An unexpected and amazing change is happening to me. The last time I mentioned how I have realised how much I have relied on my friends. In fact I have actually just realised what a social junky I had become over the years. Now with the luxury of a wonderful circle of friends and a busy social life lying behind me, I have had to find solace in solitude and somehow that has been a fantastic experience. In the beginning this was so frustrating and depressing, because all I wanted to do was to pick up the phone and call someone or get into my car (which I also have no more!) and drive to A Touch of Madness or just meet someone at Rick’s Café or Carlyle’s for a drink and a good laugh.
Now, how things have changed. Somehow I am feeling motivated to write again, and I am reading loads more. Quite a cathartic experience actually. Another great thing has also started to happen - I have begun to grow my second skin; I am beginning to feel comfortable in London. Let’s talk about that later though and get back to the settling in details.
The Amazing Race London
I started the second part of my house hunt with great gusto. Whilst Nick and Carol have been absolutely amazing, I couldn’t impose any longer. Furthermore, it was going to cost a small fortune to travel to and from the city each day.
My search started the first day back from Liverpool. I had three days before the starting work, and had to find a place to stay, apply for my national insurance number and a bank account.
(The picture is Canary Wharf at night)
I started my search in Canary Wharf, the financial area. I would be sharing with two Russians and one Hungarian. The area is really nice, and the place nice enough. Canary Wharf is just outside the city centre to the southeast. This is also the place I ended taking. The girl is a bit sour, and as you will later find out why, I call her Olga the ex-KGB operative!
I spent the rest of the next two days darting from one to end to the next and back to other end – literally! I saw from beautiful and expensive flats to shabby places at what-a-nerve-prices. This really just reiterated again what I said in my first posting about how expensive London is. I darted from Canary Wharf on the southeast to Fulham in the south to Chelsea in the city, to Kennington in the south, to Camden in the north, and I never accounted for enough time between viewings. I ended up viewing the last place at 11 pm on both nights.
(The picture is the view from Russia House)
Russia House
In the end I decided to settle with Canary Wharf, as it seemed comfortable and the housemates seemed nice enough. It wasn’t until later that I realized that communication was going to a real problem in Russia House and that Olga the ex-KGB operative is a moody bitch who can barely speak two words of English. Miss Thing would glare at me with disapproval as I am making conversation with her boyfriend, an absolutely gorgeous Russian man. Makes me wish you could buy Russian mail-order grooms! Olga is also really grumpy, she doesn’t talk to me, in fact the only time she says anything to me it’s in Russian, and she says it through her boyfriend who translates for me. This is usually to complain about how I have washed a dish or to convey yet another complaint from the Russian maid, whom I still haven’t met. Babushka (my name for the maid because I figure she looks like a Babushka doll complete with rosy cheeks!) has so many complaints about how to store my clothes, and how she doesn’t want to pick up my shoes how she doesn’t make beds. Let me tell you, how much I miss South Africa. I think there is a business in bringing over cleaning ladies from SA who know how to do the job. Oh well, I guess I will stick it out in Russia House till I can afford getting a place on my own or to share with fewer people.
Bring on the booze
I have been meaning to tell ya’ll about my drinking escapades, which has bankrupted me, because with the prices in London and an appetite for wine like mine, I have been spending money like there is no tomorrow. Although I haven’t found my Touch of Madness in London yet, I have found some pubs for the odd quick drink after a hard day at work. It is at one of these pubs that I regularly meet my friend Adrienne for drinks once every second week or so. This has actually become quite an institution either Tuesday or Thursday after work every second week. Adrienne lives in Southampton with her boyfriend Mark, but has to be in London twice a week for work, so we meet at a bar at Waterloo station. This has been quite a godsend, because otherwise I would be in a bar somewhere on my own, reading a book or a newspaper, which is fine sometimes but can get quite lonely. I have also been seeing quite a bit of two other friends, Margo and Rory. I met Margo for drinks once at the Nell Gwynne, a 17th century pub that was frequented by Nell Gwynne, one of the first English actresses.
(The picture is of the Nell Gwynne in Covent Garden)
Margo and I have been out a few other times. Twice during the meetings of her fetish community, either at their monthly gathering, or at a fetish expo, and no, I haven’t gotten into the fetish scene! I have actually enjoyed these gatherings. These are just normal people with alternative lifestyles. Hell, my lifestyle is not exactly normal! We once met at the London Munch, the monthly gathering of the fetish community, and I had a lot of fun. There were no people dressed in funny outfits, except for a few guys in kilts, who sent my blood pressure skyrocketing. All I wanted to do was crawl up those legs! Afterwards we went to a bar Soho called Café Boheme which was a lot of fun. I was flirting outrageously with the Maitre D who was seriously hitting on me, but was just a little too camp. I went out dancing till 7 am on my own.
Rory and I met for drinks a few times, and each time ended up wild with us dancing till the wee hours of the morning and a trip to a fast food joint. I must say, I have been enjoying dancing again. Although Rory and I usually laugh so much that we can’t even speak, let alone pick up anyone!
(The picture is of the Ha Ha Bar - I love the name, Ha Ha!)
One step closer to alcoholism
So, I have gotten into the habit of drinking on my own. Sometimes I sit writing my blog, or some other creative outlet, or I just sit of Facebook and finish a bottle of wine in no time. The only thing that keeps me from opening a second bottle is the fact that I have to be in bed these days at 10 pm, so I can be up at 6 am, to get to work at 8 am. Oh dear, I never though that I would forcibly become a morning person! Anyway, so I think my alcoholic tendencies have been exaggerated since I have arrived here. Well, it’s to make up for the lack of illegal substances. Still, I am concerned about my drinking. I never used to drink on my own. I always used to say that there were two things that kept me from being an alcoholic— drinking own your own and craving a drink first thing in the morning. Well, I have to admit that I have once craved a drink shortly after I woke up. It was 1 pm though, does that count? A Touch of Madness was always a great way for me to hide my drinking habits. That’s a pun by the way. No really, I could always walk into A Touch of Madness and find someone there that I knew, so I never had to drink on my own. And wine never used to last longer than a dinner party at my house, so the risk of drinking on my own is greatly minimised. All this talk of drinking is making me crave a drink. Good thing I have nothing at home, because I am trying to detox this week, just so I can retox at my birthday on Saturday!
I have also been hanging out on my own at a pub down the road from work and have made friends with the bar staff. I have even once been a part of a lock-in where they close when they are supposed to and close the place for the public, but a few customers remain inside. It was here that I bumped into Sean, our head of recruitment one day after work. As I have mentioned before, Sean is also a South African, who has been living here for 6 years. We got talking about Cape Town and the places he used to hang out and people we know, and it turns out that we know quite a few people in common. What floored me was that he knows Amy. In fact, his housemate and Amy are actually old friends from years ago. What a small world. Towards the end of my time in Cape Town, I used to think that Cape Town was a small place, but I have come to realize that either the world is a small place or there are just far too many South Africans living in London.
Well that’s it for now people, next time I will talk about my first month of work which has been a shock to my system. I don’t think I was made for work. I am from some royal house and my family were all killed off during a revolution and there is an unclaimed fortune waiting in my homeland for me to claim. I can dream, cant I?
Love you all,
Gerald
