02.28 BLOOD, SWEAT AND MUD

I'm pulling a Lance Armstrong. Fair enough, its not nearly as dramatic an encore to my sport - and nobody's really watching -but I'm back for more cross country action.

It's been nearly 3 years since I ran a trail run, and even longer since my last cross country event. Today, I answered the call of my running club for one female runner - we needed enough finishers to win the league championships. All I had to do was cover 5.7 km.

It is amazing racing without a smidgen of pressure, with no expectations and ignoring the clock. I slipped into my old orange spikes, slapped the legs down and burst into a few strides hoping my legs would follow my pumping arms. Not quite there yet.

I received a finish time, but opted not to do the math. I put in a good effort, but it became very apparant midway through the race that I'm nowhere near the fitness level I'd like to be to start chasing the pack. Instead, I sat comfortably behind a girl with taught calves and broad shoulders who had a steady pace going and was strong on hills.

I finished a book recently called Ultimate Fitness, written by a journalist for the New Yorker who delved into the science and social customs of the sport. The chapter on endorphins I found particularly interesting - there is very little evidence for the 'runner's high' as it is known. It is near impossible to accurately measure endorphin update during physical activity and circulating markers are only a proxy to what affects the brain. The author describes the effect the runners high can have on motivating individuals to keep active, and compares those lucky enough to experience it to others who exercise day in day out without this extra boost.

I sat and thought, after my race, what it takes for me to experience this and how important a factor it is. At the moment, I stay active to keep fit and for social rewards. In absence of any extreme stimulus, I am still highly motivated. At the same time, there are more subtle, mood-enhancing effects of exercise that are sufficient to keep my emotions buoyed - an effect more valuable, I think, then an extreme high that comes at the cost of physical comfort.

Today I found a somewhat happy medium. There was something at least moderately entralling about being back on the turf - kitted out, part of a team, mud on my legs, sweating it out, and even sporting a war wound from the effort (the blood was nothing harrowing - i think i clipped a branch somewhere!). And though it wasn't quite the same as the effect of a championship effort, I must admit it was worth the absence of pressure. Although there was an inkling of desire for something bigger in the spring...

02.27 GARCIA GATHERING

It's Maddy's birthday. We started the night over some stand-up in picadilly, where, in my opinion, the line of the night was: 'Ever since Bush stepped down, even plane crashes have gotten better.'

After a good laugh, we scurried along to a nearby restaurant for a late-night bite. It was great to meet some of her friends, whom I've heard so much of; but it was especially good to finally meet some of her family.

Maddy's family are Gibraltarian. There is a strong link between this little rock and the the rock my parents call home. During WWII Malta and Gibraltar were strongholds - key logistical ports for transporting goods between the allied countries. Supplies were often shipped between Cairo, to Malta to Gibraltar on to the UK and the continent, and could explain why Maddy's father has neighbours who are Galeas and Caruanas and Micallefs.

Her parents are a quirky couple and so very kind. I could tell her father had a fiery spirit with a political charge, a characteristic I find common to people are who come from small nations; he explained it by his Spanish blood. That probably makes better sense. Her mother is colourful, in trendy, thick rimmed glasses and a beaded necklace. She smiled a lot and appeared so pleased to meet Maddy's friends and I. Her sister, Ana was engaged only last night and came out with her soon-to-be groom. She has so much in common with my own sister that she felt immediately familiar to me. She works in the television industry, formerly a freelance producer, now directing documentaries and film. I think if I sat her in a room with Clair we'd never stop them talking.

As an afterthought, Maddy texted me and mentioned her family felt instantly familiar with me, like I was family too. Funny, I felt the same way. Perhaps it's because Maddy and I are so alike? Or maybe its because of the Gib-Gozo link? Is it that surnames start with a 'G'? Or that the island of our heritage do? Who knows. But it was nice to meet them just the same.

02.26 SPIRALING UPWARD

Remember The Monument?

This is the inside. I managed the 311 step climb at my lunch break today - it's a good thing the view wasn't breathtaking because there was little breath left to exhaust.

The sun was shining (London's weather has yet to meet its widely-held reputation as far as I'm concerned) and I could see quite a distance. Canary Wharf to the east, St Paul's dome to the west and crane after crane after industrial crane stretching their necks in all directions. They looked like giraffes poking their heads beyond concrete tree tops.

I must say that the view of London is much prettier from the bottom up. I suppose that feature comes with being older than elevators. Rooftops are less than dramatic, laboured with ventilation pipes, studded with rain drians and circled by pigeons. A closer look did reveal quite a bit of detail, however; some of the older buildings in view were laced with beautiful butresses, but the detail was so sharp that it could only truly be appreciated with binoculars, of which I was lacking.

Anyways, I hung around for a good half hour; snapped a few photos and did some healthy people watching. Then I spiraled downward back to work.

02.25 RECESSITATION

A recent headline read 'Every 25 seconds, somebody loses their job'.
If I've done the 'maths' correctly, that's (the unlucky number) 3456 jobs a day. We are deep into the global recession, and apparently still spiraling downward.

Everywhere there are signs of financial disarray.
Even Woolworth's, a landmark in the UK since 1909, has dismantled all 800 branches across the nation. How long the shop round the corner from mine remains vacant will be a sure sign of continued troubles.

It has been long established that the world's financial woes stemmed from excessive sub-prime lending in the US, because banks were too lenient and bosses too lax. Our (our?! can I say that?) unfortunate PM, Gordon Brown, was voted into parliament just in time to take on the heroic task of resuscitating the economy. It's not going very well so far. Push push blow. Push push blow. Listen for a breath.

Nothing.

In the fall, actions were taken to encourage consumer spending. VAT was cut by 2.5% in the hopes that we shopaholics would salvage the economy, or at least give it a boost. How confusing. From a psychological standpoint, I did wonder what would be the stronger motivating factor - the opportunity for immediate gratification sought through discounted purchases of things we don't need versus the prospective precariousness of our incomes and livelihoods. Buy the shoes for 1 pound less? Or save the money for milk and bread?

It also raises a question of the collective versus individual interest. If we all went ahead and spent more money, surely there would be a substantial, perhaps even salvaging boost to the economy. But we make choices individually, and I, for one, am not about to go on a spree because I might save 20 p on a hat.

It's my understanding that the VAT slashing scheme was a failure.
We're/I'm not that naive. Some people are. I look around me and people don't seem to be behaving as though they could be 1 in 3456. Perhaps its a false confidence? Perhaps its a false non-confidence in the economy? I read an interesting article in New Scientist last year on how widespread attitudes/beliefs underpin most economical swings and could even be the driving force of a recession.

Maybe if we all collectively act in disbelief, the recession will just go away.

02.24 PANCAKE PRIDE

I made the perfect pancake. Yes I did. This is no time for reticence.

Mardi Gras. Fat Tuesday. In Canada we just call it Pancake Day. At least we did when I was growing up - because it really was just all about the pancakes.

The papers today highlighted pictures of indulgent celebration, of excess and gluttony, across the globe. They also subtly mentioned, in their usual, self-deprecating manner, the relatively sobering traditions of the British. On a day when the world is pigging out, they're doing modest dinners of flatcakes with lemon and sugar. Serving up the usual.

In Canada, pancakes are the usual. I decided to go a little wild myself and made an attempt at the British style mentioned above; but after one quick spritz of fresh lemon juice, I realised this pancake was far too fluffy for any mediocre condiments. I rediscovered the jar of imported Maple Syrup - hiding where I hid it from myself, behind the whole wheat fusili in the back of my cupboard - and drowned it.

I wish every Tuesday was dedicated to getting fat.

02.23 HERBS

This takes me back to my flat on John St South.

It always seemed to take on the appearance that it was autumn, with brown leaves covering the carpet under the limping branches of various plant species that I had introduced to my exotic indoor climate.

I tried everything. I scheduled their feedings. I dusted their leaves. I tried to recusitate them with CO2-laden words of love. I shifted their soil. I even dragged them across my carpet over the course of the day, tracing the rising and setting sunlight shining through my south-facing windows.

But to no avail. Because I have been born with a brown thumb.
And here is yet another example of my decaying plant-life. Mind you, these are herbs (pronounced 'hhhherbs' in the UK, lest you raise suspicious of growing more than just mint and basil in your flat, i.e., 'erbs').

The plant to the left is a newer arrival, replacing the previous pot of greek basil which died a quiet death over christmas (it was thriving before I deserted it!). To the right, is a failed attempt at keeping coriander - a tricky one.

One of these days, I'll have that oasis in the city.

02.22 DISSERTATIONING

Yes, I'm still a student.

I deferred my MA dissertation last year, so that I could take up a job in the city. Finally, I found a Sunday free, and devoted it entirely to dissertationing.

It happens that the last time I was photo journaling, in 2005-2006, I was also completing a master's; it was a journal filled with photos of research articles, computer screens, text books and odd objects around my flat, where I spent all too much time thesising. It was this factor, above all, that made me appreciate the simple things; or drove me outdoors in freezing temps just to find something worth taking a photo of.

Today wasn't freezing; nor was there nothing better to do than write a paper on last year's news regarding health care access for asylum seekers...but today was one of those indoor days. It was the first day since I've been in the UK that I rejected all opportunities to get out the door, sat idle in my pyjamas but for the tapping typing away of my fingers, and wrote. And wrote and wrote and wrote until I had nearly 8,000 words on paper.

Dissertationing my day away.

02.21 RICHMOND RIDE

It arrived. The perfect day to introduce my bike to the streets of London.

I pumped the tires, shifted the seat, tested the gears and strapped on my helmet. And out the door we went.

It took a good while to get rolling. It's been nearly 2 years since i last clipped into these pedals, and I've toppled enough times in the past to know better than to be too confident.

But soon enough I was cruising, weaving through traffic until I reached a clear stretch, reached 30 clicks and might even have yelped a little 'weeeeee!'

I decided to cruise along to Richmond Park, where a few friends have recommended running and cycling through. Mapquest showed an easy 8 mile leg to get there, but of course, I got lost. In twice the distance, I arrived - ready to picnic.

I only skimmed the skirts of the Park, having taken a while to arrive. But from the view I took, it is quite a vast space, with some rolling hills and trees spotting the landscape here and there. Parks in England are not very much like parks in Canada. They do seem to enjoy their wide-openess and it's hard to find secluded woods. Maybe it gives the impression that their land is bigger than it is?

In any event, I sat with my sandwhich and watched runners cross the canal, taking in the view, enjoying the balmy weather, admiring my olive ride. Giddy.

02.20 BUZZ FROM OZ

A belated Christmas present.
I like the idea of reviving the holidays mid-winter.
This one's from Erica, in Australia. A good enough excuse to be tardy.

Yet somehow, the gift manages at once to be both tardy and timely.
As you see, it has an obvious 'springtime' theme to it. (Or perhaps this is what Aussie's use to decorate at christmas in lieu of snowmen and reindeer?)

I received the package at work, tore through the wrapping and was abuzz for the rest of the day.

02.19 HAVE A SINK ABOUT IT

Salma popped round for a catch-up this evening. We had a good rant about men, a good waffle over pizza and did some brainstorming on living arrangements for the coming year - we're planning to share a flat once our current tenancies are up.

I'm pretty open to what options are out there, in terms of flats. But I don have one non-negotiable stipulation: that the bathroom sink has one tap. (http://3sixty6.blogspot.com/2007/09/0904-everything-but-bathroom-sink.html)

This only came to mind once Salma had left, and I was brushing the pizza debris from my teeth (that sounds more gross than it was). I've mentioned before my history of love-hate relationships with bathroom sinks and thought I'd point out the good and bad features of my present basin. As the snapshot reveals, it has one (only one!) faucet, with taps set on either side. It is a convenient, but unusually rare feature (at least in the UK), the absence of which at my previous abode (in Notts) became the bain of my existence there.

In any event, I am still on the hunt for the perfect bathroom sink. While this one meets most criteria, as you will see, the drain is one deep, dark gaping pit in which i've lost many a bobby pin, earring, q-tip...

For now, I'll give this one an A-Okay...

02.18 BIKEDAR

Bikes. Push-pedals.
Velocipedes (the first name for a bicycle derived from the French/Latin/Greek lingo for 'fast feet').

They're cropping up everywere.
This happens, year after year, as the weather starts to warm and I grow bored of running alone to stay fit and warm.

I start to think about cycling. And I just can't stop. My bikedar is in overdrive and signs like this bike-park suddenly come into view; I find myself walking in bike lanes, veering off course into bike shops, dreaming about toe-clips and carrying allen keys around for no good reason.

When I see an adult on a bicycle,
I do not despair for the future of the human race.
~H.G. Wells

02.17 PEDAL IT

The weather's warmed up, so I've taken to walking into work a few times a week.

With camera in hand, I looked around for something worth noting.

Every day, I walk past this decked out wall. Generally, my eyes are fixed on what is immediately to the right, and what you cannot see - a bike shop. Sometimes, I stop, and peek in at the latest stock, the newest model - the hottest bike.

But today, I peeled my sticky face and fingers from the shop window and shuffled a few paces to the left to snap this shot of, well, the wall.

The wall with bike wheels on it. Nice, eh?

Once I finished admiring the bike wheels, my eyes shifted to the barred door. That's the gate that swings shut over the shop window at night; I've yet to see it closed (I wonder what's on the backside - more attractive wheels?). Eventually, my eyes move on to the graffiti - a mess of orange, blue and yellow. I suppose most eyes would wander toward the colour, first. But I have bikedar. Anyways, the graffiti spells out the shop name 'Pedal It'.

I read this, then realised it's almost warm enough for me to 'pedal it' into work.
And I got really excited. I just might have to take my bike for a spin this weekend....

02.16 EYE OF THE BEHOLDER

Jenny advised me once to look for something beautiful, every day, and appreciate it.

I'm a person of simple tastes, and it doesn't take much to impress me. And in a city like london I needn't look far and wide.

So I set off on my Monday morning trek into work, deliberately in search of beauty. I snapped photos here and there, of landmarks and site and of ordinary, everyday things that suddenly sprung into view.

Then, I arrived at Elephant & Castle. It is one ugly roundabout, surrounded by 70s style block buildings of cold, colourless concrete and always ridden with congested with buses, bikes, taxis and cars. There is a pedestrian subway under the roundabout that allows me to escape, but briefly, the tumult of traffic overhead. The subway walls are painted in murals, offering a colourful retreat. Colourful is an understatement. The walls are kaleidoscope-like, dizzying if you don't blink with enough frequency. Beautiful would be an overstatement, at least in my eyes. The depictions are simple - festival parades, elephant trains and city scenes. The artwork is sloppy in places and balanced (unbalanced?) against multi-coloured tiles that serve to augment the toilet-stink of the subway corridors.

But one thing I'm learning is that familiarity breeds beauty. The more and more I walk through the subway, the more I appreciate its charm and the relief it offers from the less charming view above. It's all relative, perhaps. Behold?

02.15 MONSEL HEAD

After a very girly Valentines, we treated the boys to a muddy walk at Monsel Head. It was much deserved, of Barney, but of Paul especially.

That's right, the same Paul who spent a quarter-century cherry-less (see 'Cherry Picker' http://3sixty6.blogspot.com/2007/12/1211-cherry-picker.html )

On Saturday, we introduced him to shopping and dragged him out around Ashford town and Matlock-Bath on what turned into a bit of a day-long spree - at least on my part. I couldn't help all the quirky bits and pieces in the shops and I did need a scarf (mind you, I left the shop with two).

In any event, he was a good sport so we let him off the leash for a while.
Barney too.

02.14 BRAIN STEW

Spent the weekend in the Peak District at Jenny's bed and breakfast. It was a non-romantic getaway, along with Kat and Paul; although I did force a lot of loving out of Barney (Jenny's dog).

One of my favorite pastimes while in the Peaks with Jenny, is eating her stew (recipe is simple, but I have yet to master it: Saute veg and meat and drown it in red wine then put it in the oven until you get in from a brisk walk with the dog).

I'm not sure if it was the wine or the stew that rushed to my head first, but whatever it was leant to an interesting debate over cerebral dominance - left brain versus right brain. Jenny's a lefty. I'm a righty. Kat's a righty. Paul's a lefty. We decided to try and write love letters to one another using our non-dominant hands

Said Jenny's righty in a rather legible cursive form of Haiku:

'Stew is warming in the heat.

Warming to make us cuddly and contented.

Ahh...'

02.13 L'AMOUR

I thought V-day was an 'American' thing.
But Cards Galore was jam-packed with desperate men, eager to find the perfect pink card to accompany the dozen roses yet to be bought.

It was pretty hilarious. Here, the scene looks placid; two dudes casually window shopping. But step inside the shop and its chaos and panic and a lineup round the shelves.

I'm single again this V-day. No remorse. It was a year ago I was saying the same thing and then I met someone, out of the blue. By chance, I did encounter somebody, just moments before taking this photo, who made my heart flutter; it was unexpected. A business meeting. I might never see him again, but the chance meeting was enough to make me appreciate this scene, with a giddy smile on my face.

C'est L'amour.

02.12 GO-GO GADGET...

...Umbrella?

I confess. The first time I found myself in a flurry of English snow, I opened my umbrella. How embarrassing. I felt like Inspector Gadget, calling on my helicopter hat, but instead producing a parachute. In this case, either would have been more handy.

I learned, recenlty, how poorly London copes with snowfall - and how brilliantly the people do.

Early this month, the UK boasted its biggest snowstorm in 20 years. A cm of snow in the city for each year that has passed.

It was the biggest kurfuffle. Buses were down, trains weren't running, streets and sidewalks were undiscernable. One newspaper wrote that London should look to cities like Vancouver, Moscow, and Ontario (yes, Ontario! nobody gets Canadian geography here...) for ideas on how better to cope. But while the transport system broke down completely, I think the people of London coped well. Londoners relaxed and turned playfully childish - men in business suits building snowmen in the city, people packing and chucking snowballs and chucking them at their boss (ahem...oops!). Nobody was rushed to get to work, everybody had pulled out their cameras and stuck out their tongues to capture some snow for themselves. Nobody complained (until the following day).

It was pretty amazing.

This evening, we got another flurry of snow. Nothing to panic about. We're all used to the snow now - London, England seems to think it's inherited London, Ontario's jetstream, after all. But you can tell we're just a bunch of amateurs. Out come the umbrellas.

02.11 I SPY

You know that feeling that somebody's watching you?
Well I don't. I've become completely oblivious to this.

Living in a populous city, at least in my opinion, makes any average person more likely to be seen/watched/observed. People are always people watching; and there are just more people here to do it.

And if it's not somebody's little eye spying, then its probably a camera lens that's following your trail. CCTV is huge in the UK. There are 1.5 million camera's installed, nation-wide. It's a security system, aimed at deterring crime and providing evidence of criminal activity.

Plenty of people are against it, worried for their privacy. As long as there are no installations in my own home, and so long as camera's aren't linked to an audio system with a creepy paternal voice ragining demands and announcing wake-up calls throughout the city, I guess I'm okay with it.

But there's still something strange about spotting one, tucked in a corner, or way up above, where you hadn't seen one before, waiting for you to entertain its view...

02.10 THE TUBE

I spend a whole lot of time underground.
More than I'd like to.

It makes for plenty of good people watching (if you don't mind looking at someone from a 1cm distance) and I get through a lot of books (and a lot of under-par newspapers).

Minimizing my time on the tube has kick-started a habit of commuting back or forth by foot or by bike; but the odd day the trains are running on time, and I'm not feeling claustrophobic, I really don't mind it.

Today, I stood, toeing the yellow line that acts as an arbitrary cordon. (How is it that a strip of paint has become such an effective safety mechanism?) Looking lengthwise along the platform edge, the crowd appeared like a uniform mass, like a fleet of triathletes eager to plunge into the chilly current and willing to elbow or kick you in the nose if you get in their way.

Minus the spandex.

Come to think of it, it might not be a bad idea to strap on a pair of swim goggles and hold my breath the next time I squeeze onto a sardine-packed train en route to work...

02.09 THE MONUMENT

The Monument.
This is it. There are a lot of monuments in London and a lot of monumental things in the world. But this is 'The Monument'.

I walk by it every day. It stands, towering, nearly 62 m tall, just around the corner from my workplace. But since I moved to london, it has been hidden behind scaffolding and draped by tarps. It undergoes regular maintenance - regular being once a century - and just my luck, the centennial makeover fell just in time for my arrival.

I took my usual route over London Bridge to work today, and from the corner of my eye, noticed something was up. Literally. Had to look up to see it. The work is nearly completed and I saw the whole of The Monument for the first time.

It's...well...tall. Phallic. But worth more than a quick glance. It reminds me of St Paul's, another product of Cristpher Wren's design, in it's grandeur and in that it is simple and elaborate all at once. There is more to it - more detail - than my amateur photography can capture.

All monuments commemorate something, so you're probably wondering what.
This is The Monument to The Great Fire of London. It stands where the inferno got going in 1666. It got me thinking about the recent blaze across southern Australia, about the devastation and the death, and cities burnt to ashes. Flames as tall as this edifce. I guess this is what a monument is for -a tribute to mark history, something to remind us.

Had a moment. Then on toward the office.

02.08 FLOATING ISLAND

We shared a 'Floating Island' for dessert. This after a dinner of rabbit and eel - a culinary adventure if I ever went on one.

Earlier today, at the Dali museum, there was a series of watercolours depicting food-Eros. Pears and escargot, oysters and the likes. I think the Floating Island was one to inspire such artistic endeavours...

Almond-scented egg white mouse in a vanilla custard with pistachio shavings to top it off.
Better than...chocolate cake.

02.07 CARRIER PIGEON

It's a chance happening. London is a populous city and it's not often you bump into someone you know - or at least kinda recognize. But I was sat at a cafe in my neighbourhood, cappucino at bay, reading Alias Grace, when I noticed the couple seated across the way looked familiar.

After an awkward exchange of 'I know you. You know me. I know that you know that I know you' glances we exchange names and histories and realise that we met last fall at a house party in Wandsworth. Coincidentally I have plans to attend a party at this same house tonight.

'I know you' looks at his girlfriend 'You know her' and decides it would be interesting to send an anonymous message to his flatmate, who will also be at the party, with me. All I know about his flatmate is that his name is Ollie and he's tall. The note tells little more than this.

The party is a fancy dress. I hate fancy dress. The theme is 'Tube Stations'. I'm thinking I'll go as as 'Canada Water', (which is on the Jubilee line, if I'm not mistaken); but I have little motivation to rustle up a costume. I've got the Canada part down - thats easy. But how do I become water? I thought of dressing as a snow(wo)man -after all, the water in Canada is surely frozen this time of year.

I always wanted to be a post(wo)man. I finally have an opportunity to fulfill my dream of delivering through rain or sleet or snow or hail. Alas, I failed in my task as I was caught up in a cosy pub with friends in soho and without costume and never made it along to the party.

It's a populous city, but chances are I'll bump into Tall Ollie and his flatmate and his flatmate's girlfriend down the road and have a second chance at playing carrier pigeon then...

02.06 WHERE WAS I?

It's a new day!'

This is my yearning thought, on most mornings, as soon as my eyes open from slumber. The most I can do to contain my energy is to lie in bed for an extra half-minute before bouncing out of the duvet to get things rolling. Then, in one swift motion, I draw the curtains, eyes in a squint (at least on the rare occassion it's sunny), and...start considering my wardrobe (and my breakfast).

I'm a morning person, to say the least.

Today! Today is not only a new day. It's a new year - for the photo journal, that is (and only days ago, for the Chinese!). I'm picking up where I left off in 2008 (due to camera malfunction...excuses, excuses, I know), to continue logging 366 days.

I suppose an update is due. My everyday life is far removed from what it was last February. At the time, I was living in Robin Hood county, studying journalism and behaving like a student (starving, stressed, sleepless, studying). A year later, I have found myself in 'the big smoke', publishing two research journals and slowly discovering the scope of this city (nooks and crannies worth exploring everywhere!). I can't complain.

Every day is different - most are good, few are monotonous, many are worth capturing - and the aim of this second part of the photo journal will be to share a few months or random thoughts, sights, and stories with you.