04.25 SKY LARK

In Eggesford, do as the country folk do - bird watching. The English have an astounding affection for their wildlife - particularly their birds. I do recall stumbling upon my flatmates, 21-something blokey blokes, admiring the little birdies in the garden on an early morning, cuppa tea in hungover hand.

So it was no surprise when, along a wander through the countryside with the more ambitious (and less hungover) of our group, Chris came to a halt at the distinct sound of what he then enthousiasticall pointed toward and identified with certainty as a Sky Lark. Apparantly their twitter is clearly distinguishable and they are known to hover in one place quite high in the sky which is indeed what this bird was doing. It took me a good squint and a few attempts at focusing at the correct point in the distance to finally spot the bird, hovering above.

This was just one of many staple, yet for me exotic, sights we saw along the way. Cows and horses dotted the rolling hills; the grass was long, and a brighter green than I've ever seen - ready for ruminating bovine to engorge. We saw sun and clouds, rain and a double rainbow. We stopped in a small town pub for a break and a round of bowls before forging ahead. I stepped on a bright blue beetle and learned to navigate a kissing gates, which, unfortunately, did not land me a kiss.

Most remarkable was how vague the public footpaths are. Our route was a wayward path from gate to gate, diagonals across fields and wanders through pine forest. Left to my own devices, I would have been lost in no time. What a peculiar version of 'the hike'.

04.24 BANANAS

On our way to the countryside in Devon for some cottage country fun for Lex's birthday. I've decided on a banana-themed present for her birthday after having promised her that I wouldn't bake her with a banana cake in an attempt at some kind of reverse-psychology tactic of surprising her.

The gift bag, a recycled grocery bag, was decorated with a poem:
'Roses are red, bananas are yellow, hope that your birthday is as good as jello'.
My apologies for that one.

It also contained a banana badge, the simplified bananafied version of a Rubrik's cube, banana-coloured nail varnish, a banana coaster with a witty birthday-themed remark that I can't, for the life of me, remember (I'm suspecting 'it's not your birthday if you don't go bananas' or something along those lines), and, of course, a chocolate chip walnut banana cake (aka banana bread in Canada).

Somehow, the package still wasn't complete. I called on Kat and Paul for ideas, and Paul kindly offered his illustration skills which, before now, we all thought was limited to drawings only of bunnies doing what bunnies do most. But he managed to pull of this Warhol/Banksy-fusion-style banane. At least Paul is full of surprises.

04.23 JAMIE OLIVER

This one's for Judy. A DIY pizza buffet at the new Jamie Oliver store in Clapham. Pizza-lovers heaven. Yet another good reason, besides bread and butter pudding, to come visit me in London...

04.22 ROUNDABOUT WAY

I'm generally pretty good with maps, but navigating the Elephant and Castle roundabout is on an other-wordly scale of orienteering. It's particularly a challenge while pedalling furiously alongside bustling traffic, honking cars, and swerving buses.

I walked into work today -and I'm walking more and more because I find this much more relaxing than cycling and less a death-defying feat.

At worst, I might trip over myself, bump into a strolling pedestrian or get shin splints. Knock on wood.

04.21 URBAN CONSERVATION AREA

Regent's Street is a Conservation Area. Not the sort of conservation area I'm familiar with though. You'd think the absence of trees and birds and abundance of paved road and towering buildings leaves little for conserving.

Like England's oldest National Park, this area is rather paved compared to Canadian standards. But unlike our nation which boasts remarkable landscapes, mountains, forests and lakes, England channels far more energy into preserving its heritage. The Regent's Street Conservation Area is all about protecting the Grade II listed buildings that rise above a valley of buses and cars. The street was completed in 1825 and was named after Prince Regent (George IV). Sadly, what is left is not the original buildings, designed by architect John Nash, but structures that were restored and rebuilt toward the end of the 19th century, rather peculiarly, under commision of the Office of Woods, Forests and Land Revenues.

04.20 STEP FOUR

It's looking more like a bird, no? The photo I've based this painting on rests just below the easle. I've yet to dabble a bit here and there and touch up highlights in the background. And the beak is blank for fear I would accidentally smudge the surrounding wet colours with my hand. But I'm nearly there. Another painting only a father could love...?

04.19 PUB QUIZ

Pub quiz at The Goat. With categories on Disney Films and Harry Potter you'd think they were catering to parents and kids.

Somehow Salma and Higgins nailed these ones.

Which European country has the letter M on its licence plate?

I got one answer correct, but sadly lost confidence and kept it in my head. The answer was not Gozo.

The first pub quiz I ever did was during my travels in Australia. Don't know how I got roped into that one. One of the answers was 'Blackberry' but I can't for the life of me remember the question. This is probably thanks to years of watching Alex Trebec host Jeopardy...

04.18 60K

The Chasers organized a training day for cyclists. We met early at Richmond Park for what I anticipated would be an hour or so of drills and hills.

Four hours later I am home. I've logged 60 km on my tires and its only the second time I've ridden in since I hauled the bike here from Canada. We practiced signals and safety, cadence and shifting. Rolled into the last hour with a session of hill repeats. Ouch. Legs are jello.

04.17 EARLY BIRDS

Let's be outrageous, he said, and meet for breakfast.

Early birds. But its fish in the sea I'm out to hook. I have no appetite for a worm.

We had breakfast at Nelsons. My choice - a cozy Italian-run sandwich shop that was one of few places catering to those who are up at the crack of dawn. I had smoked salmon on wholemeal bread toasted. I shattered records for eating slow. Probably because of all the talking. We covered everything from New Year bongs to budget airlines to easter eggs to bicycles to divorce to...my how time flies.

04.16 GREAT MAZE

On my way to the hospital at King's College London. The place is a labyrinthe of crossroads and I was lost and nearly late for my appointment. Appropriately, the street I have found myself lost on is called Great Maze Pond. To add to the confusion, there is no pond in sight.

04.15 STEP THREE

I've filled in just a bit more of the background, and completed the rock that the Kookaburra is perched on. It's coming along with the aide of James Yorkston which I have discovered sets a suitable mood for splashing paint.

04.14 SNOW FLOWERS

It is the warmest day of the year so far. The sun is glaring. The trees on Clapham Common are blossoming furiously and their white petals shed on the green grass in a contrast that makes them appear almost as though there has been a snow flurry. But these flakes don't melt.

04.13 STEP TWO

I got quite a bit accomplished in this second phase of painting. The background is complete, but for a few highlights in green, which will have to be added once this layer is dried to avoid a murky brown blend.

I'm quite pleased with how it is progressing - it's the first time I've nailed a painting in my first attempt. No canvases scrapped! I'm almost tempted to leave it as is, with a white silhouette of a supposed bird left up to interpretation. Or otherwise, I could blow up the photo of the Kookaburra and paste it in.

I'm afraid I might just ruin my work so far in Step Three.

04.12 EASTER EGGS

Easter Sunday. Last year, in an attempt to be festive, I ate a goose egg. It tasted nice; but you can eat too much egg. To say the least, this range of prehistoric ovum at the Natural History Museum failed to whet my appetite.

Neither would I like to eat rabbit, which is a Maltese tradition and which my mother used to plate for us every year on this occasion. It seemed, coincidentally, that our pet bunnies routinely came down with an ear infection every spring and died.

Neither would I prefer lamb. Two times unlucky with food poisoning from the meat last year is enough to develop a life-long aversion.

Instead, I think I'll settle for a block of chocolate. What's the worst it could do but give me a sugar high and resurrect my endorphin levels for a little while...

04.11 BRIGHTON

It happens, from time to time, that I develop an insatiable urge to be by the sea. I've been itching to get to the coast, and despite the gloomy weather, set out with some urgency to Brigton, the nearest coastal town from London. I beelined from the train station, past the shops just opening their doors for the days, through the lanes and across the green of the Royal Pavilion toward the shoreline.

I was nearly at a trot once the horizing was in view, with a pace that would suggest I was racing the tide and the sea would soon dry up and dissappear, like the shoreline at Alma in New Brunswick. I'd be left trodding the sludgy sea bottom, my desparate attempt at watching the waves roll in futile.

It wasn't all that dramatic. In the end I made it to the coast, sat for a good hour or so shielding the drizzle with my umbrella until my bottom was numb from the pebbles underneath and I felt sufficiently despondent thanks to the unforgiving critique by Jeremy Paxman of his own culture for their inadequacies and idiosyncrasies which are partly explained by the fact The English are an island people and have developed a nation surrounded by a moat.

It was absolutely perfect and just the sort of afternoon I was hoping for.
Ahhh....

04.10 DIPLODOCUS

I visited the Natural History Museum today, which my coworker Alice has been raving about. The 2009 BBC photographer of the year awards were on exhibition so I made my way for a viewing. The pictures were impressive, my favorite a group of swans, in a near white-out snowstorm, their white feathers barely visible against the winter background, but their beaks, bright orange and almost illuminated by the contrast. It was taken in China. Absolutely beautiful.

Anyways, I didn't take a picture of the picture, as this wasn't allowed. But what's a trip to the museum without a dinosaur skeleton on display? I spent a bit of time admiring the structure and size of this one, and trying to figure out how to pronounce its name...

04.09 BABEL

Night out in Clapham with the girls. Babel, not babble. But there was a lot of babbling. And words on the walls that were missing letters.

04.08 TRAFALGAR SQUARE

Trafalgar square, on a a rainy day.
Also a busy day, with little time to elaborate.

In short, the wet pavement, nearly puddles, with pigeons and people wading across is a very English scene, if I ever saw one. But I wish somebody would turn the fountain off? It forms such a juxtaposition against the drizzly backdrop.

04.07 PARLIAMENT

All this writing. Here's a pretty picture of parliament, aka the Palace of Westminster, taken from Westminster Bridge. I've yet to take a tour of the place and this is one of the few remaining sites to check off my list of 'touristy' things to do before I can officially consider myself a resident. I do believe, however, that Parliament is up there with the London Eye in terms of things that locals love to see and visit. With its 1100 rooms and 3 miles of corridors, I do hope they've devised a beeline route through the place.For now, I will appreciate it from the outside - an architectural marvel by Sir Charles Barry. I can only imagine how impressive it's belly will be.

04.06 STEP ONE

I've got the bristles and linseed out again. This time, rather than splashing my imagination on canvas, I'm working from a photo, taken nearly 6 years ago, during my visit to Australia.

It's an exercise in technique more than anything, and I can certainly use the practice.

Like a jigsaw puzzle, I've started with the background, which frames the picture, and am working inward toward the more detailed object in the foreground - a bird. You'll see.

04.05 EYE

I have yet to take a trip on the London Eye. My first impression was that this glorified Ferris wheel is an overpriced tourist trap. But I find more and more locals have taken their turn in one of its capsules and taken in a remarkable view of the city. One of these days so will I.

For now, I quite like the view from the ground.

04.04 CONCOCTING

Out with Claire and some friends in Clapham. She looks angry, but I promise we had a good time. Lazy eye?

Started at mine with red wine, moved onto her previous workplace for martinis and fancy coctails, then onto a club sipping rum. A toxic concoction, but I survived it. Thankfully I needed only to cross the street and walk two minutes to roll my tired and tortured body into bed...

04.03 PROTEST PARADE

More G20 action at Bank - it never ends. This afternoon, a parade of protesters marched past our building and my coworkers and I scrambled from the third floor, flooding the streets to decipher the commotion. It was a trade union group, from what we gathered, although it was difficult to tell exactly which. Someone was hollering into a megaphone, but it was not clear exactly the point that was being made. After the commotion of the past few days, their group of 50-80 seemed minuscule and inconsequential, but at least they were out there. We wondered exactly where they were headed, who their target audience was, and what the point of their effort could be. Unfortunately, I had to get back to work and have little to report...

04.02 AFTERTHOUGH

The day after the G20 protests, I wandered back toward the Bank of England, littered with the odd copper and peppered with afterthoughts graffitied on the walls.

This one caught my attention. Indeed, the streets were claimed, and overtaken by protesters on mass, blocking the usual parade of taxis and buses and automobiles. Whether we 'reclaimed' the streets is another story - were they really ever intended for us?

In any event, I get the point - and it is one that has been well made in the brightest of oranges, inward from the main road, yet catches your eye - if you're moving at the rate of a pedestrian at least.

04.01 G20 PROTESTS

I work around the corner from the Bank of England and made my way to the protests this afternoon. It was a spectacle!! Just AMAZING to see so many people out rallying!! I first meandered through the 'Climate Corner', where hundreds of friendly hippies had taken over Bishop's Gate St, camped in tents and kicked off a jamboree - all in the name of Nature. There was even a bake sale...(but I wouldn't trust the brownies weren't just made of cocoa). Anyways, it was a peaceful protest, as you would expect, with most of the crowd mellowed out with spliff-in-mouth...

Around the corner, however, was the chaos at The Bank - the crowd was raucous but not yet violent at the time I made my way through, so I joined in with some rants and chants about the state of the economy. There were some pin-striped bankers with the nerve to indulge on oysters and champagne in a building atop the crowd - or so that was the rumour going round - and I'm imagining the bottles I heard smashing were aimed at them. Wankers. As it was starting to get ugly, I got my money shots and made a mad dash.

03.31 ACHTUNG

The G20 Summit is due to take place this week in London. Protests are scheduled at the Bank of England around the corner from my workplace. I had a stroll in that direction over my lunch break and came across this notice that a restaurant will be closed on the day of protests.

It seems much of the Bank area will take a furlough during the protests, with the possibility of violence imminent. I do wonder just how agressive people will be, what damage will be caused and exactly what the outcome will be. While I do believe it is important to vocalize our opinions and exercise democracy, I wonder just how effective the act of mass protesting is in terms of changing or swaying policy. The world leaders attendin the summit surely have detailed agendas set forth, are already fully aware of the general consensus on the economic issues in their representative nation states and will forge ahead with whatever plans they had for reform - regardless of the flailing angry unemployed or sympathetic mob outside the building walls. We'll see.

03.30 CORNER OFFICE

I always wanted an office with windows and a nice view. I worked from home today. The ideal workplace - complete with fully stocked kitchen and bed for frequent breaks. Not to mention the view on such a sunny day.

I do find I am more productive working from home, without time wasted on the morning routing - working breakfast, blowdrying and makeup application into breaks taken occasionally as needed.

We should be allowed to do this more often.

03.29 ROWING

It's the famous, annual Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race !

I headed across the city to Hammersmith to watch the rowers whiz by on the bend of the Thames River. I didn't know who to root for, but from the looks of things here, I think Cambridge had the lead.

Oxford took the race in the end. But what I realised was that it was not so much the rowers I was excited by, but the crowd. Hunderds - thousands - flocked to the waterfront to watch the sport. As the rowers approached the bend, fans on the north side of the river who could see them nearing began to cheer. There was a slow, steady crescendo to the point when the rowers were in full view under the Hammersmith Bridge and everyone was howling in full throttle.

The two squads were moving alarmingly quick and I could barely catch the photo. There speed appeared hastened by a fleet of motorized boats in hot pursuit - media, medics and security.

It got me all excited about the weather warming and getting back into some competitive action!

03.28 BUSKER

Had a stroll through Covent Garden and watched some amateur buskers doing their thing. This man was quite acrobatic and somersaulted his body through a tiny ring. Well done. Wish they hadn't kicked me out of gymnastics at aged 6.

03.27 VISIT FROM DERBY

Juliette visited this weekend - a much needed getaway from the hustle and bustle of her life up in Derby.

With three teenaged sons, one of whom has a chronic bone disorder and currently in therapy after a major op, I don't understand how she keeps up with the journo course at NTU. She is struggling to finish up, but here, so am I and I have no excuses! Her motivation is remarkable and her energy even more impressive.

We scrounged some food and wine at a bar round the corner mine and got all caught up.

03.26 FRAGGLE ROCK

Saw this add in the tube and it immediately reminded me of Fraggle Rock - the 1980s childrens program about a clan of underground working muppets, called Fraggles.

I grew up on that show and it was a dedicated viewer.

I remember distinctly, the character Red, who was a good swimmer. I liked Red. I'm not sure why she was my favourite. Perhaps it was the athleticism. Red is just about all I really remember - and dreams. I'd like to rest my head alongside somebody else's sometime soon and share one...

03.25 OUTDOOR TUBE

As you might begin to sense from this blog, I spend a lot of time commuting - by foot, by bike, by train and by tube (if I'm not flying across the ocean).

Generally speaking, I avoid the tube at all costs - but today, I found myself waiting at an outdoor station, under a warm, humid, partly sunny sky - and it wasn't all bad.

This is the South Kensington tube station. The structure oposite the rail tracks looks almost like an ancient aquaduct by the angle (and distance) of this picture. It is rather pretty, with the trees edging over and the spots of graffitti here and there. In no time, a bustling train will overwhelm the tranquility of the scene - but it is just that fact that makes this moment worth capturing.

Soon enough I'll be trapped in the confines of another rattling tube train with another bunch of strangers breaking the unwritten prohibition of smelly-food items in the dark underground distracting myself with another heavy hard-cover novel...

03.24 WALK

Walking home, I saw this advertisement - sponsored by Transport for London, the Mayor of London and the NHS - reminding me that I should indeed be walking home.

'Nearly half of all journeys are walkable.'

03.23 JAM SESSION

I don't remember the last time I went to church. It might have been with my parents, in Windsor, with the promise of a he-man breakfast at the Maple Leaf afterward...

Visiting a church is like a trip home. Indeed, I think of my religion much like I do my nationality - something I was born into, but by my own volition, have since departed from. But I can always go back and my return, even for a visit, conjures a sense of nostalgia but also some restlessness. I still consider myself Catholic, although not practicing - and my 'religious' identity is something that has formed my person as much as the fact that I'm Canadian. I am conscientous, forgiving and vaguely ascetic as much as I am laid-back, friendly and active - stereotyped characteristics drawn from my Catholic-Canadian upbringing.

On a tip from Barb, who visited St Elthereda during her visit to London last autumn, I made my way to the oldest Catholic church in London. Barb had been especially impressed by the choir and I made sure to attend during a sung service. The church is a quaint, but with elaborate stained glass with strong purple and blue hues. It was a sunny day, and the windows were gleaming.

It was a beautiful setting.

Anyways, at the end of the service I caught the organist, a young, passionate player jamming, in the style of Elton John on the keys. It was intense, and amusing - but sweet.

03.22 BREAKFAST WITH CLAIR

Amazing! We meet again. On her return flight from Cape Town to Toronto, Clair had another layover. I hurried to the airport for 8 AM and we had breakfast together.

Seeing her again felt less remarkable than it did a few weeks ago; somehow, I think this is a good thing. It is not to suggest I am taking for granted the opportunity to spend time with her - as these opportunities are few and far between now that we live an ocean apart. But there was something reassuring in the frequency of our meetings this month - something that made me feel like an ocean isn't so far and wide after all....

03.21 EAST DULWICH

Went out for drinks in East Dulwich, where Paul and his brother have just moved into a new flat. It happens that they live up the street from Kat's friend, Ben, as well.

It took just 30 minutes to get there by bus - yet it felt very much outside of the city and in fact reminded me of some of the neighbourhoods in Mapperly when I was living in Nottingham. Being on a hill, many houses were a few steps below the street level and overlooked the city, with a gorgeous view of the river, the Eye and Canary Wharf. Very domesticated.

I suggested they have a Rye-and-Pie for a housewarming since Wine and Cheese has been done and done again...It's a pretty cozy house already though - even with only just one plant.

03.20 CRASH

I live on the high street. It's busy, bustling and noisy all at once. I'm used 3am cahoots from kebab-eating drunks, the bass blaring from Kazbar, the gay bar just round the corner, and the constant hum of traffic passing by along with the occasional blaring siren.

Despite the kerfuffle, to which I am near-deaf, I jumped from my seat mid-morning today when what I heard was a screech and dramatic crash on the street. Not good.

It was early hours and there was hardly any traffic on the street - but somehow a lorry managed to turn in front of a car, causing the driver to veer onto the sidewalk, hitting a post and a pedestrian in the meantime.

Within minutes there were people at the scene and 999 had been dialed. That was a relief, because I forget how to do CPR and I was please the bystander effect hadn't taken place - perhaps because there were so few people on the streets at that hour.

I peered down from my roof to find two bodies on the pavement, on either side of the building I live on. The windshield of the small black car had been smashed on the drivers side, and he lay on the ground moaning, motionless. Initially, the situation looked grim - but soon as the paramedics arrived, I could tell the victims were not in critical condition by their response. They treated the patients on the spot, checking for internal injury and then administering anaesthetics in order to move them to the hospital.

I watched reluctantly, knowing that my position only a few feet above the scene was rather intimate. (And I felt like the paparazzi taking this picture.) I could hear the conversation between paramedics and police, sharing details, giving instruction. I watched one NHS staff cut the trousers and shirt off of the pedestrian woman so that he could check for visceral injuries and strap her onto a cot.

It frightened me and appeased my fear at once. Although the police appeared to be rather disorganized, the medics were clearly in control of the situation, telling the officers what they needed and cooperating amongst themselves to help the victims. Still, it was an alarming start to the day - and I hope the outcome is good.

I walked out of my flat later this afternoon, a saw spattered blood on the ground that looked like ketchup. Had I not witnessed the accident, I could easily have mistaken this for a condiment. It's amazing how our lives carry on when we have only a proxy or partial awareness of what is around us, what is happening in the wider world and just around the corner, while for others the day is halted abruptly, unexpectedly - and life is turned around.

03.19 GARDENERS

More signs of spring. I spend many of my lunch hours sat in the gardens of St Dunstan's church ruins. The gardeners were out this week. I watched, peeking over my book, as they laboured over the lawn, carefully rolling the grass out over smoothed dirt like a rug.

There was such an art to it, and I admired the sprightliness in their effort and could see the fullfillment of their task when they stood back every few minutes to admire their work. The garden was transformed, from a bare weathered pit to a colourful vibrant oasis in the middle of the city.

As my hour for lunch came to a close, I realised that I envy these men and the handiwork that they do with such care. So many people retire into gardening - these men have made a living of it.

03.18 BOOKS

Charing Cross is famed for its second-hand and vintage book shops. I popped into a few of them recently and found myself alone in the basement of one shop.

The walls were concrete, chipped white paint with some brick exposed here and there. Built into the walls were bookshelves - stacks and stacks of books, lined in a vague order, the system for which was so incomprehensible that it made for even better exploring and even more rewarding when I picked a gem from between two dusty covers and took it home...

03.17 GREEN

It's St Patrick's Day. I find in England it is much less celebrated than it is in Canada; I suppose this is because the English intentionally differentiate themselves from Catholic Irish, whereas Canadians like to embrace the culture and the green beer that comes with their holiday. We flood Patrick O'Ryan's in Windsor and pack Sliante's in Hamilton on the average saturday night - and St Pat's is no exception whatever day of the week it should happen to fall!

Anyways, as it happens, I met someone recently, named Drewry. Obviously Irish. I thought of him today as I walked across the common - the sun shining, the grass green as ever and with the luck of the Irish on my mind. A few days ago, he passed along this springtime poem:

Spring is sprung, the grass is ris’, I wonder where dem birdies is?,
Why, the birds is on the wing – but that’s absurd, I always thought the wings was on the bird?
Lucky charms. I used to eat the marshmallows last.

03.16 SEAL HUNT

People are always protesting something. This disgruntled looking woman is handing out flyers advertising the legalised annual seal cull in

Canada.

Interestingly, the flyers stated in bold 'Oppose the Cull by NOT TRAVELING to Canada.'

I'll come back to that.

In spite of intense international pressure to stop the practice, Canada refuses to put an end to the chase-and-club cull of the very photogenic pups. It's been banned since 1983 in the EU. But it obviously brings in a lot of loot, especially among indigenous people, who rely on the commerical interests and government support for their livlihood.

The animals are used in total from pelts to blubber to meat off the bones. Neither are the hooded seals endangered, which leaves no strong conservation-based argument for the government to put a halt to it.

Indeed, it is a tragic and inhumane method of bludgeoning the furry little things, and I think we can all live without another fur coat. On the other hand, the meat and blubber is exceptionally nutritious and we could all use a helping in place of another big mac or industrialized hunk of corn-fed beef.

I'm not suggesting this practice is right and that it should go on. Rather, it should be kept in perspective. If the cow were as exotic, as cuddly or as cute as the seal, would more of us protest with such passion? Would we all stop eating meat? How much of the by products of a cow go to waste? How much damage has the domestication and mass rearing of cattle caused our land, our air and our own bodies? We need to pay attention to the bigger problems - the real issues - instead of diverting attention.

Don't tell me not to travel to Canada to protest the friggen cull. Tell me not to buy a fur coat. Tell me to board the Sea Sheperd and sail the seas with my arms flailing and my feet freezing, but my efforts going toward something that actually makes an impact.

03.15 DANCING GIRLS

Today was all about the women. Shopping, Talking, and a bit of Flamenco dancing.

Apart from visiting me, of course, the Flamenco Festival was the purpose of Rako and Claudia's visit this weekend. Claudia is a seasoned dancer, not surprising as she has roots in Southern Spain mingled with her Mexican blood.

Before hitting the show, we dragged Rako out and about to get a bit of shopping done. As you see, he did a great job of leaving us to it without complaint. Along the way, we ventured into some old second-hand book shops in Charing Cross, where I landed a gem. Yes, a paperback copy of Margaret Atwood's collection of short stories entitled 'Dancing Girls'. How fitting.

I knew little about Flamenco before this weekend. It's roots are moorish and hail from the South of Spain. The music involves the guitar, of couse as well as drum and the singing is operatic - long drawn out words, held in vibretto, with the resonance of an Arabic chant. The performance itself was remarkable. I've never had lesbian tendencies -but these women were so powerful, so strong and fierce in their step, with their arms flapping and dresses flailing. It was absolutely stunning. Flamenco is a powerful dance, and passionate to say the least. I was so impressed and so moved by the performance. These were no mere Dancing Girls. They were Dancing Women.

03.14 PICNIC

Rako and Claudia are down for a visit this weekend - it's great to see old friends. I have had so many visitors since moving to London, that I've developed an itinerary of sorts for enjoying a day in the city. Top of the list is the Borough Market. It is easily one of my favourite places in London and any foodie - or any non-foodie with an appetite - will share my sentiment. I'll admit, Rako was a bit overwhelmed by the cheese - he's not a fan, and cheese is what this market does best. The look on his face when he saw the Raclette...oh my. You'd have thought that they were grilling human flesh...

Claudia, on the other hand, was all about the cheese and inevitably left with a few purchases that I'm sure she was please not to have to share with her husband. It was great to have her along - I would never have thought to order what appears to be a simple pasty from the Argentinian stall. Indeed, it was a traditional empanada complete with chimichurri sauce for dipping. It was scrumptulescent - and even met her authentic Mexican standards.

I took them for a long walk along southbank, with a nip into the Tate, to work off the nibbles before meeting up with friends for curry on Brick Lane. A splendid day with plenty of time for catching up and a little bit of gossip from the old lab..

03.13 RED NOSE DAY

It's Friday the 13th. It's also Claire's birthday. And it just happens to be red nose day (http://www.rednoseday.com/)!

This is something altogether new to me. I expected men in suits with traditional clown noses on racing into work on unicycles. To my disappointment, we professionals are much too sophisticated to partake. Actually, it is properly a rite of passage reserved for celebrities - when those who were never inclined to tell a joke have a chance to try and be funny, and raise money all the while. Professional comedians and non-celebrities also get out for the cause, as do schools and various organizations. It is a day of comic relief - and a day to do something for charity...and charity giving is huge in the UK.

Sophie did her best, by baking this birthday cake for Claire, all in the spirit of red noses! I secretly wished I'd gotten the piece with the nose, but then it's not my birthday after all...

03.12 TOURISTS

It's my lunch break - I've taken a short walk, just past the monument to the Great Siege (http://3sixty6.blogspot.com/2009/03/0309-seige.html), to have a view of the Tower of London and Tower Bridge.

A group of tourists - students most likely at this time of day during this time of year - reminded me to appreciate the view, the fact that I'm a stone's throw from these remarkable structures, laden with history, still standing, waiting to be discovered time and again as each new group of tourists are coralled through.

This is how I spent my lunch break. In Windsor, I remember eating lunch in the staff kitchen watching the local crossdresser making his rounds in the bins, clad in a dinghy yellow housecoat and pink slippers. Poor soul. Strange man. My heart warms up at the thought, but confess, I don't miss him very much.

Similarly, I do miss the Detroit skyline and have a soft spot for the Ambassador Bridge (even after they paintind it aquamarine.) - but admit, it is really flipping amazing to live in London.

03.11 OH CANADA...

...we let go of the hug, she hurried into a cab in rush hour traffic and I was left with a pane of glass window and my sister waving from behind it. For a moment, that pane of glass had the depth of an ocean - my eyes were welling. Crap. When did I get to be so emotional? I was always dramatic about goodbyes, perhaps a remnant of a maladaptive attachment style growing up?

When the taxi drove off, I found myself stood directly across the street from the Canadian Embassy, the flag taunting me - anchored to its post as I am anchored to this island. Nostalgia. Longing. Homesick.

Sigh.

'Being seasick at sea is not the same as being homesick at home.'

03.10 LAYOVER LUNCH

I meet a lot of people like me, living in London, miles and miles of ocean or land distancing them from family and long-time friends. Often, the speak of missing family, mostly on holidays and special occasions.

I miss the little things. Coffee at the Second Cup in Westdale, Sunday mornings at The Maple Leaf with my parents or skipping town to have dinner with my sis in Toronto.

And this is what made today so remarkable. I 'did lunch' with Clair and her two co-workers Don and Aerin. She phone a few weeks ago to mention a layover on her way through London to Cape Town. We had the whole of 3-4 hours to trek through town to The Cinnamon Club for a fashionable lunch near Westminster and a quick catch up on life, work and the everyday - the weather. It was such an ordinary event, a few free hours on a workday to catch-up, and yet such a special occasion for a Tuesday afternoon in London.

Although I'll see her in Paris in May, it was still disheartening to let go of the hug.

03.09 THE SEIGE

This monument commemorates the Great Seige of Malta (1940-1943). Because of the crucial location of this tiny archipelago - it's nearest allies were Gibralter and Alexandria, neither of which was closer than its neighbouring enemies in Italy - Malta was a much sought after territory.

'Beseiged by enemies, Malta became a fulcrum on which the fate of the war balanced for the next three years.'

If Malta had been lost by Great Britain, the rest of North Africa would follow, opening a transport gateway for Axis powers. So important was the position of this tiny island, that it became the most bombed location in the history of war.

This might baffle the mind of the average tourist visiting Malta. The islands are frequented for their pristine beaches, sunny skies and friendly folk. There are few ruins remaining; indeed it is believed to be a miracle that so many of the country's revered church buildings were undamaged - including the famed Mosta Dome on which a bomb fell, but failed to detonate during a church service with over 300 people in attendance. Imagine!

But anyone who knows a Malteser can better grasp the remnants of WWII by the love of their own country - by their nationalism and pride. It's endearing, probably because the sentiment is well deserved and grounded in the heroism of their history. Where individuals have little to boast for themselves, they can also point to their emblem, the George Cross, awarded to the country as a whole.

In 1942, the Maltese were on the brink of starvation when Operation Pedestal was mounted in an effort to save the people and protect the territory from Axis control. People were down to morsels of dry bread and water once a day, a can of tuna per week. On 15 August, the Feast of Santa Maria - now a national holiday - one of 14 original tankers that set out on mission arrived at port in Grand Harbour. The seige was broken and Malta was, though no longer in one piece, finally at peace.

03.08 THE MORNING AFTER

...I found Paul in my bed. With Kat and Ben.
Right. Of course - the cheese. We had crashed out after mountains of Edam washed down with Malbec.

I had heard about cheese dreams - the wild and wacky mental state brought on by eating too much before bed. But I didn't expect my dreams would in fact be about cheese.

But I woke up with an epiphany, rolled over and asked Paul, 'Why did the Aged Cheddar cross the road?'

He looked weary and confused so I just told him.

'It was so old it Camembert why.'

(*overwhelming laughter, knee slapping and applause. I take a bow. Thank you. I must still be dreaming*)

The cheese had a different effect on Paul. Or perhaps it was my cheese dream. But he found himself endowed with superhuman powers, the Wizard of Wensleydale perhaps? I'm not sure. But he could churn a mean Manchego with that look in his eye and a swift wave of his imaginary wand.

03.07 CHEESE DREAMS

Cheese sherades. Can you guess it from a snapshot?
It's not any easier in real-time. Sanam's impression of...a Parmesan cheese grater. My, oh my. And we're only into our first bottle of wine - but must be at our fourth round of gouda.

A good part of the evening was spent sampling cheese, discussing danish blues, imitating kitchen utensils and trying to figure out just why exaclty the cheddar crossed the road...

I fell asleep in the wee hours of Saturday, drunk on cheese, in a spell: dreaming of cheese.