I confess: I am never very good at getting to bed before 11.30pm. Which is why I am so often over tired. This last week has been worse: not before 12.30am...
Not for any reason. I start thinking about going to bed at 9.30/10.00 - then proceed to faff around a few hours...

So, even though it was a friday night, I decided that I didn't want to be like the walking dead any longer. Especially not since we have our party tonight! So, OMG! I went to bed at 9.30pm! can you believe it? I was really looking forward to a good night's sleep.

Unfortunately, I was not counting on a visit from my old friend insomnia. Drat and damnation. 12 hours in bed, with the light off and my eyes shut, and I got possibly 3 hours sleep?

I got up at 9.52pm to watch the fireworks across the way for a few minutes.
Then I got up for a drink of water at 10.34pm.
This was followed by listening to my neighbours going up and down the stairs for 15mins.
At 11.17pm S. rang the door bell, having forgotten her keys. From my bleary eyes and wounded expression, she must have thought that she woke me up. Um, no, unfortunately not.
I checked the time at 12.20am.
I opened my eyes in boredom / exasperation and the smoke alarm flashed at me for a while until I tried shutting my eyes again.
F. got home at 2.30am.
One of them got up at some point to use the bathroom.
The smoke alarm over my head continued to wink it's little "I'm still functioning" green light at me.
R. got up at 8am and went out.
I finally gave up at 9.17am and got up, feeling somewhat creaky.

They have computers right? Funds are just information, and information is just numbers flitting down fibre-optic cable...
So why on earth does it take 5 days for my bank account details to be transferred from one part of the banking system (accounts) to another (internet banking)? Infact, with the number of people who now utilise internet banking, why is internet banking not set up when you set up your account?
I requested internet banking when I first got the account. I was told that they would transfer the information across and I would need to ring and set it up, a few days later. So I rang and the info hadn't reached their computers yet. I'm sorry I fail to understand: I watched the guy entering my details on a computer...
Anyway, since you can only ring during work hours, and hello? I'm working during work hours, I let it slide for a couple of months. I rang the other day, and they still haven't transfered my details! WTF? The bank guy said that he'd send through a work order to the tech department (say what? can't you just click a button that says 'transfer information'? no, it's so difficult that they need an IT Department to do it...).
So, I rang again a couple of days later: "no your details aren't on the system yet". Oh. "It does take 5 working days, you know."
How?
Why?
Look, I'm sorry but it doesn't in New Zealand.
This is ridiculous, honestly I am steadily becoming convinced that they print off the information, send it by 2nd Class mail to the other department, where it gets stamped and filed, before some geeky IT trainee who doesn't get to see daylight very often, re-enters the information on a different computer...
sigh...

My final task was then to work out how to get to Euston train station with the Tube on strike!

It turned out that there was a very straightforward route (well a couple of changes but at least no buses nor walking from hither to thither) on the Silverline. P. dropped me at South Acton Station and I paid nearly £8! for a ticket to get me to Euston - that'd get me to almost to Edinburgh and back again! FFS.

Luckily we had set off at 9am so I was running half an hour ahead of my preferred time to arrive at Euston, since the first leg of my Silverline journey picked me up on time but dropped me at Willesden Juntion a few minutes too late for the the next leg and then
the next train due for the second leg was 10mins late, and also ran slow so I didn't arrive at Euston until just after 10am - with my train to Glasgow leaving at 10.28am - perfect timing. There were quite a few empty reserved seats so I think that quite a few people were not so fortunate.

Back in Glasgow mid-afternoon - and needing my jacket again - and then back to work the next day...

Monday September 3rd

I caught the Tube (by overground not underground and not in a tube!) from Turnham Green to Richmond; and from there I walked to Hampton Court. It took about three hours and was well worth it.

The route was partly along towpaths, but also through the old townships of Richmond, and Petersham and past Ham House, crossing the Thames at Teddington Lock and then through Teddington. The weather was perfect for the walk, and in fine weather I'd recommend it to anyone.

If your interested the route can be found in detail at:
http://www.londontoolkit.com/whattodo/hampton_court_walk.htm

On route you pass a working dairy herd of authentic, but apparently uneconomic, cows grazing in the Petersham Meadows near the Thames, adjacent to Ham House - just like in the Middle Ages!

The walk reachs Hampton Court via Chestnut Avenue through Bushy Park, which still has the Royal deer herd, who were at times oblinging enough to stop and pose for my (over exposed) camera. I stopped here to have my lunch, on a bench in the sun, watched by the curious deer - or was I watching them? either way it makes a pleasant change from pigeons!

The Chestnut Avenue brings you to the Lion's Gate, which enters the grounds of Hampton Court at the Wilderness and by the Maze. I walked though the Wilderness to the Rose Gardens - oh! the perfume on the air! heaven - to find the ticket booth and the main entry. I've been to Hampton Court before, but it was cold, dark, rainy and generally miserable when J. T. and I went in 1999, so we just did the inside and left the gardens for another day - which monday, finally, was for me! and I couldn't have had a better day. So I had a quick recon inside - picking up some spices for mulled wine on the way - before heading out into the formal gardens.

The gardens are very lovely, and I had a very pleasnt afternoon exploring them, although I was disappointed that you can only look into the pond gardens not walk around them - as I thought that they were very beutiful. Gardeners were constantly at work and their effort certainly shows - it must be a very peaceful, rewarding job. I have often thought that being a gardener would be a good job. Well, I think that on sunny days, not when it's raining, funnily enough! I saw the Great Vine and the Banquetting Hall - which I liked very much, looking out over the water of the Thames. The Great Vine is the oldest (eating grape) vine in world - and the grapes that it produces are sold at Hampton Court, and they are beautiful, by far the best grapes that I have had in a long time.

The Great Fountain garden is also very pleasant - with it's mushroom trees (and a tired father telling his wee daughter that she musn't climb them!) and big luscious flower beds to the sides. The main fountain is quite delicate, and beautiful in a un-demonstrative way. From there you look out on the Long Water - a long flat sheet disappearing into the horizon. Unfortunately truncated in recent years by the Jubilee Fountain added in 2002(?) for Queen Elizabeth II's Jubilee; fortunately only periodically. The new fountain is located at the end of the Long Water. The problem with this is that it gives the Long Water an end point, cutting off the 'infinte' view and foreshortening the Long Water. When the fountain is not playing, you can still see the Long Water as originally intended - which is more beautiful and certainly more impressive although less dashing than the fountain.

I then made my way back around through the Wilderness to the Maze, where I spent a good 20mins trying not to go back to the beginning (and the exit!) as I tried to find the centre... So naturally after all that effort I took myself off to the pub for a cold beer (there is a couple just outside the Lion's Gate which, handily, is just by the Maze).

Then via the Rose Gardens again (so lovely) to the main gate to find the bus back to Richmond. On route I found myself tempted by a Kiosk... so I gave in and had an ice-cream in the sun by the side of the Thames. The bus ride back to Richmond was fine - though I had to try not to fall asleep!

Then Richmond Tube Station: I didn't find out until after I had paid, that the District Line was no longer running due to the Strike that was due to start in half an hour.
Okay...
There's a bus right.
From the other side of the road, should be only 4 - 7mins away.
So along with a whole crowd of people I stood on the side of the road for nearly three quarters of an hour. There were buses going the other way, and cars. But the only cars or taxis that passed on our side ofthe road had done 'U'turns further up the street... So there's all these stranded commuters gazing with envy at the stops on the other side of the road - it may not be greener but it's certainly faster!

N.C. and I had been hoping to meet up, but besides the fact that transport was a nightmare with the Tube on strike, our mobile phones appear to have been playing silly buggers: I texted her, called her, no reply, she ditto's that but my phone tells me nothing, though hers told her that I was not on the network - huh? (all this established a day or so later via Facebook).

So I had dinner with P. and her friend, who was wearing bright orange overalls and has just returned from living in New York for many years, which was all very pleasant.

The photos from this day can be found at:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=13572&l=7e828&id=536389399
I should note that these - and the others from this weekend - have a tendancy to be overexposed (very badly in some cases) as I had unwittingly set my camera very very wrong... doh... I have done what repair was possible but the skies that look overcast with white cloud should infact be brilliant blue with streaky white clouds and plane trails, as is visible in some few images. So use your imagination

Sunday September 2nd

Meet up with N.C. at Kings Cross. She has just moved to London from Holland - prior to that (a long time ago now!) we went to University together.
It was the usual deal of phone calls - "where are you?" - while standing about 25m from each other! After hugs and exclamations and general catching up and discourse on where and what, we determined on the Design Museum where N.C. was sure that there was a Zaha Hadid exhibition. So we then caught the Tube to Bank and then (due to engineering works) had to walk to the Design Museum on the other side of the Thames, across Tower Bridge. Which actually was rather lovely with the sunny blue sky. Especially since I hadn't seen the Tower in the sun before nor with leaves on the trees before! So that was nice.

On the other side of tower bridge there was a PETA protest - Bare Skin Not Bear Skin - regarding the Beefeaters hats. So naturally it was young ladies in the nude (almost) with Union Jacks on their cheeks, butt cheeks that is. For their sake I was glad that it was warm and sunny. Well I was glad for my sake also, but...

There was indeed a Zaha Hadid exhibition at the Design Museum. It was very good, but I am inclined to dispute the argument, posed in one card, that her recent built projects prove that contrary to earlier critique she is a builder not just a painter. I think it is just that now she has staff to turn her artistic vision into built reality. By which I do not mean to denegrate the power of her artistic vision, nor the influence that she has had on architecture internationally. I just think that the staff should get a bit more credit - they are not, afterall, merely drones...

There was also a Graphic Design exhibit: a group devoted to anti-brand, anti-globalisation and naturally anti-war. There was some very good work and some hard-hitting political / social critique - but of course, the irony is that they have become a Brand themselves...
Perhaps that accounts for the shift towards anti-war?

I confess to shopping: four little porcelain tumblers, like crumpled plastic cups, each one different from the others. The location of the crumple on each though, is just perfect for a thumb hold.

We then had a pub lunch before I had to rush off to meet J.D. (ex CSP) at Oxford Circus. With lunch running late, and then the engineering works on the Tube (requiring the hike back to Bank) I was 1/2 an hour late but had forewarned J. so that was okay - infact, I wound up waiting for him. We walked across to Soho where he introduced me to a nice little Kiwi run cafe - the best hot chocolate that I've had since arriving in the UK! and they do a flat white...

It was very odd though, it seemed everywhere I went I was being served by antipodians - and when N.C. and I were working out the best route for the tube, who should stop to help but a Kiwi, complete with MacPack backpack...

We then just walked and talked, around Soho and down to Westminster and back to Picadilly Circus.

Then back to Chiswick for dinner with P. and M. After which I showed P. the photos I have from the wedding (I had my iPod on which they are - and since it is set up as a hard-drive I could access them to show her - neat eh?).

Speaking of photos - the pics from this trip can be accessed at :
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=13456&l=4a8dd&id=536389399

Saturday September 1st

Woke to a stunningly blue sky. Had a shower and dressed, ready to go for a walk in the neighbourhood - and the sky was horribly overcast.
Of course, naturally.
So I went for my walk anyway.
Down to the Thames through Chiswick and past Chiswick Parish Church. Which was preparing for the inauguration of the new priest when I stuck my head around the door - but they were very happy for my to have a look around; and a big chap with the most impressive moustachios gave me a brief history:
Cromwell's Daughter and her Husband, as well as Hogarth are buried in the Church;
and there are some who believe (M. told me that this particular theory has been discredited - but it's a good story anyway) that Cromwell himself is buried there. After the Restoration his head was kicked around the place a bit - from here to there - finally winding up at Cambridge in Sidney Sussex College (which Cromwell had spent some time in after his father's death). There is no firm record however, of what happened to the body. Some believe that his supporters somehow transported it to Chiswick Parish Church and buried it secretly there.
Chiswick Parish Church was the only church under Cromwellian Rule that got new bells - as they didn't approve of bells - a wee bit of nepotism due to it being the church where his daughter worshiped;
The majority of the building only dates from around 1880(?), but the belltower is 17thC and the presence of the church goes back before 9thC (according to the man with the moustachio's). But they did grind up the bit's of the old church into the mortar of the new (current) church - which is kind of nice.

From there down to the water, where I rather fell for the water edge garden plots on the other side of the road to the house they're attached to - and the same width as the house plot, so if the house is very skinny then so is the garden plot, alovely idea.

Finally, back through Chiswick to the house - to meet my cousin's wife and son for the first time. Unfortunately, the man himself had a wedding to go to (W. felt a bit too pregnant! she is due this weekend). The wee boy is a lovely bright kid. Then cousins H. & J. turned up also which was lovely.

J. and I went to lunch up in Chiswick as the others all went in various different directions. It was really very nice to have that extra time with just her - not something we often get.

After which I caught the Tube to Southwark to meet K. B. (who used to work across the kitchen from my old job in Auckland), and we went to the Tate Modern. We mostly just talked as we wandered rather than getting serious about the art. But we were quite agreed that the exhibit with two beautiful Macaws, caged away from daylight and fresh air, was just not right. We then wandered about a bit before finding a nice pub and getting a beer in the sunshine.

Unfortunately, I didn't have anything to on Saturday night as everyone had various other plans already. So I went into Picadilly Circus and wandered about, along Carnaby Street and such. I did have some thoughts of going to a show (I had heard that Wicked was very good), but I was pushing it on time and anyway I would have coughed all the way through (I've been fighting of a rather malingering cold) and didn't think that that would be fun - so I just walked, and got a bite to eat, before heading back to Chiswick - on the Tube with everyone else again...

Friday August 31st

Having decided that catching the first subway at approx 6.40am to get to Central Station for a 7am train was pushing it a bit, I called a taxi at 6.20am.
At 6.30 I get a call to say that the taxi is there.
Well I am standing outside and I can tell you it's not.
Turned out the taxi-driver had gone to the wrong street! So they'll send another.
Arrived at 6.40am - but got me to Central Station at 6.50 so that was okay

The train ride down to London was great - lovely views and to top it off I had a fantastic book (refer my earlier blog "Open Your Eyes").

At the other end, the tube ticket to Turnham Green cost me the same amount as my taxi fare to Central Station, Glasgow.

Running on memory only, I recalled that I had to catch the District Line to Turnham Green and turn Left. Um no, that was supposed to be turn Right, I realised sometime later...
So met P. and had soup and tea before we went out for coffee with her friend. Dinner at the house with M. and then a walk around the streets. Which was all very relaxed and family like - something I've been missing...

"The Book Thief" by Markus Zusak
An wonderful (and uplifting though shattering book). I have just resurfaced on completion of this tale of a girl growing up in Germany during the war. The book is narrated by Death, and we are informed at the start (and reminded at points) of how this turns out. So that it is the journey that counts rather than the event. It is a journey beautifully and lovingly told - if somewhat sadly at times. The are - it being wartime - moments of great tragedy, but there are also sequences of humour and joy.

http://books.guardian.co.uk/review/story/0,,1983080,00.html

Perhaps it was just the weekend that I chose to go to London, but my overwhelming impressions of London (other than the famous Brown Brick) was the stifling, repugnant heat of the tube, and the black dust pollution throughout the centre - leaving you parched and desperate for quiet, cool, and some form of / any form of thirst-quencher - and the shattered longing of stranded commuters gazing with blank envy at other platforms and other stops, where trains and buses are running on time. As they wait for transport, which, it is becoming increasingly apparent, may never come. At least not in time for the next connection, or that all important meeting, or just quite simply, to get the hell away from 'here'.
Oh the Glory of the London Underground: all the pushing and shoving and hurrying that goes with that desperate need to be somewhere other than 'here'. All the pushing and the sighing and the elbows and the rolling eyes and the gritted expressions - and the tragic American trying to 'grin and bear it' making little "we're all in this together" type jokes, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that the blurred commuters (who're just trying to get somewhere without the experience being too hideous) are envisaging her dire fate...
Having said which, I thoroughly enjoyed my time in London - just not the ridiculous amount of time spent crammed onto Public Transport - or worse - waiting for Public Transport... It certainly helped that the weather was lovely - and much warmer than Glasgow.
Also noteworthy is the startling revelation I had one afternoon on the Picadilly Line - with the heat unbearable and the claustrophobic press of people - that (somewhat like Dorothey) "I want to Go Home!" and the home that I was thinking of was Glasgow...

I had to go to the Post Office again today - more packages to NZ.

The lady at the counter was the one from outside, yesterday morning, and, recognising me, asked if I had recieved her message? To which I had to reply: I gave her the incorrect number... So she turns away, and from behind the counter gets a plastic bag...

O - M - G

It was there!
It was there!
It was there!

So now I just feel generally daft - but relieved.

And my flatmate is vindicated: he told me that my iPod would have been handed in because (and I quote) "people who use post offices are more honest than the general public."