Treats

Yesterday I had the privilege of attending a lecture on human migration and trafficking at the British Museum. I LOVE this place. I LOVE this place as much as I LOVE butterflies, scallops, and sinigang. One of the discussants for the talk was my MPhil/PhD supervisor. There were other professors from Imperial College and Goldsmiths debating about the ill effects and benefits resulting from migration of sex workers into the UK.

After the lecture I stopped to see the Rosetta Stone. Every time I see it, I'm just amazed that it's in front of me, such a beautiful artifact that helped decipher ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics. These are moments I adore the most, the moments that make me adore being in London.

Photo: British Museum attrium.

Taken by L.A. Girl 28 January 2010

Canon Digital IXUS 100 IS

Flat Searching Continued

Flat searching appears to be the theme for January. I went to see a flat yesterday in a council estate aka the English version of 'projects'. I must say the projects here aren't too bad compared to what we think of as projects in the U.S. The only issue with the one I saw yesterday is that it had a bad mold problem (British spelling of mold is mould). The moment I walked into the flat, that's all I could smell. I was informed that it would be fixed. But how would that be guaranteed?

My quest continues today...this time in the heart of Brick Lane. It's also a book and a movie. Hopefully this would be the one. This is as complicated as finding a good spot for a bonfire in Orange County beaches on 4th of July.

Weather

I didn't use to miss the sun in L.A. In fact whenever I went to the beach I covered myself up because I didn't want to get dark. I was brown enough then that I didn't need to tan all day, I got even daily dosages. Now, nothing.

Apparently the Evening Standard weather page displays how long the sun comes out each day in London. Today it'll only show it's lovely rays for 1.4 hours. I wonder how they're calculating all this. They better be right about Saturday: 6.9 hours of sunshine! Dance of joy commences...

More Flat Searching

Alas, I replied to another ad, this time for a flat in Camden (Amy Winehouse's part of town). I used the same standard email that I sent to other potential flatmates.

Here is their response (an abridge version, the words in bold is what caught my attention):

"Dear L.A. Girl,

I have seen several candidates whom are interested but I have not finalised any candidate yet so please feel free to come that you might be the one.

If you like to come and see the house, you are very welcome, send us an email telling a bit more about yourself like what are you looking for in a house, your age, where you come from and last but not least your star sign as we try to have a balance in the house.

Look forward to your reply,
Bye"

Hmmm, this is the first time I've ever been asked for my star sign. Let alone be in the running as a candidate to be a future flatmate to this unknown person. I'm starting to get a little bit lazy to look for a flat now with these responses...

Plus my current and temporary flatmate, C, makes the most delicious cakes from scratch. That's a perk! And my other flatmate, E, is so tidy and sweet. I actually like staying with them, it's just the commute is a bit long, other than that, it's groovy in Forest Hill. :)

Commuting

Location: Northern Line from Euston Station en route to London Bridge
Time: 7:15 PM GMT

I was minding my business during my commute home. I had my Marks & Spencers purchases on my lap, my backpack on the floor beside my legs, and my purse snug next to me. I was happily reading the final pages of Ian McEwan's On Chesil Beach, when my nostrils were asssaulted by a passenger who boarded the train at Angel station. She smelled of stale tobacco that she attempted to cover with flowery overpowering fragrant perfume. As my former co-worker LaChrecia used to say, 'honey, you can't cover up funk. It'll just mix with the funk to create more funk!'

Every time this woman exhaled my nostrils were violated by her mere breathing. The air made their way through her tobacco infected lungs creating a toxic carbon dioxide cloud for the other passengers and myself, thus making my commute unbearable. As usual, I counted my minutes to my destination. Only four stops away, but to me it felt like an hour before my nostrils could be free from such enslavement by stale, second-hand, tobacco odor! My nose couldn't help itself but crinkle the entire way. They could no longer remain polite. For everytime this eldery smoker turned the pages of her free copy of the Evening Standard, the odor of her exhales would be fanned by the turning of the pages. Wafting its way towards me, it invaded my personal space. I could no longer concentrate on my book. Ian would have to wait! All I could see from the corner of my eyes were her discoloured finger nails, yellow at the tips from decades of smoking, skin hanging loosely from her wrinkly and bony hands.

I was her prisoner and little did she know it! At my penultimate stop, more passengers boarded the train, squished together in tacit agreement that we would share this space intimately until we reached our final destination. At the peak of rush-hour our bodies touched one another with the comfort in our minds that this intimacy was ephemeral. When I reached London Bridge, the elderly woman continued to exhale filling the air around her with stale tobacco stench. I squeezed passed the other passengers finally gaining my freedom once again. Just another day of commuting...

Flat Searching

So 2010...I'm searching for a new flat. At present I live in Forest Hill in the Borough of Lewisham, a bit of a way from the beating heart of what they call 'Central.' Although Forest Hill is only a 15 minute train journey to London Bridge, it usually takes me an hour door to door to get from A to B.

I've been looking for flats on the UK equivalent of Craigslist called Gumtree. I found a lovely place to share with two grad students. I shot them an email about possible times to 'view' the flat, a description of myself, along with a photo so they know I'm not someone from Africa trying to tell them that they've just won a lottery. Here is their response:

"Dear L.A. Girl,

Ha you look nice and...asian, so do I :) Can we do the viewing on Wednesday evening?"

Hmmmm I wonder if he meant that as a 'pervy-ha you look nice and Asian' or 'cool we're both Asian.' I guess I'll find out on Wednesday. I'm hoping it's the latter. Time for bed.