I never like my hair. Okay, not never. But it’s very, very, very rare.
They say a change is as good as a holiday. Not that I actually need a holiday. Thanks to the ongoing process that is “getting a visa that allows me to live in the UK like a normal person”, I’m still yet to reach the point at which I have a regular job (although, as per previously posts, a “regular” job might not actually be what I’m after even when I’m allowed one!). I recall Sam referring to his gap between previous contracts as funemployment. That’s what this is. At times I get a little bored, but I’m so keen on creative plans, DIY projects at home (last week I even pulled out the masonry drill and attacked the bathroom wall – little bit sad how empowering that feels! I think it’s due to so many years of renting and therefore not being allowed to put holes in walls), and playing house, that I’m usually pretty busy.
And sometimes, when I’m really lucky, I get a Leni adventure.
In the past, Leni adventures involved one of us choosing a park, and me meeting her there with her two epic little girls. We’d play for hours, have lunch, and then she’d go home in time for the youngest one’s nap, and I’d go home in time to buy groceries and tidy the house before Sam got home.
Now Leni’s eldest in enrolled at school, and her youngest occasionally goes to nursery. So yesterday we had our first Leni adventure that only involved myself and Leni.
And it was a good ‘un. Seeing Leni is always good for me, whatever condition I was in pre-adventure. She joins in – and adds to – the laughter if I’m happy. She cheers me up if I’m flat. She encourages me if I’m on a mission. She’s awesome.
A while ago we’d discussed getting haircuts. I’d been growing mine for quite a while, primarily to get hair long enough that I could do something wedding-like with it that would be relatively classic and wouldn’t date. I didn’t want to have wedding photos that I’d look back at in twenty years and ask “What the hell am I wearing? What on Earth is going on with my hair??”. Mind you, I might do that yet, but generally the hair and the outfit were classic enough (1940s-ish) that it shouldn’t date too desperately.
But now I’m done with having wedding photos taken. And I was keen to go back to old-Jen-hair.
Mind you, going to see The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo with Sam, Jan and Keith a couple of weekends ago was probably not a good influence.
So I discussed the concept with Sam. He’s a little more conservative than I am; more concerned about other people’s perceptions and judgements.
Leni found an epic hairdressers’ in Camden (ah, Camden. What a beautiful excuse to visit you. Does anyone have a spare £1.75 million they could give me – I found a lovely house I’d like to buy) called Tusk, so we could both have a little change.
Leni had lots of beautiful blondey-caramelly-golden colour put through. Her hair is shiny and mostly straight with just enough wave to make it interesting and bouncy. I have hair envy. I had hair envy before we went to Tusk. Afterwards? Ah, so pretty. Her eldest said it looked silly; her youngest said she liked it, and that it was black; fortunately her husband agreed with me and said it was great.
I took the plunge.
The salon Art Director, Conrad, is brilliant. He’s got a gorgeous accent that I think is Scottish, but not in the stereotypically heavy Scottish fashion. I’m still not great with my regional UK accents so I may well be totally wrong. But anyway, lovely accent.
He’s tall. Perfectly (and I mean perfectly) coiffed hair. A flawless moustache somewhere between an English and a Dali, without the ends being curled. Black rimmed glasses. Epic fashion sense (both in terms of his own clothes, and based on our discussion of Paris Couture Week). And his work? Well, to say I’m happy is an understatement.
You only have to go through old posts to see what a fuzzball my hair is. It had grown past my shoulders, so the weight of the hair was stretching out the ringlets, leaving fuzz. It got knotty a lot. It was boring. All I did was shove it in a ponytail each day. Yuck.
So I explained to Conrad my dilemma – I like having fun hair. I like expressing myself through my hair. But I also need to be able to be look vaguely sensible at times, when required, and don’t live in a very alternative area so don’t want to look like an displaced punk freak. I also have fuzzy hair that often misbehaves, and no matter how much product I use when I blowdry and/or straighten it, if it rains, it curls. And I live in England. It rains frequently.
Conrad, fortunately, is a hair-genius.
First he set about the haircut. That took over an hour. As it progressed I became increasingly amazed. He cut it for the fuzzball conditions, so when it’s in its natural state it curls. actually curls. Into a shaped, defined hairstyle. It doesn’t fuzz. It doesn’t turn into a pom-pom or make me look Shirley Temple -esque. It’s actually a rather pretty curly hairstyle. I’ve not had one of those before. And then he got out the hairdryer and straightened it. Without straightening tongs. Again, who knew that was possible?! And again, I loved the way it looked!
Haircut? Love it.
Then he set about the colour plan. Asked what my favourite colour was. I was indecisive, and said I liked rainbows. That answered his question.
Conrad dyed all of my hair a dark blonde, then dyed two separate areas of my hair in two ranges of colours. It means if I part it on my usual side, I have blue, green and purple streaks, with hints of warm colours coming through the side. If I choose to part it on the other side I have incredibly bright pink, red and orange hair. And if I part it down the middle? A sensible brown-blonde bob, with just hints of fun colours coming through.
Conservative enough for a night out somewhere fancy. Fun enough to satisfy all urges.
And then, to top it all off, this morning, despite various opportunities for fuzz-inducing (making dinner, having a bath, making coffee, washing up, etc) I woke up this morning and my hair was still quite neat. I brushed it, and it went back to exactly the way it was when I left the salon.
Couldn’t be happier with it.
All four and a half hours of it. No, really. I hadn’t ever understood how people could “spend the day” getting their hair done. Now I do. Next time I’m taking snacks. Totally worth the patience though. I’m really happy with the result. In case you couldn’t already tell.
I think this tells me I should stop hacking at my own hair, and let people who know what they’re doing do it for me instead. Turns out not all hairdressers are like the ones I used in the past. Conrad is awesome!
On Thursday night we celebrated Australia Day with meat pies (albeit very British-style steak and ale) and individual pavlovas with cream and berries.
Aussie-fied pie for Australia Day dinner
Pavlova with cream and berries
On Sunday, Sam, Jan, Keith and I went to IKEA. For five hours. Yet again, Sam and I avoided the infamous IKEA-fight. I’m starting to think it’s a myth. Keith and Jan were epic as always. Generous, helpful, and excellent taste… which fortunately is very similar – if not identical – to Sam and my tastes. We then spent the evening carrying boxes into the flat (not an easy task), eating Chinese food and building furniture. Well, Sam, Keith and I did. Jan cleaned the entire flat while we worked. AMAZING!
On Monday our wedding gift list from John Lewis was delivered. Their customer service is so flawless. We’ve had to make a few changes and odd requests over the past month or so, and they’ve been fantastic every time. They set up a delivery date and time with us, then left a voicemail the day before to remind us (what was really delightful about that was how excited the girl who left the message sounded about us getting presents!). Even the delivery guy was great – rang 15 minutes before he arrived, bundled in with armloads of gifts and a big smile. Didn’t complain about the fact it was about 3 degrees Celsius and he had to make three trips up and down the many, many stairs from his truck to our flat.
During the day I received an email from our wedding photographer, Neale, with a link to the proofs of our wedding pics!
So on Monday night Sam and I ate fresh bread (baking is a good distraction from waiting) with dips, cheeses, meats and olives; drank my favourite champagne (thank you, Alex!); opened gifts (AKA the lounge room looked like something very large that had eaten too much cardboard and plastic had exploded); and looked at our wedding photos. Oh wow they’re good. Exactly what I was hoping for. I’m a big fan of Neale’s work, particularly his documentary style; it’s less about the traditional posing-for-wedding-photos and more about capturing the day honestly. And did he ever! So many little moments, many of which even we had missed. Love these photos so much – they take so much of the love and happiness I felt on the day, and puts it in a tangible form that we can share.
We’re trying to keep them on the down-low until we’ve sent out our Thank You cards (currently on order. Thank you Moo.com – I love you, as always), and it’s quite hard. I want the world to see them, but also want the cards to be a lovely surprise. Tricky! Hopefully only a week or so. Or we’ll just give up on that idea and share them all! I’m thinking the latter is quite likely.
During Monday, while I was doing something I’m very, very, very bad at (being patient) I dismantled and painted Sam’s old desk. We’d been intending to do that since I moved in. It was in his parents’ house when they moved in about 25 (??) years ago, and has many layers of paint in its time. It’s more child-sized than a standard desk, but that makes it perfect for the flat, for its purpose, and for me. So to make it match our lovely new furniture, it’s now white. I also spent a lot of time moving things into the new furniture, and getting our spare room / study organised. Very happy with the end result!
Then tomorrow I spent virtually all day clearing and sorting all our gifts and the related packaging.
Last night, the poll ended. Sam commented on the weekend that people’s votes would reflect what I want them to, but I wasn’t entirely sure… primarily because I wasn’t sure what I wanted the votes to tell me!
Yes, I would rather spend my life doing something creative, but the point of the poll was the fact I was debating whether to do something with a sturdy, regular, and half-decent income, or whether to follow my heart. The result? Follow my heart. Writing and art tied for first place. Being a housewife and mother also scored very high, as did doing craft. With half as many votes as either of the top two, returning to social media work was the highest (and only statistically relevant) “real job” option. A couple of the “Other” suggestions were also priceless: keeping my brother-in-law’s life in order, and providing grandchildren for my in-laws (which is the same as the third highest option anyway). Would quite like to do both, but the income doesn’t sound exceptional. Hopefully I can contribute to the first anyway, and will tackle the second when finances, time and life allow (if these weren’t a factor, I’d be jumping at the chance immediately).
Career Guidance poll results (80 votes)
So two of my biggest passions – writing and painting – came out on top.
I should be overjoyed, right?
Part of me is. Part of me loves the fact I have people behind me, supporting me, telling me to do what makes me happiest rather than to take the easy option and get an office job. The rest of me is terrified about the prospect of not making any money, feeling like I’m not contributing to Sam and my life together as well as I could, and – simply – failing.
So I’m not entirely sure what the next steps are. There are a lot of them. Some are clear. Some are guesswork.
The more obvious ones:
- For Christmas, Sam bought me a workbook by the people who run NaNoWriMo, so I’ve started working in that to get my brain back into writing mode. I’ve got my writing desk all ready, and spent a little time there every day. I need to eventually get into the pattern of spending 6-10 hours a day there.
- I will have to start nudging friends and family (this potentially includes you!) to see if anyone wants a commission based on a photo they have taken. Instead of doing this the normal way, I’m thinking of applying to open a Pozible account to try to crowd-found my art and my potential novel. One level of donation would result in receiving a commissioned painting. Win-win.
- At some point I need to make contact with some celebrity photographers (as in photographers of celebrities… not famous photogs. Though that would work too!) so I can get permission to paint up their photos. Everything I’ve produced to date breaches copyright in terms of me trying to sell them in the open market.
- But before these two steps, I need to get my new visa through so I’m allowed to work over here, and can sell my art.
The guesswork?
- Am I aiming for the agent/publisher route, or the self-published angle?
- Does anyone use an agent these days, for writing or for art? Are they worth the cost?
- Do I want to paint a lot of stuff from photographers with permission, and creative commons, and try to get them (or their prints at least) into local galleries? Do I want to have market stalls? Do I want to risk having a hell of a lot of art I can’t shift, in an apartment with minimal space? Probably not. Hmph.
- How long am I giving myself to get this moving? At what point do I decide whether or not this is working?
- Do I get a full-time job as well, and work on the creative bits at night and on weekends? If so, do I get a “proper” job with good pay that will probably take up a lot of time and brainspace, or something relatively mundane and uninspiring and average-income? Do I just get a part-time job that doesn’t take up much brain space to pay for supplies and the occasional treat?
- Can I even do this??
And that is where my head is right now. Tackling it, but with a billion what-ifs and fears. I’ve never been one to avoid a challenge or falter when the next step is a scary one though, and so far that’s brought me to all kinds of awesomeness.
So. Taking a step.
Go.
Jen Ava xx
PS. If you have ANY advice, please leave a comment. Whether it’s a word of warning, some tips based on your own experience, or just an idea you’ve got for me please don’t hesitate to have say. Kind or daunting, I’d appreciate your thoughts!
* Okay, okay, slight hyperbole; but you voted for me to be a writer, so let’s share the blame.
Repainted writing space. Yes, I know I killed my plant. My thumb is more inky than green.
This is probably the most professional I've ever looked, so figured it was the best photo for this post
Hello career advisors.
No, really, that’s what you are today. My life coach. My guru. My Magic 8 Ball.
In a month or two (or five if things are a little slower than I hope) I am finally going to be able to return to the world of job hunting again. Given it’s been 12 months since I left my job in Sydney, it’s going to be a bit of a shock to the system but I’m getting very excited about it. My job has always been a large part of my life; often a large part of my general purpose.
However, taking this significant (enforced) break from employment has allowed me – for the first time in my life – to really step back and take a look at What I Want To Be When I Grow Up. And then I’ve started balancing that up against What I Want From My Life, Groceries And Art Supplies And Houses And Babies Cost Money, as well as I Might Fail And That Could Be Heartbreaking.
So I’d like your input. Whether we’re close friends, old colleagues, vague acquaintances, past school peers, family… whatever… I would love you to take part in the poll on the side of this page and let me know what you think I should do with my life. At present.
Feel free to add your own ideas in the Other field. Oh, and you can vote for more than one thing if you think a few suit equally well.
Because I’m cheap and don’t want to pay for my poll account the only results I will receive are the votes themselves. I won’t have a clue who has voted, won’t have access to IP or location info, etc. So don’t hesitate to vote or make suggestions – it’s totally anonymous.
I’m going to keep this open until Feb 1.
Go nuts.
Much love, and thanks for the guidance,
Jen Ava xx
PS. I can’t guarantee, obviously, that I’m going to take the direction that “wins” here, but it would greatly help to get some perspectives other than my own!
It’s a lovely dark, rainy London day. Not as cold as I’d expect. It seems the rainy days are the warmer ones sometimes. Do the clouds trap in the city warmth? This winter has been quite gentle. Mild. Even warm at times.
I’m sitting eating a Peanut Butter Kit Kat (Sam emailed me to say it’s National Peanut Butter Day, so I thought it was appropriate… even though it appears to be National Peanut Butter Day in the States, not here), considering some housework, planning dinner, getting my life in order…
This morning I visited a local Notary Public to get an armload of paperwork notarised, and I have just posted it to Australia as part of my Change of Name application.
It’s all part of the next collection of applications and appointments to allow me to live here.
Once the Change of Name comes back, I have to get a new passport. Then once that’s back, yet another visa application has to be completed and submitted. And then I’m “a real boy” and can get a job, sell art, perform gigs, open a bank account, etc, etc.
Part of me is quietly stressed by the process, and I’d estimate about 99% of that is still down to The Great Rejection at Heathrow debacle. The other 1% is simply the fact that I have to ask permission to stay with my husband in a place that I completely and utterly consider to be my home now. I’m not saying that I shouldn’t need to ask permission – of course I should; I’m an immigrant – but it still feels odd to have to ask. Having to ask implies there’s an option for them to say no. As Sam has pointed out, aside from The Debacle, we have a very straightforward case, have done everything correctly and legally, and are clearly a legitimate couple. There’s no reason they would say no. But the fact that they could? That’s disconcerting.
I’ll be happy once this visa is sorted at least. That gives me another two years.
I’m very, very aware that there’s currently a month-long gap in this blog, which covers the most significant and wonderful day of my life, among other things such as seeing my parents, Christmas, New Year, our honeymoon.
I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to rectify that. Words can’t possibly do any of it justice. But I think I’d be better off trying and failing than just leaving a massive great gaping hole. I might backdate.
We’ll see.
For now, cleaning. Chores. Cooking. And freaking loving it.
Week before last, Sam took about half an hour longer than usual to get home. I figured it was due to the Tube being full of Christmas shoppers. But no. He walked in the door with a plastic bag containing Christmas lights, and a 6 foot tall Christmas tree under his arm.
After I’d got over the awe of how divine European Christmas trees are (given they’re what we base fake ones on in Australia, to me it doesn’t look real – it’s too perfect, and I adore it) we spent the evening decorating it. Lametta is possibly one of my favourite discoveries of 2011.
Christmas tree 2011
Sam had asked that I meet him at his office at lunchtime, for “something”, last Friday. Eventually it came out that we were going Christmas shopping.
Turns out it was a teency bit about Christmas shopping, and a lot about Sam showing me how awesome London is at Christmas time.
We started off walking through St James Park. It has the world’s friendliest squirrels. They actually jump on people, and chase people, and talk to you, and try to climb up things to get closer to you… slightly daunting sometimes, but mostly ridiculously cute.
This is possibly one of my favourite photos I’ve ever taken:
Super-friendly squirrel in St James Park
The walk through the park included “typical wintery park scene”, “view of Buckingham Palace”, “view of Whitehall and the London Eye”, and “man who works for the Queen picking up dry-cleaning or man preparing for fancy dress party” (given the proximity to Royal buildings I like to imagine it was the former).
St James Park
Buckingham Palace from St James Park
Whitehall and London Eye from St James Park
Uniform or costume?
We walked to Piccadilly Circus…
Christmassy Circus
…and up Regent Street…
Regent Street Christmas lights
…to Hamleys. We spent about an hour there. Every floor. Almost every aisle.
We picked up a few gifts – including “magic snow” (best gimmick ever) – and then wandered through to Carnaby Street. Explored around there for a while, then jumped on the Tube to Knightsbridge.
One thing I love about Christmas is the number of Christmas carols playing in stores. Even more, the covers played by buskers at Tube stations.
Rock Santa
So… my first trip to Harrods. And it’s covered in Christmas lights. PERFECT!
What a stunning store. I was expecting a very large and fancy-pants department store. I was not expecting each department to be in its own room. I was not expecting so many departments (pets?! SPYWARE?!?!). Loved it.
On our way to Harrods' Christmas department
We played in the Christmas store, and I bought my annual decoration. Actually, this year I bought two. We did not buy any Christmas crackers, but we did spend a while hunting around to find the most ridiculous ones. At first I was amazed by ones that cost £10 each. Then, eventually, we found the winner:
Christmas crackers. No, that price is not a typo.
Then we decided we were too hungry to go on. Considered going elsewhere, but eating a burger at Harrods was just too tempting an idea to pass on.
Especially when they look like this:
16oz of beef. With cheese. And curly fries. Merry Christmas, belly.
Once Sam had figured out the salt grinder, he actually managed to eat his entire burger and just left a few fries. I, on the other hand, was well and truly defeated. It’s a challenge I’d like to take on another day. Possibly this time without eating potato skins with bacon, cheese, onion, guacamole and sour cream first. Oops.
Sam v burger. Sam won.
Once we’d figured out how to walk again, we explored the toy department…
Amazing rocking "horses"
Rocking horse, with real horse hair
We explored the Millionaires’ Gallery (there’s a three-frame collection of a signature from every President of the US – epic!), the Spyware department (no, really), the pianos… oh so many wonderful things!
And then we went home.
I love Christmas. I love exploring. I love food. And most of all, I love my Sam.
And I love my UK family. On Saturday evening we (Jan, Keith, Tom, his friend Belle, and us) went out for dinner in Camden at Gilgamesh. Spectacular! It felt very fancy without feeling stuffy. Incredible Asian-fusion food, served over dry ice, lots of wine, seven thousand courses that just keep coming and coming and coming…
Then we went out to a show as a Christmas present from Jan and Keith: La Soiree.
Again I felt pangs of “I want to do something interesting with my life”, but again came up with no realistic ideas.
So when we got home I sat on the sofa and played ukulele for a while before I went to bed.
Gorgeous two days, followed by a day of staying-in-pyjamas all day watching Christmas films (Love Actually and Santa Claus the Movie) and eating good food.
It baffles me when a company that focuses on a fairly specific task is apparently incapable of completing that task properly; this past week I’ve had a rather interesting time with DHL Express. I have a feeling it’s not the company’s fault, as such. The staff were quite helpful. But it only takes one or two staff members to reduce your service to garbage.
Monday, December 5
A parcel is posted to me at my home address from the US.
Tuesday, December 6 Said parcel arrives in the UK; I am very impressed by the speed of this. It’s in the Midlands, so I expect it’ll be a couple of days til I see it.
Wednesday, December 7
Parcel gets to Heathrow. I think. It’s listed on the DHL tracking service as being at Heathrow. However this is where it was apparently throughout this ordeal, yet all the operators told me it was at the North London depot which is near Wembley. Go figure.
During the afternoon it is listed as “Shipment held – Available upon receipt of payment”. Unfortunately I don’t see this til late, so resolve that I’ll call them in the morning. I assume it’s import tax.
Thursday, December 8 Parcel is listed as being with the courier, a little after 9am, so I stay inside all day so I don’t miss it. At 6pm, I leave, given the DHL site says deliveries are between 9 and 5:30pm.
We get home around 10:30, and the website says “Recipient refused delivery” at around 6:30pm. I’m slightly annoyed that they tried to deliver outside their usual hours, slightly annoyed it took 9 hours to get here from Heathrow (or Wembley), and very annoyed that they didn’t bother to leave a card to say they’d been. Lucky I checked the website.
Friday, December 9 I call DHL at about 9am. They say they can’t deliver it that day, even late, because the depot doesn’t have any drivers.
And yet they offer same day collection.
I’m pretty unimpressed, yet again. I arrange for the parcel to be delivered on Monday. Some time later in the day they list it as “Parcel on hold”. I figure this means it’s being held over the weekend, for Monday’s delivery.
I Tweet about it. The Twitter DHL Express staff reply, but I (think I) have it sorted with the call centre by then so I let them know it’s all figured out.
Monday, December 12 Parcel gets listed in the morning as “Parcel on hold” again.
I see this mid-afternoon when I look up the website because I’m curious as to why I’m staying inside all day again without any deliveries. I ring.
Woman says I have to pay import duty before they’ll deliver it. I mention that this would have been a good thing to tell me last week when this all started. So she goes into the system to look up how much the duty fee is (which, frankly, I have no issue paying – I was importing something), and comes back to say there’d been a mistake and there actually wasn’t any fee owing.
But because it’s not gone out with the driver it won’t be delivered today.
Fuming.
At 3:40pm it’s listed as “scheduled for delivery as agreed”, and I get the operator to copy me in on the email to the depot that requests it be delivered on Tuesday.
I Tweet about it again, and get no response.
Tuesday, December 13 Parcel goes out with courier, according to website, a little after 9am. Excellent! I prepare myself for another partial day of “no going outside until the parcel arrives”, which is slightly painful given the amount of stuff I need to get done at the moment, but worth the wait…
…until 5:30pm when it still hasn’t arrived and I call the service centre again.
Lovely guy there doesn’t want me to be on hold while he calls around chasing it, so says he’ll call me back.
Half an hour later I’m impatient waiting for my call back, so I call back (while I’m on that call, they call me back).
They say it’s out for delivery, and that because of where I live it won’t arrive til after 5:30pm. Again, that would have been very helpful news earlier on.
But it’s fine. I’ll wait.
I hit refresh on the tracking site every now and then.
At 6:43 I hit refresh and see that it’s changed to “Recipient refused delivery” at 6:41pm. What the hell?
I ring the call centre again. They say it’s because I live in a flat, the doorbell must be broken, they couldn’t get in, etc, etc. I’ve had three other deliveries this week, plus let the postman probably four times in the past fortnight, so know full well that the doorbell is fine.
So the call centre tries to call the courier to get him to turn around. He won’t answer his phone.
They call the depot to get them to contact the courier. They’re closed for the night.
By this point I’m furious. But helpless.
I arrange for the parcel to be redelivered Thursday, as I’m not sure when I’ll be home on Wednesday. The website tracking changes accordingly, to say it’s scheduled for redelivery, and I get copied in on the email which clearly says it should be delivered on December 15, and that the courier should ring me on my mobile when he gets here and I’ll meet him at the door (seeing as he apparently doesn’t know how to work a doorbell).
More Tweeting throughout the day asking DHL Express for help; no response.
Wednesday, December 14 I get home at about 1:30pm, and the doorbell rings very soon after. It’s DHL. On Wednesday. I’m so angry that they’ve got the delivery on the wrong day, and clearly haven’t followed the instructions about phoning me, and also have suddenly worked out how to use the doorbell… but mostly I’m just glad I’ve got the parcel so I can avoid having anything to do with them again.
Then the guy says I have to pay duty tax – in cash – before he’ll hand over the parcel.
So there is a fee, despite me being told earlier this week there wasn’t any.
I pay. I have my parcel. Game over.
***
My theory? The courier worked all day delivering parcels, got to the evening and hadn’t had time to deliver mine, so rather than actually coming to our apartment just listed it as “Recipient refused delivery”. As for the driverless depot, the existent-non-existent fees, the lack of ability to read emails, lack of response from Twitter staff once I actually had an issue… goodness knows.
The call centre staff were all very friendly and did what they could, but sheesh…
And I’m very happy with the products I received, but I certainly won’t be shopping with them ever again unless they change their choice of courier. Unbelievably bad service, and an unnecessary waste of time.
In (yet) another moment of “I should blog more often!” life is passing me by at a rate of knots without any blogging occurring. Although I do like the thought of everything being here to read over later, and so my friends and family in Australia can see what I’m up to, in some ways I do quite like the fact that I’m too busy with wonderful things to sit and type about it.
But here’s a summary of the last – rather epic – three weeks, limiting myself to one photo per event:
Sunday, November 20:
Sam went away from Friday to Sunday night for his Stag do. Came home exhausted, with eyes damaged from mud and something crude written on his back in permanent marker – both signs of a rather spectacularly messy weekend, I believe! I wasn’t going to have any kind of Hen do, primarily because it wasn’t something I wanted to organise myself. I felt like throwing my own Hen do was like throwing myself a surprise birthday party. But I also knew I’d be slightly miserable if I just stayed home by myself all weekend. So during the week leading up to the weekend I decided to invite people over for afternoon tea on the Sunday. Ended up with a rather delightful turn out. We ate lots, drank a little gin and a lot of tea, played games organised by a 9 year old and a 6 year old. People spoiled me rotten with gifts of chocolates, flowers, cakes and tea; they know me well. I felt incredibly lucky to have such brilliant people in my life.
"Cup of tea" cake with buttercream frosting
Wednesday, November 30:
Okay, so they didn’t win, but I finally got to go to my first live Spurs match; a Europa game against PAOK Salonika. It was cold. We ate hot dogs and drank tea. Corluka was painful. Bale was awesome. Next on my wishlist is a Premier League match, particularly if they’re playing with their “proper” team.
My first match at White Hart Lane: Spurs v PAOK
Thursday, December 1:
Matilda! The previous weekend Sam and I realised we hadn’t been doing much lately, so Sam bought tickets to go and see Matilda the Musical in the West End. It was incredible! The script and music are both fab, and the cast were blow-your-mind talented. Clever, clever, clever kids! We both cried. Numerous times. I’m hoping to see it at least one more time. If you have the opportunity, GO!
Christmassy Soho on a rainy Winter's night
Saturday, December 3:
At the afternoon tea a couple of weeks earlier, two of my dearest friends (who are also the mothers of my flowergirls) discussed going to Winter Wonderland – a Christmas fair that’s hosted in Hyde Park. A few emails back-and-forth later, we had it all arranged so all three families (we’re a family, right?) could go together! It was the first opportunity for my flowergirls to meet, and a chance for all of us to do something fun, family-friendly, and Christmassy.
I won’t go into great details, but the day was spectacular. My flowergirls got along brilliantly, to the point that the two six year olds were holding hands or with their arms around each other for almost the entire day. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. All the kids were amazing for such a long, busy and exhausting day. Just wonderful.
Plus mulled wine, German sausages, roasted chestnuts and candy floss. Game on!
(Let’s never discuss me attempting to enjoy the rollercoaster despite my fear of falling.)
Sam and I ate the candy floss in record time so the children wouldn't see it
Then when we got back to the flat, Amy (one of my delightful friends / mum-of-flowergirls) and I dressed up to go out for dinner in Covent Garden. I thought it was just an opportunity for the two of us to go out and catch up and have some girly time without the kids. Turns out Amy, the spectacular person that she is, had contacted Sam to get contact details for people, in order to organise me a “proper” Hen party. A-maz-ing. We arrived at the restaurant, two other friends (including my dear, dear Leni – absolute Godsend… and mother of the other two flowergirls) were already at the table.
We had cocktails, dinner (snails!!!), wine, and then a little adventure including being confronted by a homeless woman, and then a night clubbing in Covent Garden. After the day we’d had, I was exhausted by about 11 but we stuck it out til 2. Amy and I then decided it would be an awesome idea to go back to the flat, drink gin and watch The Princess Bride. We got Sam out of bed to join us, drank the gin (should have had water or tea, in hindsight), and watched about twenty minutes of The Princess Bride, at which point I announced I was going to bed… only to find Amy was asleep on the sofa already.
Sunday morning hurt. Sam saved me with Resolve, water, Coke, KFC and Christmas films. There is never any doubt in my mind that this is the man for me… but sometimes he even outdoes himself.
Can’t put into words how much I adore my friends here, and how much it meant to me that they went to the trouble they did. I could cry. Happy tears.
Me (as far as the Hen attire went, fortunately!), Amy, Leni and Lil. So much love!
I am so blessed. So very, very, very, very lucky to have found myself where I am, surrounded by amazing people and wonderful things to do. Loved by people I love.
Tonight Sam and I are going to Christmas carols.
In less than three weeks my parents will be here.
In less than a month Sam and I are getting married.
On Friday night, after a pretty insanely hectic week, Sam and I went to the hotel where we’re holding our wedding reception, to try out some of the meals on offer. By the end of it we could barely walk.
Between the two of us we ate three entrees (pigeon, salmon, and artichoke soup), two mains (roast lamb and Asian pork belly), two desserts (chocolate tart and blueberry creme brulee) and about 15 buffet “snacks” (steak sandwiches, tempura prawns, goats cheese bruschetta, lamb kofta, croque-monsieur… and many, many more). Plus champagne. Plus wine.
The excellent news is that everything was incredibly good. Seriously delicious.
We narrowed down our choices (even selecting things we’d initially written off before the tasting) and are now very much looking forward to sitting down to our wedding feast with our friends and family.
Now in discussions as to how to tailor my wedding dress so it has a rip cord that allows it to balloon out a size or four once I’ve overeaten.
iPhone pics of the meals:
Veloute of jerusalem artichoke, with truffle oil
Salmon with lime and creme fraiche and other yummy stuff
Pigeon breast on potato with five bean dressing
Pork belly with pak choi and pineapple (with a Sam-sized fork-full missing)
Roast lamb with potatoes, carrots and brocolli (so good we forgot to take the photo before digging in)
Something I consistently adore about the UK is learning about traditions and history.
I had heard a little about Guy Fawkes Night (firstly from my 5th grade teacher, Mr Mac, who told us about Guy Fawkes himself), but didn’t really know how it was celebrated as such. I knew there was a burning effigy of some sort, and some fireworks. I was picturing a scarecrow with firework rocket in his trousers that gets set on fire and consequently goes BOOM! into a shower of colours.
Sooo… turns out the English take it a little bit further than that.
For starters – partly due to Diwali being close in date – there were fireworks of some variety, from a few streaks and pops to a good five to ten minutes of amazing displays, all over the place for the couple of weeks leading up to November 5.
Over here, unlike in the vast majority of Australia, anyone can buy fireworks, and the laws about setting them off are pretty chilled.
It was also a fantastic coincidence that this year Guy Fawkes night happened to be on a Saturday.
So at about 5:30pm (already dark, as my previous post mentioned), we wrapped up in multiple layers (I even got out my ski skins… worked a charm!) and caught the bus to the middle of Ealing, then wandered up to Ealing Cricket Club.
It was like being five again, when we used to go to school events or golf club events – very low-key but a wonderful sense of community and fun.
There would have been thousands of people there, but it still felt very local and familiar.
There were a couple of BBQ tents (hot dog AKA sausage sizzle, or burger AKA meat patty on a roll), a couple of bars serving – among the usual – mulled wine from urns, a giant jumping castle slide, a really lame swing ride, an everybody-wins-whatever-they-want-to carnival sideshow, and a candy floss AKA fairy floss tent. I got drunk on hot wine, whilst spilling it all over my gloves, and Sam won me a toy otter at the sideshow. We ate, we drank, we danced, we ate, we drank, we danced, and we worked our way to the roped off fireworks area.
It was way bigger and bigger and louder and brighter and longer and closer (ashes in my hair and cider!) than I expected. You could smell the fireworks even before they were set off.
The night was surprisingly mild, and barely even drizzly, and lovely for standing around in a crowd, having a laugh, talking to strangers. People nearby stared and laughed while we danced (they played an awesome soundtrack to the fireworks including the Benny Hill theme, to which Sam and I tried to reenact Benny Hill-esque scenes without actually leaving the spot). It was wonderful!
And then the bonfire. Ooooooh! It was enormous, with a poor Guy Fawkes sitting in a garden chair on the top. We all almost melted from the extreme heat of it.
At about 9:30pm we wandered home (via the Ealing Broadway station kebab shop… oh dear god I love that place – dodgy food at its least dodgy and most delicious), and ended up playing the Wii for hours whilst drinking Elderflower G&Ts (aside: Amy F, you’re a genius!). A couple of minor injuries and what was potentially a little too much gin later, and it was the end of an utterly delicious night.
It’s nights like this that I could cry with happiness that this is my home.
And now for seventy billion photographs…
jx
Ealing Cricket Club's bonfire night fair
Amazing jumping castle slide
Everyone-wins-what-they-want sideshow
Me and Mister Sam
Mountain of candy floss!
People at bonfire night
My beautiful fiance, ready for the fireworks
Fireworks!
Lighting the bonfire
The bonfire crowd
The bonfire
Hi Guy!
Bye Guy!
Growing higher!
Up close
Dragon flames!
The pink ninja, Sam, hiding from the flames with my scarf
Burning out
Almost gone
And, finally, what happens when you try to take a photo of police at night:
Are you interested in owning any of the art you've seen in this blog? Prints are available of all pieces, and - in some cases - the originals might be up for grabs. Send an email to i.am.jen.ava@gmail.com with a link to the piece you're interested in.
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