London 3

Dear friends

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

London 2

Dear friends

Big decisions and sudden change
It’s a gorgeous Sunday in London and I am feeling easy like Sunday morning… I am sitting in the garden writing my blog remembering the excitement from last night’s bonfire night celebrations, but more about that later.

(The picture is from the display window of Harvey Nichols, the mannequin's dress is made entirely out of cocktail umbrellas)

The next week brought a clear head (I thought) and a decision to move to New York. During the previous week I had spoken to various friends in New York who gave me conflicting information about the cost of living in the city and the probability of me living a good life on the package I was offered. After weighing up the various arguments I was dead set in New York, but still I had a niggling feeling that something was not all right. I couldn’t help shaking the feeling of being like a lamb dragged of to the slaughter. Nonetheless, I rang the agent to inform him of my intention to accept the position, and that I wanted to see a draft contract.


Sometimes I honestly believe that the universe works in ways that we will not be able to understand. I had no sooner put down the phone from my agent accepting the NY job, when I received a call from the head of recruitment at a company called SPG Media. They had a position available as head of sponsorship for conferences they do in Europe, Asia, North America and South America. I told him that I had just that morning accepted a position in New York, but had my doubts. He asked me not to sign anything until I have met with them and can decide which way I wanted to go. I was so confused. On the one hand, I love New York but London had been on the cards for sometime and I couldn’t help but feel that I had to give it a chance before shipping off to New York. I know you’re all probably thinking “You silly drama queen”, but hey, that’s Gigi, never a dull moment!




(The picture is Abudabi Harrods as I call it - Harrods lit up)




I had my first interview on Tuesday morning with SPG Media. The interview went very well, and they invited me back for the second interview the next day. Sean, the recruiter and fellow South African, had promised me a speedy interview process.

I received my contract from New York which gave me a little room to manoeuvre out of it, should I get the job in London. They wanted me to sign a restraint of trade for one year which would have meant that I could not work in the same field for a year should I ever leave. There were also inconsistencies in the contract regarding targets they wanted me to hit before they would pay the cost of my visa. I questioned these and started to become messy and feeling “lamb off to slaughter” feeling got worse. That night I realized that I was accepting the NY job only because I was desperate and that with the conditions the posed, I would be very unhappy in a short time. There were various other considerations, but that night I sent an email turning the down the job. I know I really seem like a confused queen now, but at that stage I was no longer confused. I knew I wanted to stay in London.

My interview that afternoon went very well, and I was invited to the third interview, which is usually a fait accompli that you have the job. I received several phone calls that afternoon from the VP of HR and the CEO of the NY company trying to convince me otherwise but my mind was made up. On Thursday I met with the CEO and Sales Director of the London company and as usual, I blew them away! Excuse my modestyJ, but hey, ya gotta blow ya own trumpet! They phoned to offer me the job later that day and I duly accepted with starting date on 1 November. That weekend I met my friend Margo her boyfriend and had a mini bender, which in my terms mean that I got to bed at 3 am! I spent the next few days looking at places to stay, because as my dear friend Konrad always says “fish and houseguests go off after three days”. Well I was starting to honk at Carol’s. Although I knew that her and her husband didn’t mind, I was still feeling a little in the way and that I had outstayed my welcome! They have been so amazing by putting me up and the sheer amount of emotional support they have offered. I was a nervous wreck halve the time after I’d had an interview.

Haunted house and octogenarians
Ok, let’s get off the detour and get back to finding a place to stay. I have to start this by telling you all that London is one of the most cities in the world. In fact, I think it is pretty much high on the list. With the money running out on Zola Budd’s legs, I found myself in a position where I had to find a relatively cheap place that would still be central. Also considering the fact places ask for one month and other two moths deposit. I saw a few interesting places, to say the least. From an old English terrace house in true Agatha Christie style (I was convinced it had spooks!), to a few real flop houses with smelly carpets, a beautiful modern flat in Greenwich, much like my old place in Cartwright’s corner. This was ideal, but they failed to mention in the ad that they wanted a girl! Then I saw a place where I really wanted to live. Right in the middle of Notting Hill minutes from the Notting Hill Gate tube station and practically walking distance to my new office in Paddington. I was to share with a gorgeous French guy with the sexiest French accent that just made you feel like saying Voulez vou couche avec moi! He had a South African girlfriend (bitch) from Tamboerskloof. I had such a good time chatting to him and was convinced I was going to move into this lovely location so close to Kensington Gardens and Kensington Palace, where Lady Di took official residence back in the day. I had to wait till later that week to know whether I was going to be sharing with spooks or with the spook of Lady Di!

I decided that four places were enough to see for then and I was going to sit it out till the weekend, so I got on a train to Liverpool to visit, which is where you found me at the beginning of the previous chapter. Dave lived in South Africa a few years ago and we became friends. That period was of the most debauched of times that I can remember. Dave is now a teetotaller, but he is totally off tea the minute he sees me! I do manage to get him to drink a few glasses of wine! I know you are thinking evil, evil Gerald, but well, I can’t drink alone with the picture of sobriety sitting opposite me! On the first night at Dave’s we finished 4 bottles of wine between the two of us. Thank God we were at home! On Thursday we went to visit Southport, which according to Dave was the seaside escape for middle to upper class people while working class people went to Blackpool, just on the other side of the water. Class or no class, let me just say that I have never seen so many nonagenarians with Zimmer frames and nebulisers in one place! Even though it was half term week and full of school kids, they kids were still outnumbered four to one!

The place was heaving with old people! We had a lovely seafood meal in a restaurant full of old people. I thought an old lady at the table next to me had choked on a mussel or something, but it turns put that she just nodded off mid meal! Ag sies tog… We went back to Liverpool and I spent the rest of the day feeling rather old and haggard.

I spent a lazy day on Friday wandering through Liverpool. I visited the Liverpool Tate where they had the works of this year’s Turner Prize finalists on display. Liverpool is actually quite an interesting city. Having been awarded the European Capitol of Culture title, they are spending a lot of money on reviving this once derelict city. The old architecture is actually very nice, and although there are loads of abandoned roofless buildings, there is development all over the place, which is usually the sign of a boomtown. Being a university city, it lives up to the usual party environment that comes with the students around. That was exactly what we were going to get up to that night.

(The pictire is of a building in Liverpool, the cirlce rotates, quite interesting)

I get lucky and robbed on the same night
Later that evening with a bottle of wine behind us, we left Dave’s dressed in our Friday night best in search of a wild party. Like any city these days, there are loads of swanky places and Dave took me to a few of these. The first place we went to was a larger version of the M Bar in Cape Town. Complete with red interior, red leather sofas and booths with gorgeous bar staff to match. The vibe was sadly a little flat with dolled-up girls on the lookout for their bit of action that night. The funny thing is that I have noticed that are actually far more women than en in bars and clubs wherever I have been since my arrival in the UK. This is not taking into account the drag bar I accidentally stumbled upon in search of a drink one evening on the way back to Surrey! The evening started off really mild with us drifting from bar to bar. We ended up in two eighties bars, in both of which I was mistaken for a soap opera star, whom I have yet to find out who he is, in fact I can’t even remember his name! We decided to check out the gay area, where things took a radical turn.

We arrived at a gay bar and hit the dance floor. No sooner was I on the dance floor and I had a really cute guy dancing next to me and checking me out. He came up to me asked if I wanted a drink to which I responded yes. I could not believe this! His name was Steve and he was from just outside Liverpool, and worked as machine engineer or something like that in the city, so I bagged myself not only a hottie, but a butch hottie at it! We danced together for a while then went outside for a cigarette. And a chat… I don’t kiss and tell! We returned and I decided to return the favour and buy us a drink. I got to my coat, which I thought had been looked after my friend who was with me, and reached for the inside pocket; only to find my wallet containing £150 had been stolen! Thieving scousers! I couldn’t decide if it was the larger than life drag queen or the dodgy dude who were dancing in the general vicinity of where my coat was. The drama that ensued afterwards was too much to mention. The long and sort of it is that I ended up back at Dave’s with Steve in tow, and didn’t get to sleep till 6 am… wink…wink!

The next day I found out that I didn’t get any of the places that I viewed the week before, so I went back to London with my work cut out for me in the next few days. I basically had three free days left in which to find a place to stay, open a bank account and apply for a national insurance number, all of which proved a challenge.

Well that’s it for now. Thanks for reading. Next time, read about my “Amazing Race” adventures around London.

(The picture is me haveing a glass of wine, in case you havent furgured that out!)



In conclusuion, I have to say that you guys have no idea how much I miss all of you. I have only just realized how lucky I am to have made such amazing friends home in Cape Town. I have also realized that I have relied on my friend for emotional and support quite a lot, and I’d like to thank you.

Love you
Gerald

London 1

Dear Friends

Cape Town Forever

Wow, this has been the busiest two and a half weeks of my life, and I am very glad o be able to
announce that things are going very well, and so far there have been no major hiccups. Having been really busy, this is the only time that I am getting to touch base and let you all know of my movement to date. I am on a train on my way to Liverpool to visit my old friend Dave and the journey is expected to take 2 ½ hours, thanks for accompanying me on this journey….

Well, I left Cape Town under an air of drama and slightly drunk, which is to be expected from me – the air of drama I mean! We left the city for the airport a good 4 hours before my flight was due to depart and of course the entire Cape Town had decided that to start the weekend early, so we arrived at the airport just in time to check in, grab a bite then dash for the boarding gates. I was joined at the airport by Amy, Louise, Katrin, Callie and Charl, who made me feel really special. Going through immigration was made hardest by Amy who started crying and unleashed the floodgates, so much so that I could hardly answer the immigration official’s questions. It was my mother though who lived up to her reputation to evoke emotion in me, which is usually unadulterated rage. She called just as I went through immigration, which saw me breaking down in the middle of a busy airport. You see, my mother believes to this day that I am immigrating for good and that she will never see me again!

Slow start and Sussex speech

I arrived in London to glorious sunshine, albeit somewhat chilly. I spent the day uneventfully visiting gardening centres and home improvement shops with my very married and very pregnant friend Carol and her husband Nick, with I am staying all the way out in suburban Surrey.

Monday brought my first interview, which turned out to really be a dry-run interview for others to come. Fair enough for your first interview in almost 5 years I guess. The interviewer, a lovely girl-from-Essex-done-good, grilled me for a solid 45 minutes only to announce that she tough I was “too good” for the job and that I would be bored I two months. Although this was a compliment of sorts, I couldn’t help but feeling that I was being dumped because “I love you like a brother” or “It’s not you, it’s me”. Well, didn’t like the ways she spoke. That would have irritated me to no end.

My second interview on Tuesday with the publishers of the FTSE Global Markets magazine as Head of Advertising for Europe was long, but most exciting and thoroughly enjoyable. I left there certain that I wanted this job, and quite sure that I had at least landed a 2nd interview. I was to find out later that week. Wednesday and Thursday was spent interviewing for two other positions not worth the mention and in between punishing myself by applying for short-term positions, just to be told that I was overqualified by every singly temp employment agency. I never thought that I would ever get here.

I received a guttering phone call on Friday from the FTSE Global Markets magazine informing me that although I was a favourite for the job, I did not have the contacts in Europe needed to grow their presence on the continent. At the time I was sitting in Starbucks trying to make eyes at a rather gorgeous GQ-model-cum-businessman type sitting opposite me. I tried hard to contain my tears of missing home and disappointment, and as one tear fell into my skinny latte, I decided to lift myself up and face a rather hard decision I had to make that weekend.

New York, New York…

As some of you would know, prior to my leaving Cape Town, I had started interviewing for a position that came along quite out of the blue, in New York of all places. Now, I love New York, and would have given my two front teeth to live there given the right circumstances and the right the right amount of money, because New York is an expensive city. Well, the money and circumstances sure seemed good at the time. During the course of that first week in London I had several telephone interviews and on Wednesday I was offered the job and after my very disappointing week of interviews, I had to decide whether to take the job in New York or stay in London. My money was running out on Zola Budd’s legs and New York came with the promise of a rent free apartment in Manhattan and weekly pay in the beginning. This seemed most attractive at the time. On Friday night I went out and got stupidly drunk on my own on the West End, picked up a boy band member who didn’t phone.

On Saturday I nursed my hangover in Soho with Cape Town friends Zahira and Rory and bumped into Rupert Everett (literally) and he smiled at me. Oh, the joys of living in London! I wanted to tell him that his autobiography was crap, but was so stunned that all I could do was smile back! That night I got more drunk and danced the night away, and Sunday brought the hangover of hangovers.


Anyway, that’s me again with all the details! That’s all for now, will let you know the rest next week…