I LOVE LONDON....
I have never felt that more than I did last week. Each day proved to be another 'London blessing' as I wondered around the capital on my various journeys.
The first of my blessings occurred on Tuesday evening. Whilst waiting for a friend to finish work, I wandered around bored, slowly becoming aware of the way in which the streets come alive with the help of a little warm weather and a few classy bars. I noticed the street vendor, playing buckets for drums. The vendor and his saxophone playing chum together provided the soundtrack for my evening of wandering. The sound of their music literally sailing through the night air. It sounds cliche, but the feeling I got was an undeniable love for London, an uncontaminated sense of carefreeness. The fact that they were impressively talented was hugely independent of, yet key to, the fact that they were busking.
The city workers, in the midst of their early evening drinks at the surrounding bars, seemed to appreciate the melodic racket coming from the middle of the street - as did I.
I walked through side streets looking in shop windows, bright-eyed at the effort put in to lure consumers into the well laid out retail spaces. I became acutely aware of their attention-to-detail; their desire intrigue. Their attempts were actually rather inspired, clever and extremely effective. I stood at the window of the Nokia store watching the new advert over and over, impressed by the mind that could come up with such an incredible concept.
The Apple store on Regent Street closed as I looked on, the employees having their bags checked as they exited. Apple, proving to me how they managed to keep the profits they earned. The unique glass fascia of the store struck me as impressive, but what I found more so was the surrounding buildings. I realised that during my usual visits to the centre of the capital, I didn't tend to find the time to look up and take in the just-out-of-my-peripheral-vision sights. The obviously listed buildings were beautiful and my mind wondered as to what they had housed before the Apple store and other retails giants came along.
By 22.30, I met my friend who had finally finished work and all that I had taken in was once again forgotten in a subconscious second, the hustle and bustle of the journey home taking priority in my mind.
However, my love of the capital didn't end there. On Friday, as I was walking back from a lunch date, I was stopped by a charity street-canvasser named Hannah. Hannah asked me to talk to her for just a second, but instead of my usual polite but firm declination, I stopped to have a word with the girl that seemed to have a light behind her eyes for the work she was doing. Her charity, www.everychild.org.uk, seemed to be legitimate and she sold the concept so very well.
Instead of asking me for money, Hannah's spiel about how the charity's overheads were the lowest of all UK charities due to the fact that they did not pay for huge mail outs or other costly gimmicks, really resonated with me. She did not badger me into giving, but we held impacting conversation about the effect of the organisation and they work they do. The discussion moved onto our passion for the welfare of children and our own personal endeavours.
Hannah's approach made me smile. She had changed my expectations of how a street-canvasser gained their commission. The fact that she gained no commission from her chat with me, or anyone else, probably had a a big impact on the creative way in which she dealt with me. The focus was the children, not the money and I could see that. The difference was huge!
I left Hannah, smiling. She had given me something else to write about and I remembered my earlier encounter with 'London' on Tuesday night.
I began to think about the many occasions on which I had made my way through London with blinkers on, hating everything about the stinking, dirty city. I thought about the fact that, actually, there is so much to love about London town, the UK's pride and joy. Hyde Park, The London Eye, London Aquarium, Oxford Street, Brent Cross, Vertigo 42, The Oxo Tower, The Ritz... All of these and more are what London is known and loved for.
In retrospect, I know it would be realistic of me to admit that I will probably revert back to slandering my city the next time I smell rotting garbage that has not yet been picked up by an ever-late council bin service, or that I will despise the life I am forced to live here with the next sighting of a rat crossing my path, but all in all, I have to admit that it's not that bad. It can't be: We are the city that won the 2012 Olympic bid - we must be doing something right....
Monday, 21 July 2008
Friday, 27 June 2008
Confessions of a Commuter...
WHY OH WHY OH WHY is this man's derriere in my face.... This morning I hope-upon-hope that this is the day when manners are second-nature to my fellow Bakerloo Line commuters...... Urgh! He just sneezed on my shoulder! Sigh, alas my hopes are dashed - manners must have caught an earlier train.
This train is packed. If I karate-kick the sneezer very hard, can make it out of Maida Vale Station before they figure out that the rude man has not just fallen asleep, but has actually been assaulted by a do-gooder? Hmmmmm, my right shoulder suddenly feels very heavy. Oh, it must be my conscience warding off the bad thoughts. Oh well, no worry. If I tried, I would only lose my seat and in rush hour, my seat is my life. If I was standing up, like her in the corner, being squashed in the side by a pregnant man and squashed in the back by a pensioner with obvious OCD, I think this may just be the morning that I do something 'silly'!
My conversation with my friend opposite is strained, as the suited and booted gentleman is anything but gentle with his huge bag swinging violently close to my head. I am sure everybody on this train is out to get me! What did I do to deserve this?!? I know it's because I look like I'm polite. My theory is that the more polite you are, the ruder people become.
*Sigh*
Ahhh, a Metro! Now how do I grab it without losing my seat! Using my eyes, I signal to my friend calling attention to the paper but just as I do, old smelly over there reaches over my friends head, armpits exposed nonetheless, and grabs the very thing that would have kept me sane for the next eights stops.
I see stars! Bag man has knocked me out during his rush to be first off the train at Paddington. The embarrassment will subside, but will my fear of travelling on the tube, after this!?! The knock wasn't so bad, I am more bothered about the fact that my hair got attached to the bag's cheap Velcro fastener and I too ended up at the door. I lean on the door as the train tries to pull away. The doors open once more. 'I know it's crowded back there but if you would kindly not lean on the door, we'll be on our way'. The train drivers announcement calls attention to me. I feel as if the whole carriage is glaring my way...
My friend is nowhere to be seen as the sea of people engulf me. My seat long gone, I stand at the door, bruised and tired. The doors close.... The pregnant man that now squashes me from behind, yawns loudly, I feel the breeze of it brush swiftly against my neck. I try to scream but by now the dizziness has taken hold and I just want to be sick. The little old man in front of me holds the pole with his hanky, taking intermittent puffs on his blue inhaler. Perhaps he too is wondering whether MRSA is airborne on this train, travelling in yawn form. This journey is taking forever..... Argh... Help!
*Screech* The train pulls to a halt: Oxford Circus, my stop. Just as well. I think, I've had enough of these rude people and this dirty journey. I am batted off the train by the throngs of travellers changing at or leaving the station. I'm never travelling during rush hour again!!!
Until tomorrow....
This train is packed. If I karate-kick the sneezer very hard, can make it out of Maida Vale Station before they figure out that the rude man has not just fallen asleep, but has actually been assaulted by a do-gooder? Hmmmmm, my right shoulder suddenly feels very heavy. Oh, it must be my conscience warding off the bad thoughts. Oh well, no worry. If I tried, I would only lose my seat and in rush hour, my seat is my life. If I was standing up, like her in the corner, being squashed in the side by a pregnant man and squashed in the back by a pensioner with obvious OCD, I think this may just be the morning that I do something 'silly'!
My conversation with my friend opposite is strained, as the suited and booted gentleman is anything but gentle with his huge bag swinging violently close to my head. I am sure everybody on this train is out to get me! What did I do to deserve this?!? I know it's because I look like I'm polite. My theory is that the more polite you are, the ruder people become.
*Sigh*
Ahhh, a Metro! Now how do I grab it without losing my seat! Using my eyes, I signal to my friend calling attention to the paper but just as I do, old smelly over there reaches over my friends head, armpits exposed nonetheless, and grabs the very thing that would have kept me sane for the next eights stops.
I see stars! Bag man has knocked me out during his rush to be first off the train at Paddington. The embarrassment will subside, but will my fear of travelling on the tube, after this!?! The knock wasn't so bad, I am more bothered about the fact that my hair got attached to the bag's cheap Velcro fastener and I too ended up at the door. I lean on the door as the train tries to pull away. The doors open once more. 'I know it's crowded back there but if you would kindly not lean on the door, we'll be on our way'. The train drivers announcement calls attention to me. I feel as if the whole carriage is glaring my way...
My friend is nowhere to be seen as the sea of people engulf me. My seat long gone, I stand at the door, bruised and tired. The doors close.... The pregnant man that now squashes me from behind, yawns loudly, I feel the breeze of it brush swiftly against my neck. I try to scream but by now the dizziness has taken hold and I just want to be sick. The little old man in front of me holds the pole with his hanky, taking intermittent puffs on his blue inhaler. Perhaps he too is wondering whether MRSA is airborne on this train, travelling in yawn form. This journey is taking forever..... Argh... Help!
*Screech* The train pulls to a halt: Oxford Circus, my stop. Just as well. I think, I've had enough of these rude people and this dirty journey. I am batted off the train by the throngs of travellers changing at or leaving the station. I'm never travelling during rush hour again!!!
Until tomorrow....
Tuesday, 24 June 2008
Dedicated, with love, to all 30'somethings out there!
**NEWSFLASH**NEWSFLASH**NEWSFLASH**NEWSFLASH**
I turned 30 on 15 June 2008! (Cue the garish music, violins and doves)
Indeed, as you might expect, it was an altogether frightening, depressing and sinister experience for the six months leading up to the day. I had never been a worrier, but I had become decrepid in the space of weeks!
However, contrary to my expectations, on Sunday 15 June, there were no life-changing revelations.... The sky did not blacken and roar with thunder, my skin did not instantly wrinkle, my magnifying glass refused to expose the grey hairs I assumed would sprout from my ears at the stroke of midnight on the anniversary of my birth, and the ambulance that I pre-booked to take me to the 'old people's home', conveniently lost its way.... My family were the same, my friends were the same, I was the same.
It turns out that the amount of sleep I lost worrying about this new stage of life was wasted. Many had done it before me, and many would after me. Convincing myself of that was easier than I had imagined. The negative tantra of 'Sam, what do you have to show for your 30 years on this earth?' turned into 'Sam, what do you want to achieve in your next 30 years on earth?'. Negatives became positives, depression turned to joy.
I realised that I have so much to look forward to that wasting time worrying about my age, was not a sensible thing to do at my age! And let's face it, 30's not that bad after all - just ask any 40 year-old!
Happy 30s!
I turned 30 on 15 June 2008! (Cue the garish music, violins and doves)
Indeed, as you might expect, it was an altogether frightening, depressing and sinister experience for the six months leading up to the day. I had never been a worrier, but I had become decrepid in the space of weeks!
However, contrary to my expectations, on Sunday 15 June, there were no life-changing revelations.... The sky did not blacken and roar with thunder, my skin did not instantly wrinkle, my magnifying glass refused to expose the grey hairs I assumed would sprout from my ears at the stroke of midnight on the anniversary of my birth, and the ambulance that I pre-booked to take me to the 'old people's home', conveniently lost its way.... My family were the same, my friends were the same, I was the same.
It turns out that the amount of sleep I lost worrying about this new stage of life was wasted. Many had done it before me, and many would after me. Convincing myself of that was easier than I had imagined. The negative tantra of 'Sam, what do you have to show for your 30 years on this earth?' turned into 'Sam, what do you want to achieve in your next 30 years on earth?'. Negatives became positives, depression turned to joy.
I realised that I have so much to look forward to that wasting time worrying about my age, was not a sensible thing to do at my age! And let's face it, 30's not that bad after all - just ask any 40 year-old!
Happy 30s!
Thursday, 7 February 2008
I want to be engaged....
Today was my first day back at university since December. It was an early start, my first class due to begin at 9.00 (well, that's early for me!)... Still, I was raring to go and after finding out that I had passed semester A, was looking forward to a fully interactive and inspiring experience! What a let down....
Our lecturer started off by reading the rules for the semester ahead. There was to be no talking, no eating, no lateness, no phones, no blinking, moving or breathing. Fair enough, the last three are my own additons, but her list was extensive and it sure felt that way. We were urged to note that the doors to the lecture theatre would be locked 15 minutes after commencement, to disable late-comers from entering, and those in the class, from leaving. The mind boggled at the health and safety issues a threat of this nature would cause. Our lecturer took up a good portion of the time allotted, telling us what we could not do and it seemed she was letting us know that she would not tolerate a mature approach to studying, leaving no room for us to be the adults we are. At various intervals she would seek reassurance from us by stating 'I sound moany, don't I?', giving an unsure chuckle and telling us how awful her past classes were, only to be met with a stony silence that I fear only served to compound her paranoia.
Seemingly satisfied that we had sufficiently been read our rights, she began the lecture. My interest piqued again! The Television Audience promised to be an interesting module and one that would explore areas not yet researched by my peers and me....... However, this was not to be. The delivery was as engaging as watching paint dry and I began to feel that the module would be a struggle after all.
Still annoyed by being penalised for the faults of previous classes, I became distant and wondered at a woman that would blame her students for the lack of attention, imposing gestapo-like rules yet, would not take responsibility for the fact that she herself had made no effort to engage the class. The delivery was bland and did not seem to tell us anything more than was in the module reader and guide. Whose fault was it that her classes, in previous semesters, would leave part way through, or eat their sandwiches whilst listening to the lecture. It interested me that as university-age students, we were still being treating like pre-school children.
It's not that I do not understand the trials our tutors face, my point I guess, is that is I am paying £3000 a year for a service, I expect to get what I pay for and today, I didn't.
I guess that I cannot judge the whole module on one class and, I have to concede that as a mature student I probably took more offence to this form of teaching than I should have but, I really hope that this was just a glitch because heaven knows, I want to be engaged!
Our lecturer started off by reading the rules for the semester ahead. There was to be no talking, no eating, no lateness, no phones, no blinking, moving or breathing. Fair enough, the last three are my own additons, but her list was extensive and it sure felt that way. We were urged to note that the doors to the lecture theatre would be locked 15 minutes after commencement, to disable late-comers from entering, and those in the class, from leaving. The mind boggled at the health and safety issues a threat of this nature would cause. Our lecturer took up a good portion of the time allotted, telling us what we could not do and it seemed she was letting us know that she would not tolerate a mature approach to studying, leaving no room for us to be the adults we are. At various intervals she would seek reassurance from us by stating 'I sound moany, don't I?', giving an unsure chuckle and telling us how awful her past classes were, only to be met with a stony silence that I fear only served to compound her paranoia.
Seemingly satisfied that we had sufficiently been read our rights, she began the lecture. My interest piqued again! The Television Audience promised to be an interesting module and one that would explore areas not yet researched by my peers and me....... However, this was not to be. The delivery was as engaging as watching paint dry and I began to feel that the module would be a struggle after all.
Still annoyed by being penalised for the faults of previous classes, I became distant and wondered at a woman that would blame her students for the lack of attention, imposing gestapo-like rules yet, would not take responsibility for the fact that she herself had made no effort to engage the class. The delivery was bland and did not seem to tell us anything more than was in the module reader and guide. Whose fault was it that her classes, in previous semesters, would leave part way through, or eat their sandwiches whilst listening to the lecture. It interested me that as university-age students, we were still being treating like pre-school children.
It's not that I do not understand the trials our tutors face, my point I guess, is that is I am paying £3000 a year for a service, I expect to get what I pay for and today, I didn't.
I guess that I cannot judge the whole module on one class and, I have to concede that as a mature student I probably took more offence to this form of teaching than I should have but, I really hope that this was just a glitch because heaven knows, I want to be engaged!
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