of the replica tapestries they had so fast you'd think I was speedy Gonzalez! Upstairs – well, magnificent is the only word I can use to describe it. You climb up a very narrow spiral staircase into another world. It was literally breath taking and everyone came to the top stopped dead in their tracks with gasps of awe and ‘Oh’s of surprise for the amazing stained glass windows. Have a look at the website above - it really is very impressive!
After a suitably decent interval of taking in such magnificence, I moved onto the Conciergerie, which is the remains of a 14th centaury palace. It was cavernous and had the trademark medieval sweeping ceilings and huge fireplaces, so beautiful and ageless but achingly empty. It was used as a prison in the revolution and was where Marie-Antoinette was imprisoned.
From there, I walked to Pont Neuf bridge, which has quite amusing stone heads along it, and gives some lovely views of the Seine.
Then it was onto the Musee du Louvre… wow. It is humongous! I saw the Mona Lisa, the Venus de Milo, the Card-Sharper and lots of Egyptian stuff and then I was stuffed! Someone told me that if you looked at every item in the Louvre for 30 seconds, you’d be there for three months. I can believe it. I have never been in a place as big as that. And yet, I can honestly say that I would go back, time and again, to see more. It was never dull or boring. I wish I had had more energy, or more time, to really assimilate some of the artwork. What ever your passion, whichever century or style, I’m sure you could find it there and then some.
On the way out, I passed under the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel (a mini-version of the other) and then wandered through the Jardin des Tuileries, a lovely and spacious (28 ha) formal garden, to the Place de la Concord, with it’s gorgeous fountains and Egyptian obelisk and then decided that bed was a priority.
The Metro wasn’t as hard to work out as I feared, but it was strange to be in a square train again after the round tube ones. I eventually found my hotel… way out in the sticks. My room this time was tiny, but the single bed was very comfortable, so I didn’t mind a bit.
On Saturday I visited the Eiffel Tower, first winding my way through the Jardins du Trocadero to the Place de Varsovie to take the obligatory picture of the tower and me! J It was really cold though, and I didn’t think standing out in the wind would be good for my health, so I skipped going up. I can do that at a later date.
Another spacious formal garden later, and I found the perfect café to be Parisian in. It was called La TourviIle and reminded me ever so much of Gigi. I sat outside (under heat-lamps) and drank hot chocolate (which wasn’t sweet!) and had some heavenly French food. Yum.
Around the corner was the Musee Rodin, where I saw The Thinker and Hells Gate and had tea in the café. I was taking it easy ok? … Honestly, it was the most tranquil museum I’ve been to – mostly outdoors, with a lot of Rodin’s artwork situated in the formal gardens. The hotel in which he used to live and work is part of the museum and is quite lovely in its own right.
From there, I waked to the Musee d’Orsay: Monet, Renoir, Manet, Whistler, Van Gogh and Klimt… wow. They allow you to take photos if you didn’t use a flash, and I took so many photos it really isn’t funny. I seem to have become an art lover without any intention of doing so what so ever. If you'd asked me if I liked going to art galleries this time last year, I'd have given you a resounding 'NO' although I've been to a few in Australia. Now... well, I'm a convert. I freely admit that paintings can be truly beautiful and that the craft involved is truly awe inspiring. Maybe I just grew up or something. Horrible thought! But I can appreciate the artistry now. And I was yet again overwhelmed by the incredible paintings.
Then I walked over the Seine and up through the Jardin des Tuileries (where I finally recognised that the trees I’d been walking past were chestnut trees!), over the Place de la Concord and up the Champs Elysees. The CE is far wider than it looks in pictures. Yet more gardens line the bottom half but the top is dedicated to high-end stores. In that respect it’s very like Oxford Street only wider. And there were many, many more people on the CE. It was exhausting just fighting my way through them. At the top is the Arc de Triomphe. I had intended to climb it but got interrupted; a parade of civil protection officers (like our SES or so I assume) blocked off the road and the swarms of curious tourists were treated to a marching band and flag ceremony. I eventually got to the Arc and climbed the enumerable steps to the top – my calves were not happy and my feet were decidedly belligerent by the time I got ther. But it was worth it for the lovely, if hazy, views of Paris.
I had dinner on the Champs at the Café George V and watched the world go by, then back to the hotel for some more recuperative sleeping.
On Sunday I visited the Museum de Moyen Age at the Hotel Cluny. That was wonderful. I love medieval stuff, so I was in 7th heaven. It’s a museum housed in the remains of Gallo-Roman baths dating back to AD 200 and includes the 15th century Hotel de Cluny which has some gorgeous gargoyles!! The Lady and the Unicorn Tapestries are also kept there, and they are truly amazing. They’re a collection of six Flemish tapestries, dating from 15th Century, which represent each of the five senses with a 6th wrap-up scene. Wow.
Anyway, I decided to spend my remaining time wandering around Montmartre and to pay a visit to Sacre Coeur. The ‘Best of…’ Lonely Planet guides have these lovely directed walks in them, so I did their recommended route and saw some interesting things along the way. These included Van Gogh's house, a beautiful vineyard and bohemian pub, a courtyard of portrait artists (which I annoyingly neglected to get a photo of)...and some hazy views of Paris.
It was a lovely trip, and I’m not going to talk about the return journey because Eurostar failed to live up to expectations, but it didn’t spoil Paris for me, and I will definitely be going back, and as often as I can. It is a wonderful city… and I had a lot of fun trying out my French too!!
The photos will be following later as I took rather a lot of them and It’s going to take me a while to sort out. C’est la vie!
Wednesday 24 October 2007
Lemming Behaviour...
I’ve been having a disconcerting number of blond moments recently… and yes, I can say that because I AM blond!! Here follows a small list which provides incontrovertible proof of my dedication to becoming a lemming:
Action: I visited the Australia shop to buy flags for the Last Night at the Proms, and seeing that I was there, and that they had them, and I hadn’t had them in about five years, I bought a box of Chicken Shapes. Half way through eating the contents, I remembered why I hadn’t bought them in five years… I am allergic to them.
Result: Delightful migraine on the night before the last night of the proms.
Action: Trusting my fridge… well I’ve blogged about that already here.
Result: Continuous cramps for three days.
Action: Leaving my window open a crack because ‘I like fresh air’ when I know it’s going to be hovering around the four degree mark overnight, and that, as I am a rather immobile sleeper, a draft would give me a crick in the neck… and doing this, not once, oh no, but on THREE separate occasions within a two week period.
Result: Inability to move my head in any direction without continual stabbing pains for days after each occation.
But most stupid of all??
Action: Now I know that if I look after myself when I feel the first twitchings of an illness, it doesn’t usually latch on too hard and I recover much faster than if I don’t. Well, I didn’t. No, instead, I went to Brighton, for a day out in the cold, with a really bad head cold. All in a good cause of course! I wanted to catch up with some lovely people I haven’t seen in years… but honestly Kat!!
Result: It was wonderful catching up with Kerry and Nick, but I was totally flattened afterwards and had to stay in bed for two days, so lost two day’s wages, and as I failed to look after myself prior, I have since failed to get rid of the damn thing. I was also so generous as to pass on this indescribable plague to many of my poor fellow office compatriots, playing havoc with IT support for a week.
I know I have a degree, but whether or not I have a brain is a much more vexing question.
Action: I visited the Australia shop to buy flags for the Last Night at the Proms, and seeing that I was there, and that they had them, and I hadn’t had them in about five years, I bought a box of Chicken Shapes. Half way through eating the contents, I remembered why I hadn’t bought them in five years… I am allergic to them.
Result: Delightful migraine on the night before the last night of the proms.
Action: Trusting my fridge… well I’ve blogged about that already here.
Result: Continuous cramps for three days.
Action: Leaving my window open a crack because ‘I like fresh air’ when I know it’s going to be hovering around the four degree mark overnight, and that, as I am a rather immobile sleeper, a draft would give me a crick in the neck… and doing this, not once, oh no, but on THREE separate occasions within a two week period.
Result: Inability to move my head in any direction without continual stabbing pains for days after each occation.
But most stupid of all??
Action: Now I know that if I look after myself when I feel the first twitchings of an illness, it doesn’t usually latch on too hard and I recover much faster than if I don’t. Well, I didn’t. No, instead, I went to Brighton, for a day out in the cold, with a really bad head cold. All in a good cause of course! I wanted to catch up with some lovely people I haven’t seen in years… but honestly Kat!!
Result: It was wonderful catching up with Kerry and Nick, but I was totally flattened afterwards and had to stay in bed for two days, so lost two day’s wages, and as I failed to look after myself prior, I have since failed to get rid of the damn thing. I was also so generous as to pass on this indescribable plague to many of my poor fellow office compatriots, playing havoc with IT support for a week.
I know I have a degree, but whether or not I have a brain is a much more vexing question.
Saturday 20 October 2007
Amsterdam
It was fun. Exhausting, but fun.
My modes of transportation were impressive - or rather, the sheer number I had to take to get to and from home to my hotel and thence to Amsterdam return was impressive. All up, I travelled on 10 trains, 4 busses, 2 planes, 1 tram, 1 taxi and a partridge in a pear tree... not that you can travel in a pear tree... but you may be able to travel on the partridge! And the one mode I didn't take that I wish I had as it would have really saved my feet: Bicycle. Will be hiring one next time for damn sure! I don't think I spent more time travelling than I did actually in Amsterdam, but I could be wrong - it was definitely a close run thing!
Arriving Friday night after a full day's work, all I wanted to do was crash (3 trains, 1 plane, 1 taxi). And I got a lovely surprise when I got to the hotel. Both the hotel and my room were MaHOOsive!!! The hotel was out in the sticks which accounted for me being able to afford such luxury, but still... I wasn't expecting such a cavernous suite I can tell you!
Anyway, on Saturday I went into Amsterdam (3 busses, 2 trains), arriving in Amsterdam Centraal Station and proceeded to kill my feet by hiking to the De Gooyer Windmill. It probably wasn't that far, but it sure didn't feel like a stroll. En route I passed NEMO - the science and tech museum, which looks like a giant sinking ship, complete with a three-master out front; The Nederlands Scheepvaartmuseum (the maritime museum), which is closed until 2009 (D'oh); the start of a boat race, the participants of which I continued to see all day speeding along the canals; some amazing spider webs from which I stayed a healthy distance away; and literally thousands of bicycles - they're everywhere - something like 600,000 of them are owned in the country and there seemed to be more bicycles than people!! Anyway, the windmill wasn't actually in motion when I arrived so I got a coffee and recovered from the walk. An hour later it still wasn't going, so I decided to head back into town. I managed to see it starting to spin out of the rear window of the bus I finally caught back to Centraal... damn.
Speaking of dams, Dam Square is the main square in the centre of Amsterdam. It's situated where the first dam of the Amstel river was created from which the city takes it's name... I think. Anyway, the National Monument is there and the Koinklijk Paleis, a royal residence, along with, very bizarrely, a full-blown fair out front. I got a two-foot high pink and yellow stick of fairy floss so I was happy.
Next was a wonder through the winding streets of the city, over many canals and through interesting little side alleys, where I found the Bloemenmarkt (lovely street of flower shops selling tons of tulip bulbs), the Delft shop (scary being in there actually - I was very aware of not touching anything), amazing displays of alcohol (would you like your whisky in a deer, or horse-shaped bottle or perhaps a motorbike?), and quite a few ‘Australia’ shops selling Australian chocolate (I didn't know we had especially good chocolate back home...?!?). I passed, and was too scared to go into, the Amsterdam Diamond Centre. I think you need to be made of money to go into that place which I am obviously not. Diamonds are apparently one of the Netherlands bigger industries. And also went past one of the original gates to the city. I think I circled around the main areas at least three times. My feet felt very ill-used but the place is so fascinating it warranted several passes.
Amsterdam has a very bohemian side and is very liberal. There are 'Coffee houses' selling hash everywhere, and the Red-Light district, which is prostitute territory, is a major tourist attraction for everyone including families with young children. There really are red lights on the houses and many scantily clad ladies posing in purposefully designed windows down one particular street. It was interesting. There was also a Sex Museum, a Marijuana Museum and an Exotic Museum along with so many sex shops I lost count. Pretty much like Fyshwick only classy. And right in the middle of it, a beautiful Church - Oude Kirk - which is dedicated to St Nicholas, the patron saint of sailors and prostitutes appropriately! I went into the Sex museum, which was a good chortle, but also educational in the way that sex has been viewed through time. They have some very interesting displays there.
Sunday (5 trains, 2 busses, 1 tram, 1 plane) I went back into Amsterdam for a few hours and thence home... but I did manage to get some cultural experiences in before departing. I walked from Centraal to the Oud Zuid and a stretch of ground they call the Museumplein for good reason. It’s this vast grassed area with a fantastic collection of museums and cultural icons on the edges.
The first I visited was the Rijksmuseum. This is Amsterdam’s answer to the Louvre. The building itself is very impressive. Unfortunately it's undergoing renovations, so only it’s ‘Masters’ were on show. Funnily enough, that wasn't really a handy cap. The best of the museum all agglomerated in one location so I didn't have to go hiking for miles to find them? I call that fortuitous! And they really were amazing. Rembrant... wow! Such illumination - his paintings literally GLOW! Paintings don’t often inspire me, but I was in total awe at these - I really wish I'd had time to go to Rembranthuis where he painted - next time. The Night Watch, his most famous painting there, was incredible - and so big. I've seen it on the TV in art shows before, but seeing it up close was a totally different experience. Exhilarating really.
Then I popped just next door to the Van Gogh museum. A much more modern building housing 200 odd of his paintings and 800 plus sketches on four floors. It was amazing to see so many of his works in one place and there was such variety! I love his flower paintings best. His variations on sunflowers - apparently he did 5 of them with variously blue and yellow backgrounds - and his orchids are just so vibrant and energetic. They really appealed to me.
In the same area is the Concertgebow (a concert hall famous the world over). I wish I could have gone to a performance. I've heard so many classical concerts recorded from there. However, it was closed, so I just got pictures of the outside.
Then I decided my feet needed yet further torture and headed over to Vondle Park, ostensibly for a relaxing afternoon of contemplation, but really I just sat on the bank of one of the lakes and aired my blisters.
Then it was on to Vondle Kirk for a quick look (a church - which I saw one side of) before heading back to Amsterdam Centraal and back the Airport to go home.
I was so tired I couldn't sleep - over stimulated I think. I will try to take it a little easier the next time I go OS. I pushed myself a little too hard trying to see everything at once. I think I’m coming down with a cold too. I just keep forgetting that I can go back and visit again. I don't have to do everything all at once. Too energetic, that's me. Huh!
My modes of transportation were impressive - or rather, the sheer number I had to take to get to and from home to my hotel and thence to Amsterdam return was impressive. All up, I travelled on 10 trains, 4 busses, 2 planes, 1 tram, 1 taxi and a partridge in a pear tree... not that you can travel in a pear tree... but you may be able to travel on the partridge! And the one mode I didn't take that I wish I had as it would have really saved my feet: Bicycle. Will be hiring one next time for damn sure! I don't think I spent more time travelling than I did actually in Amsterdam, but I could be wrong - it was definitely a close run thing!
Arriving Friday night after a full day's work, all I wanted to do was crash (3 trains, 1 plane, 1 taxi). And I got a lovely surprise when I got to the hotel. Both the hotel and my room were MaHOOsive!!! The hotel was out in the sticks which accounted for me being able to afford such luxury, but still... I wasn't expecting such a cavernous suite I can tell you!
Anyway, on Saturday I went into Amsterdam (3 busses, 2 trains), arriving in Amsterdam Centraal Station and proceeded to kill my feet by hiking to the De Gooyer Windmill. It probably wasn't that far, but it sure didn't feel like a stroll. En route I passed NEMO - the science and tech museum, which looks like a giant sinking ship, complete with a three-master out front; The Nederlands Scheepvaartmuseum (the maritime museum), which is closed until 2009 (D'oh); the start of a boat race, the participants of which I continued to see all day speeding along the canals; some amazing spider webs from which I stayed a healthy distance away; and literally thousands of bicycles - they're everywhere - something like 600,000 of them are owned in the country and there seemed to be more bicycles than people!! Anyway, the windmill wasn't actually in motion when I arrived so I got a coffee and recovered from the walk. An hour later it still wasn't going, so I decided to head back into town. I managed to see it starting to spin out of the rear window of the bus I finally caught back to Centraal... damn.
Speaking of dams, Dam Square is the main square in the centre of Amsterdam. It's situated where the first dam of the Amstel river was created from which the city takes it's name... I think. Anyway, the National Monument is there and the Koinklijk Paleis, a royal residence, along with, very bizarrely, a full-blown fair out front. I got a two-foot high pink and yellow stick of fairy floss so I was happy.
Next was a wonder through the winding streets of the city, over many canals and through interesting little side alleys, where I found the Bloemenmarkt (lovely street of flower shops selling tons of tulip bulbs), the Delft shop (scary being in there actually - I was very aware of not touching anything), amazing displays of alcohol (would you like your whisky in a deer, or horse-shaped bottle or perhaps a motorbike?), and quite a few ‘Australia’ shops selling Australian chocolate (I didn't know we had especially good chocolate back home...?!?). I passed, and was too scared to go into, the Amsterdam Diamond Centre. I think you need to be made of money to go into that place which I am obviously not. Diamonds are apparently one of the Netherlands bigger industries. And also went past one of the original gates to the city. I think I circled around the main areas at least three times. My feet felt very ill-used but the place is so fascinating it warranted several passes.
Amsterdam has a very bohemian side and is very liberal. There are 'Coffee houses' selling hash everywhere, and the Red-Light district, which is prostitute territory, is a major tourist attraction for everyone including families with young children. There really are red lights on the houses and many scantily clad ladies posing in purposefully designed windows down one particular street. It was interesting. There was also a Sex Museum, a Marijuana Museum and an Exotic Museum along with so many sex shops I lost count. Pretty much like Fyshwick only classy. And right in the middle of it, a beautiful Church - Oude Kirk - which is dedicated to St Nicholas, the patron saint of sailors and prostitutes appropriately! I went into the Sex museum, which was a good chortle, but also educational in the way that sex has been viewed through time. They have some very interesting displays there.
Sunday (5 trains, 2 busses, 1 tram, 1 plane) I went back into Amsterdam for a few hours and thence home... but I did manage to get some cultural experiences in before departing. I walked from Centraal to the Oud Zuid and a stretch of ground they call the Museumplein for good reason. It’s this vast grassed area with a fantastic collection of museums and cultural icons on the edges.
The first I visited was the Rijksmuseum. This is Amsterdam’s answer to the Louvre. The building itself is very impressive. Unfortunately it's undergoing renovations, so only it’s ‘Masters’ were on show. Funnily enough, that wasn't really a handy cap. The best of the museum all agglomerated in one location so I didn't have to go hiking for miles to find them? I call that fortuitous! And they really were amazing. Rembrant... wow! Such illumination - his paintings literally GLOW! Paintings don’t often inspire me, but I was in total awe at these - I really wish I'd had time to go to Rembranthuis where he painted - next time. The Night Watch, his most famous painting there, was incredible - and so big. I've seen it on the TV in art shows before, but seeing it up close was a totally different experience. Exhilarating really.
Then I popped just next door to the Van Gogh museum. A much more modern building housing 200 odd of his paintings and 800 plus sketches on four floors. It was amazing to see so many of his works in one place and there was such variety! I love his flower paintings best. His variations on sunflowers - apparently he did 5 of them with variously blue and yellow backgrounds - and his orchids are just so vibrant and energetic. They really appealed to me.
In the same area is the Concertgebow (a concert hall famous the world over). I wish I could have gone to a performance. I've heard so many classical concerts recorded from there. However, it was closed, so I just got pictures of the outside.
Then I decided my feet needed yet further torture and headed over to Vondle Park, ostensibly for a relaxing afternoon of contemplation, but really I just sat on the bank of one of the lakes and aired my blisters.
Then it was on to Vondle Kirk for a quick look (a church - which I saw one side of) before heading back to Amsterdam Centraal and back the Airport to go home.
I was so tired I couldn't sleep - over stimulated I think. I will try to take it a little easier the next time I go OS. I pushed myself a little too hard trying to see everything at once. I think I’m coming down with a cold too. I just keep forgetting that I can go back and visit again. I don't have to do everything all at once. Too energetic, that's me. Huh!
Thursday 18 October 2007
A Romantic Notion Debunked
I have always heard that the position of the horse’s hooves in a statue of a famous person on horseback reflected the way that the person died. I liked this theory and kept intending to investigate it to verify the meaning. Well this morning, I finally did.
The theory goes that if all four hooves are on the ground then the rider survived all battles without incident, if one hoof is raised then the rider was wounded in battle but if two hoofs are raised – ie, the horse is rearing up – then the rider died in battle.
Unfortunately, if you look at the various statues around and then research the death of the rider, there isn’t a consistent correlation. There are some which follow this seeming code, but enough that don’t to debunk the myth. It turns out that the position of the hooves doesn’t actually symbolise anything except the fancy of the sculptor. If you like to know more you can go here or here.
*Sigh* another romantic notion up in flames.
The theory goes that if all four hooves are on the ground then the rider survived all battles without incident, if one hoof is raised then the rider was wounded in battle but if two hoofs are raised – ie, the horse is rearing up – then the rider died in battle.
Unfortunately, if you look at the various statues around and then research the death of the rider, there isn’t a consistent correlation. There are some which follow this seeming code, but enough that don’t to debunk the myth. It turns out that the position of the hooves doesn’t actually symbolise anything except the fancy of the sculptor. If you like to know more you can go here or here.
*Sigh* another romantic notion up in flames.
Wednesday 17 October 2007
Autumn is upon us...
Overnight it seems that the leaves have all turned vibrant shades of orange and yellow and started falling everywhere. It's quite beautiful and a very obvious sign of the change in seasons. I haven't really noticed the autumn switch since I lived in Melbourne, so it's a nice stark reminder that there are indeed four seasons here and that I'd really better start preparing for winter.
Whilst it is indeed lovely, there is one real downfall of all the leaves; with the predominance of rain that London has, they don't blow away, but get wet and slimy instead. Walking to work has become an interesting proposition as I’m frequently in danger of becoming part of a slapstick comedy act. I can just see myself doing a banana slide and then going arse over tit, arms flailing wildly whilst my feet fly over my head and I land on my back with a loud bang accompanied by plenty of riotous laughter.
Not something I’d really like to do often thank you.
Whilst it is indeed lovely, there is one real downfall of all the leaves; with the predominance of rain that London has, they don't blow away, but get wet and slimy instead. Walking to work has become an interesting proposition as I’m frequently in danger of becoming part of a slapstick comedy act. I can just see myself doing a banana slide and then going arse over tit, arms flailing wildly whilst my feet fly over my head and I land on my back with a loud bang accompanied by plenty of riotous laughter.
Not something I’d really like to do often thank you.
Tuesday 16 October 2007
Leunig
I felt in need of a little inspiration today, so I turned to one of my favourite Australian poets, Michael Leunig, and some of his lovely prayers.
God bless this little boat
And me who travels in it.
It stays afloat for years and years
And sinks within a minute.
And so the soul in which we sail,
Unknown by years of thinking,
Is deeply felt and understood
The minute that its sinking.
Let it go. Let it out.
Let it all unravel.
Let it free and it can be
A path on which to travel.
God help us
If our world should grow dark,
And there is no way of seeing or knowing
Grant us courage and trust
To touch and be touched
To find our way onwards
By feeling
Amen.
Love is born
With a dark and troubled face,
When hope is dead
And in the most unlikely place;
Love is born,
Love is always born.
Always lovely :)
God bless this little boat
And me who travels in it.
It stays afloat for years and years
And sinks within a minute.
And so the soul in which we sail,
Unknown by years of thinking,
Is deeply felt and understood
The minute that its sinking.
Let it go. Let it out.
Let it all unravel.
Let it free and it can be
A path on which to travel.
God help us
If our world should grow dark,
And there is no way of seeing or knowing
Grant us courage and trust
To touch and be touched
To find our way onwards
By feeling
Amen.
Love is born
With a dark and troubled face,
When hope is dead
And in the most unlikely place;
Love is born,
Love is always born.
Always lovely :)
Monday 15 October 2007
Amsterdam...later
I am so very tired after this weekend. I enjoyed going to Amsterdam, but right now I want to go to bed and I have the rest of the day to get through yet. Will write about Am later I think…
Thursday 11 October 2007
Activities for this Week:
Gym, Veg, Salsa, Washing / Packing, AMSTERDAM!!!
Oh and I've reached a minor mile-stone. This is my 60th blog since my adventures began. Pretty good going if I do say so myself!
:-)
Oh and I've reached a minor mile-stone. This is my 60th blog since my adventures began. Pretty good going if I do say so myself!
:-)
Tuesday 9 October 2007
Umbrella Etiquette
First things first: Happy Birthday Ali.
Now, I don’t know if I’ve said it before but it bears saying again; London is a very dichotomous society.
There are those who use manners; sorry, excuse me, sorry, thank you, sorry, pardon me, sorry, my pleasure, sorry, you’re welcome…
And those who do not; I am going to hurl abuse at you because I am annoyed, or because you brushed past me trying desperately to get off the bus, or I am drunk, or you looked at me strangely, or the bus isn’t on time, or the Police are asking me to move in a different direction from the one I wanted to go…
There are those that queue; you were first, please no dearie, I’m sure you was first…
And those that don’t; if you stand at a pedestrian crossing far enough from the curb not to get blind-sided by a buses side-mirror then it is guaranteed that by the time the light turns green, there will be five people standing in front of you.
And then there are those that practice umbrella etiquette; I am going to try not to impale you as you are walking down the street, I will lift and angle my umbrella away from yours so that they don’t catch and clash.
And those don't; I will quite happily use my umbrella as a weapon of mass destruction, scratching, gauging, ripping and swiping you without giving a frig as to the damage I'm causing and look at you like you were a piece of trash when you squeal in agony.
I prefer to be one of the former on all counts… it’s the way I’m hard wired I guess. And I’m not going to apologise for saying sorry! :-) But I will admit, in terms of the English fascination with manners, the umbrella dance holds a special place in my heart and has me transfixed every time I see it.
This morning it was raining, and for some reason known only to my deepest unconscious, I decided to walk to work. Well, when I say rain, it was really only spitting or misting. London rain often lacks commitment – which makes for a bit of difficulty on the umbrella front; to use or not to use, that is the question. You’re kinda damned if you do and damned if you don’t, as either way, you still get rather convincingly wet. However, this morning there were more umbrellas in evidence than there were people sodden and bearing it, so the Umbrella quadrille was in full swing.
Whenever it’s wet, you will see the polite Londoners, umbrellas aloft, dancing around, trying to avoid each other’s spokes and still maintain the semblance of rain-coverage. The often colourful circles rise and fall, dip and glide, pirouette and curtsy in an intricate dance of consideration and civility. It’s quite entrancing to watch when it works, to see everyone manage to thread the fine line between a dry walk and hopeless entanglement, especially at those points of convergence such as Tube Station exits. And yet, in a second, it can all be ruined by the boorish, stubborn, unmannerly care-nots who prefer to fight and impale rather than be courteous and dance.
Thankfully this morning I only encountered one boor, and it was only a minor contretemps, his umbrella suffering more than mine I fancy, and I arrived safely, if a tad damp, at work. But the rest of the walk was pure spectacle and very amusing!
Now, I don’t know if I’ve said it before but it bears saying again; London is a very dichotomous society.
There are those who use manners; sorry, excuse me, sorry, thank you, sorry, pardon me, sorry, my pleasure, sorry, you’re welcome…
And those who do not; I am going to hurl abuse at you because I am annoyed, or because you brushed past me trying desperately to get off the bus, or I am drunk, or you looked at me strangely, or the bus isn’t on time, or the Police are asking me to move in a different direction from the one I wanted to go…
There are those that queue; you were first, please no dearie, I’m sure you was first…
And those that don’t; if you stand at a pedestrian crossing far enough from the curb not to get blind-sided by a buses side-mirror then it is guaranteed that by the time the light turns green, there will be five people standing in front of you.
And then there are those that practice umbrella etiquette; I am going to try not to impale you as you are walking down the street, I will lift and angle my umbrella away from yours so that they don’t catch and clash.
And those don't; I will quite happily use my umbrella as a weapon of mass destruction, scratching, gauging, ripping and swiping you without giving a frig as to the damage I'm causing and look at you like you were a piece of trash when you squeal in agony.
I prefer to be one of the former on all counts… it’s the way I’m hard wired I guess. And I’m not going to apologise for saying sorry! :-) But I will admit, in terms of the English fascination with manners, the umbrella dance holds a special place in my heart and has me transfixed every time I see it.
This morning it was raining, and for some reason known only to my deepest unconscious, I decided to walk to work. Well, when I say rain, it was really only spitting or misting. London rain often lacks commitment – which makes for a bit of difficulty on the umbrella front; to use or not to use, that is the question. You’re kinda damned if you do and damned if you don’t, as either way, you still get rather convincingly wet. However, this morning there were more umbrellas in evidence than there were people sodden and bearing it, so the Umbrella quadrille was in full swing.
Whenever it’s wet, you will see the polite Londoners, umbrellas aloft, dancing around, trying to avoid each other’s spokes and still maintain the semblance of rain-coverage. The often colourful circles rise and fall, dip and glide, pirouette and curtsy in an intricate dance of consideration and civility. It’s quite entrancing to watch when it works, to see everyone manage to thread the fine line between a dry walk and hopeless entanglement, especially at those points of convergence such as Tube Station exits. And yet, in a second, it can all be ruined by the boorish, stubborn, unmannerly care-nots who prefer to fight and impale rather than be courteous and dance.
Thankfully this morning I only encountered one boor, and it was only a minor contretemps, his umbrella suffering more than mine I fancy, and I arrived safely, if a tad damp, at work. But the rest of the walk was pure spectacle and very amusing!
Sunday 7 October 2007
Holy Shit
Now, I know I said I’d not say no to stuff whilst I'm over here - but no-one asked me to do this. I just did it, of my on volition, without thinking about it. Crap. Why did I do this? What am I putting myself up for?
What’s the fuss about? I've just signed up for NaNoWriMo idiot that I am. This is HUGE for me. Writing a novel is something I’ve always had on my list of ‘Things To Do’, but it was always “I’ll get around to it…eventually”. Not “Right NOW Dammit”!
NaNoWriMo is a month long writing spree conducted by thousands of people world-wide for the month of November. The aim is to achieve a novel of 50,000 words or more within that month, and the emphasis is on quantity not quality, so your internal editor is shut in a box and pure creative bullshit ensues. Anyone who completes the word-limit in the time limit (and only about 17% of the participants do) gains international bragging writes, the self-satisfaction of achieving a personal goal and the first draft of a potential novel.
Mind you, the aim for me was always just to write a book, not to become an author. It never has to be published thank goodness. But I guess this will really push me to see if I can do it, and if I can, I will then have it under my belt as another accomplishment.
But oh dear… my head is spinning. It’s a very big commitment. Better make sure I don’t plan too many activities in November. May not be blogging much that month either.
50,000 words. Wow.
What’s the fuss about? I've just signed up for NaNoWriMo idiot that I am. This is HUGE for me. Writing a novel is something I’ve always had on my list of ‘Things To Do’, but it was always “I’ll get around to it…eventually”. Not “Right NOW Dammit”!
NaNoWriMo is a month long writing spree conducted by thousands of people world-wide for the month of November. The aim is to achieve a novel of 50,000 words or more within that month, and the emphasis is on quantity not quality, so your internal editor is shut in a box and pure creative bullshit ensues. Anyone who completes the word-limit in the time limit (and only about 17% of the participants do) gains international bragging writes, the self-satisfaction of achieving a personal goal and the first draft of a potential novel.
Mind you, the aim for me was always just to write a book, not to become an author. It never has to be published thank goodness. But I guess this will really push me to see if I can do it, and if I can, I will then have it under my belt as another accomplishment.
But oh dear… my head is spinning. It’s a very big commitment. Better make sure I don’t plan too many activities in November. May not be blogging much that month either.
50,000 words. Wow.
Saturday 6 October 2007
I would like to talk to you about Duvets
A Duvet is something I never knew I owned – and yet I did. A Doona is a Duvet.
Apparently it is only called a ‘Doona’ in Australia, derived form the Old Norse dunn meaning ‘down feathers’ and something else that I never knew - that the actual word ‘Doona’ started as a brand name for duvets in Australia. Like so many Australian products, the brand name becomes the product name, so we have Glad Wrap and Scotch tape and Speedo’s and Kleenex and Biro’s… Well, how many examples can you think of?
But let’s not get too sidetracked here.
When I first secured my current place of abode, I had to purchase a lot of manchester, as furniture was included in the flat but linen was not. So I had to buy sheets and towels and pillows… and a duvet. The problem was that duvets here are labelled very differently from what we see at home. Instead of the % of wool v acrylic or down v feathers, all duvets here are rated according to Togs. So What on Earth is a Tog? I hear you ask… well, if you didn’t ask, I certainly did, as I had absolutely no clue and wasn’t about to purchase anything if I couldn’t tell how warm it was going to be.
So off to the trusty www for me…
Tog: Unit of measure of thermal insulation used in the textile trade; a light summer suit provides 1.0 tog. The tog value of an object is equal to ten times the temperature difference (in °C) between its two surfaces when the flow of heat is equal to one watt per square metre; one tog equals 0.645 clo.
Or, in somewhat more user-friendly English:
What are tog ratings?
A 'tog' is a UK industry standard name used for measuring the warmth of a duvet. The higher the tog rating, the warmer the duvet. Togs are measured in units of thermal resistance. For instance if a duvet has a tog rating of 4.5 then it would be more likely be used in the summer months. And at the other end of the scale, a duvet with a tog rating of 13.5 would be used in the colder months of the year.
summer >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> winter
4.5 tog 6 tog 7.5 tog 9 tog 10.5 tog 12 tog 13.5 tog
Something that Australia could benefit from incorporating I think. When I first moved out of home I bought a Doona that was way too warm for me during summer and not warm enough in winter. I learnt that lesson well, and never again bought a 50% down Doona. But you’re still never quite sure if what you’re getting is going to be right for you when you purchase something back home.
Here, they have ingenious duel packs where you can buy a 4.5 and a 10 together, which gives you a summer duvet (the 4.5), a spring and autumn duvet (the 10) and a winter duvet (the 4.5 and 10 combined). This is what I did, and I have recently changed from my summer to my autumn duvet, and it works a treat. I’ve never actually been quite as comfortable in those ‘in-between’ months before. It’s great!
Just thought I’d let you know! :)
Apparently it is only called a ‘Doona’ in Australia, derived form the Old Norse dunn meaning ‘down feathers’ and something else that I never knew - that the actual word ‘Doona’ started as a brand name for duvets in Australia. Like so many Australian products, the brand name becomes the product name, so we have Glad Wrap and Scotch tape and Speedo’s and Kleenex and Biro’s… Well, how many examples can you think of?
But let’s not get too sidetracked here.
When I first secured my current place of abode, I had to purchase a lot of manchester, as furniture was included in the flat but linen was not. So I had to buy sheets and towels and pillows… and a duvet. The problem was that duvets here are labelled very differently from what we see at home. Instead of the % of wool v acrylic or down v feathers, all duvets here are rated according to Togs. So What on Earth is a Tog? I hear you ask… well, if you didn’t ask, I certainly did, as I had absolutely no clue and wasn’t about to purchase anything if I couldn’t tell how warm it was going to be.
So off to the trusty www for me…
Tog: Unit of measure of thermal insulation used in the textile trade; a light summer suit provides 1.0 tog. The tog value of an object is equal to ten times the temperature difference (in °C) between its two surfaces when the flow of heat is equal to one watt per square metre; one tog equals 0.645 clo.
Or, in somewhat more user-friendly English:
What are tog ratings?
A 'tog' is a UK industry standard name used for measuring the warmth of a duvet. The higher the tog rating, the warmer the duvet. Togs are measured in units of thermal resistance. For instance if a duvet has a tog rating of 4.5 then it would be more likely be used in the summer months. And at the other end of the scale, a duvet with a tog rating of 13.5 would be used in the colder months of the year.
summer >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> winter
4.5 tog 6 tog 7.5 tog 9 tog 10.5 tog 12 tog 13.5 tog
Something that Australia could benefit from incorporating I think. When I first moved out of home I bought a Doona that was way too warm for me during summer and not warm enough in winter. I learnt that lesson well, and never again bought a 50% down Doona. But you’re still never quite sure if what you’re getting is going to be right for you when you purchase something back home.
Here, they have ingenious duel packs where you can buy a 4.5 and a 10 together, which gives you a summer duvet (the 4.5), a spring and autumn duvet (the 10) and a winter duvet (the 4.5 and 10 combined). This is what I did, and I have recently changed from my summer to my autumn duvet, and it works a treat. I’ve never actually been quite as comfortable in those ‘in-between’ months before. It’s great!
Just thought I’d let you know! :)
Wednesday 3 October 2007
The fridge that isn't...
I have had a no-exercise week. Why? Because I ate something I shouldn't'a on Monday night and have been paying the penance for it ever since.
I forgot the cardinal rules of our fridge:
1. Never trust the milk no matter how fresh it is
2. Detract at least 3 days from all other Used By dates
3. Eat at Your Own Risk
I forgot rules two and three and have been feeling remarkably like a punching bag ever since. Used by dates don't mean anything in this country. It's all 'use three days after opening' regardless of when it's 'Due'... which always confuses me!
Every time I do anything more strenuous than a gentle amble, my entire intestinal tract seizes up and lets me know in no uncertain terms that it is feeling exceedingly delicate thank you very much and to please walk slower or else suffer the agonizing death of one thousand cramps. My shoulders are sore from the amount of time I've spent hunched over.
Needless to say, Salsa was off the menu for tonight. I'm catching up with the Muppets instead, and hoping against hope that the bland and boring chicken dish thing I bought for this evenings repast is well within it's used by date...
Grrr...
I forgot the cardinal rules of our fridge:
1. Never trust the milk no matter how fresh it is
2. Detract at least 3 days from all other Used By dates
3. Eat at Your Own Risk
I forgot rules two and three and have been feeling remarkably like a punching bag ever since. Used by dates don't mean anything in this country. It's all 'use three days after opening' regardless of when it's 'Due'... which always confuses me!
Every time I do anything more strenuous than a gentle amble, my entire intestinal tract seizes up and lets me know in no uncertain terms that it is feeling exceedingly delicate thank you very much and to please walk slower or else suffer the agonizing death of one thousand cramps. My shoulders are sore from the amount of time I've spent hunched over.
Needless to say, Salsa was off the menu for tonight. I'm catching up with the Muppets instead, and hoping against hope that the bland and boring chicken dish thing I bought for this evenings repast is well within it's used by date...
Grrr...
Tuesday 2 October 2007
A Mad Dash for Three G's
One of the things I love about this city is that eventually everyone you’d ever want to see visits here. I’ve just seen Patrick Stewart in Macbeth, Ian McKellen will soon be playing here in King Lear and this evening I saw Neil Gaiman and Jonathan Pryce!
So – G number one was Neil Gaiman in conversation with Claire Armitstead from the Guardian, at the Criterion Theatre in Picadilly, It was an interview, but really he needed so little prompting, she just sort of nudged him in appropriate directions
I was running very late too. I just made it to the theatre for 1800, which is when it was supposed to start, but like all good theatrical events, it was running five minutes late so it was all good.
Neil is in town for the UK opening and promotion of ‘Stardust’ the movie, which I will in due course see, but he talked of many other things as well. It was an hour’s dialogue – and the crowd were allowed to ask questions at the end too. It was fascinating. He’s a lot nicer and gentler in person than you are led to believe from his writing and he said some very interesting things. Like he writes something to discover what he thinks about a subject rather than to illuminate others, and that he isn’t concerned with offending people when writing; in person he’s squeamish and polite, but the minute he’s in a story he looses his inhibitions and just writes what the story asks of him. He also said that if he ever tried to write something for money it invariably went wrong, but if he wrote what interested or intrigued him, the money just sort of worked itself out.
Richard kept my company at this event, and as we were both due at the Apollo to see a play at 1945, he was understandably concerned that we make that performance in time. However as the Gaiman interview was over by 1900 we had about ¾ of an hour up our sleeves and so decided to go to have a look in a Neil’s book signing down the road to see how long the line was. The signing was happening at the Piccadilly Waterstones (the biggest bookstore in Europe) and when we got there we were told to wait for about 2 minutes and then were ushered into a separate room. I really don’t know how we managed it but R and I ended up first in line for the signing. So of course we waited. And waited. Until Neil finally came in at about 1925. I got some photos and two books signed and Richard got his copy of Good Omens signed, which he’d been carrying around the world with him in hope of such an opportunity as he’d already managed to get it signed by Terry Pratchett it’s other author. So it was a bit of a mad dash for us, over to the Blue Posts to pick up the tickets from Jase and then to make it to the theatre on time, but we did.
So, the second G was seeing Jonathan Pryce in ‘Glengarry Glen Ross’ at the Apollo. It was an absorbing play. The dialogue was electric and the actor’s were superb… only, I was a little lost as to what the whole thing was about, until interval, when Jason was able to illuminate me. The film apparently makes it a lot clearer, but essentially the main plot of the play is a competition: 1st prize is a Cadillac, 2nd Prize is you keep your job, and 3rd Prize is you’re fired! So, it’s four door-to-door salesmen in the US competing to sell real estate, and if they don’t get any sales up on the board they lose their jobs.
I found it compelling, but just as I was a little lost at the beginning, so I was a tad under-whelmed at the end. The twist really wasn’t one for me, and although the dynamic between the actors was good, a couple of them kept loosing their American accents, which I found quite jarring. Add that to that the fact that I wasn’t feeling so great and the end result was that I enjoyed it but wasn’t fired by it – no pun intended.
So the third G? It was goodbye to Martin tonight. He’s off home tomorrow and so we had a last beer at the Belgium bar De Hems (I had strawberry beer this time – can’t wait to go to Belgium!) and an Adelaidean contingent photo and then I had to retire.
Sad to see him go but he will be back for Christmas… won’t you Marty??!!
So – G number one was Neil Gaiman in conversation with Claire Armitstead from the Guardian, at the Criterion Theatre in Picadilly, It was an interview, but really he needed so little prompting, she just sort of nudged him in appropriate directions
I was running very late too. I just made it to the theatre for 1800, which is when it was supposed to start, but like all good theatrical events, it was running five minutes late so it was all good.
Neil is in town for the UK opening and promotion of ‘Stardust’ the movie, which I will in due course see, but he talked of many other things as well. It was an hour’s dialogue – and the crowd were allowed to ask questions at the end too. It was fascinating. He’s a lot nicer and gentler in person than you are led to believe from his writing and he said some very interesting things. Like he writes something to discover what he thinks about a subject rather than to illuminate others, and that he isn’t concerned with offending people when writing; in person he’s squeamish and polite, but the minute he’s in a story he looses his inhibitions and just writes what the story asks of him. He also said that if he ever tried to write something for money it invariably went wrong, but if he wrote what interested or intrigued him, the money just sort of worked itself out.
Richard kept my company at this event, and as we were both due at the Apollo to see a play at 1945, he was understandably concerned that we make that performance in time. However as the Gaiman interview was over by 1900 we had about ¾ of an hour up our sleeves and so decided to go to have a look in a Neil’s book signing down the road to see how long the line was. The signing was happening at the Piccadilly Waterstones (the biggest bookstore in Europe) and when we got there we were told to wait for about 2 minutes and then were ushered into a separate room. I really don’t know how we managed it but R and I ended up first in line for the signing. So of course we waited. And waited. Until Neil finally came in at about 1925. I got some photos and two books signed and Richard got his copy of Good Omens signed, which he’d been carrying around the world with him in hope of such an opportunity as he’d already managed to get it signed by Terry Pratchett it’s other author. So it was a bit of a mad dash for us, over to the Blue Posts to pick up the tickets from Jase and then to make it to the theatre on time, but we did.
So, the second G was seeing Jonathan Pryce in ‘Glengarry Glen Ross’ at the Apollo. It was an absorbing play. The dialogue was electric and the actor’s were superb… only, I was a little lost as to what the whole thing was about, until interval, when Jason was able to illuminate me. The film apparently makes it a lot clearer, but essentially the main plot of the play is a competition: 1st prize is a Cadillac, 2nd Prize is you keep your job, and 3rd Prize is you’re fired! So, it’s four door-to-door salesmen in the US competing to sell real estate, and if they don’t get any sales up on the board they lose their jobs.
I found it compelling, but just as I was a little lost at the beginning, so I was a tad under-whelmed at the end. The twist really wasn’t one for me, and although the dynamic between the actors was good, a couple of them kept loosing their American accents, which I found quite jarring. Add that to that the fact that I wasn’t feeling so great and the end result was that I enjoyed it but wasn’t fired by it – no pun intended.
So the third G? It was goodbye to Martin tonight. He’s off home tomorrow and so we had a last beer at the Belgium bar De Hems (I had strawberry beer this time – can’t wait to go to Belgium!) and an Adelaidean contingent photo and then I had to retire.
Sad to see him go but he will be back for Christmas… won’t you Marty??!!
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