the big day... Tweet

...came and left in a blink. Before noon, we realized that the movers underestimated severely the amount of stuff, and got packing as seriously as they were. It's not what one expects when one pays a fortune to be moved by others, but one doesn't have a lot of time and is used to picking up the pieces when others fuck up. I caught a glance of the party at the Croatian embassy across the old flat when I popped into the street to see how the movers planned to sort out having a van taller than the gate to our courtyard, having ignored our warnings. They didn't quite find a solution at that point.



Madness followed. Around 1 p.m., having packed without a pee break since 8 a.m. or so, the chief mover stated that he stopped counted boxes, as there must've been a hundred already. This, mind you, after our cleaner packed all books beforehand, and we packed the majority of two rooms. They were still struggling with kitchen and lounge. We had to be out by 3pm the latest, and into the new flat with EVERYTHING by 5pm the latest. That last bit didn't quite work out. But on the ride home I spotted that Regent's Place, a terrifyingly ugly complex of buildings across Euston Road from Conway Street was looking much better than expected, and hoped for the best.



I guided the gate to the courtyard afterwards, sitting on a broken, discarded office chair for lack of ability to feel my feet, and tried not to get pissed off with the bad planning and slow progress. The movers were dead tired, hadn't eaten, hadn't had the right support from headquarters, so we all carried on the best we could. After everything that could go in went in, there was a bed assembled and a not-so-cheery prospect of a second moving day on the Sunday when we planned to open some boxes and chill. Teddy was happiest of all, looking down a new street, as he does.



So not much drinking of cava of late. Have unpacked the terrace boxes of empty pots, lit the new Ikea candles in the new Ikea holders (don't buy the square one, waste of money and time), and tried not to worry too much about tomorrow or the majority of our belongings spending the night in somebody's warehouse. What? The World Cup? You must be kidding me!

on the other hand Tweet

We can catch our breath on the terrace, which is how we start seeing bees, etc. Someone is very happy about having sorted out broadband, while yours truly is gazing (and nearly cheering) at every airplane that goes by on its way to Heathrow or viceversa. This is definitely something I won't miss. I could see airplanes from my windowsill, and often did, but more or less the size of mosquitoes. Now they're significantly larger, and don't require any neck twisting. I know a lot of folk were excited during the extended grumpiness of Eyjafjallajökull that the sky was clear and silent. Not me. I need to know planes are coming and going to get a sense that the world is still revolving. Yeah, the sun, moon, stars and seasons do the job just as nicely for most of you out there. I need to see people on the move, going places that excite them, to feel alive. Quite a bonus that I can check up on it from this very terrace. The odd red balloon also helps, though is only about putting smiles on my face and suggesting that I should take it easy. Which I plan to do in a month, if all boxes are out of the house and most stuff in its corner.

straight out of harry potter Tweet

There is another side to the move. We might have stepped straight into Harry Potter's London or, for that matter, a part of Neverwhere. Our address more or less doesn't exist. We've been talking to various databases (!) for over a week now, trying to persuade them that we're real, and so is our flat. Our door is hardly visible. You more or less have to know where it is, or miss it. Our gate is not known to the council. We're still to clarify what impact it has on deliveries and pick-ups beyond its obvious help in keeping out the inebriated hordes of teens and misery stricken masses of tourists on the main street. Two of our neighbors have strange cadaveric faces that are still to be proven a sign of a) the Dark Side b) fatigue over fighting the Dark Side for a couple of hundred years c) being able to turn into a dog and a raven at night d) any of the above. A further symbol of more than meets the eye has been this bee: flew straight underneath our terrace table this evening, although we have no flowering plants here yet. Investigated. Pretended to have a snooze until I gently blew over it and (I'm not even kidding) it lifted a limb as if to say Wait, I'm getting new orders right now. I kept alerting Chris to the position of the bee, and joking that now we have a new issue, making sure not to step on bees on our terrace. And then Chris did just that. I screamed. The phone rang. I picked up the bee and MIRACLE! It was alive! Have we been spared? Did we pass the test? Are we going to drink the immortal mead? Did we make contact with the forces of good? Or power? Time will tell, and I'll be sure to bring news from a large terrace in London, without an address, behind an invisible door, behind a nonexistent gate.

survived ikea yet again, and finally made it to cava Tweet

Ikea is the future. What else could this glorious sunset mean? One day soon, Sweden will be renamed Ikea. I do believe. Except for H&M. They could win the country rebranding, as well, I suppose. Either way, we find that future scary. Going to Ikea takes planning, B planning, lots of patience, bringing your own food (or risking a bad stomach), dealing with an imperfect system, resisting filling your trolley with stuff you don't need, avoiding fighting with each other over last minute changes of the plan (due to stock weirdness or bits not being in their right locations), watching that no one snatches your goods at the till or after (has happened, unfortunately) and, finally, dealing with the funny delivery people. Done that better and better each time (6-7 trips together so far), to the point where, today, we're still human after leaving Ikea. Yay!



So towards midnight and after, we arrived at the first milestone: cracking the cava open and christening the new place our way, sparkling wine on a pink table on an unlikely large terrace in Central London. Except this time at night, and testing new outdoor candle holders from Ikea. Here's to balls, patience, hard work, having things your way, making dreams happen and dreaming big. For all the times we were told that such a place doesn't exist, take 15 square meters of West facing terrace in a split level flat even larger and more central than before, with a small, quiet business as only immediate neighbor, a courtyard full of plants, on oasis of peace meters away from New Oxford Street and a busy restaurant where chatter blends with sing-song crockery and cutlery to make us feel more like Barcelona than London. You've got to see it to believe it.

it takes so little to be happy Tweet

A wifi connection, a laptop, a sunny terrace and a glass of sparkling water. The essentials do not change much after a certain age (let's call it 20 or thereabouts). Yes the floors are weirdly sloped, as they might be in houses over a hundred years old. And BT cannot move our phone number across Tottenham Court Road. And Be failed at connecting us to the internets so far. But I'm sitting here basking in the sun, able to work away WHILE SMOKING and glancing at Centre Point, the many airplane lines in the sky, and the inquisitive cats of the neighbors. And if I stick my head outside the bedroom window, I see British Museum and The Ministry of Truth. Even when severely sloped, life is good.

moving on up Tweet

We got up rather early this morning (me, at 6 am, by myself? word!) and worked from home so that we counter some of the hours we won't be working in the next few days. Around noon, we went across to the office, and couldn't help having a quick peek at the new flat. We're getting the keys this evening in order to be in by 8 am (!) tomorrow and welcome BT, the inventory guy, and the cleaner (landlords don't really brush things up properly in London, at least not for commoners). Checking out the back of the building, we noticed some work going on, and found that surprising.



Then, on the other side of the house, the lounge and bedroom windows looked perhaps cleaner than the day before, when there had been a ladder inside. Indeed, we STALKED OUR FLAT. This is what happens to you when you get old and excited. Of course, tomorrow we'll discover that this and that aren't perfect, including cleaning and maintenance, but for now, things are looking up. It's only been six months since we started looking for a new place and slowly convinced ourselves that we're ready for the pain involved by moving.



And now we're right in the heart of it all: boxes, stuff, dust, utilities, redirecting mail, Oxfam trips and going back to Ikea (less than two months after the trip made for the new office). As it happens, it's a really busy time at the office, with lots of projects going on, sexy balls in the air, new hires and shiny opportunities every week. Each time we hear that someone left on holiday (or is about to) we feel a bit puzzled. Surely the times are better fitted for working hard and enjoying the best time of the year in London, now that it's finally got to the point where being out and about in the sun at this time of day is a serious threat of suntan. But first things first; we'll see what monsters hide behind those windows.

pulling a mirona Tweet

As a younger, wiser version of me knew, and practiced enough to inspire others, when you've got some coins left in your pocket and you're looking at long hours spent in front of a computer doing mind-numbing tasks, there's only one uplifting thing to do: buy yourself some flowers. Crazy flowers, preferably, the kind that have at least one alien feature. And then make a clear deal with yourself as to when that glass of wine is poured. Because the work will keep flowing no matter what, and one should drown in style and good humor.



Did you know that gerberas and sunflowers come from the same family? Thought so.

all manner of things will happen when I go away Tweet

By default, the weather in London will be simply fantastic. In fact, much much more than that: supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. So much that showers that could've ruined everybody's Sunday were delayed so that they can ruin my Monday. But the worst is that same sun will melt down half the blooms I left behind. Some to the branch, some to the fruit. Thank God the Queen was gracious enough to celebrate her birthday at the end of THIS week, or I would have had very little to come back to!

is it a good time to move? Tweet

Film Director Guy Ritchie recently paid over £6m for adjoining mansions in Fitzroy Square. The two houses were used as a language school until 2007. Fitzrovia News, Issue 117, Summer 2010

They were then left to degrade in style, and later renovated at the slowest pace witnessed in London yet—we lost count of the months, verging on a year? Forever under construction, and strangely close to Madonna's (alleged) Kabbalah house.

It's rather amazing how unassuming (read POOR) Fitzroy Square is for a place where a Director (note capital D above) will live, current West End stars live, Madonna's friends (protégées?) live, and which was graced a hundred years ago by famous writers and whatnot (plenty more blue signs for those with eyes).



Yes, we're still moving. The list of things I'll miss has three items only, and Fitzroy Square is not one of them.