We've moved, we've unpacked slightly more than half the stuff we moved with, and by some miracle, it looks like everything will fit.
We have no bedroom furniture yet so Saturday night was spent sleeping on the most uncomfortable futon in the world, and last night was spent sleeping on an air mattress (which is great so long as two people are sleeping on it, but you tend to find yourself coming down to earth with a bump when either person gets out of bed).
We still have boxes stacked in the hallway, the living room and the bedroom, but we can see carpet now which is a vast improvement.
We have cable tv and a land line again. We will have our 1mbit cable internet connection installed on Friday.
Yesterday we bought some lovely stainless steel pans, a storage rack on wheels for the bathroom and a new desk for me.
Tonight we will be going to IKEA (my first trip!) to buy some DVD racks (we have nearly 200 of the things now), some underbed storage boxes (for when we get the bed delivered) and a coffee table.
There has been a lot of discussion about this coffee table. In the IKEA catalogue it calls it a coffee table, but D is convinced that it's a sideboard.
I've never had a coffee table before. I have lots of lovely coffee table books (mostly photography) but have never before had a coffee table.
Last night sitting on the couch in the living room watching The West Wing and eating pizza I was heard to say "we could do with a couple of nice lamps and maybe some candles on the coffee table" before dissolving into a fit of the giggles at the fact that at last, D and I were in our own place (albeit rented) with no-one else in the house!
We woke up this morning and actually had breakfast together, watching breakfast TV in our living room. Ok, so the boiler is a bit temperamental and we had no hot water, but somehow it didn't matter.
We stepped out blinking into the lovely autumn sunshine and walked down the road. D and I parted company at Euston Station where he got on the Victoria line and I walked the rest of the way to work.
I keep thinking I'm going to wake up back in Archway... I'm going to have to be careful I don't go for the bus tonight!
It's so great to have the place to ourselves. I've come over all domesticated (and you lot - you know who you are! - can stop laughing right now).
I'm homebuilding.
That sounds so weird, but it's true.
I know I said see you on the flipside, and this isn't exactly the flipside yet, but I just couldn't help myself.
We went to pick up the keys to our new place today, and on the way back (the last tube journey we'll likely ever take to Archway Station, we were sat in an almost empty carriage.
As we pulled out of Camden Station, D nudged me and pointed out a gentleman sitting a little further down the carriage, saying that I should look at the incredible newspaper he was reading.
I turned round, and sure enough, he was reading a newspaper, but it wasn't an english paper. I've got used to seeing people reading things written in other languages on the tube, but this was incredible, it was almost a work of art.
I couldn't be sure what language it was, but it looked arabian.
Just as I was wondering in my head what it was, the guy two seats down from me had obviously been thinking the same thing, because I heard him ask what the paper was.
Looking faintly startled (this is London y'know, it's just not the done thing to talk to strangers on the Tube) he answered that it was a Pakistani (Urdu is their language) newspaper.
The guy two seats down continued to channel my thoughts and explained that he thought the paper was beautiful, the lettering incredible and asked if the gentleman could write like that.
He answered that yes, he could, and reached into his bag to pull out a folder full of papers, which then then showed to the guy two seats down. One of which was a poem, written in Urdu, in coloured ink, in the shape of a flower.
I wish I hadn't been so stunned by how beautiful this was and had been quick enough to get a picture, because this was just incredible.
He then proceeded to pull other such poems out of his folder, all in stunningly beautiful coloured calligraphy, in all manner of different shapes.
Mr two-seats-down was also stunned by this, but not so stunned that he couldn't get his words out like I was. He asked the gentleman if he could write his name in Urdu for him, and the gentleman agreed. He reached into his bag, pulled out a fountain pen and turned over one of his poems and began to write the guys name down.
Mr two-seats-down then exclaimed "Ah! you write right-to-left, same as I do - I'm from Israel" and I'm sure my mouth must have gaped open as they continued to talk and compare how similar their cultures were.
As the train pulled into Archway Station, I heard mr two-seats-down tell the gentleman that he was going to get the Urdu version of his name tattooed on himself (I didn't catch where) and thanked exclaim in delight as the gentleman gave him a sheaf of the Urdu poems he'd had in his folder.
It's times like that I realise how lucky I am to be where I am just now. London has it's faults, but it's an incredible city to be in. There are things that happen here that just wouldn't happen anywhere else in the UK. The diversity that I see around me every day amazes me still.
For all the shit that I've been through in the last year, I'm glad I'm here. I'm young, I have a good job, I've been relatively healthy this year (touch wood) and I'm just about to move to a lovely flat near Regent's Park.
Life in London is good - I just need reminding of that sometimes.
This Saturday, the 28th of September 2002, is a very special day for me for two reasons.
D and I are moving to a new flat. A lovely place a short walk from Regent's Park and both Mornington Crescent and Camden Town tube stations.
It will also be exactly one year since I left the house where I'd grown up and moved to London.
It's been a helluva year. I started to list all the things that have happened but I have to disconnect the cable modem in 8 hours time.
It's been a really emotional week for me. Between the highs of the realisation that we got really lucky finding the place we're moving to, have been the lows of remembering this time last year, and how hard it was to leave my dad, who was in hospital at the time.
There's a time for everything, and last year was my time to take the big step I'd been afraid of.
Now it's time for the next step.
A fresh start.
See you on the flipside.
Rannie's photocontest reaches it's fourth category, and here is my third submission.
Category FOUR : Night Vision - Church
Even a locked gate can't keep me out.
More fun topics at Rannie's Photocontest.
And so, my entry for Category THREE : Movement - Angel
I had the words "Where were you when they broke the news" rattling around my head since last night, and now I remember where they came from.
They say we're in a state of emergency
So how come no one is panicking
Where were you when they wrote the news
And how are you, are you feeling blue
Well, the paper doesn't cause too much of a fuss
Perhaps it's because it's not, it's not sad enough
Where were you when they wrote the news
And how are you, are you feeling blue
You've never seen the colour blue
Call me in the morning, we'll go for toast and tea
Where were you when they broke the news
And how are you, are you feeling blue
You've never seen the colour blue
Blue - Chantal Kreviazuk
Reposted from Michele's comments:
Where was I when it happened?
I guess every generation has one of those moments. An event that crystallises in your memory, shining in the darkness of the dusty archives of things long since forgotten. It lies there, nestling in the shadows, waiting for even the tiniest of lights to be shone in it's direction, and then it shines. Illuminating the memories around it, lighting up that particular time and place.
So where was I? Well, I was at home, just outside Glasgow, ill. I'd been made redundant about two weeks before, and was working my notice period when I got a really bad throat infection. I was at home, feeling miserable, chatting to my friends on irc when one of them said "a plane's just hit the World Trade Centre".
The reaction was instant "wtf?", then a quick flip to an open internet explorer window and without real conscious thought, my fingers typed "news.bbc.co.uk". When I hit enter and the page didn't start to load within 5 seconds, I knew something was up, and I dived for the tv remote control and turned to CNN just in time to see a plane hit the tower.
I thought it was recorded footage.
I was wrong.
A cold, sick feeling started in my stomach as the commentary began to seep into my brain and I realised that I had just watched, live on tv, a plane hit the World Trade Centre.
I aim'd D immediately to ask if he knew anything. He was at work, in London, and frantic for any information to pass on to colleagues of his who were even more frantic for family, friends and colleagues in New York.
My next thought went to who I knew in New York, a good friend of mine, who I've known online for quite a while now, but I realised that although I'd been talking to him online for many months, I didn't know where in NY he lived. I hoped that he was ok, and that he was far enough away not to be directly involved.
I turned back to the tv, switching between CNN, CNBC, BBC News 24 and ITN, trying to make sense of what was happening, keep up to date with what was going on. I started to read blogs, and thought about writing about it myself, but the words wouldn't come. I phoned D every time a new development happened, because they, like the rest of the world, were hammering all the news sites or huddled round a tv, desperate for information.
I spent the rest of the day like that. Talking online, updating those who had come onto IRC and were unable to load any websites and were without access to a TV set. Switching back and forth between news channels, talking to D on the phone. Worrying when they began to evacuate the centre of London.
I have so many vivid memories of that day. The instant I turned on the TV and witnessed the second plane crash. The people falling from the buildings, the towers falling... these images and many, many more are burned into my brain, crystallised.
The most vivid thought that comes back to me, is the deep unease that I watched it all happen. On television. The obvious parallels have been drawn with x number of movies. Life imitating art. Art imitating life. Sometimes the line blurs. That day, the line was all but indistinguishable, until the cold, hard, truth hit.
It wasn't a movie. It wasn't a dramatisation. It wasn't millions of dollars worth of special effects. It was real. It was really happening.
The world changed that day.
I've had a serious dose of the blah's lately. Life has been particularly hectic, and so, in a moment of last minute insanity, I decided to throw my hat into the ring over at Rannie's Photocontest.
And so, my entry for Category TWO : Fun with Macros - Burny
Remember kids, don't play with matches.
I lie awake in the semi-darkness, the main illumination coming from the laptop screen, and countless tiny LEDs dotted around the room.
My ears are filled with the lush orchestrations and gently woven lyrics of The Reindeer Section.
The noise of the water filter in the terrapin tank occasionally intrudes but manages to merge nicely with the music.
I can feel his breath on my back, it's comforting, but not as comforting as the arm which snakes it's way round my body with a sleepy caress.
I feel at peace.
There is so much happening right now that my head is spinning.
Not all of it is bad, which makes a nice change.
In fact, some of it might be very good, but I don't really want to talk about it in case I jinx it somehow.
Just to reassure those who were perhaps a little concerned after my last post, things are fine between D and me, the poo and the fan are directed at us jointly.
In other news, I had a lovely birthday weekend, was thoroughly spoiled by some very generous people, and my equilibrium has been somewhat restored by the events of the last few days.
There is a light at the end of the tunnel - I just hope it's not an oncoming train!
... the online home and (not very) alter(ed)-ego of Ann McMeekin, a recently freelance Web Accessibility Consultant.
... passionate about many things, most of which will turn up on this site at some time or other.
... contactable via email.
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