the DLR is cool

Travelling down to Canary Wharf, the sun piercing, inching further north each day, I go to a part of London I managed to avoid for 1.5 years. And how different it is. Listening to Royksopp and Jet Society, warehouses, canals, the bright new developments of Limehouse, canal boats, all slip by seamlessly until we un-dock, de-board, alight onto a bridge and skyscrapers appear, a massive deconstructed reflection. Accustomed to the claustrophobia-inducing layers of compressed urban living, I'm struck by the sense of space. Inside these foyers, one has the illusion of being outside.

puntos de partido

The weekend is over and the silence is deafening. Yet another great friendship is on the brink of separation. I couldn't sleep last night, wallowing in self-pity, pondering the big questions, and feeling a loss that had not yet been realised. And like all the few goodbyes that ever really mattered to me, the moment passed in tight-lipped silence, a nod, and a walk away. Of course no looking back. I laugh at my own childish reticence, a steeled reaction to the emotions simmering under my skin. How did it feel Kiran, when I left? And for my brother, how did it feel when the little sister who shared so many pained, mean, funny, childish experiences with you, always looked up to you, told you she wouldn't come back? And Paula, my second mum, sobbed into my shoulder, knowing better than I, that I wouldn't return? Before, it was always I who left, never the one left behind. Is it easier to leave than to be left?

And it's never simply about the departure per se, but rather the re-evaluation that follows. The re-evaluation of all the minutiae in one's life, all the possibilities and potential, the regret and the lost moments, the people whom you feel blessed to have known.

And then you reach a stillness, and wispy white puffs, clouds, the epitome of transience, move silently and effortlessly across the backdrop of blue ether. And you remember, one door closes, another opens. Life goes on. And we are damn lucky if we can appreciate the beauty that rushes by.

days...go

Shall I do a laundry list? My life has been reduced to points. No more time for prose. A consequence of my manager's 'persnickety' editorial sense and my eternal lack of time. Actually, I do have my evenings but looking at a computer screen after hours is too much to ask.

Thursday: Caught up with Cameron at Costa Dorada over tapas and some flamenco dancers. Okay, not 'over' flamenco dancers, that's more than I could hope for, but hopefully you get my drift. The place used to be a total dive with those glass hoods over the tapas like in real Spanish bars. I liked it better then. Dirty is good.

Friday: Did I meet someone for drinks? I can't remember. I think I did but every Friday seems like the last...

Saturday: Studied financial derivatives and watched Gladiator with a poorly Matt. Am I the only one who finds that movie total crap? But Connie Nielsen's outfits and pretorian uniforms make it all worthwhile...

Sunday: A perfect day. Spent the early afternoon preparing chicken curry and aloo gobi while catching up with Raquel. Somewhere in there a droplet of hot oil bit my lip and now I am hideously deformed. Sort of. Well, it's painful for a vain individual as myself to host friends with bits of toothpaste on my lip. Janice was back in town (yay!) and of course, when we three ladies get talking, the men quickly clear out.

Today: surprise surprise, studying even more!

Tomorrow: Fashion show/benefit at Pacha night club. I haven't been to Pacha in...well in ages. I'm praying to find something/someone beautiful. Not to have, simply to observe. Really, it is that difficult to find in London.

Thursday: Drinks at the Long Bar, perhaps a celebration of the end of my exams?

Friday: is always a blur. I never remember Fridays. Usually because I'm exhausted, not because I'm wasted. How boring am I?

Saturday: Dinner at OXO Tower? Drinks at Vertigo42? Give me champers and I'm a happy (ahem, stupid) woman. (Did I read that right? Does that say a high of 15 and sunny?)

Sunday: Another one of dem brilliant lunches to look forward to, perhaps the last one for a very long time where the rowdy girls will be together. (sniffle).


On the docket:
Graz in late April with Mel.
Goettingen in June to see Momma Russia?
Lisboa in July to see Depeche Mode and Portuguese beaches?
Warsaw in August to see la Mexicana?
India in December. Unless bird flu f's things up.
6 weeks (semi)-vacation for graduate training in Autumn

I think that leaves 5 days of holidays. I'm sure that will involve a mad dash towards the mediterranean in a desperate attempt to hold on to a bit of sun before re-entering the dismal winter months. Or maybe I'll go to Penang...but when will I get to see Sadie?

the art of bar-hopping

The first time in 4 days I had to wake up early, I haven't much to complain about. By 11, my colleague and I were looking up the cultural offerings of 'Black Country' and by noon, we were prepping ourselves for a 2-hour lunch at Brown's. Not the most productive day but at least I didn't leave at 16:00. No, I was at my desk, booking a ticket to Graz and trying to find a champagne bar. The evening began at 18:30, meeting Raquel outside Liverpool St. station. The two of us shouldn't be allowed to go out together. We like the same guys and are incredibly picky about venues.

1) Fishmarket Champagne Bar - classic champagne cocktails to kick off the evening celebrating the passing of my first FSA exam, my first paycheck, and Raquel's arquitectural quals
2) The Sanderson bar - No drink due to the shite service but an interesting game of speculation, who do you think is the best in bed?
3) Chu Chi - Mediocre dinner at a Thai/Malaysian restaurant on Charlotte street
4) Charlotte Street Hotel bar - (snore)
5) Nordic - Scandinavian bar that reminded me of the bars one frequents at 18, first time out of the country for an extended period. 3 hookers huddled and we make our way to the exit.
6) Revolution - Vodka bar in Soho with one purpose: get pissed ASAP. We settled for 2 shots each and were quickly bored by the male selection.
7) We go in search of Thirst, like wolves on the prowl
8) Kettners on Romilly - (snore)
9) Lupo - lovely specimens but damn, it's a private party and neither of us can blag to save our lives
10) OQO Bar - eh. Walk in, walk out.
11) Destino - shut. It sucked anyway.
12) Cocoon - Poserish but cool bar overlooking Regent Street. Rose champagne, caipirinhas, and a detailed foray into the workings of female fantasy. Why is it that we only fantasise at the most inopportune moments? Like mass or lecture. Strangely enough, ran into Thibault, ex-flatmate, and got sucked into convo with his annoyingly charming Lebanese friend.


02:00 Cab home. First cab in months. Soooo nice not to walk, not to wait, not to worry about the number ticking up on the meter!