Scoggin

I’m learning a lot about my own language living in this country. I keep using Australian colloquialisms which then have to be explained to my work mates as there aren’t any other Aussies there, and I find I need to look up the accepted definition myself as I’ve been using the words for so long I’m no longer sure if I have the meaning correct.

Today’s word was Scroggin. This is a mixture of nuts, dried fruit and occasionally chocolate use by bushwalkers as a snackable energy source on the go. I interrogated the www and someone at Wiki has found a way of describing what it is that uses the constituents to form an acronym.

Sultanas
Chocolate
Raisins
Orange peel (candied)
Ginger (crystallised)
Glucose (barley sugar / lollies)
Improvisation / Imagination
Nuts

As good a way to describe it as any. You learn something new every day.

The year away is proving to be an endless education. The differences in language, customs, products and practices between all the various nationalities represented at my work result in an endless supply of new discussion topics. It’s very interesting and quite a bit of fun.

May I continue to learn to the end of my days!

Carluccios

I went out to dinner last night at a Carluccios Restaurant in Soho. Company included Sarah and Greer (life-long family friends), Sarah’s partner David, and two friends of the aforementioned, Cara and Kate (I think).

The meal was lovely and not too pricey, the olive oil / balsamic vinegar dipping sauce and spongy bread before hand was absolutely divine, and the wine flowed smoothly and continuously. Would definitley go again to one of these restaurants. Everyone enjoyed the food.

All in all, a very nice night out -but now, I am very tired.

May I interject for a moment?

I was feeling particularly murderous today contemplating how it was possible that our society allows stupid people to continue living; they are such a waste of space and a real drain on the general level of intelligence. The way that they can be so unbelievably stubborn in maintaining a detrimental stance in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary just because they have decided they don’t like you, or the way they have of making you feel bad for understanding more than they do and how they make you co-conspirators in the race to stupefy the species by ensuring you dumb down everything you do in order that a three year old might understand it…The minute such a person is identified they should be shot to ensure that no further pollution of the gene pool occurs…

Thankfully J saved me from acts unmentionable by using an interjection in an email which had the very fortunate effect of side-tracking my brain.

The word he used was ‘Meh’. Indicative of indifference in this case I believe. This led me to a chase for the meaning of the word, which led to the discovery that it was an interjection; at which point I was confounded, as I always thought interjections where a kind of variation of interruptions, but I was wrong.

An interjection is a word or short phrase used to express emotion. It contributes nothing to sentence structure and exists solely to describe a feeling e.g. Grr Argh! (mild anger) Bwahaha! (fiendish delight), Phwoar! (desire), Geez! (annoyance), Humph! (disgruntlement), Narf (silly nonsense), Bleuch (something distasteful), Feh! (disgust or contempt) or Meh! (who cares?). And the beauty of them is that they can be used in multiple situations to describe multiple feelings – just change the inflection and hay presto!

I have always thought that the English language was something to be treasured. I adore Shakespeare and love reading the classics like Jane Austen, Charles Dickens and Oscar Wilde. I prided myself – somewhat snobbishly I will freely admit – that I spoke good English and had a relatively wide vocabulary in comparison to the general population. Regardless of the fact that my sketchy memory and twisted tongue didn’t always coordinate very well (which resulted in the creation of many new and interesting word combinations - ‘Upendicular’ was a favourite), I always thought that to be able to form concise sentences and use the precise word to describe the exact item under discussion was the height of true language mastery.

Unfortunately for me the attainment of language mastery is unachievable. As it is a left-brain centred and analytical pursuit it does not respond well to emotional interference. Whilst it is eminently possible to adequately describe a towering fury or the feeling of total disgust, you actually have to think to do so, which, when you are IN a towering fury or feeling totally disgusted, is generally impossible. Language mastery fails entirely and spluttering ensues. However, a well placed “For F***s Sake!” or guttural “Gah!” reminiscent of a cat’s hiss, does brilliantly to describe both these states and expresses the feeling behind the words so much better, so much more succinctly and so much more satisfyingly than a descriptive passage ever could. Well, it does for me anyway.

So, these days I have decided I don’t care that much about being superior; I am just going to enjoy my language as it comes to me. Not so cleaver as I though I was hay? So much for my plan to massacre all stupid people.

One last comment: I like interjections. My spell checker does not.

And on that thought, I’ll leave you to decipher my feelings right now by interjection:

Aarrghh! Goddam! Duh?! Sheesh!

A day in the sun... well, an afternoon anyway.

I was feeling much better today and so went and wandered around in the sun for a few hours. I didn’t accomplish much, but did get out and am feeling virtuous as a result.

I went walking on Saturday too … well, wobbling anyway – my bones hadn’t quite solidified at that stage. I discovered a park which is not a stones throw from our flat, going by the name of St Martin’s, and I spent a glorious two hours there baking away my aches and pains in the sun on the soft grass. I didn’t get sunburnt as I was diligently practicing my imitation of a rotisserie and was being sun-smart as all good Aussies are these days – but I’m not entirely sure I didn’t get a hint of sun-stroke, as the rest of the day is kinda blurry!

I know I had intended to go over to Camden Market and take pictures of a part of it which is slated to be torn down, and I did, but when I investigated further, I discovered that the part I cared about wasn’t about to be torn down, that it was in fact another part of the market and that it was for health and safety reasons… the which I got from a loquacious old biddy whom I had to sidle away from in the end as she was not willing to let such a receptive and obviously dopey audience out of her sight… and then I’m not sure what I did. I got home eventually and I went to bed because I woke up yesterday here, but I don’t actually remember the bits in between too well. That being the case, I decided against going out yesterday – I felt that I would be courting trouble to make the attempt.

So, here I am, alert and aware, and almost fully recovered - just in time to go back to work tomorrow.

What a way to spend the long weekend!

Attack of the Alien Bugs

I am Laid Low. I have caught the plague. In other words, I am sick.

I feel like my bones have been turned into jelly and I have a corresponding total lack of stability, not to mention that my brain feels like someone has been mashing it continuously with a hammer, my nose like it has been blown up by an enthusiastic pyromaniac and my eyes like someone has scrubbed them with paint remover. I am sure I am dying.

I caught 'it' off a work colleague who is likewise dying and still insisted on coming in to work. I keep getting told to die more quietly because I am disturbing everyone with my honking cough.

My immune system has finally collapsed under the onslaught of a tidal wave of alien bugs. It put up a good fight, but in reality, it was only a matter of time before such a variety of new and exotic viruses eventually overcame it's defences.

I had planned on doing stuff this weekend. But I believe that lying in the sun, drinking copious amounts of tea and relaxing is in order instead. Happy nothing.

From culture to vulgar in one afternoon...

Two things were accomplished by me yesterday at polar opposites of what might be termed the socially appropriate scale of life. I visited the National Portrait Gallery and was awed at the many wonderful paintings of fascinating people there... and then went to see the musical Avenue Q at the Noel Coward theatre and was awed by just how lewd puppets can be. It was fun.

At the Gallery, I liked the Victorian era portraits best. They were so real, so lifelike. You could believe that here were actual people who lived centuries ago. The Tudor portraits were also enlightening - they had such amazing clothing! The museum was put together really well. I felt like I was walking through history. The blurbs they have on each of the people in the portraits are really informative and the themes that bind them together were well crafted. It was truly fascinating and I was very impressed. Especially by the portraits of people like Charles Dickens and the Bronte sisters.

And I loved the musical too - it was surprisingly real itself - with such songs as 'Everyone's a little bit racist' and 'The Internet is for Porn' it was saying things I'm sure many people have thought but never said. Very refreshing. Although, if you are thinking of seeing it - a word of warning: there is puppet sex and lots of it.

I ticked off another thing on my 'To Do' list of London too, by buying the tickets from the TKTS stand in Leicester square - they were good seats too! Being able to buy good tickets for a show the day of the performance... I love this city!! Oh, and I had the most divine dining experience at The Spaghetti House. Well, not really a dining experience, more of a gastronomical experience - a real Italian Lasagna drenched - and I do mean drenched - it was swimming! in Bechamel sauce. I'm telling you it tasted truly heavenly! I'm sure I put on weight just by looking at it, but some things just have to be sacrificed for true art!

So from very high art to the very low ... it was an educational day! :)

Hairspray!

I went to see the movie 'Hairspray' last night with Hilary, Rachel (cousin of Richard) and Jane. It was hilarious, but oh so cringe worthy! John Travolta as the mother made every scene he was in riotous. His hamming absolutely made the movie for me. According to Rachel he was in both the Broadway and West End live productions, so it was a role reprisal for him, and he was wonderful. Michelle Pfeiffer looked a little old as the bitchy mother / TV producer – I’m sure she was supposed to, but I’m not sure I like her in such roles. There were lots of new and young talents that I hadn’t seen before but their level of energy was impressive and the dancing and singing were all really good. I think I spent about 50/50 of my time either scooching down in my seat thinking ‘Oh no, get me OUT of here!’ or laughing so hard I gave myself a stitch... generally in the same sections of the movie.

It was fun – but there were also some real ‘You can’t be serious’ moments as well. Kinda like ‘The Producers’. Painfully Funny.

2 out of 3 aint bad!

I actually managed to do stuff this weekend. I went to see Stomp on Friday night with Jason and Bec M (from GS), and then I managed to get out to the Spittlefields and Brick Lane Markets with Richard, Hilary and Rachel (cousin of Richard) on Sunday. Of course the entirety of Saturday was spent sleeping, but two out of three days of the weekend aint bad!

Stomp was on at the Vaudeville Theatre in the West End and it was amazing. It’s a combination of percussion, movement and visual comedy by nine very energetic individuals. No actual words were spoken, but a lot was communicated by their body language. It was very funny, very enjoyable and very uplifting. I loved the music they made out of plastic pipes and the energy of them dancing in the sand. Stomp is no longer a new concept – it’s been around since 1991 – and I have seen some things they did in other shows here an there, drums and cymbals being made out of rubbish bins and lids being one of them. But the energy was amazing, the noise deafening, the physical comedy side splitting and the whole thing riotous. It was much better than I was expecting and yet another case of my low expectations of an event resulting in a better appreciation of it than anticipated. I absolutely loved it.

We went to the Salieri Theatre Restaurant afterwards and boy was that an experience! Over-the-top to the maximum possible level. Wow. The two meter high wooden crocodile god took the cake I think, but the hand-painted vinyl seats displaying a variety of garishly dressed people ran a close second. The food was really nice though, so I didn’t mind the eye-strain so much. It was absolutely lovely to catch up with Bec too, as I haven’t seen her for quite a few years.

The markets on Sunday were a bit of a let-down… well, not really a let-down as far as markets go, but not up my alley. As Richard pointed out, they were not food-oriented like the borough markets, which I adored. I wouldn’t have worn any of the clothing on sale, nor have found a use for most of the goods, so not my cup of tea. Spitalfields was full of hip-ish clothing and jewellery and was relatively clean. On the other hand, Brick Lane felt like an endless garage sale and the goods were as varied, as grungy and as odd as you’d find in any Sunday market in Aus. But it was nice to get out of the house and wander around, and the company was really good, so an enjoyable day all round.

Cessation of Hostilities

I was walking home last evening (as I’ve done every night this week – I’m quite proud of myself!) and I realised something. I lacked the grip of a certain constant companion what has been perched on my shoulder ever since I arrived in this ‘ere country.

It was the absence of fear.

I am now comfortable in this city. I feel like I’ve been getting involved in a new relationship with all the anxiety and heartache, worry and nerves that this entails. And let me tell you, London can be an absolute bitch at times. She’s moody and grumpy and miserable, and although she’s quite a buxom wench, who enjoys her beer and a wide variety of cultural expressions, she can be very short tempered, pushy and occasionally downright mean. But this week, she’s been in a good mood. I’ve only seen one shower and we’ve had sun every day. I believe we now have a working relationship. We are civil to one another, have the occasional contretemps but also share a few laughs and I think occasionally she even likes me!

I’m finally getting used to the claustrophobia this city incites and the dance routine you have to engage in any time you walk down Oxford Street or Tottenham Court Road. People live so close together here that personal space is a non-existent thing. I’ve found it quite confronting to have people walk so close to me, treading on my heals, standing within millimetres, squeezing by me leaving a trail of their perfume / aftershave on my skin… I’m continually looking over my shoulder and hanging onto my bag for dear life. But today, one of the endless stream of magazine hawkers, charity scalpers, stinking beggars, free newspaper pushes, religions spruikers and scientology converts offered to hug me if I’d stop and talk to him, and he even tried… and I didn’t’ even bat an eyelid. It didn’t bother me. I laughed!

The job is going well too. The people are friendly and approachable, the work is interesting and I have as yet not managed to be bored once.

I have also landed on my feet in terms of flat mates. Not only does she share my love of films and television, but she likes Jane Austen as much as I do! And when I embarrassingly managed to kill her fern when she was away last week (most of the time I have green thumbs but I’m obviously not used to this silly hot/cold/dry/humid climate) she didn’t mind! She did a visual autopsy, pronounced the corpse to be indeed dead, and that was that. Wow. Someone as easygoing as I could ever wish for!

But most of all – and I suspect that this is the deal clincher – I got paid this week. What a relief. The fact that I have money coming in (even if it was only the first 2 ½ weeks worth) has made the world of difference. It wasn’t a million bucks, it was barely a thousand, but it was in the plus column in my bank account, and so was black and not red. I feel grounded and suddenly solid. I’m not going to blow away at the first hint of bad weather.

I have a job, I have a home and I have a town to call my own. I’m no longer at war with myself. I can say its ok – I did the right thing.

Alls well.

What happened to the adventure?

I'm not sure quite sure what has happened to me.

I just spent the whole weekend at home and I did nothing. I was by myself, the flatmate being in Europe for a week, and all I did was watch the telly and do my washing. I think I only left the place for an hour to get food. Other than that, I was a total bum. I used the excuse of no money (which admittedly is entirely true) to avoid even going out to the park with Brads. I really did not feel like company - was not in a people kind of mood. But still, I could have done something without company!!

What has happened to me? Why am I not thirsting for adventure? With all there is to see in London – and there is so much more to see! – Why am I not going out and doing stuff?

This weekend was a real de-ja vu episode from almost every weekend I spent in Canberra.

Maybe I needed the down time. Maybe I was revelling in the fact that I finally have a home to be lazy in. Maybe I needed to have a ‘normal’ weekend to recapture some sense of security.

All I know is that I am now disappointed in myself for having wasted the opportunity. I have a limited number of weekends in this country, and to waste one on doing nothing is… well, a waste!

Note to self: From now on, no matter how I feel, I will do something each weekend I’m here. If I don’t feel like company, I’ll do something which doesn’t require company, but I will do something!

Sheesh Girl! Get off your backside!

A magical mini interlude.

I've been listening to the music from the film 'Sense and Sensibility' since going to Prom 2. This is an excerpt from a poem, recited in the film by Alan Rickman.

The Faerie Qveene
Book V, Canto II

Of things vnseene how canst thou deeme aright,
Then answered the righteous Artegall,
Sith thou misdeem'st so much of things in sight?
What though the sea with waues continuall
Doe eate the earth, it is no more at all:
Ne is the earth the lesse, or loseth ought,
For whatsoeuer from one place doth fall,
Is with the tide vnto an other brought:
For there is nothing lost, that may be found, if sought.

Edmund Spenser.

http://www.uoregon.edu/~rbear/fqintro.html

It's a lovely sentiment...