06.30 SENTIMENTAL X'S

I'll try not to drown you in sentiment, in reminiscence or otherwise in too many words. But today marks the end of this project, the "photoblog" I launched three years ago as both 1) an an exercise in writing, as I was set to move to the UK to study journalism, and 2) a means of keeping you up to date on my adventures here.

The adventures soon transformed into the banalities of everyday life, and I hope that I've managed at least to keep the ordinary days interesting and to draw in some of the remarkable people and places I've encountered. But the lesson I learnt in my first attempt at photo journaling was that, indeed, it is often the most ordinary things that are worth capturing.

I called the blog 'Three-Sixty-Six' because it was intended to span the year from 1 July 2007 through to 30 June 2008, which encompassed the leap year on Feb 29 2008; however, I managed in the course to create a 'leap year' of a new form by first breaking my camera in early 2008 and then falling off the wagon in 2009 with too much on my plate to keep up the blog. In both instances, picking up where I had left off one year later. As a result, the blog spans 1) from my last summer in Canada, through my first semester at Nottingham Trent Uni, 2) then leaps to my working life in London a year later covering about two months to my visit to the countryside in Devon, and finally 3) leaps a second time to this spring and summer culminating today.

Appropriately, today's blog brings things full circle. Broken Social Scene, famed Torontonian indie band and mini orchestra on stage, are performing in the UK. I got tix along with a handful of friends, coincidentally a largely Canadian posse representing Vancouver, Montreal, Toronto and, of course, Windsor. In considering my company this evening, and the friends I have met here in the UK, the places I've travelled and lessons learned, I begin to find some understand the BSS debut album title, and one of my all time favourites, Feels Good Lost.

Over and out.
XX (those are hugs, not kisses, mind you, and sentimental nonetheless)

06.29 REFLECTION

The penultimate session in oil paints, and I actually feel like I've gained some skill and confidence in the art. The challenge today was not the lemon, or the garlic - no, I mastered that weeks ago! Instead, it is in the reflection in the silver bottle that stands tall behind the produce.

It's one of those that you need to stand (a barely perceptible distance) back from to appreciate, but that is hopefully good enough to ornament my parents kitchen or dining room wall one day.

Not only is this the second-to-last session in, but this is also the penultimate photo in this journal, which leaves me to reflect on more than just the reflection on the canvas.

06.28 FLAT HUNT

Three summers ago, when I was looking to move to the UK to study, Maddy replied to an email in which I had inquired about a room in a shared property in Nottingham. She was candid in her reply and mentioned that she preferred flat shoes to heels and a cocktail at a jazz bar to a rockin' night out. As it happens, she does on occasion where heels and can party like a rock star, but my guess (with Casey's corroboration) at the time was correct: that we'd get on like a house on fire (NB: that's not a reference to the time I forgot the boiling egg on the stove and nearly burnt down our pad on Premier Road).

Three years on, we're living together and looking to find a flat for the two of us, as our current threesome is sadly breaking up. What we have learnt after a few days of flat hunting is that the market is a mess for people like us, looking to rent. Changes to the Capital Gains Tax instilled by the new Conservative-LibDem coalition has prompted owners to sell and a proportion of the property that would otherwise be available for rent is now on for purchase. Lots of people flat hunting and not enough flats to let means prices are jacked and turnaround is swift - in one case from my experience, gone within one hour.

And this is why today we were shuttled around town by various agents to flats, apartments, estates and even developments like this one - the foundation barely laid. Here's hoping we find something, and find something we love. A place where two flat-shoed, cocktail sipping, kitchen-bound busybodies plus one hamster can call home for a while.

06.27 KNOCKOUT

Spot of shopping in the city, the intention being that most would be hitting the parks, the BBQs and watching England's knockout game against Germany at prime time, leaving the stores vacant but for a few indefferent female shopaholics.

That said, I don't actually fall into that demographic, which I would imagine mainly comprises women under 19. At heart, I was curious about the game, not just the outcome, but the action. While I did indeed get to the shops, I took an intermission to nip into a pub (albeit a touristy one) off of Oxford Circus to watch amidst a mixed crowd of foreigners and locals, with a half-pint in hand.

I was happy to lurk in the backdrop as England got smoked by their opponents, favoured to win just the same. In the end, the crowd shuffled out, heads hanging, while I enthusiastically resumed my tour of the mid-season sales.

06.26 THE OTHER WINDSOR

I felt a bit like a tourist today. Cycled to Windsor - the other Windsor - with the club. Covering over 60 km and holding 28-32 clicks most of the way, I was knackered once we reached the shop for a pick-me-up ice cream and cuppa in the middle of the Royal Park.

There was a funny sentiment about being in a place which my hometown is named after. I though of my home, off of Queen Elizabeth Road, which intersects with another street called Lloyd George (who I thought was a rock star, until I was at least 9 years old).

The Royal Park was huge, with shaded, hilly paves, a 5000 acre deer park and a wide-open space for Polo, where a few joggers were doing laps. We passed the equestrian statue of George III, overlooking Windsor Castle - beautiful view although it was difficult to take in as we were whizzing past at a quick pace.

After cake, most of the crew cycled on another 30 k to Clapham, and a few of us went into town to catch a train back, where I got a close-up view of the castle and a feel for the quaint touristy Windsor that in no way resembles my home town, apart from the namesake.

06.25 ART IN THE PARK

Walking into work, and I spot an woman with easel and a palette in hand. She is painting the fountain and foliage on Clapham Common. Her work is patient, relaxing to watch even. A moment's respite before I carry on my hustle to the tube and into work.

It reminds me of Art in the Park, the annual festival of crafts and creative works at Willistead Manor in Windsor. Casey and I were enthusiasts and loved to spin ideas off of the work we saw there, thinking 'I could make that''. But, then, I rarely put my word to the test.

That said, my recent endeavours in oil painting could sell for a few bucks at a stand...? Well, maybe a family member or friend would make a purchase, like the occasion over 20 years ago, when I spent an entire afternoon trying to sell painted rocks in my front yard, and made 5 sympathy cents off of Elvio, who lived across the street. All in the eye of the beholder.

06.24 BACKYARD

Nearly forgot a photo today. Had a quiet one in, pensive. The 24th and, in hindsight, that's probably why. Spoke with my parents on the phone, who were bimbling in the garden as usual. Inspired me to take in the vista that is my backyard too, albeit not as green and invigorating as my parents. Instead, our terrace overlooks a schoolyard, which, thankfully, has quieted for the summer. I'm rarely home in the week, and when I have been the incessant hollaring is a contraceptive in its own right. It's pleasant at times, but mostly just annoying. Tonight, peace. But somehow the quiet disturbs me. Just one of those days.

06.23 ENGLAND IN

It's England's third game in the qualifying rounds of the World Cup, against Algeria. Conveniently, my company has hosted a staff barbecue. So my work day ended around 2 pm, soon after the Pimms was poured and the chicken skewers came off the grill. I've become a follower and fan of the football - not the most enthusiastic and passionate among them, since its more of an acquired and temporary interest in the sport. It's the atmosphere - its contagious. The kitchen and patio were packed and the office floors empty as everyone watched with eagerness, then angst, then celebration as England defeated their oponents and made it to the knockout rounds.

06.22 PLATEAU

Just a few weeks of tuition to go, and I still can't figure out the jug. I've hit a plateau with this. Its always the jug or vase or bowl that throws me. Must be the transluscence. I need ceramic, not glass, maybe? This one was going quite well, and in the final minutes, I decided to add some depth with a few quick strokes in white to emphasize the shape of the bowl of the jug. It wasn't until I stepped back. Err. Well...the garlic looks alright.

06.21 CANOE

This is what I call a canoe. Not a kayak - although the English get these confused. I love to paddle, and I ensured that we spend some time this weekend off our feet and on the water. So, we spent our last two hours in the Lake District on the longest lake in the country - Windermere. Paddling about, with the Cumbrian mountains in the backdrop, skimming the peripheries to enjoy the nuances of the shoreline. Dan up front while I happily took the back seat to practice my J and C strokes. Frequent breaks for biscuits and crisps, and just to take in the scene. So much fun, and one of the highlights of the weekend. It has been a perfect holiday.

06.20 STRIDING EDGE

After a hearty breakfast of kippers and roast tomatoes, Dan and I set off to tackle the third highest peak in England, at 950 m - Helvellyn. With a vague map of the route in hand, we departed the lakeside town of Glenridding, beginning our climb, trying to discern one way from another by the vague instruction on our 80 p map from the tourist information centre that provided 'estimated walk duration' instead of distance travelled. Useless. We meandered our way to the first peak, which marked the beginning of our stretch along Striding Edge, the narrow toothy arete you see pictured - birds eye view as I perched alongside the drop from Helvellyn itself. We sat for lunch and considered Striding Edge once more, as there was an alternate route to Helvellyn via Swirrel Edge; but we could see people forging ahead along the arete and figured, hey, no problem. Indeed, it proved to be one of the toughest and frightening feats I've accomplished. Without a clear map of the Edge we relied on walkers ahead, some clearly more experienced, to determine the best route along. While Dan and I clambered carefully, trembling and clinging to every rock for our lives, regulars on the summit strolled passed casually as if there wasn't a several hundred foot drop below them. We reached a tipping point when I found myself scrambling down a vertical overhanging a drop and then descending in front of the final 200 m climb which looked as though it had suffered a recent avalanche. Seriously. At least the fallen rocks provided somewhat of a staircase, or at least plenty of options for grips and holds. In the end, we stuck nearer the grassy ledges, however, as they seemed more secure than the loose piles of rock. An orange strip of warning fence marked the top of the climb, - we made it, and were welcomed by a spectacular panorama of mountain tops, lakes and patches of forest under a mid afternoon haze - amazing - and a hungry sheep who tried to nip my raisins and peanuts! A few shots to prove we were there and a moment's rest to stop our knocking knees. Instead of descending via Swirell Edge we avoided another scramble and took Lower Helvellyn which probably added a good couple miles to the route - but we're endurance athletes after all and not rock climbers. (But we were today.)

06.19 JENGA

Whiling some time at a local bar/pub before dinner at one of the four Lucy's joints in Ambleside.

Dan's first go at Jenga. I win first game. He decides we should go for best of three. Fair enough. But it's my disadvantage: I'm drinking 13% malbec whereas he's drinking some girly 4% elderflower cider. Our competitive streak surface. A bit of bending of the rules here and there. Nevertheless, we both have butterfingers tonight.

I don't actually remember losing but I don't think I won. Must have been the wine. Or the hunger. Or the really terrible pop music in the background.

06.18 ROAD TRIP

Yes, that's rain on the driver-side window. But only just because we're in the Black Country (the heavily industrialised region of the West Midlands) We're en route to Ambleside, making a(nother) pitstop as I've fallen into a vicious cycle of coffee-loo-coffee-water-loo.

I'm the navigator, since I'm the passenger; but Dan put his serious face on to peg where we are and where we're going. Thankfully in this case, we have a map, and aren't relying on his vague scribblins on a piece of paper to figure where we're going, like our cycle to Brighton a few weeks back.

Indeed, so far the drive has been stress free, apart from a few traffic jams, and the usual London traffic (2 hours to get out of the city!). Thankfully, we were well stocked for a long journey after yesterday's shop and appeased our restlessness with wine gums, not to mention Dan's inexhaustive iPod playlist (although he did let me play a bit of my limited selection).

280 miles in 7.5 hours. At least the sun was out. And we made it in time for the football.

06.17 STOCKING UP

You'd think we were driving across the country. Oh, wait, we practically are, only England is just a fraction of my native land and a cross-country drive is like a trip up the 401. Like from Windsor, say, to the Muskokas.

We're going to the Lake District, national parkland and home of the Cumbrian Mountains, for a weekend of ambling, rambling and paddling in the countryside.

But first things first and to be certain we get there stock full of energy for the weekend's walks we're stocking up on food for the drive up. Enough to feed a carload, but its just the two of us. We deliberate juice flavours for a few minutes, contemplate wasabi peas then pass, don't hesitate over wine gums, and land some Reggae Reggae nuts just because we're curious. We've soon overloaded the basket with (mostly) healthy snacks and some crap. Sorted.

06.16 MAXIMALIST

I'd like to say I'm a minimalist. I can be, when I have to be. Like when I'm packing for air travel and am limited to 25 kg of shoes, shirts and toiletries, and shoes. Although I always tip the scale with that extra pair of knickers.

Given the luxury of travel by car, I let go of any inhibitions, dumping my contents into a weekender, a duffle bag a pack and two purses. Embarrassing, particularly as this is an outdoorsy adventurous expedition. I should be able to roll and squeeze everything I need into a 15 litre lightweight pack, right?

But the knickers. They just take up so much space.

06.15 GOLDEN RATIO

The objective today was to identify and consider the 'Golden Ratio'. In maths and the arts, this refers the innately aesthetically pleasing divide of an object or image equating to approximately 1.6. We simultaneously attempted to reframe our view, closing in on the still life to draw in parts of objects and adding a dimension of abstractness (I'm a natural at this...) to the painting. Coupling the two tasks was difficult, and I'd already drawn the image by the time instruction was laid out; the end result, what you perhaps might call a 'Bronze' Ratio, portions of a pot and an apple, and an oversized melon smack in the centre of the foreground. Getting there.

06.14 QUIET TIME

Busy week ahead at work. I'm taking holiday time on Friday and Monday which means scrambling to get work off my desk, while sacrificing lunch breaks and evening hours to keep my head above water. (Holiday? Is it really worth it?)

Took 10 to meander midmorning to the churchyard nearby the office. A quick breather before an extended session strapped to the desk, churning through paperwork, emails and meetings. Not a single person on the benches just yet, where often seating is 'grass' room only.

Might just make a habit of the breakfast break.

06.13 PRODUCTIVE IDLENESS

I'm terrible at relaxing. To make matters worse, a few hours break to myself seems rare these days. When I do block of some time, I turn geekish and read; but I've grown restless and lately seem to fill my free time with chores, errands and tasks that seem 'productive'. I've managed to break down reading into a chapter-by-chapter objective which gives it a sense of productiveness. Productive idleness. Whatever works. I threw a blanket down on the common, then threw myself on the blanket with a coffee and my book and met my quota of non-fiction done for the day. Would have read the paper, but front pages were splattered with accounts of last night's England-US game, and I've certainly met my quota of football for the weekend.

06.12 SOCCERBALL

What exactly do you call the game when the US are playing the UK? Certainly when the UK are playing terribly and the US are pulling their socks up, the game we call it is 'soccer'.

06.11 MAKE DUE

It's nearly midnight. Clock strikes twelve and this project turns into a pumpkin. For lack of a more promising photo opportunity, and for lack of time, I make due with this photo of Dan, in the kitchen, piecing together brie and toast with tomatoes for a late-night snack after a few drinks a the pub in Old Town. Making due with whatever bits and pieces we could scrounge from my pantry.

It'll do.

06.10 BUSINESS LUNCH

'Business' being a catch-up and the usual spot of gossip (instigated by my eager probing). My lunch date, alias 'Jags', works just over the bridge, and we decided to hook up for tapas, adventurously delving into a portion of lamb shanks and a helping of rabbit stew, while securing ourselves with a guaranteed pleaser (unless you're downwind of an exhaled belch) - the sizzling garlic prawns. (He doesn't like goats cheese. Bugger.)

Was a nice break in the day and good to see a running mate out of Clapham, out of spandex and out of context (either huffing it around Battersea or post run at the pub)...

06.09 ONE WEEK

Post! (Mail!) It's always so exciting to receive! I was expecting a package from my sis, and was nevertheless surprised to find its contents, a film called One Week by director Michael McGowan (of Saint Ralph fame) and starring Joshua Jackson.

I introduced Clair to Saint Ralph (for once, a film I had seen that she hadn't!). She loved it and went on to watch the director's more recent work, promising it is 10x improved. I'm sure I'll love it, but admit I have a soft spot for the story of a boy who wants to win the Boston Marathon, filmed in my university town of Hamilton. Not to mention One Week is a rather dark plot, surely a thoughtful tearjerker, about a man with just that much time to live.

Am itching to see this, and go back and revisit Saint Ralph to appreciate the directors style and development. All I need is a rainy day...(surprisingly few and far between these days in London)

06.08 COLOUR COORDINATION

Session seven. Last week was a midterm break and I feel I've already taken a few steps back in terms of technique. I approach the drawing with confidence, and get going with the colourful apple on the table in the foreground. Hints of ripening red blend into the pale yellow, and a hint of green around the stem. Not easy to master. Looks more like I've painted a pinwheel of colours.

The jug in the background I had nailed, but then decided to dabble just as the class was wrapping up, leaving me scrambling to sort it out at the last minute and resulting in what looks like a green-blue balloon with a rectangle jutting out the top end. I tried. We've done this jug before, or one that is similarly translucent and therefore difficult to blend, and it remains my nemesis.

06.07 PINE CONE

It's not an acorn. Nope. It's a pine cone. I should know these things. A senior moment - or perhaps a sign I've been living in the city too long.

Maddy is diligent, careful, outlining the scales of the cone, rubbing in the shadows and blending in the shape. It's a handmade gift card, which I hope the recipient appreciates. Her medium is charcoal, a messy option, and her fingers are blackened by it.

I'm not sure why she chose the pine cone as her subject for the drawing. I don't know much about cones, so googled. Surprise - the cone is an organ and contains the reproductive structures of the pine - releasing seeds! (I'll be an expert on this in just a few more google searches). The female cone is the most distinguishable, and is often used to recognize species of trees. The one on our dining table must be a chick.

It's also just an attractive subject for a drawing I suppose.

06.06 CUPCAKES

Day off (But for a half our interview prep for a magazine article I'm working on). With my 2010 New Year's resolution in mind (yes, I've lasted longer than 2 weeks, becoming an anomoly rather than a statistic...), I set out to grab a coffee and the Sunday paper. I wandered down Lavendar Hill until I hit a convenience shop (what do they call them here again...mental block. It'll come...*) that sold the paper (you'd think they'd all stock Sunday's...?). Reading material in hand (plus supplement celebrating 50 years of the pill. Power to women. Woo!), I set out for one of two new cafes in the neighbourhood, meandering past, then dipping into another new shop - a bakery and cakery - where I picked up a few cupcakes for the flatmates. Never been a fan, but in this case, I do wish I had bought three.

*(Aha! The word is Off-licence, as in, a premisis that sells alochol but where alcohol cannot be drunk on the vendor's premisis, unlike an on-licence, for example, a pub). Leaves me wondering what you call a 'convenience store' that doesn't sell alcohol at all...a non-license? I dunno.

06.05 PICNIC

Bottle of imported icewine and a feast of cold cuts, meat pies, crusty bread, and more cheeses than I can take in. Dan puts on his serious face as he preps the meal. Down to work slicing that loaf. A relaxing picnic on the common (but for the snarling dog invading Dan's comfort zone). The sun is setting and the air is still, calm, calming. We dust the crumbs off the blanket (think scene after a cookie monster raid, hold the cookies, replace with crackers) and recline after a hefty indulgence. Perfect. Content. Happy.

06.04 LUNCH BREAK

I've taken to going for walks on my lunch breaks, an effort to stretch the back and legs after hours at the desk. Ambitious on this scorching afternoon, I made it as far as Spitalfields near Liverpool Street, taking in the scene of the city grind along the way. Not such a grind at this hour. Constructions workers lined up in the shade under their scaffolding much on sandwiches, people-watching with a curiosity that suggests the view from ground level is a novelty. A churchyard spotted with city workers, lounging on the lawn, catching some sun. Business folk enjoying a pint outside overflowing pub doors.

Relaxing. The sun has this effect.

06.03 MAN AND FIRE

There is something primal, and amusing, that emerges when men barbecue. An element of wind and a two-foot flame consumes their dinner. Panic. A few grunts. Team effort. Fire is under control. Sausage and burgers are excusably charred, but cooked perfectly, of course, on the inside.

06.02 RICHMOND RELAYS

Love a good relay race. The Thames Hare & Hounds running club hosted the annual Richmond Park Relays this afternoon. Proved a nice change of pace to the usual Wednesday workout at Battersea.

Men's teams of four and women's teams of three (under the principle that we run slower, and thus will take longer to finish. Harumph) circuit a 3.1 mile undulating loop (that nemesis of a hill that still haunts me from the xc season included in the course!)around the park.

My team included Sarah and Cass as second and third runners and I took off first with the pack. We set off at an alarming quick speed, probably in the 'its merely 3 miles' spirit of a group of runners mostly training half-mar and longer distances. Proved rather excruciating, but the pain was over (relatively) quick, considering the miles I've been putting in of late.

All in a hard day's work.

06.01 TURKEY PIE

It's a cold and rainy night so I thought I'd rustle up some comfort food. Homemade potato and fennel cream soup and my first-ever attempt at a meat pie - turkey and veg in a made-from-scratch pastry (cold hands are, well, handy on occasion).

Proved a success, and won me points with the boyfriend. The easiest way to a man's heart...

05.31 FISH & CHIPS & SEA

Whit Monday. Dan and I decide to spend the Spring Bank Holiday cycling from London to Brighton. After a hearty fry-up, Dan plots out the route, and I take little interest in the directions, despite my overdeveloped hypothalamus (ask Phil at work, he's seen the MRI) and presumably superior navigation skills, err, generally speaking.

(Landmarks! I need landmarks like the Uniroyal Tire in Detroit...).

We're a good 15 km in and, referencing to the map, Dan points to his curly cranium. (That's it?!). Thankfully, he's jotted some notes, but when I take a closer look at the details it is only then that I realise his idea of a map includes vague details about which towns to hit and a few key junctions. Mine would have included every junction, fork, pothole and turn - and I might have thrown in the Uniroyal Tire for good measure.

His sense of adventure is to Indiana Jones as mine is to Frodo Baggins.

Inevitably, we take a few wrong turns -- but then a few right ones -- to find ourselves at the foot of Ditchling Beacon (which Dan ambitiously included in the itinerary, *harumph*) - with 100 km already weighing our legs. I managed it, trollying my lethargic legs up 1.2 km at an average of 9 km/h. Slow as frozen molasses. But I did it. (So did Dan, but his effortless climb, caboosing my effort, is probably not worth further mention...).

A few km coasting downhill, the sun setting, cows grazing lazily, alpacas in the distance, and splendid endless views of the undulating countryside and we're in Brighton. 5:15 and 115 km. We head to the waterfront, grab some salty, vinegary, greasy grub from the local chippy and park it (that is, gently sit our tender aching bums) on the pebbled beach (ouch!) by the sea.

I resolved to have fish & chips by the sea over 3 years ago, on a touristy whim, and this is my first. But worth the wait. Now I've finally gone and done it, and earned it well, and haven't enjoyed it alone.

05.30 HAND HORN

Jenny is a performer. I realised this one karaoke night in Nottingham, when she stole the show with her rendition of 'These boots are made for walking'.

She can also rattle out a classical tune on her living room piano and spends her working day on air entertaining South Yorkshire with her banter.

Her song and dance portfolio is expanding, with her ensuing fame using her body as an instrument. Sounds racy, but it was an innocent discovery in her youth. At the young age of 10, prompted by a season of summer camp idling, she discovered a talent that is soon to find her recording with the South Yorkshire Symphony Orchestra.

The Hand Horn.

Cupping her hands strategically, to seal any air holes, a gust of breath angled precisely between the thumbs reveals a gentle sounds that falls somewhere between a flageolet and a loon.

Piece of cake? Not so. A few attempts leave me breathless and dizzy and, despite finally achieving a toot, I'm still happy to remain a part of the audience (fan club!).

05.29 DEX

Dan hung up the headphones, in his words, around the time we met. He used to DJ regularly at a few local joints, but wanted his Friday nights back. Retirement ensued.

Perfect timing, more time for me.

He still does the odd gig for friends and special events, and tonight is a big one - not just because its a well-established Bank Holiday event hosted by his music guru housemate with a guest DJ known nation-wide. But also because its my first time in the audience.

His set is wicked good, and gets the dance floor going by the end of the hour. Embarassingly, I couldn't name a single track, err...plenty room for learning. But I got up for a boggie and observed Dan in his element - crowd pleasing, music hugry, energetic vibe.

05.28 LINE-UP

It's my first weekend with Dan in five weeks, as we've both been away. Never in the same place at the same time on a Saturday or Sunday - and rarely a Friday.

The line-up for the night: Drinks, Comedy, Food.

Discouraged by the Line-Up at a riverfront pub, we head instead to nearby Vinopolis where we begin the evening with a cocktail - it's early enough for me to enjoy a dirty martini without the risk of spillage on my dress.

We moseyed on to a nearby venue for the next Line-Up for the evening - three comedians, the first an Afro-Londoner with a momma's boy appeal, the second a grungy local with a few too many punch lines, and the headliner a more classic story teller, who stole the show. A good few hours of entertainment.

Entertained, but hungry, we foraged nearby for a bite to eat. The only option was a good one - a tapas bar in Borough. The final Line-Up for the night: rock-salt garlic prawns in a chili aolio, honey glazed hot cheese, pork belly with quince, ham and cheese croquettes (French done Spanish style - interesting), and anchovies with olive tapenade over greens. The conversation-stopping food brought the evening to a perfect close; we trollied home contented, a weekend night out together, at last...

05.27 KARAOKE

Our department hosted a Karaoke night. As part of the organizing department, I made it my responsibility to ensure everyone was having a good time, and therefore I was unable to, err, sing. Or attempt to, I should say.

I did get up and do the macarena at one point. But apparantly, this doesn't count as karaoke, unless you know the words (seriously, who actually sings along to that one??).

After a few rounds of bubbly and some beer, the lads got up and had a go at 'Daydream Believer'. Not a bad rendition at all. The crowd was wild - howling.

05.26 WELCOME DRINKS

The Bank Holiday weekend kicks off early, very early, with Wednesday night drinks and a catch-up with the girls. Lauren moved to the city recently, from Bristol, where she had taken a job after our journo course.

Now resident in Clapham, we met at a local pub for a few glasses of wine and some belated gossip, and to welcome Lauren to the big smoke.

05.25 FUNKY?

Tuesday. My weekly art installation. This time, a deviation from the usual fruit and veg, for a very challenging still life of a pair of vintage shoes and a ladies hat.

It's my mother's birthday, and I painted this with her in mind. She worked at a shoe shop in London whens he was in her 20s and has a thing for footwear.

I took longer than usual to sketch this out, as my viewpoint had me positioned with a foreshortening of the shoe. As a result, my painting was rushed. Blending colours on the canvas, I experimented with layer over layer until I landed the shades and shadows I was after.

The result, according to Stephen, was 'Funky'.

He asked whether I was American (no...), and said, nevertheless, that I painted in the fasion of some famous West Coast American artists, known to push paint along the canvas for a very fluid, in-motion effect.

Funky. It could work. I just need to find a way to make a lemon funky, but not in the smelly sort of way, and I'll have mastered my own style.

05.24 PORTRAIT PAINTER

Nope, it isn't Tuesday. After all, I'm not the only artist in the house. Salma has filled the living room mantle with her signature swirly acrylics, and is now 'dabbling' (can you call someone this talented a 'dabbler'?) in portraits, with a work based on a photo of our housemate, Maddy.

I say 'dabbling' because the work she'd displayed so far has been abstract, or (to say the least) imaginative - a flying-spaghetti-moster-like deity hangs over a My Little Pony beneath a ranbow that leads to a squawking chicken with feathers a-flapping, in one of her classic works.

It is interesting to see her style converted to realism. And she's planning to sell her recent works, which might have a larger market if she sticks to more typical (less disturbing) decorative subjects. In any case, a natural with the brush, she's destined to cash in on her talent....

05.23 GREEN VAN

Most of the time spent participating in the Green Belt Relay, involves being shuttled to, from and in between stages in a team van. Three colour-coded vehicles - Green, Blue and Red - are coordinated on a leap-frog-like schedule driving runners to their scheduled starting points, marshall points and designated finish areas to pick up racers as they finish. There's usually baking, always wine gums, the occassional post-run box of donuts, case of beer -- all amidst a faint smell of sweaty socks.

The van-time fun helps distract you on days like today, where luck of the GBR draw has me descend Box Hill (Stage 19 Map), only to climb the height across dorking and along the North Downs Way. A stunning course over 10.5 miles, but made arduous by Saturday's 10.65 already weighing on my legs, not to mention the sweltering mid-arvo start time and the fact I haven't run uphill in months. The panoramas were worth the effort, and the hills gave a good enough excuse to slow the pace...err, nearly 10 mins slower than yesterday's longer distance.

Still, it suits my perverse definition of fun, and, given the giddy folk in the picture, not mine alone.

05.22 LETTY GREEN

It's the Green Belt Relay, a two-day 220 mile relay challenge around the skirts of London that follows the M25 highway, encircling the city. Each member of the 11-strong team runs a stage on both Saturday and Sunday, ranging anywhere from 6-13 odd miles on terrain as flat as towpath, to hills so steep they cause you to walk, in crouching agony, up them.

When you aren't running, you're being shuttled, stage to stage, to marshall, hand out water, cheer or just relax by the start or finish of a stage. The logistics of the even is a feat in itself.

My stage (stage 8 map) today began at Letty Green, in Hertford and followed a stretch of canalside towpath to cover 10.65 miles ending at Dobbs Weir in Hoddeson. It was a flat fast course, and an opportunity to gauge my fitness, so I tried to stay focused, warm up and stretch, whilst my vanload, most of whom had already competed for the day, enjoyed a pint at the quant countryside pub that marked my starting point. It was worth the discipline, as I just dipped under 1 h 12 min for the course, finishing 3rd and within 1 min of two women ranked top 25 in the nation, which showed some improvement in my speed since I ran a half marathon in Feb. The cost of a quick course, however, meant enduring endless stretches of gravel towpath, lined with beer-sipping sunsoaking folk who only served, with their puzzled looks, to make me think twice about how I was spending my Saturday afternoon...not to mention harassing young boys who you'd think never saw a woman in spandex, dogs off leishes who made moving hurdles of themselves, and a riverboat called 'Slow Pace' that cruised past as I was huffing it in the last 5 k.

Tedious, but I enjoyed the flats while they lasted. Tomorrow I'm in for a more undulating change of pace...

05.21 HOME GIRL

On from yesterdays blog to my own very domesticated housemates. Salma, in particular, has a knack for making a house a home. From bread baking, to colouring the walls with portraits and paintings, stitching a cloth spice rack, to a flourishing garden of herbs and veg - she towers above Nigella on the pyramid of home-bound deities.

This evening, she was whipping up a risotto for a friend and gave me some instruction. Take home point: stir, stir, stir until your wrist feels like it's gonna fall off.

I watched in amusement as she plucked peas from a stalk on the terrace, harvesting a good handful of home-grown greens for the recipe. Each potted plant nurtured to perfection, while my shabby dried-out sunflower in a can - a birthday gift from Kat that was supposed to be fool-proof - limps in pathetic contrast in a shady corner.

I think I got the risotto down, but I'll leave the gardening to the green-thumbed domestic goddesses.

05.20 HOME BOYS

Dan prepped dinner for me this evening, just before his housemate Alex arrived with the ingredients for a Northern recipe he educated us both on. - sausage, onion, potato and bacon baked in a casserole. For the life of me, I can't remember what it's called. Let's call it filling, because that's how it looked.

Dan was wearing a pink t-shirt that matched my shoes. Hot pink. Suits him. He did the laundry around me, while I read the headlines online (Venter creates synthetic life form!). I got a lashing earlier for freezing his laptop (my magic touch...), then another for reading the news when I should have been paying him more attention (my own philosophy back to bite me in the bum).

Dan and Alex, along with Matt, are a domesticated trio, coordinating a weekly dinner rota, tending to their garden with some green-thumbed pride, fussing about patio furniture and admiring their lighting fixtures from time to time.

It is endearing, and worthwhile visiting just to be a female fly on the wall every now and again. A lesson in male domestic tendencies, humour and lingo.

05.19 UNICYCLE KID

Cycling into work today, this kid in school uniform riding a unicycle comes whizzing past on the pavement. His jacket tail flails behind him as he pedals with some determination - eager to get to class on time? or focused on keeping upright?

I tried to ride a uni once, in a hallway with the walls on either side as support. Just mounting the seat is a task, not to mention the dismount - tip forward. Figured, it just wasn't for me. Best stick to two wheels. (Pehaps even three after realizing just how poor my sense of balance was).

I missed the moment when the uni was transformed from a busker bike or a circus cycle to a trendy mode of transport and even a competitive sport. Or perhaps that transformation never occurred, as a bit of research reveals unicycle sport is nothing new. Downhill mountain uni has been around for decades and even team sports - uni hockey for one - are well established. The 2010 biennial UNICON is currently taking place in New Zealand - a circus of single-track superheros competing in artistic, track, off-road and team events.

Almost makes this unicyclist appear astray, heading along a solo swerve, a hazard on the pavement.

05.18 CABBAGE

"Nice cabbage!"

...said my oil painting instructor this evening, when he had a peek at my work in progress.

Today's session had us doing transcription - replicating another painting to train in the artist's use of brushstroke and colour. Intimidated by the possiblity of dabbling in a master's technique, I leant for a safe bet, selecting a picture with, well, more fruit and veg - comfort zone.

The selected work was by Cotan, Still life with Quinice, Cabbage, Melon and Cucumber (c. 1600). Cotan, a pioneer in realism, is best known for developing a still life style called 'bodegon', characterized by dead game, uncooked veg, dim lighthing and dark backgrounds, lending a surrealist feel to the work. Curiously, he has a thing for 'hanging' things - in this case, the cabbage and quince are strung and hanging in the left frame.

Bizarre, but I gave it a go, on Stephen's recommendation. Nailed the quince in no time (small, round, orange-tinted fruit are my new expertise...), but the leafy cabbage, with its blue-greens, yellow-greens and deep green shadows proved a challenge, and took up most of my time. It was a relaxing exericise, however, and good training in blending colour. Tip of the day: vermillion + crimson red = a deep purply nearly black background. Never use black.

05.17 WRITING ON THE WALL

Passing this worn and weathered building on my way back from the grocery shop, I took a moment to stop and read the writing on the plastered brick exterior. Writing stencilled upon writing.

Horses and carraiges jobbed for any period. Cars for Hire. Travellers....Stations....Etc...Supplied.

Give it some thought, and still can't make much sense of it besides it was once a shop, and that it has a history of dealing in transport ventures. Sack of potatoes, eggs and milk are getting weighty, so I shrug my shoulders and continue along.

05.16 GADGETS

Motivated. Motivated? My eyes opened from a night's deep sleep to clear skies. Sticking with my resolution to cycle weekly, I dragged my body out of bed, out of flannel and into spandex, rehydrated and set off for a loop around Richmond Park.

I didn't quite clip into the pedals before realising something was amis. It all began a few days ago when I thought I had to replace a flat. Took the wheel of, only to realise there was no puncture - the tire just needed some air. So Dan helped me realign the wheel perfectly before securing it. Piece of cake.

But I had barely left the front door today when I realised the odometer wasn't clocking my motion. It happens time-to-time when the sensor is not aligned perfectly. Drives me bananas. I leant over the handrail to fiddle with the gadget, only to find we had replaced the wheel with the sensor on the opposite side.

Sigh. Removed the wheel, fliped it round, aligned it perfectly and secured it. Off I went - at 0.0 km/h according to the measure. Sod it. I don't need all the data. I whiled the miles instead focusing on my cadence, taking in the scene and trying to forget that my fingers were freezing.

The last straw came as a cloud, rolling in tow of a gust of wind and a spatter of rain. It was at this point the odometer, in its last breath, wheezed a reading of 99.99 km/h, before going blank again. I enjoyed the momentary time-motion warp, imagining I could actually move that fast (wondering why the odometer - my odometer - even climbed to such a high speed), before trollying home, hungry, wet and in for a day of motionlessness DVD viewing.

05.15 SUPERHERO

If I were a superhero, I could eat all this food in one sitting.

Kat and Paul joined me at Whitechapel Gallery this afternoon, a long overdue date, as we've been saying we'd like to go for months. We doubled our achievements by following the gallery with dinner at Tayyabs - another on our 'to-visit' list. Pakistani feast - aromatic blends, tender meat, greasy naan and a bit of a kick. Bonus: BYO.

Fed and fuelled on superfood, we took a stroll to visit Ben, who lives not far from Whitechapel on the 5th floor of a block building in Stepney Green. A cozy pad with a lovely panorama of the city. Perhaps it was the view, although I can't quite remember, but we got on the topic of superpowers. He claimed flight before any of us could nab it, so Kat settled for invisibility and Paul, well, he decided he'd be 'P-man', and, well, induce incontinence (hands-free) on hapless villains (i.e., politicians). Since air and land were pretty much covered, I thought it'd be worthwhile if I covered the marine world and so decided on go-go-gadget gills as my superpower.

Beer ran out before the conversation, as always, and we were in kahoots until the sun went down and it was time to descend, by elevator (sigh), and beam ourselves back to our beds (conventionally, however, via public transport...).

05.14 SUN ROAST SANNY

We took a staff lunch today. After a morning deliberating where to go, I managed to negotiate the group out of Wagamama's yet again (I'm really not into their service style and don't appreciate the whole 'fusion' thing, which simply allows them to use common, generic ingredients and call it cool), and aim for a picnic in the park with some pork sandwiches from Grazing - Jess' fine suggestion.

The sandwich bar specialises in roast and deli meats, and is famous in our neck of the business woods for their pork roll, so I went for the signature item - with the works. Slices of pork on a granary bun with two roast potatoes mashed on top, stuffing, apple sauce, sofened carrots and cabbage.

It was over the top - or at least falling out the sides - Sunday roast smashed between bread! I'd give it raving reviews, but it was unfortunately rather dry (not the meat, but more likely the combo of potato and bread. Perhaps more apple sauce would remedy?) and I landed the fatty end of the pork, just before the chef pulled out a new batch of roast meat. Mouthfuls of gelatinous pork fat. Gross.

Still, I enjoyed it, and it's always nice to spend some social time with the coworkers. Must say (and can probably speak for the company), little work was done during the second half of the day - all the blood rushing to my digestive system left little to the brain for concentrating. We washed it all down with an early afternoon and a drink at the pub.

05.13 AUDIENCE

We are in for a blockbuster tonight. Robin Hood - yet another remake of the legendary tale - this time a more swashbuckling version than the Costner flick, and with a less jovial undertone than Men in Tights.

We seat ourselves for a hurried bite before the show. Already in 'audience' mode, we are side-by-side, bumping elbows and people watching from a cozy corner (but for the nearby door swinging open and shut, letting in a chilling breeze form outside) as we wait for our food to arrive. We're pushing it for time and Dan is more interested with the traffic through the kitchen door, waiters bustling in and out with drinks and dinner plates for other guests. He is hungry. I'm fussed about feeling rushed.

We sip slowly on our drinks and at least enjoy the moment before we find ourselves scarfing down dinner with little time between bites for natter. We up and hurry ourselves to Theatre 1, which is somehow dark and still - are we in the right one? Why hasn't the film started, or at least the previews already? We're late!

We resume our adjacent arrangement, this time eyes to the screen, waiting yet again. Playing audience again. The previews begin, just as we're doubting ourselves a second time - but the show is late and we're just in time.

05.12 MAPLE MASTERPIECE

Voila! A caramelised banana maple and pecan upsidedown cake, topped with warm creme anglaise. Maddy is taking a course at Leiths, and arrives home weekly with samples of her latest culinary creation. We've been on a steady stream of maple syrup this week, slowly eating through the box of imported Christie maple creme biscuits I've left on the dining table. But there is always room for a smidgen (a tapped-tree's -worth) more, and Maddy had no problems this evening finding gluttonous guinea pigs to taste test her work. Masterpiece.