Settled in France?

France! Wow! What a place of amazement. I’m always surprised by how things work. Pissed off one minute, in total awe the next – the most menial things seem to amaze me in this country. For instance, just about nothing is open on a Sunday, and this isn’t for religious (Christianity) reasons; Sundays is simply a day for families to come together and bond. I boarded at a French family home for a weekend, the whole family hung out on the Sunday – they bickered and argued over board-games, but still they were spending ‘quality’ time together. Something that seems to be a novelty in today’s fast, technology crazed age. The whole country is very community orientated. Again, most things are also closed at lunch-time, as everybody lunches together or people go home from work. School starts early and finishes late putting a major emphasis on learning, and sport is compulsory. I think it is great, I use to get home from school, play video games or watch lots of TV, and eat junk food! These kids eat healthy meals from the government subsidised cafeteria, and spend a whole lot of time with their peers doing constructive things. It’s hard to be obese as child, when you are forced to do some form of exercise and eat properly cooked meals.

What else? The most democratic state in the world? Possibly! They were the first (or second) nation in the modern world to introduce democracy, with the Revolution hundreds of years ago. And this notion of freedom of speech is still thick in their memory, such as the protests of May 1968, where students took to the streets for equality. Since I’ve been here protesting has been ever-present, with striking affecting every aspect of social life. Few trains have been running, few teachers have been teaching, few kids have been attending school, etc etc. Society is at a stand-still! And this makes everyone’s life more difficult, which is the whole point of the strikes. And what are they striking about, President Sarkosy lifting the retirement age from 60 to 62. Two years. Only. But that isn’t the point, it is French culture, and the right of the ‘people’! Personally I think it is unlawful. Sure, I don’t like Sarkosy, or agree with many of his policies, however he was democratically elected by the nation, and so therefore he should be allowed and left alone to govern! If George W. Bush won fairly I may have thought the same, but he didn’t, so he should have been impeached. If an unfair election happened in France there would have been a proper violent revolt. Nonetheless, this retirement law was finally passed through the senate, meaning I have many pressing delays to look forward to . . . I can’t wait!

I’m in the South-East of France, less than an hour on the train from Italy. I just casually popped over to Monaco the other day; you know: that place that has more millionaires per capita than any other country in the world. This region is really plentiful. St Tropez is a little way west, further west is Spain, and Corsica is just South. This week I’m going to Grasse, a small town that produces much of the world’s perfume, and casually popping over to Northern Italy later. It’s surreal how easy it is to make day-trips to these amazing places, travelling along one of the most beautiful coast-lines in the world. I’m very lucky in that respect, but I’ve found many other things tough!

The bureaucracy for one. I needed a medical certificate to be able to attend the student gym; a medical exam to be able to work here; I had to have my birth certificate translated; and had to fill out a stack-full of forms! Just to generalize, the French don’t like speaking English (even if they can), don’t know how to cue, still think smoking is cool and appropriate, and think working 35 hours a week is more than enough.

Ah the French! I can see why the English cannot comprehend the French, and why the French are arrogant. France is ten times nicer, more beautiful (the landscape), more appealing (the weather), more attractive (the people), more interesting (the culture), than England, but England was far easier to adapt to their way of life. Things are straight-forward, and quite frankly that’s what I miss – the British aren’t flashy, not too fussed, and get things done. But the lifestyle here is obviously far nicer – so I think I’ll stay!

France here I come!

Taking the Eurostar down from London to Nice was one way of travelling. A train journey that took ten hours, whereas I could have flown there within two, it was the romanticist’s way, the scenic route even. From rainy overcast England, through the grapevines of Provence, to the sunshine and beautiful coast-line of the South – my environment had taken a different turn. No more big overcrowded city draped with cold weather, rather 8 months of sun and small city living. But I loved London – it was the (aesthetically) ugly city that somehow had more beauty and life than any other place I’ve ever experienced. It’s true though, I need to get out more – England is the only European country I’ve ever been to. Now I’m in France. The biggest difference among many, is not, the food, the people, or the weather – though markedly different – but no doubt the language. So I guess it’s no surprise that I’ll be teaching English.

English where? In Cannes. Yeah that is the place where Europe’s biggest film festival is held annually, sorry Venice and Berlin, Cannes has more hype and fame than both your film festivals put together! The film festival has transferred the town since it began in 1946. It’s arguably the greatest promotion a little beach town can have. There are a dozens of little other coastal towns along the coast, but the fact Cannes has had Hollywood stars descend on its shores for over 63 years, it has grown upward – with major hotels built, and super-yatchs living in the harbour. As far as small towns go in France it may be the most expensive, only Paris seems to be a pricier place to live, and that is because it’s a capital metropolitan. Nonetheless, the region Cannes sits in is impressive, the province called Provence Cote D’Azur. Yet I don’t think Cannes is the nicest area – sure it has Louis Vuitton type shops and hotels, Nice (the big city of the area) has more culture (with the Modern Art Museum for example), and Antibes has more football pitches, the best surf and the largest port. By any means, when you are living in a near Paradise – you can’t complain, only if the real paradise is a stone-throw away . . . that would be Corsica Island off the South Eastern coast.

Before moving to Cannes I was living in Nice at a hostel. A hostel that couldn’t be less French, it was made up of American, Canadian, Australian, Kiwi, and English young travellers. It was not the ideal location for someone looking to settle and work in a French environment, as the psyche was party, and the language was English! As a reckless traveller though, with one Euro beers within an encouraging climate – you couldn’t go wrong! Unless you were me, a concerned homeless young adult – who had no idea where he was going to live. But like all things in a life of mixed positivity and anxiety, all that start’s well ends well, and I got through it – well thanks to my employer finding somewhere for me to live. I guess I had the grace of the universe on my side!

Talking in existential terms, I spoke to a lovely Northern Irish (protestant) lasse, in a random park in Nice, about my thoughts on just your usual everyday topics . . . you know: where we go after we die, morality of humans, what God is and the role it plays in our life, and how society is evolving etc etc yadda yadda. Pretty relaxed simplistic conversation . . . not really, but I think I was just happy to speak a long dialogue of English – and unfortunately for this 21 year old lady – it all came out at once! Despite me being a total cynical nihilist, in contrast to her total devotion to Jesus and the lord, by any means we clicked and totally respected one another’s opinion. I even admired her faith, because for me, life would be better if I too could believe in a idealized reality: I too would be totally at ease and having something to really live for, as opposed to my thoughts of a world of total inconsistency and irrelevancy.

Once again I’m off on a philosophical tangent – how French of me – maybe I will fit in after all – just imagine in 6 months time – me at a coffee shop eating a croissant and sipping my espresso – talking perfect French – wouldn’t that be an ‘existence’!

For all you wannabes out there . . . who wanna be cool like me!

From, going to see the Strokes play (under an alias name) in an under-ground gig of theirs in Camden. Wait, I didn’t actually go, I'm not that 'cool', I just met a guy who worked at the rock club where it was held. For a moment there you thought I was 'cool' . . . right? No no I just heard about the event (too late). BTW and FYI, I actually like some of the Strokes stuff, I know like five of their songs - wow I'm nearly cool!

To, ‘exclusive’ door list apartment parties on the “place to be” area of Brick Lane, where people dress like they aren’t from this world (seriously a dude was wearing a mock space-man helmet) – that was stupidly cool actually (photo to come, my friend has it on his camera).

Or 5am journeys to studio apartments, hosted by a travelling French photographer who is so alternative he doesn’t believe in being gay or straight – it’s only about the ‘moment’ you share with the person in the present time, (it’s some liberal self-righteous bull-shit) it works for him.

Then thinking it is a good idea to go to an after-party at a club when dawn has come upon us, by ‘us’ I mean the Spanish bar-manager who has an intermittent Lesbian love, they love each other though they just don’t live or see one another all the time, only on a part-time basis, and apparently she was on the prowl for something more masculine that morning (just ask my male work colleague). Anyway the club with a swimming pool and spa, it’s called Aquariam, go figure, and apparently the dirtiest in London (please don’t use your imagination for this one). The lady on the door looks like a younger better looking version of English WAG Cheryl Cole, worth every penny of the 10 pound door charge, definitely not: dude’s posing and looking at themselves in the mirror while they wait for their friends to finish up snorting cocaine in the toilet booths (um hello like totally . . . that’s so 80’s).

How about First Thursdays’ (of the month) where artists exhibit, sell, and have their works auctioned off. Most of the people come for the free alcohol, or to “be part of the scene” so to speak, rather than being serious art enthusiasts or collectors, as who really knows why a few elaborated squiggles that cross-over can cost 800 pounds. The genuine ‘artist’ Charlie that I was accompanied by, noted the framing was very impressive and framing can be very expensive! What is she like in comparison (to these 'successful' artists who've made it), well squatting in an abandoned London residence, she had to do her own plumbing – she installed a toilet – that's real dawg! She wants to do art as a career, but refuses to give up her liberties to do so, as she obviously lives modestly. She dresses tom-boyish, because she is a bit of a tom-boy, not for any fashion statement – that’s who she is! She uses road-kill and old family ornaments in her art, and she doesn’t know why exactly; there is no analysis or deep musings about glorifying animals in their death, or family heirlooms holding sentimental value! She just does what feels right to her, to me that is how a 'real' artist should live their life and do their work. Therefore she mantains an honest relationship with herself, as she simply, is who she is, and doesn't care or bothers to put on a mask.

Quite seriously though, London is a hip place to be! Just ask anyone who has left everything behind to come here, they rarely regret it! All the young European people (I talk to) say so! Every night there is something to do! People from France, Spain, and Italy, say the major cities in their countries don’t compare; there is this random unstructured vibrancy which is unparalleled. Sure, there is Berlin and Amsterdam two world cities without limits. However London has young people (residing here) from just about every country in the world, it is due to its location and the fact everyone shares the world language, English. This makes it the epi-centre, the place with so much potential, making it an amazing place, so amazing! In my modified words of Jay Z: "East London we go hard"! I don't even live in the East but in my opinion, it's where it's at!

London the city of Broken Dreams!

Like any big city London has its ups and downs. Some people thrive, and others barely survive. Homeless people line the tube stations and some of the busy streets, while some of the most powerful businessman zoom around with little regard for anyone else, just their eye on the prize which is making the world market work. I’ve encountered both extremes, some very rich and some who struggle. The place where I work catered an event in their arena which was billed at 170 000 pounds for some hot-shot Insurance CEO. What does 170 000 pounds get you . . . an indoor forest with a built in waterfall, and young waitresses dressed in skimpy animal kingdom themes clothes. And five minutes down the road from my walk home, near London bridge, I gave a ‘left-over’ sandwhich to a beggar on the ground – the disparities couldn’t be clearer!


On a night off one evening, I was sitting on a bench down a side-road near St Paul’s, when out-of-nowhere runs a black man being chased by a policeman. The black man was manic, he grabbed some long wooden object to threaten the policeman; the policeman responded by pulling out a long metal baton/rod in retaliation. The Nigerian (as I spoke to him after this crazy encounter), started screaming “Leave me alone”, while the officer answers with trepidation “Calm down”! The officer has no idea if the Nigerian is going to swing, neither do I, but out of total shock all I know is, I’m watching my first major altercation in London town. But before the African has time to think of what action he will take, comes a couple of police cars with their sirens blaring, one directly upon where I was sitting from the other side of the small alley-road. That was fast! They pinned him up against the wall as he struggled, searching his bags and asking for his ‘papers’. It turns out he was totally innocent, and had every right to be residing in London. By any means, it was my work-mate who was breaking the law, drinking in public as we sat in the CBD where a drinking ban is readily in place. Therefore, my acquaintance was partaking in an illegal act, whereas this man was totally innocent, oh the way of the police and ‘racial profiling’! If I didn’t know any better, I would have thought this man was on drugs (after talking to him), it turns out he was the closest thing to such, an evangelical preacher, ordained minister Ebenezer Omirinde here to spread the word of Jesus Christ!




This isn’t the only incident of racial profiling? In the early hours of the morning after a night out at a friend’s in Dalston (East London), I was waiting for a bus home with my mate. The main road was totally dead, except for a pack of policeman searching a group of people of colour outside a closed supermarket across the road. My friend on a student-visa from Colombia, said, if the police knew he was from Colombia they would search him as well, due to the influx of illegal immigrants from Africa and South America. This friend though is part of the upper middle-class strata in Colombia, and wouldn’t be associate with such people, he claims to be “one of the good Colombians” meaning he has no connections with cocaine or any such illegal activities. I never judged him, not like the police here would. Whatever the case may be, the London police are forever present everywhere and anywhere. A day does not go by when I don’t see and hear policemen or their sirens blaring. Do I hang in dodgy areas . . . well I do live near to Elephant & Castle, a run-down suburb, and I like to frequent around East London, but still, its everyday!



I guess that’s the reality of being in one of the world’s biggest cities, there will always be activity, be it good, be it bad, be it wrong, be it justified, there is action upon every corner one peers around! And this isn’t just a paranoid New Zealander’s point of view, two girls from work (one a kiwi actually) have been mugged and had all their personal possessions stolen! The big bad city strikes not once, but twice!




One of my closest friends’ at work has a long-term Japanese partner, who he says he wants to settle with in her home-land. Why not here? Because he says London is no place to raise kids, and to be frank “it’s effectively a shit-hole”. I wouldn’t disagree, to an extent! Why? One clear example, is on my way to an art exhibition in Bow End, a driver started hooting at a father driving his kids in a mini-van, while he patiently waiting at an intersection to cross the busy road. This driver had no right to hoot at this family man on his day off on this fine Saturday, who just wanted to take his kids on a family outing. Nonetheless not to be out-done by this rude behaviour, the family-man (a working class father from East London telling by his accent), turned round and shouted out his car window “Fuck off you Fucking Wanker” and gestured with his middle finger as he drove. He did this in front of his kids, none of them looked older than 13. My word, I was like, this place is mad! I couldn’t do that in front of anyone, let alone my blockiest of friends, and this father just did that in front of his kids! This place, London, can drive people nuts, making them act out-of-the-ordinary, so I shouldn’t have been surprised . . . An article I read ranked Auckland in the top 5 and Wellington in the top 10, for cities with best standards of living. London was 52nd! He read an article that had New Zealand, Iceland, and Japan as three countries with the lowest crime rates in the world, who knows about Great Britain. The point is, this place certainly has its problems, but it has ‘life’, amazement, and activity happening everyday of the week! It really is an incredible place! Something that cannot be touched or mimicked anywhere else in the world, and totally original to London! From bums walking their dogs on the pristine Tate Modern lawns, to sharing a drink with a female dwarf actor that is playing one of the witches in Macbeth, to this and that – a new experience is bound to happen day-to-day if you look for it . . . like I do!


I almost forgot! An experience that may take the whole cake! After taking the first bus with my Colombian friend, we waited for the next bus to get us to our final destinations, our respective homes. The night was over, dawn was creeping in as we waited by the extraordinary view from London bridge! All of a sudden out pops an Eastern European (I’m guessing Romanian quite seriously) speaking a diluted gargled form of English, saying, “Do you have the entrance of work” and something about staying somewhere. He looked fatigued, stressed, like someone who’d had little sleep, and all he had was the well worn ‘clothes on his back’. I’d read on the tube just two days prior in the local paper, The London Evening Standard, that police were looking to remove homeless Eastern Europeans from the street. There are Eastern Europeans who came here to try find a better form of life, but not all make it and he certainly seemed to be one of the unlucky ones! On his way off, as we said we couldn’t help him, he asked for a cigarette to ease his pain (momentarily), he needed something much more durable though, a home, a job, his family? So London can be very harsh for some, and an eden for others, but for me it turns out to be totally interesting!

Get a hair cut . . . Greaser!

I work with someone who will remain nameless and the details will be clearly vague, to protect him from any possible repercussions. He came to England illegally ten years ago, when his country was at the height of civil war in the East. He came on a truck delivering pharmaceuticals, and a small boat crossing the sea between Albania to Italy with 15 other people. He says it was the scariest moment of his life, and he didn’t know if he would make it to the other side. The long journey he took across Europe had seen many perish before him; people also had died from exhaustion in trucks, or drowned at sea, this couldn’t deter him though. Nothing could. Because like so many refugees without a home or a country to support or defend him – there was no choice! Stay and be slaughtered, defending yourself against a mass army hungry for blood, with commanders hungrier for power – this was his only choice! Now, he is a jovial man, happy-go-lucky with a dry sense of humour – willing to get on with all the staff he works with. He takes life in his stride; I guess when you have been so close to death, and near to such suffering you value one’s life! So it must sadden him, which it does, that his x-partner who has custody of his child, is with a man who is on Welfare, staying at home all day and not really ‘living’! Oh my, how much my fellow worker has risked for freedom, but he doesn’t see how the current partner of his X can ‘waste away’ and do nothing! So it’s humours to me when the BNP party a far right Nationalist movement say that immigrants come here to suck money out from the government, while the ‘real’ Brits work tirelessly hard – when this situation shows the exact opposite!

This type of BNP thinking is probably not far-out-of-line with two chefs that I sometimes work alongside in the basement kitchen. Both stocky, one looks over 30 the other just under, their talk about staff, is either your classic racist rhetoric or misogynistic. I’ve heard them say, the waitresses in the Brasserie get tips and are paid because they have tits and half-a-brain, but of course their tits is the sole reason (according to them). They also complain the kitchen cleaners and/or kitchen hands don’t do their job properly, and it’s due to the fact they are from “backward 3rd world countries”! Being from New Zealand I hope I’m alright; but they probably think that’s part of Australia (apparently the nation with the biggest ‘over-stayers’ with expired Visas in the United Kingdom) so probably not!

You cannot blame the Aussis, and all the other ex-pats, London is the ‘centre of the world’ – a lot is happening over here and everything seems so close. New Zealand is far away, and would be lucky to get Jay Z for example, whereas he is over for several festivals! However it must be said, ‘New Zealand is probably the best country in the world’ (there’s a facebook group I belong to), with an excellent standard of living. However, despite the pollution, bad weather, over-population, and even crime – London is a very cool place to be when you’re young!

I’m really young! Especially when 40 is the new 20! I’m approaching my mid 20’s but nothing about me would resemble this. Without a proper job, or no sense of a career; and my easy-going ‘take it as it comes attitude’, I’m not ready or concerned about growing up! Here I don’t have a lot (in monetary value), but I have my experiences and a great feeling – this is the most important thing to me . . . at the moment anyway!

Taking on this philosophy of getting out-there and seeing the world, I got a somewhat radical hair-cut. Rather than just cutting my long hair short, it was cut in an interesting manner. Interesting is the only way to go when Jasmine your Italian work colleague (who has shorter hair than any other guy in the establishment) runs a gallery in the arty suburb of Bethnal Green (near Brick Lane), and suggests I get a hair-cut by her business partner Francesco. So I did. Cut by this Italian who has worked in salons in Milan, Italy, but he will tell you this detracts from what his real creativity is personified as, since he is much more than just a hairdresser – Francesco is an artist. Whether it be: installing artistic pieces, putting together animated comic material, or just cutting hair – his creative tendencies means anything he does, he does with flair and intuition. Hence why he came to London; a place where he can express himself, be anything he wants to be, with the right to live as any representation he sees fit to uphold! This was the problem with Italy he says, it is a very narrow minded conservative society where only the rich can prosper, and there is little opportunity to break into ‘the market’. If you want to be successful you have to oblige by what the elite deem as acceptable, and to him this is repulsive and unacceptable!

So it was no suprise that my hair-cut took place technically outside the ‘Milk and Lead’ art-house, on the curb of the side-street, (this is the Italian way). And like my new type of hair-cut, my new type of friend Jasmine feels, it is your clothes and hair style that define who you are, well with my original hair cut, I must be fairly cool!

A beginning of a Social life . . . ?

Recently on Facebook, (it was just a matter of time before I mentioned this all-encompassing tool that governs the social life of many youths, not just mine by the way), I updated my status: "I'm an overly keen geek, but can I be your friend". This is totally indicative of who I am! I find people interesting, I love people, I will express all my mind has to offer, and anything my mouth can articulate or can't in most cases. This is the bane of many that cross my path, but either way, I guess that's who I am! Nonetheless, a social life has started to come together, somewhat, ever-so slowly . . . Pool on a Monday night; invited out to funky Camden on Wednesday by the Polish lady with her French friend who works in the Brassiere upstairs; out on Thursday to celebrate a different French lady's 25th birthday - and maybe a barbeque on Sunday for the chef's 22nd anniversary. That is a bit of a packed week, by anyone's standards, I think Paris Hilton would be proud. So clear your schedule people Gil wants to hang out! The Geek is taking London by storm! Geek? Yes, who blogs about his social experiences, I do, that's right!

So where I work is stocked with every European nationality you can imagine, the Italians, French, Polish, and many others. But I haven’t spoken about the Indians I work with, they are even more intriguing, to me in a way, than the Italian 5ft10 waitress - though maybe not as attractive. Nonetheless, there are hand-full of them. They are the truly Indian ones of Britain, none of this born and bred in the United Kingdom bull-shit; they are fresh, migrating here as adults in recent years. A male and female who work together in the coffee shop, are married, ooh how cute! I found this out when my manager stated: “Rajan is lucky to have Priyanka”. "No"! Priyanka replies, adding in the most genuine sweetest way: “I’m the lucky one”. Ah lovely! She is quite lucky or brilliant, as she had to pass an interview process in her native India to be accepted as Rajan’s wife. I wonder how many other Indian women were going for the same position? This decision for Rajan's parents was more important than a decision that any job interviewer would have to make about a possible employee. Priyanka is really lovely, and certainly deserved it, it seems! So what a way to be placed with someone for the rest of your life; it boggles my brain, but it is absolutely amazing that this actually works! The commitment is astounding. We choose our partners and still, there are many divorces. Unlike many arranged Indian marriages where the couples are totally devoted to one another, not only for themselves but for the honour of their family; this is totally shown by the respect and perseverance they share. Maybe they know a thing or two we don’t . . . or maybe not?


As there is another (male) Indian who I work with. He sends money back to India, for his wife ‘the home-maker’ and 20 month year old child. He has been here for 5 months. However one of the Kiwis who used to work with us, suspected or was told by him that he was gay. The Kiwi happened to be gay himself, because he was openly allowed to be in the secular society he resided. Interestingly this is illegal conduct in India, and now this Indian male has to live a lie, while giving his life to care for a family. It must be hard; he has little choice, because his family name would be tarnished and thus be going against the faith that much of the country adhere to. I say, ‘big ups’ to him!


Enough talk about a culture I’m not familiar with, and back to a group of cats that I understand . . . investment bankers. Okay so maybe not, but anyway I tried. I went out with my good ol' South African friend, and his work-mates who do 14 hour days, and seem to be paid handsomely for doing it! They deserve it right? Do they? Have you seen the financial markets recently? And what do they spend their handsome pay-checks on, well . . . We went to a club where they pay females to dance on stage, and have a porter in the bathroom providing you with either lollipops or chewing gum – depending what your ‘poison’ is – I got carried away and I took one of each. This is something except for the 7.50 pound drinks, which is well out of my price range! No matter, these investment bankers didn’t mean to mind as much, they like the finer things! All of us, a German, Russian, South African and New Zealander, were no doubt intelligent, but too geeky with little suave, meaning none of us were ultimately successful in the lady department.

That was Friday. Saturday was Soho. Soho, a cosmopolitan fusion of gays, prostitutes, and any other derogatory term I haven’t mentioned. If Lady Gaga look a likes fit into that category them too, as I saw a peroxide blonde with cans that were being used to keep her hair rolled up in buns . . . that is Gaga inspired fashion! I was thinking what my hair would look like after having a 6 pound (15 NZ dollars – cheap for London prices) haircut, at the hairdressers that was sandwiched between the strip-joint and the whore-house! I was in Soho, because, Veronika, the savvy street smart Hungarian waitress, took me to a jazz club, to see her boyfriend play guitar in a jazz band. The lead singer was a (white) Prince look-a-like, with much of his flamboyancy deriving from the ‘real King’ – Little Richard. No doubt an inspiration for his outfit too, mismatched coloured shoes with a scarf type tie. Unexplainable get-up, you had to be there to see it I guess. Anyway this tightly compacted (hole-in-the-wall) Jazz Club with VIP Cushioned booths draped the side of the stage; an establishment Amy Winehouse frequents quite often. A month ago she was spotted venturing there by the tabloids – but where were the tabloids tonight – Gil was in the building, ha ha!


And on Sunday that weekend I was arranged to meet some family friends at their house in Connaught Square. If you don’t know, which I didn’t but found out the hard way, it is where Tony Blair resides. Literally, a square of houses that surround its own private garden, plus it’s a two minute walk from Hyde Park and Oxford Street. The family friends of mine stay in a home their parents own, a four storey complex. They happen to stay at the bottom in the basement ‘flat’ – the prices for such a home is 12 million pounds by the way. So anyway I knocked on the door but nobody was home, so I waited by the private garden a resident happily played with his children, while I sat texting away, next thing I look up, and two policemen are standing over me with armed rifles or machine guns – I wouldn’t know the difference. They ask, what I’m doing there, as I looked ‘suspicious’! Maybe it was the beanie I was wearing? By any means they preceded to ask me if I was packing any ‘blow’ or ‘weed’. They also asked me to open my bag, as my bag was too substantial to be going to a ‘dinner party’, and thought I may have a fire-arm. They asked for my details, to confirm I was in the system and not some illegal migrant. They even made me dictate, so they could jot down a written report. It went like this: “Subject found sitting between parked cars near protected premises in Connaught Square. He stated he was waiting for a host of a party to return home nearby”. Lastly they gave me a card that had ‘Reasons for Stop code’ and ‘Reasons for Search Code’ – with ‘terrorism’ being one of the listed factors.


Well I certainly didn’t come to London to be a terrorist, or drug dealer, they got that totally wrong! So why did they question me? Maybe they were just bored, and it was entertaining for them to make me sweat – while they showed their dominance via the authority they no-doubt held over me. I barely sweated though. I was cold, with my scarf wrapped round me as I waited patiently for the host to arrive home. Simply, I feel my liberties were obstructed, and I had to yield to an authority that was totally misguided – I aint happy anti-terrorism police!

Working in London . . . well if you call that working!

So fully moved in, and I've become acclimatized, well sort of . . . I’ve found the essential things in my area: the supermarket, and the field, park and court to play ‘pick up games’ of football. I also started working on the hospitality side of things at Shakespeare’s the Globe theatre. I guess years of doing hospo work during my studies have actually amounted to something? Well it got me here didn’t it! It pushed me to go half-way across the world, and I’m super glad that I did! Alright, nothing out of the ordinary has happened yet, (if it did it probably wouldn’t be posted on this blog anyway), but the entire experience in itself has been awesome. I simple walk down the road to the supermarket is buzzy, now drugs needed here – life is the drug! Just the fact everything is so foreign, but then so similar in other ways (I’m in an English speaking country with much history linked to New Zealand.) Still I’m left bewildered and amazed!

And working at the Globe theatre has been a nicely cushioned beginning to London life. Except the first night it has been a very easy work. The first night I was in the bar, a ‘destination bar’ on the river Thames, working with very cool barmen and waitresses. Many of the barmen are artists of some sort, with that same old’ cliché of slaving in hospitality to pay the bills, as they try to attempt to make it in their chosen pursuit. Nonetheless, a real interesting lot of intelligent guys. Jack the actor. Anthony or Josh (I get mixed up) the designer. Jasmine the fashion designer. Very cool cats indeed!

However, technically I wasn’t hired to work in the bar, since that night I've been working in the piazza, selling snacks and coffees – it’s piss-easy work! I’m not complaining, yes the pay is shit, all I eat are sandwiches on shift, and the job isn’t very challenging – but I see it as the first stepping stone for my trip. Stepping stone for what . . . Well for one, I just got accepted into a program to teach English in Nice, France. Even though my French is rusty. or shall I say non-existent. Who cares - I get to live in the South of France for 7 months – not a bad life!

For now anyway, working at the Globe is not so bad. It actually feels kind of special. I mean William Shakespeare performed his most famous plays in the vicinity where the re-built arena now sits. Across the river Thames is St Paul’s Cathedral, the most prestigious and famous cathedral in England. I mean renaissance art-work plasters the ceiling; you know it must be an important site. And with the perfect spring weather we’ve been having, the view of the Thames, London Bridge, and all its surrounding structures in the moonlight, makes it seem like some vital history has made its way to such an area.

So I dont have a job that will take me places in a career, that is not the point, I'm here on an O.E. - a career, if any, can come later!

P.S. Photos to come! And the next blog, will be about socializing in London, if I start meeting people and socializing that is – ha ha!