not on the same page Tweet

Mirona: This woman says to me "I hope you're not taking that weekend in Wales, it's wet and windy". I told her the weekend was abroad. Surely she doesn't think Wales is abroad!

Chris: Maybe she's got a sense of humor?

Mirona: I wouldn't expect that. But if it's the case, I could fall for it.

Chris: Wales?! Really?!

Mirona: What, am I mad? Her sense of humor!!!

it's beautiful, but what is it? Tweet

Last night, Chris called me right after finishing his Romanian class (!) and as we chatted away about groceries and other late-evening excitements, I watched three kids perch an unstable three-tier ladder on a building down the street to no obvious outcome, and threw that into the conversation. Soon after, I went back to my business, and only once Chris got home and looked out of the same window, he pointed out that my kids had been putting up fairy lights! He was quite amused to bring me the news, because I'm such a nutter for fairy lights that I carefully extended the life of our outdoor Christmas lights last year, month after month, until he realized that I was not planning to put them away. And there was further proof when we moved flat and I pinned the lights on the terrace walls before I sorted out my beloved pots of babies.

On my way to work today, I looked up the wall of lights, admired the hard work, and wondered what it was about. Tonight, it was Chris again who looked out of that window at the right time, and spotted guests arrive in very nice cars, and very nice saris. It was mesmerising, more than I could quickly capture with my camera. But what was the occasion of such elegant and bright displays rather late at night? For a moment we wondered whether it was Diwali, but it turns out not, not until October 26th. Then we speculated that it could be the Birth of the Prophet, but then celebrating it would be three days late. An hour passed, and we're none the wiser. Maybe it's just a family thing, or maybe the mystery thickens. But we're thrilled nonetheless that some of our neighbours are doing something of note. And it's shiny!



Update, February 23rd 2011: Alex suggested it was an engagement party, which reminded me that walking past it again today, I saw red heart confetti in myriad sizes and could swear that they were fragrant, too. If Alex's theory is correct, as she put it: They know how to celebrate in style! How lovely :)

extensive use of skype may lead to getting a room Tweet

Chris: Did you find him in Skype?
Me: Skype?!

A minute passes.

Chris: Only 300 followers on Skype.
Me: Skype?!

Another minute passes.

Chris: When I said Skype I meant LinkedIn.
Me: Except that time when you said Skype and you meant Twitter?
Chris: Yeah, that's the one! Meanwhile, I'm just writing a huge contract. Nevermind me!

A Skype chat room doesn't cut it for us anymore. We simply need a room. By which I mean office.

a double victory Tweet

When my sister came to London last summer, she threatened to paint my nails, as that was a recurring whine about my lack of time (and she's really good at it). But she soon realized that it's more likely we skip that and have a beer and a chat, which is exactly what happened. When my sister left London last fall, she left me a nail varnish that would suit me more, she said. My main interaction with the tiny bottle, since then, has been moving it from here to there, dusting it occasionally and, well, daydreaming.

Then, around Christmas, I had an overpowering desire to paint my nails red. Not overpowering enough to become reality. More of a regret than anything else. It was only last night, having arrived at a bit of a milestone in making my beauty corner of the bedroom work, that I sat down and tried the varnish, wondering whether I still recalled how to paint nails at all. It doesn't look too bad in the daylight, does it? And that is the new keyboard of my new laptop. Which is just like my old laptop. Except it works. For now.

spring watch: we're on! Tweet

Daffodils and forsythia will paint our terrace bright yellow in the next weeks, it seems, and the first proof finally opened up this morning—well, last night, but I couldn't figure a straightforward way to capture them in the dark. Funny enough, these tiny cutesies received from Chris last year came out of nowhere and bloomed before the larger daffs that have been preparing for weeks. Have I finally won the Jacksons' spring watch competition? I sure hope so!

Update: UMM... NOPE. Exact words: Sorry honey—'almost yellow' daffs do not count. They must be fully open + be the traditional big ones, not miniatures. Claim discounted. MXX

they shoot baristas, don't they? Tweet

The waitress places a cappuccino in front of me, and a flat white in front of Chris, on the ankle high table. I kind of register that they are the wrong way around, but then focus back on the conversation as I lower the spoon into the sugar bowl, and then gently drop its contents onto the cappuccino foam, right by the rim of the cup. I bet there's at least one place in Italy where they shoot you for ruining that sacrosanct body.

Ben: Isn't that a cappuccino?
Chris, startled by the topic change: ...
Me: Ohh, good point. Chris's father is right, you can't talk about coffee before you have a coffee.

I swap the cups, as Chris watches the sugar sink into his drink, rather horrified. After some confused and rushed half lines on both sides, I scoop the sugar with my spoon, stealing some of his milk foam, and gingerly lay it on my flat white. I bet there's at least one place at the Antipodes where they shoot you for ruining that sacrosanct body. I focus back on the conversation, pick Chris's clean spoon, load it with sugar, and drop its content on the cappuccino across the table, right by the rim of the cup.

Ben: She's gone mad!
Chris, startled by the second round of sinking sugar, lets out a disbelieving laughter.
Me: It's got to be that movie last night. I didn't sleep well. Do not see that before going to bed.
Ben: What did you guys see?
Chris: Black Swan...
Ben: Surely everyone knows it's... bloody.

I pick up Chris's spoon, collect the sugar from his cup again, add it to my coffee, stir. Two spoons rest on my saucer now, and for the first time in the last twelve hours, I lose the sense of walking into the black swan daze only to relocate myself in Coffee and Cigarettes. There's a certain neurosis there, and a certain type of chill; a rare state of being slightly high and sharply focused. Simultaneously.

I am aggrieved by the lack of options to smoke next to coffee and carry on talking. And to have thought the morning started well when Chris recalled I'd have flat white over cappuccino! None of this would've happened if the waitress placed the coffees the right way around. If that hadn't been my first coffee. If I could've puffed a cigarette in parallel. And, most importantly, if baristas added the sugar themselves BEFORE THE MILK FOAM. They shoot baristas, too, don't they?

my thoughts exactly Tweet

One day when we are old and grey, said Chris pensively. As opposed to young and grey.

preserving the workhouse dickens portrayed in oliver twist Tweet

With my barely three months old MacBook Air in shambles, I didn't expect more of today but various levels of frustration in backing-up files, making the older laptop work (thank God I didn't eBay it yet) and wrangling Apple Support into receiving, you know, support. But then there was an Oliver Twist flavored email from Monica Garnsey in my inbox, and I can honestly say that reading it and replying have been among the most exciting morning activities in the past weeks, if not months. With her agreement, here's the exchange, and a bonus sent not long ago by Tom Broxton.

FROM MONICA GARNSEY: Preserving Dickens' workhouse - Dr Ruth Richardson and Dr Paul Schlicke discuss the battle to save the workhouse the inspired Charles Dickens

I got very excited! If you didn't hear The Today Programme, apparently Charles Dickens at two points in his life lived on Cleveland Street when it was called something else [Ed. Norfolk Street]. There was a big workhouse on it, and they reckon he would have seen and heard the paupers and the beadles in and around it every day. The workhouse was later incorporated into the Middlesex Hospital (and is just about to be pulled down—they're trying to list it, because of this.)

I just had a recce—I wonder if this could be it?! No wonder Harold Pinter picked up on the weirdness... (Chris and Mirona I'm editing literally 100 yards away from it on Foley Street).

FROM MIRONA ILIESCU: I hope they succeed in preserving and listing the workhouse. We often walked past that frozen development (!) area in your photo when we lived nearby. At some point I heard that one or more buildings on that site were actually rented out to artists as cheap studios.

I believe at least one of Dickens's addresses is signaled on Cleveland Street [Ed. wrong, it's not, though it should be]. Closer to our flat, there was a house in which Victoria Woolf lived for four years exactly 100 years before me; I only lasted three. I have no idea whether she conceived a novel there; I certainly didn't.

Now we're in Bloomsbury, and past the namesake group and Virginia as a resident, there are two addresses where Charles Dickens lived. When I walk about or pop into an old pub [Ed. The Plough, a tad refurbished the other week, now has a plaque mentioning the Bloomsbury Group], I sometimes wonder when they stopped by, what was on their mind, what did they see and hear.

You might like these: Londonist Stalks... Mr Charles Dickens, Save the Cleveland Street Workhouse, and Charles Dickens and the Cleveland Street Workhouse, By Dr. Ruth Richardson

FROM TOM BROXTON: The gateposts certainly look like the kind that make you abandon all hope when you pass... I found this old map of London and it does show such a building, just north east of the hospital. You can overlay a modern map on the same spot and it looks like there is a similar building that could be the car park next door?

happy valentine's day! Tweet

I hope you're doing something nice for yourself today, regardless of what others do. I took myself for a very brief walk in the sun, and came about the first crocuses in bloom in the Bloomsbury Square's Garden, nearby our office. There were snowdrops, too, but nothing warms my soul at this time of year like crocus in the sun and seeing it with... my Valentine.



And if you don't believe in this celebration, does it really matter what reason one has to celebrate oneself and dear ones another day? Go catch some sun, some sign of spring, some piece of chocolate, whatever works. Any reason's a good reason.

spring watch Tweet

Little did I know before moving to London that spring watch is a national sport. Chris's family competes yearly over the first daffodil in bloom in one's garden, for example, and it'd be fair to say I never stood a chance to win (cheating and photoshoping aside) with our daffs coming out in April, at best. But this year looks good. Especially if the buds in our garden bloom before Chris's mom comes back to hers from holiday ;) Until then, I spotted this on my very short walk to work today, and couldn't think of a better sighting to brighten up the day. Where do you stand on the spring watch scale, between incidental to competitive?