Danny Wallace is hilarious - comes out on the weekly Shortlist as "Danny Wallace -is a man". His articles on life, being a MAN, random observations of a 35+ year old kid-man who's a husband, father, dude; never fails to make me laugh out loud on the tube (that's what I read every Tuesday morning). Here's a short blurb on 'Nappy Shopping'
Nappy Shopping by Danny Wallace 'I wish buying clothes for adults was as simple as it is for babies. All you have to know about a baby is their rough age. I wish I could click on a website and buy trousers 'suitable for 32-34 years', with a big pocket for mortgage statements and too many keys. Clothes for 50-52 year-olds would come witha lining made from that month's 'Which' magazine. And you could buy your nan something for 75-80 years, which was only half-knitted , so she could do the rest. Of course this assumes we are all the same size, but if we ignore this, my point is terrifically valid'
Several birthdays coming up - now how useful is THAT!
As the runners huffed and puffed along the track, the autumn leaves fell slowly to the ground around us, like giant gold confetti tossed in celebration of life's achievements. - A momentary picture of the Royal Parks Half in my mind -
Once a while ago, I was a young graduate working in AIA Co. Ltd in Malaysia with the agency force. Part of the training 'programme' in the Agency Executive team which we underwent was to memorize this mantra by Charles Swindoll - word-for-word - I kid you not. Earning your keep as a sales person is one of the most unforgiving and toughest jobs; we relied on mind-set and behavioural training to survive the punishingly competitive environment. It seemed like a brainwashing dictatorial training exercise then. However I've never forgotten it and the mantra proved needful in times of difficulty. I thank my tough bosses in AIA for sharing and drilling this into us.
ATTITUDE The longer I live, the more I realize the impact of attitude on life.
Attitude, to me, is more important than facts. It is more important than the past, than education, than money, than circumstances, than failures, than successes, than what other people think or say or do. It is more important than appearance, giftedness or skill. It will make or break a company... a church... a home.
The remarkable thing is we have a choice every day regarding the attitude we will embrace for that day. We cannot change our past... we cannot change the fact that people will act in a certain way. We cannot change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude... I am convinced that life is 10% what happens to me and 90% how I react to it.
And so it is with you... we are in charge of our attitudes.
Serendipity: "is a propensity for making fortunate discoveries while looking for something unrelated" -Wikipedia.org
Yesterday a friend had his leaving-do - he was going home to Hong Kong for good and decided to have a small send-off dinner in a Thai restaurant north of London. In the midst of the meal, suddenly I felt a gratitude for serendipity that led me to meet this friend, the girlfriend who sits next to me and the wonderful games of ultimate frisbee we have every week.
If I hadn't known AC, who hadn't googled for visas, who hadn't contacted AY, who hadn't known S, who hadn't known N, who hadn't randomly knocked on a student's window, who hadn't organized frisbee, who hadn't asked to S play, who hadn't asked me to come for a game, who hadn't known T, I wouldn't have met all these wonderful people.
Life gives us hard knocks but don't forget to give thanks with a grateful heart in the good times.
Here I sit between my brother the mountain and my sister the sea. We three are one in loneliness, and the love that binds us together is deep and strong and strange - Kahlil Gibran
Was walking home late tonight and the moon was so big and bright. It shone gloriously in a milky glow with a big star by its side in the dark blue-ish autumn sky.
Sense of deja vu of a big celestial shining sphere once seen on the dark forest edge in Sweden; was walking home too from Mariehem to Alidhem - it was dark and the little roads were lonely and sparse. Little kindergarten-looking houses with candlelight were very quiet in the night.
Another memory was the big moon nestled in the dark silver lined clouds , this time a much younger teenaged me outside the Fraser's Hill bungalow - listened a lot to 'A Whole New World' from Aladdin and felt like I was in suspended 'animation' with my whole life ahead of me.
The mysterious power of the moon - makes one strangely happy especially when you're admiring it quietly.
Happy Mooncake and Mid-Autumn Festival to everyone !
Favourite 'Moon' Songs Debussy - Clair de lune Beethoven - Moonlight Sonata Johnny Mercer and Henry Mancini - Moon River Rodgers and Hart - Blue Moon Teresa Teng's "The Moon Represents My Heart" King Harvest - Dancing in the Moonlight
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone, Silence the pianos and with muffled drum Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead, Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good.
ps. After more than 17 years , I revisit Four Weddings and a Funeral - watching it in secondary school I'd never thought I'd be living it now.
The Tube Screamer is an overdrive pedal. The most popular use of a tube screamer is to push a tube amp to make it overdrive more. The pedal has a characteristic mid-boosted tone popular with blues players
Stepping out of the station, suddenly a melange of bodies met me standing in great crowds outside Paddington station; I wondered if an accident had happened but walking further on, realised these people were waiting for their buses. "What a waste of time," I thought. Meanwhile the rest were in movement, preferring not to wait out their time on the sidewalks for what's left of the remnants of the public transport of London, and instead took charge of the commutes in their own hands. They came out in cycles, walked, biked, ran - hence the multitude of people on the streets, in their smart business suits, brief-cases and white adidas trainers; and the sudden burst of cyclists out on the streets with their helmets, sporty riding gear and neon Hump rucksacks.
Where there was not a soul, dark and empty, the park silent with the deepening of the trees and bushes as twilight falls; now there was a merry atmosphere of movement, laughter and talk, as people moved along the greens, walking -almost ambling- to their destinations on their merry way. The autumn evening was cool and the skies were clear - this was a very different Hyde Park today as of yesterday.
What a difference London was without the Tubes running - suddenly the population on the streets exploded not akin to disturbing an ants nest and having the ants spill out of the cracks in millions. Most Londonites are indignant but I'm sure most were thankful for the chance to stop and smell the roses and walk in the sunshine instead of rushing off in the stale air of the underground. I knew I was.
Which reminded me of an evening a few months ago when I did just that.I was working in Gatwick airport and had gone on a short trip to France and at the end of the trip arrived back to my 'work' destination. I'd arrived late and by the time I got out of the snaking midnight immigration queue, had already missed the last train. The funny thing was I didn't think of staying in a hotel (my student-save-money instinct kicked in) but decided to wait it out so that I could just get into the office in the morning. After all, it was only for 6 hours and I could go straight to work which was in the Longbridge House building in the North Terminal.
Gatwick was one of those airports which didn't shut down - no flights operated- but there were plenty of people waiting it out by sleeping. Some slept on the uncomfortable wooden benches, claiming the entire row like a settee....some curled along the walls, under escalators. The smarter ones went upstairs and slept on the Costa Coffee sofas. What I I had no idea was that some of them were genuine homeless people who'd found a 'safer' place to sleep than the streets.
It was the most uncomfortable night I've encountered - was upright most of the time (which was terribly bad for the back) and couldn't sleep which produced a buzzing lightheadedness compounding into a headache. My only consolation was that it would only last a few more hours. Passed the time checking mail on the internet terminal kiosk (which had a crappy screen) and looking for a better place to sit. By the time sunrise came at 4am, I had a genuine urge to flush my head in the toilet - the dazed, headachy feeling was that bad.My colleagues couldn't believe nor understand why I didn't want to check into the Yotel at least...Right now I don't understand it either.
After that one night in the airport, I have genuine sympathy for these people. I think I was meant to read this article and understand the overall terrible sufferings of being homeless. (which sleeping in the airport is only just a small part of it) If 6 hours was that bad, I couldn't imagine a few weeks, a few months of not being able to sleep in peace. I count my blessings for having a proper bed to lie in everyday.
For some reason this Swedish kinderlieder is playing in my head. It couldn've been triggered by the visit to IKEA with Jas last weekend in Huddersfield which brought back fond memories of life in Umea, or it could've been seeing the word 'Sommer' on Facebook. It was funny to see the Princess Tarts, Marzipan rolls and Swedish Meatballs sitting in the IKEA cafe display just like how Princess Tarts, Marzipan rolls and Swedish Meatballs would in Samhallsvetarhuset cafe, except this was a memory 30 months ago and a few thousand miles away.
My local 'mentor', Lorentz Edberg, gave me some music song sheets as I told him it would be nice to learn some Swedish songs. This was on the front page -which also happens to be the 'unofficial' closing song Swedish school children sing before the summer holidays.
I like the lyrics as it shows the happiness of summer through a child's eyes - sun, flowers, bees, birds, trees and freckles.
The child in the song wisely reminds us ; 'The summer is ours" - and so we should enjoy it.
Sommarsången
Och nu så vill jag sjunga Att sommaren är skön Och träden är så fina Och marken är så grön Och blommorna är vackra Och höet luktar gott Och solen är så solig Och vattnet är så vått Och lilla fågeln flyger I boet ut och in. Och därför vill jag sjunga Att sommaren är min.
Och jag vill också sjunga Att fjärilar är bra Och alla söta myggor Dom vill jag också ha Och jag är brun om bena Precis som det ska va Och därför vill jag sjunga Att bruna ben är bra
Och jag har nya fräknar Och prickigt sommarskinn Och därför vill jag sjunga Att sommaren är min.
Summer Song
And now I want to sing
The summer is beautiful
And the trees are so fine
And the land is so green
And the flowers are beautiful
And hay smells good
And the sun is so sunny
And the water is so wet
And the little bird fly
In the nest and out.
And so I sing
The summer is mine.
And I also want to sing
The butterflies are good
And all the sweet mosquitoes
Dom, I would also have
And I'm brown on the bone
Just as it should huh
And so I sing
To brown the bones are good
And I have new freckles
And dots summer skin
And so I sing
The summer is mine.
Written by the ingenious Astrid Lindgren, creator of the beloved Pippi Longstocking.
He stands there calling 'Good morning' to everybody entering the station but most would ignore his greetings, the morning fixture at the door of the tube, with his cap and hi-viz jacket (neon yellow on Tuesdays and orange on Wednesdays). In the midst of all that rejection, I would be one of the few who would acknowledge him where most would walk past him without a glance and after a few mornings, he's come to recognise me.
Sure enough as I approach, the boy turns, sees me and smiles. I will be there at 7.15am like a sure-shot, Tuesday to Thursday, taking that newspaper off his hand like a peace-offering, my apology for the rudeness of the capital. He's my salvation for the dreary trek to work by tube and train, and little does he know, I look forward to seeing him and his newspaper and would actually be pretty disappointed if he didn't show up.
Each capital has a free publication of some sort but there's no doubt on the quality of London's free print which could equal if not better the paid-for publications. There's some pretty good material in them from health to beauty, sports, fitness, travel and business. The ones that I mostly pick up are the widely distributed Evening Standard, a weekly evening paper published by Daily Mail and General Trust recently made complimentary last year.
On Monday to Friday mornings there's the 'tabloidy' Metro published by Associated Newspapers Ltd. I'd pick this up only if I can't get anything else to read.
Limited area distribution financial newpaper 'City AM' (owned by CityAM Ltd) is published Monday to Fridays however I only get this if I go through London Bridge station in the morning.
On Tuesdays, Shortlist Media prints The Stylist, a female magazine targetted for women aged 20-40 and on Wednesdays, 'Shortlist' the men's equivalent. I look forward to the witty Danny Wallace's article which never fails to cracks me up. On Thursdays, TalkSport(UTV Media) publishes the Sport magazine. Since I've started travelling to work by train, I'd bring a book in my bag to ease the boredom otherwise it's hi-viz guy at the station to my rescue for my 15 minute reads.
A colleague shared this with me today...she lost both her parents last year. A cheerful and strong girl, she found this and liked it very much. Funny how messages come in a time when its needed. Must remember to look out for the signs.
This human being is a guest house Every morning a new arrival
A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor
Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they are a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house; empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.
- Jelaluddin Rumi (translation from Coleman Barks)
1940: and kick-offs for the World Cup is about to begin. I'm not much of a football fan but here's my best wishes to the two nations who've never raised but fought their way through to play the match of the year.
1300: Lunch and Movie 'Father's Day' with A & B
0930: Thanks to my GBF again for going to Tooting Bec with me. I've always wanted to go there but its more fun to go with some one.
Saturday, 10th July 2010 2200: Reach home
1800: Cranium again -the winners won the last round with the blue card 'Creative Cat'.
1730: The Pimmska comes out......it's never too early to drink:P
1430: Reach Kals - it's serious face-stuffing about to begin. It's boiling hot and the bbq is flaming
0700 Tower Bridge to Greenwich run - L's always rewarding us with OJs and Lattes. Good stuff
Friday, 9th July 2010 And so this weekend started with Priscilla, Queen of the Desert with L,V,Jo and Ji - thanks guys for coming out tonight. Such lovely costumes - am starting to fantasize wearing some glitter/feathers/big hair. I've found SUCH a theme song from MacArthur's Park - it has cake baking in it!
They moved like ants all over the brown hill - pink ants. As I approached, the pink ants transformed into ladies - ladies of all shapes and sizes - small, big, thin, not-so-thin, in all the shades of pink you can imagine. Slowly but surely they run, walked or jogged in undulating lines traversing the brown hills of Blackheath Common.
This was the 'Race for life' run by the Cancer Research Association of the UK. Every year since 2003, 50k men and women who've run the Race for Life have helped raise 5 million GBP in aid of cancer research.
Rita and I wanted to do a run together so we signed up for this one - a ladies only run - and ladies coming out to run is a whole different experience together.
It's non-competitive - every lady comes out to run for a reason. Each one has a little pink square piece of paper pinned on their backs stating 'I race for life for....' - filling in the blank space.
Some had pictures of their beloved friends/family printed on them - '...Nat', '...Grandma and Grandpa'; some stating '..for a cure for cancer' '..Papa and all the Papas in the world' '..my mom'
As you run, one can't help but think that everyone of these ladies have been touched by cancer in some way - whether through their families, friends, partners, themselves. How far-reaching are the effects of cancer - everyone knows someone who's had cancer.
And I thought of my own mom who survived it....and K's mom, Aunty Nora and all those who didn't.
What better way to help by this beautiful action of running (and raising money while running).
And so we run the race of life for...(the best one yet stated )'...Everyone'
"What's the plan for the weekend then?" asks V, "You sure banyak activity wan"
I don't really plan my weekends nowadays till the 11th hour but it still gets filled up. These past few weeks were confined within London : parks, bbq's, gardening and a few random musical/theatre performances. I'm not one to run away for the weekend to a neighbouring country and London has plenty to offer which suits my austerity drive anyway.
Its liberating to finally walk out of the house without a jacket on - I could even wear sunnies:) Love the long days of summer too - sunrise at 4.30am, sunset at 9pm....lots of activities to cram within the day. Everyone seems happier in the summer - roses and lavendar bloom, a different variety of fruits appear on shelves.
I'd admit that summer weekends come fast and furious - another hot weekend forecasted this week end woo hoo!
Ever tried microwaving oats and egg in the microwave? I'd highly suggest you not.
Have been stressed at work and planned to get into Heathrow at 6am the next morning so went to bed pretty early at 11pm. Skipped dinner and all since I just got back from frisbee at about 10pm. Must've have been more highly strung than I thought - woke up at midnight; hungry and worrying about Earned Value.
Breathing deeply and doing the 'Savasana' didn't help so I went to the kitchen to at least quieten my growling tummy. It was a debate between instant noodles or oats - didn't want to feel terribly full thus the oats won - microwaved a cup with an egg in it.
After a few minutes, took it out of the oven and stirred in some soya sauce. There was loud 'Pop!' and the whole thing exploded in my face.
It must have been an almighty blow-over as it was all over the floor, counter and ceiling. No matter that my shirt, face and hair had an instant oat-egg mask. Had to get on my hands and knees to scrub the floor and then climb the counters to clean the mess off the walls - at 1 am. If there's anyone feeling dumb and dumber at this time of night, it's me.
I'll start with an analogy as I like them so much. London is like a lady decked-out in the latest togs; tight low-cut blouse and big branded handbag. From afar, she looks posh and loaded; come closer and you'll realise she's not a sweet-young-thing - closer to middle-age in fact but with all that bronzer on she's like a brassy potty beacon.
And so that's my first impression of London - no high-tea rooms, Royal Albert Hall Concerts and Burberry bag shopping - I came on a bus passing Croydon and saw a lot of coloured people.
Looking for accommodation in London is very educational in terms of Geography and Anthropology. Well-meaning advisors tell me -
East = Dodgy West = Good South = not good North = better
So I found a place West - and realised I was practically in East Europe (other wise known as East Acton) Lots of Poles, Hungarians, Czechs etc. And so upon looking at the demographics, it roughly goes like this so I'm told:
North East - Vietnamese, African, Carribean Central West- Middle Eastern, Indian South East - African, Carribean No English people live in London.
The commute to work was long and I didn't really like the Tube so against all the noise, I moved South East i.e. dodgy.
Telling my colleagues and friends where I live is a fun experience. My jingle goes like this, Acquaintance: So where do you live?
Me: Oh, I live in the ghetto
Acquaintance: Really? Where's that?
Me: Best answer - I live near London Bridge 2nd best answer - I live near Bermondsey 2nd least best answer - I live near Elephant and Castle Worst answer(not recommended) - I live on the Old Kent Road
To be fair, I've lived where I live for more than a year now and I love it. I've never been stabbed nor shot-at. Though I've had to call the police a couple of times for being followed home and harrassed by a bunch of white kids. Otherwise, its not so bad.
So with great glee, I came across this BBC Programme entitled Peckham Finishing School for Girls: Four affluent girls from the countryside have their credit cards removed and given 6.50GBP a week to live on in not-so-posh Peckham - cluelessness will guarantee amusement.
I live 20 mins walk from Peckham which I do when I can btw - it's a nice stroll in a former canal through a park. Main reason: Peckham has a great library which opens Mon - Sunday.
Was off on the bus this morning a little later than usual as I had to run a few errands at the post-office before work. It always amazes me how a difference of a few minutes can quickly transform the density of the buses from 'lightly-squashed' to 'sardine-packed'. It was then that I realised that the additional unit of bodies were contributed by the school-going population of the city strata. I'm pleasantly surprised that the English schools still implemented the school uniform: boys in gray/black shorts and trousers, cardigans, long-sleeved shirt and tie; girls in blazer/cardigan, shirt, plaid skirts and long socks. (see M&S sales poster for uniforms)which brings forth my childhood images of Enid Blyton's schoolchildren i.e. The Naughtiest Girl in School, Malory Towers and St Clare's.
It would seem that the school uniform is still viewed as a positive method in instilling school ethos, discipline and pride in young people as encouraged by the Department of Children, Schools and Families (a UK Government agency responsible for issues regarding children up to the age of 19 until 2010). Although not all schools do it, there is encouraged implementation of uniforms for school children in England and Wales.
In Europe for example Germany, the traditional school uniform is never proposed in earnest but 'school clothing' such as t-shirts collections and set-clothing in a contemporary sense is often used.
And thus, the uniform is dying out as a perceived method of discipline - only implemented now in countries such as India, Sri Lanka, Japan, Malaysia.
I brought my Sweet William over when I moved to Rolls Road in October 2008. It was still in the little pot which it was seeded in for a few months, the poor thing. It grew quite a lot as it was straining out of its perch so I hijacked one of the hanging pots outside my door (which had nothing it in - guess the previous inhabitant died) in hope that it would have a little place to grow.
It's been developing into this green mess. This is how it looks like outside my door -
And that's how it looks like every day, every evening and every morning, day-in, day-out. It blends into the background and every day life (sometimes I forget to water it). Occasionally when I come home from work I wondered if it was ever going to flower. It never did.
My surmise was that
a. it was still too young b. the soil was infertile c. the seeds are a dud
or maybe a combination of two or more factors. I mean, I still water it (and I give it more water than the other two plants outside the door which probably belonged to the previous tenants of the place just because it's mine) and sometimes I don't until I see it turning a little yellow and thirsty and then I hurry to the tap to get a little H2O and dump some water in the pot. I've even started seeding another little pot of Sweet William but that one died at my window sill because I forgot to water it.
So it sits there every day, every evening and every morning, day-in and day-out. Until yesterday I noticed that it's been growing flowers (the sneaky little thing)!
I mean it's nothing like the picture on the packet which looks like this but I'm happy for the flowers that it's yielding. I'm quite proud of my little Sweet William (Well done boy!). Despite them being tiny flowers I'm feeling pretty grateful. It's funny how life gives you a nice surprise when you least expect it to.
Now I have been harboring feelings for a certain person for about the same amount of time but that hasn't yielded any thing. Maybe
a. the relationship is premature b. the conditions are not right c. the seed is a dud
Should I take a lesson from Sweet William? But plants are not people and people are not plants. Maybe I should just grow plants instead - heck at least after 22 months, the plant yielded some flowers. Yeah, I'm picturing a little old spinster lady with her plants, baking cakes and scones and listening to sad Carpenter's songs like this one:
I'm doing all three pretty well now (heavens and horrors )... at this rate who knows what I'm capable of when I reach that age.
Have been listening a lot to the Carpenters lately. I daresay Karen Carpenter's signature voice stands unrivaled to this day - bell-like, subtle but powerful. Such an unfortunate loss of a great singer but the duo's music still lives on after all these years.
Have chosen this song in conjunction with the rainy days in London befelling us.
