Leaving France (just for the weekend)!

Gil the Jet-setter? Hardly, Belgium is the third country I’ve now visited in Europe. Brussels to be exact! It is not so different from France however, 90 percent of the occupants are French Speaking, it could nearly be a Northern French City. However Belgium in the North is nothing like France, Flemish speaking in the country-side – it is more similar to Holland. And this is Belgium, a country divided in two, more culturally than politically, though the French half is far more progressive and liberal than the more traditional Flemish part of the country.

By any means, why go to a country like Belgium, there are far more prestigious places than this smallish nation – an odd choice one may think? Well, one of my many new friends, more interesting than most of the rest invited me along for a wild weekend in Brussels! Romain is his name, spontaneous partying is his game, and political incorrectness is his sway of persuasion (it doesn’t sound right but his way of doing things is endearing). He met me (and my travel companion) a bit tipsy in his beloved cashmere sweater pulling the family dog in tow, this set the tone for Romain’s epithet for the weekend – intoxicated well-dressed errand boy.


He met us at the Schuman Roundabout, Schuman the instigator of the European Union (in the 1950’s), so it makes sense that the EU commission is located here. While I wasn’t to know but later that evening I would be dining with a Belgian Diplomat that is on the EU trade board that serves at this massive building! I was to learn much that evening; I knew very little about Brussels before coming, but it is this international city which also houses NATO – therefore it is a place sprawled with many important nationals all across Europe. Romain took me to stay with him at a good family friend, a family friend who lived in a five-storey home in lovely inner suburb of Brussels – it was a terrific place to spend the weekend. A house filled with notable classical art (biblical art-work) and extensive collection of books – one felt you were in a home of both rich culture and history. It certainly was. The man of the house Mr Gregorioff was born in Belgium, but his parents were some of the elites who had to flee Russia because of the Revolution, leaving all their wealth behind. They came to Belgium as refugees with nothing, having to rebuild, and they did, again his family is now living on a wealthy estate. So it was fitting to have the head of the Senegal Law association for dinner, random, but notable – a gentlemanly African lawyer – you just don’t meet them every day.

Romain and my travel companion (who remains nameless for no reason), were happy to leave, they found the whole political talk to be of extreme boredom. I didn’t really know what to think, everything was said in French so I barely understood a word, but caught a startling piece of trivia – Senegal has just 375 lawyers in a nation of twelve million people! Wow! That is your dire fact about Africa for the day!

The next two nights were filled with extreme late night partying, which involved a club on the (less-than-impressive Brussels’) canal but a great club nonetheless; later we went to Bar Rouge with the legendary Charles (studying to be a surgeon) who is 22 dating a woman 20 years his senior – literally old enough to be his mother. (For the record he is not a legend because he is dating a mature woman, he himself was a man ahead of his years - I'm older than him but you could have never had guessed it by talking to the two of us)! This lady acted young and energetic, and got a man closer to her age to buy two bottles of champagne for us – out of desire more than generosity I suppose. The next night we hit the extravagent You Night-Club for a 7th year anniversary, where just casually the (most probable) next Belgian president was in attendance. Belgium at the moment was in a state of limbo, in recent elections no party had won a definitive majority to lead, but negotiations are in process as I write this – and the favourite happened to be in the club. He did not have any body-guards round him, and he was partying with some people half his age, but in politician years he is a baby – he didn’t look over 40. You call America progressive with the youngish half Kenyan Barack Obama, this likely Belgian candidate is gay, one step further than being from an ethnic minority. So goes the progressiveness of the metropolitans of Belgium such as Brussels.



Brussels is a compact place where anyone can know everyone, for instance Romain knows Stromae Belgiam’s latest music sensation with ‘Alors on Danse’, or just the fact I happened to see Belgian’s next president on one of the two nights I was there. Or be invited to an aviation lawyer Igor’s 60 metre (squared) penthouse apartment overlooking the iconic Parc Cinquantenaire, in mentioning him I would like to thank Igor for bestowing much of this information my way. And as I leave Brussels in my memory, I have the knowledge that this was another great experience in my European adventure, and I cant wait for many more!

J'adore Paris

So I’ve become acquainted with some young French people, they all speak a good amount of English, well most of them anyway. It is better when they don’t I guess, as it means I have to try speak some French, something I have to really try and get into the habit of doing – since I do live here! So when I meet with Jennifer to partake in the English/French exchange it is fascinating, two people who barely know each other’s tongue – yet we manage to have a fairly fluent conversation and understand one another. Well we are both slowly getting better. By any means I’ve befriended four Engineering male students, three from Morocco and one from Senegal, a bunch of lads who are some of the loveliest warmest that I’ve met. Then there are the French fashion girls who range from 18-22, I happened to venture with three of them to Paris for the weekend, as one of them is originally from Paris. When a Parisian invites you to come to Paris (for the weekend), to stay with her sister and party it up with her friends . . . there is only one logical thing you can say – hell yes!

Going to Paris is a momentous occasion in one’s life to say the least, as it’s a place with such history and culture you feel like it is somewhere of great significance in the world. Paris is 2nd only to London for population size for urban centers in Europe, and like London, Paris, is populated by people all over the world, many Africans from the French colonies reside here, as well as people from all around France, and obviously from all around the world people flock to see (it is both the most expensive and the most visited city in the world). It is easy to see why it so many people are so taken by it, it’s truly a magnificently romantic place: with all those famous monuments, old buildings, iconic art galleries, and simply the general makeup of the city!

However on my trip to Paris I didn’t: see the Eifel Tower; go to Versailles; enter the Louvre; but I did take in Parisian culture through other means. I lunched on Saturday in your typically Parisian surroundings, on the top floor of a classic French apartment which is small yet classy, subtle yet warmly decorated – with books and art work instead of flat screen TVs. The lunch was classically French as well, four courses, and one imagines you put on weight eating so much! Not when you have a small breakfast, and an average sized dinner – the French way of eating is healthy I reckon. Even the fats are good for you, camembert cheese with whole-wheat French bread; maybe the Chocolate Pear tart and Cheese Cake quashes my point – still it was delicious!

On Sunday night I was invited to the most special expo I have ever witnessed, a huge building filled with wine makers across the country! Entrance was free, and it is basically all the wine you can drink! Now knowing my Kiwi mates (no offense to them – bless their hearts): they would abuse such a privilege and get totally sloshed! The French people I was with, drunk a bit, but treated it like a piece of art or even a science! They would go from one type of grape to the next, as they conditioned their palate to each style of wine. They started with Champagne, moved onto white, then red, and finished with well aged cognac. These guys took it seriously, shown by their bronzed red teeth, and a favourite box of wine (for the day) that they each left with.

The soiree on Saturday night was equally impressive, with young French people coming together to party it up! Extravagant is one way of describing this party – white was the theme! Granted when fifty per cent of the occupants are gay, the night is going to be more extravagant than your average night out! Nonetheless not sure if it was all the alcohol, the early hours of the morning, or just the fact they are French – they all ended up breaking into patriotic French tunes as they hugged each other swaying with feeling and passion – tis was a lovely site to see!

Nevertheless my best night was the first night, the Friday! I had arrived naturally pumped after a long train journey! We went to a cosy cocktail bar decorated with classic Pop art such as portraits of Audrey Hepburn, we sat on miniscule stools and then got up and danced to Soul! One round of cocktails and we were all energized – we ran the streets of Paris in the 0 degree temperatures, crossing the road impulsively and jumping upon bins – it sounds silly but it was the perfect Paris experience. The vodka in my veins, the coldness on my face, the spirit of my newly found Parisian friends – I felt the passion and the excitement! Their natural (part alcohol-induced) vibe inspired me, and made me realize wow – this place is special – a weekend that will live on in my memory forever!

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!