It will never be as simple as it should be. Brought to you by the letter "C".

Today was to be a simple day. I was to wake up, get myself together, grab everything I needed, and get out to school. This was easy enough, I even had time to drop by the student loan office and have my paper work done for my OSAP(it's about bloody time). I got to class in record time, with enough time to spare to realize that the class which I was hoping wouldn't excist(it wasn't on the syllabis) does exist, and was very much gonna happen. The lecture went on... and on... and on... then we paused for a lunch break(at 1:30) then started again (at 2:00) with another lecture that went about an hour longer than it should have. My last straw was when someone started lecturing the lecturere on the finer points of journalism, and how the lecturer was wrong. I left shortly after that. I then bought some chips at a local shack, it's like a chip truck that doesn't move, and preceeded to head to London bridge train station. I bought a ticket to Croydon and headed to the platform the ticket lady had told mentioned. It was then I saw a train going to east Croydon, this I thought odd. I asked an older couple whether Croydon and East Croydon were the same stop to which they replied no that they weren't. It wasn't until that train had left that they told me that I should probably check with the info desk down the way... This is something that could have been of use earlier.

I get up to the info bothe and noticed on the wall an A-Z of departures. There were two Croydon stops: East Croydon, and West Croydon... shit. I check my directions(something I should have done much earlier) and found that I was to have taken the east croydon train. I talk to the fellow at the desk who points me in the direction of another train heading to east croydon(one that wasn't going to be another hour). I run down to the platform and see that it's just on it's way out. I had just enough time to check to see if I could get on it and get on it. I get to Croydon, and follow the directions to the armouries(this was to meet the affor mentioned Capt. with the territorial armies) and find it easy enough. I get there and one of the fellows lets me in. I then find out that the Capt that I was to meet wasn't there and that no one there knows anything about me or my situation or what to do about a situation of my sorts. So after talking to three people, all of whom ask me the same questions and give me the same answers(most notably "I'll try to find someone who might help you more") as well as sitting in the JRs Mess for an hour, I eventually find myself with a Sgt. who seems to know what's going on, or at least is willing to acknowledge that he doesn't know what's going on but will do what he can to figure out what's going on. I then call my unit as ask for them to fax the proper paper work to England(the 5 hour difference is finally showing a bright side, it was late in London England, but it was still working hours in London ON.). While that was going on the Sgt sent me on a tour of the place with a bunch of green-horn recruits, just to show me the place. I went through the tour and realized that though the equipment might be different and the forces might be more ready for active duty, the army is just the same. Even though they talk funny, wear funny uniforms and polish thier combat boots(don't tell them that I said that).

After finishing the tour, we returned to the Sgt's office and finalized my request to 22 SVC BN for my attachement and then headed to the JRs Mess, which was now open(1 pound drinks). I had a couple drinks and eventually the place closed down. I then took to finding my way to the train station only to find that I had missed the last train... Shit. Thinking I had found the right train I jumped on, only to find that it wasn't the right train and that it terminated one stop away... SHIT. So here I am, in the middle of no where in a strange place with strange people... English people! How the hell am I gonna get home? I over hear a fellow asking someone how to get to where I needed to go. I was quick to jump on the situation in the hopes that between the two of us we might be able to find a way back to london bridge, or at very least form a folk music duo through which we might raise enough money to pay for a cab. A number of fruitless questionings later we find that we need to go back to the last stop and catch a different train. This we do.

This fellow, Gareth, turned out to be quite a nice guy. He's studying physio therapy in Stratford or something. We entertained each other to pass the time with our tales concerning our objectional day. We exchanged women woes, and advice. He told me to relax and go with the flow. I told him not to be too hastey and to relax, that women are fickle beasts and to take any good sign at face value. So after horribly misleading each other in our respecive romantic affairs we had just about reached our stop, kind of. It turns out that due to construction the london bridge stop was out of service and therefore the train could not stop. Instead the train company would arrange Cabs from the stop we could get out at to the closed stop. There was much discussion about how some would get home having already missed night busses and such, tempers were running high. Eventually someone told me to get into the Cab, I had by this time been talking at some length with the cabby in hopes that seeing it was on the trains bill that he would just take us where ever we wanted. Unfortunately that was in vain. I got into the cab and he took myself and a young lady to the London Bridge station, as the young lady got out he mentioned to me that seeing my place wasn't very far away that he would take me to the door. This was quite something I thought, and after him telling me that it's really not a big deal, "what's a couple a quid aany waye?" we got on our way. For a 25 min walk the cab ride cost roughly 15 pounds, but seeing I wasn't paying for it I didn't seem to mind so much. Now I have experienced the Black Cab, if it weren't for the crazy prices I could see myself getting used to them.

Oye, it's late. What's with me and these weird nights?

A month in country

Well, it snuck up on me. I have now been here a month. It happened Monday, the 17th, what began as a simple "I'm not drinking tonight, I'll just be social and visit" with the Band for a bit after rehearsal, turned into me at some crazy Chinese club party trying to find someone who spoke more than broken English while some really really drunk Chinese guy tried to teach me(at my request) how to play some bizarre drinking game involving hand symbols, sums, and predictions. Anyways, it was an interesting night... The place was like day light with all the Asian glow going on, it was weird. Oddly enough when I got home I filled my belly with Oriental Rib flavoured chips/crisps(they have strange flavour chips here, ie roast lamb and mint jelly, beef and onion, and oriental rib).

Outside the interesting opening to my week the rest of it has been pretty laidback, or at least in various stages of laying-back. Tuesday was nothing new, I went to class and then stayed home that night and did some reading(there it is, I am doing work here for all those who don't believe me, it's true and there's more to come). Wednesday I don't have classes[pause for laughter] but I hung out in my room most of the day reading[wait for applauds] or napping [more laughter] the latter was closer to the truth in this particular case. That night we got wind of a Canucks game being replayed over at the maple leaf so we made a trip up but found that the VCR didn't record the bloody game so we finished our pitcher and food and headed back hockeyless(I was really looking forward to tell my Oxford friend and gloating, but alas it was not to be). Today, Thursday, I actually didn't have a nap. I got up round 1030, and started reading... and making rice(I was hungry). Round 2 I went out to have a meeting with a Colonel about me parading with a local unit and maybe getting a little extra cash/beer money. We had a nice chat, he made a few calls and set me up with an appointment to talk to a Captain over at one of the transport regiments.

At somepoint in this post it ceased to be thurday night and became Friday afternoon. So anyways, that yesterday evening after my talk with the Colonel I read for a couple hours before meeting three of my flatmates for my first London theatre experience. The night seemed promising, a musical based on the music of Queen, interesting, could be good. There is one word that could describe the experience, McTheatre. The funny part was that the entire show which dealt with the idea of music being destroyed by the manufactured groups which seem so popular these days, was itself manufactured for the masses in order to make a quick buck. The show took place in the future where music had been totally commercialism and it was left all up to a Keanu Reves figure to bring back Rock 'n Roll, epitomized in the music of Queen. Outside the total hypocrisy there was some good music, and a few laughs, if you ask the children sitting in front of us it was spectacular and I guess that's what really matters, they're the ones with all the expendable income.

So anyways now it's Friday. The week is over, and although I just had a two day break it really still seems like a relief. I had my class which came much too early this morning at 10, after which I went to the bank to get some of the money that flows so free round here and enquire as to the status of my still missing PIN number for my debit card. I made clear my displeasure to the girl at the counter who then wrote up a formal complaint on my behave, assured me that it would be in next week, and told me that she'll have someone call me when it comes in so that I don't have to cue up for half an hour each time I want to check if it's come in. She seemed to sympathize with my situation. Not much more happened today, I went out and bought some food I'm starting to think I might be eating too much rice but I still like it. Tonight we're going out for Indian food as a farewell to one of my flatmates who has decided that she'll be heading home and coming back next year when her proper prof is not on maternity leave. After the Indian food we're off to have a beverage, or two, of a refreshing nature and to see her off in good fashion. I got a fever and the only cure is more... (cow bell?)

Saturday

I went to the Tate Modern yesterday(it's Sunday today) and had most of my existing stigmas of modern "art" reinforced. I've decided that much of the modern "art" I saw at the Tate was best described as "neat." A lot just seemed to play little mind tricks and sometimes gave me a little chuckle, mind you once you read the little blurb about the artist/item it revealed a deeper meaning. Perhaps I'm just naive, maybe I'm simple, but I feel that something of art(I'm using the term broadly now) should be able to stand on it's own and not need someone to whisper to you what it's supposed to mean and how it's supposed to make you feel. In my mind art is a communication and if that communication has to be expanded upon by a little plastic plaque next to the object then that object isn't really an effective work. But then you say "You're right, you are simple. You're not the audience for this art if you can't understand it." that's all very good but then why do these paintings appear in public galleries if there's only a very small part of the population that will actually get what the artist is talking about(or at least pretend to), maybe it's just a tourist attraction that plays on the pseudo-intelligentsia. It's for those dates where he wants to show how much he can bullshit about the deep symbolism mirroring the anguish of our souls or the cultural deprivation resulting from the rise of the corporation corporally expressed in a Lobster Phone composed by a drugged-up mid-twentieth century Spanish painter. I don't know where I'm going with this... After we got past the first floor of the Tate Modern I was much relieved, the exhibit got much less neat and at points I did find myself moved. Whatever floats your boat I guess, if you get moved by a cigarbox on the wall with a map of the world at the back and ouzo glasses filled with assorted marbles and pieces of glass then that's just great, I'm happy for you, but it just doesn't do it for me.

We finished the gallery probably too quickly, I think we were both rather hungry, and found our way across the millennium bridge over the sparkling Thames(it was a beautiful day). We found food in an Italian chain that served your food in cups, which I found most peculiar but tasty. After that we decided that we would go take a look at St Paul's Cathedral only to find out that a student pass into the main cathedral was 7 pounds(approx. $14 Cnd). We saw all that we could see from behind the velvet rope and left quite satisfied. We then walked down fleet street where we got held up because of a movie being filmed(children of man?) and then continued on to the school library which is quite gorgeous. I then went home after quite a nice day. I followed the river along seeing families old and new out walking, people basking on the front lawn of the Tate, and children enjoying the last of the heat and sun before autumn's crisp hands fall fully upon us. I walked through the market now late in the day and closing up for the week but still bustling with those trying to get the last minute deals on whatever they can. I got home and promptly had a nap.

By now you're probably wondering who "we" were. I found a companion for my viewing the Tate in a fellow class mate who oddly enough fits most of the criteria mentioned in my last post. She's a very nice girl, and her English is getting better. I've been thinking maybe that I should take the advice of my friends and the next art gallery I do I should do solo, and that a buddy would be better suited for a museum. The Tate was very busy, I'm not used to going to art galleries that actually have people in them... Strange.

Victory!

Today after much time and energy we have finally seen the last of the turkey. Today I made it into soup, into soup so sublime that it shall be written of, in fine memory, for generations to come. It was glorious.

This is the National Art Gallery, I have yet to go(I'm still trying to find a museum buddy/guide, I'm thinking a nice girl, with a pretty face, good legs, and a nice body... but I'm up to negotiations) but I've heard nice things.

Two days done

Well, I've now completed the bulk of my work week, I just have two hours of lecture/seminar on Friday. I've also bought my first book for my degree. It turns out there are some differences in the way British schools work in comparison to our North American equivalents. Where North American schools will tell you to by a text book or course package, the Brits will just give you a huge reading list none of which you actually have to buy and most of which you probably won't have to read and that your prof hasn't necessarily read. It's interesting, supposedly if British students were forced to buy a book of any type they would riot in the streets and it wouldn't be a good time for anyone. Maybe I'm just lazy and don't want to spend my life in the library but I would pay the extra money just to have the required material at home to read.

I have a feeling that I look very British, I don't know why but for some reason people seem to like to ask me for directions. In most cases these people have probably been in the country longer than I have but they still insist on asking me. I'm starting to think that even in a line-up of brits that I would still be singled out as someone that should be asked for directions. Strange I think but I don't know how to test this theory without a line up and more funds than I have.

I think I may have found my drinking hole. It's a small pub just down the Strand from the school, very quaint, and by London standards very cheap(cheap is key). I came across this place on the advice of a lecturer, who during the lecture seem to mention it far more than was needed(probably alluding to a place he'd preferably be). After I had bought the book and had walked my company back to the school I decided that I'd take a look. I eventually found the place and went in to take a look. My curiosity got the best of me, and I decided to find out how much a pint was, unfortunately the only way to find out the price of a pint happens to be, at least in my books, by buying one. So I got my pint, which was as advertised quite reasonable, cracked open my book(tome is more accurate) and read a chapter to the sound of beer.

It was a fairly productive day on a whole. This a picture of a statue of George III which stands at the end or in our case at the beginning or the walk to Windsor Castle. The statue is a rip off of a roman one of Marcus Aurelius(I'm sure I just massacred that name but I'm pretty sure I'm not going to find the proper spelling... Alright, I lied and found it but I'm not going to fun spell check... damn it!).

Thanksgiving

Against all odds and predictions, it has been done. I have won. Pitted in mortal combat against a foe of daunting preportions.

IN THE BLUE TRUNKS, WEIGHING IN AT A MEAGER 172 POUNDS, THE CHALLENGER; BRETT "THE PUGILATING POLEMOLOGIST" GRIFFIN.

IN THE RED TRUNKS, WEIGHING IN AT AN ASTONISHING 12.5 POUNDS, THE REIGNING CHAMPION; TURKEY.

Let's get ready to rumble!

This is how it was. I woke up this morning to the sound of my mobile shreaking, someone reminding me that I should start thinking about the turkey. Slowly the haze leftover from the night(morning is probably more acurate) before began to lift, mostly due to a kind flatmate who upon seeing my sorry state and moreover hearing us as we returned to the flat early this morning made me a lovely breakfast to speed my recovery, understanding that what laid ahead would take all my cunning and wit. Feeling much better I began to plot my path and study my opponent.

All and all it was pretty easy, the hardest part was trying to make-do with a lack of serving dishes. I prepared the turkey, stuffing thyme and taragon under the skin for added flavour, adding inserting the dressing, and rubbing it down with butter. When that was done I threw it in the oven for 3 hours and after much discussion decided that it was cooked and started cutting it up. The entire flat pitched in making a full dinner. We were all quite impressed that we were able to pull it off on the first go. The turkey was wonderful. Dragged to the brink of insanity and back by a one winged turkey(I'm not sure why it only had one wing but that's all it had) I was still victorious. One thing that I would have liked was to have been able to get a hold of some apple cider, it seems the only type of cider they have is alcoholic and after the previous evening I was not up for anything remotely alcohol related(that's a lie because I did have a couple of glasses of wine with dinner). It has been a long day, but a gratifying one, I now have done a thanksgiving dinner with out the parents. It was good. I was very happy to know that my active little observances hadn't lead me wrong. It has also given me a greater appreciation for having the proper serving dishes and knives. Anywho, it's late over here. I'm ready for a good turkey enduced slumber.

umm, yeah...

Well, alhough I promised to post a message for the family on thanksgiving dinner, I opened a bottle of wine in the wrong place with the right people and sufficed to say I'm going out on the town. It's strange how these things work, especially when you're really bored and happen to be afflicted with a rubber arm. Happy thanksgiving, eat, drink, give thanks, and be merry.


P.S. I'll give details of my thanksgiving dinner eventually, maybe tomorrow if the game doesn't take too long.

The Retreat

Thy Forest, Windsor, and thy green retreats,
At once the monarch's and the Muses' seats,
Invite my lays. Be present, silvan maids!
Unlock your springs, and open all your shades.
Granville commands; your aid, O Muses, bring!
What muse for Grandville can refuse to sing?
The groves of Eden, vanish'd now so long,
Live in description, and look green in song;
These, were my breast inpired with equal flame,
Like them in beauty, should be like in fame.
Here hills and vales, the woodland and the plain,
Here earth and water seem to strive again;
Not chaos-like, together crush'd and bruised,
But, as the world; harmoniously confused;
Where order in variety we see,
And where, though all things differ, all agree.
Here waving groves a chequer'd scene display,
And part admit, and part exclude the day;
As some coy nymph her lover's warm address
Nor quite indulges, nor can quite repress.
There, interspersed in lawns and opening glades,
Thin trees arise that shun each other's shades.
Here in full light the russet plains extend;
There, wrapt in clouds, the bluish hills ascend.
Even the wild heath displays her purple dyes;
And 'midst the desert fruitful fields arise,
That crown'd with tufted trees and springing corn,
Like verdant isles the sable waste adorn.
--- Excerpt from Alexander Popes' "Windsor Forest"

This is where I stayed from Wednesday until today(Friday). We were housed in Cumberland Lodge, one of the Royal Residences in great Windsor Park. The Lodge was begun in 1650, burnt down and rebuilt by the Victorians, and continually added to through the years.

I don't really have much to say, it was a very nice time. I saw Windsor Castle, and met lots of very nice people in my program. I found out what electives I'd gotten and talked to one of my profs. It's gonna be a good year I think.

Truth, Duty, Laundry

There are few satisfactions in life that measure the satisfaction of obtaining a washing machine that works at the Great Dover Street Apts. Today was laundry day for me. Armed with discount Tesco "Washing powder"(there's a picture of a sock on the box to tell you what it washes), two bags of laundry(darks and lights, naturally), a pocket full of change, and all my wits(which aren't many for those of you that don't know me) I set out upon the ever interestingly mundane and time consuming venture that ever there's been. Laundry, such poetics have been lain upon the subject by the great writers of centuries past. From Homer to Shakespeare, from Beowulf to Bea Arthur, thousands have written for the honour and praise of clean laundry.

I really don't know where I'm going with any of this, the truth is that though I enjoy the fruits of the laundry experience I would much prefer if I didn't have to do the leg work, especially here. The first problem is this: Imagine 600 undergrads away from home for the first time never having done laundry for themselves and can't seem to be able to read the instructions on the wall. Then imagine these 600 undergrads have to share 10 washers, and ten dryers. Then imagine that 5 of the washers are broken and that 2 of the dryers are broken. Add on top of that, that even those washers that do work don't keep proper time(45min can take, depending on the machine, 2.5 hours) and periodically reset. If you can fathom all that, you may begin to know some of the depth of my hell. But then I seem to live for the melodrama. This gauntlet I have now run twice since my coming here, it only becomes a problem when you have a life, so I'm doing alright.

I had a health check today, I had made the appointment for 1050 this morning. I even have a witness, for security reasons she will rename nameless, she saw the whole thing. So I pry myself out of bed this morning slightly(very) hung-over, pull myself into the shower and eventually get out of the apt, running a little late but not beyond recovery. So I bust a move to the school and run up the the reception desk at the Clinic as my watch tics 1050. I say "I believe I have an appointment, right about now, with whom? I couldn't say. My name is Griffin, Brett Griffin." They look at me like a just asked them if I could father their children. I repeat my previous statement. One of the ladies types something into the computer, and tells me that I have an appointment tomorrow(Wednesday) at 1050. This was not working for me, I was not happy but eventually resigned myself to come back at 1130 for the walk-in appointments. So I comeback and eventually get stuck with a couple needles for one reason or another but I decided that I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could with as few questions as possible so I could get back to my bed and laundry adventure. So it turns out that I'm a healthy male, aged 18-24, with no allergies and family history of heart disease. I was hoping that in addition to giving me my shots I could get shaved, bathed, and maybe get a nice little bandana or something, but I was out of luck. I didn't even get a lolly-pop. I miss the good old days, all I got out of the shots was a list of possible side-effects.

I've started thinking about Thanks Giving, I've decided that I should make a list of all the things that we'll need for the dinner. I don't know where we'd find a turkey and even if we did find one I'm not sure we'd be able to fit it into the oven, so I think we might be going with a nice ham, or perhaps a few small chickens. There are a few Canadians here that are interested in the idea and my flat mates have also shown some interest. I think that given the a few nudges here and there I'll get around to it. There's a very nice market every Saturday morning where I think I'll be able to pick up most of the requisite parts of the dinner, so I'm thinking come Saturday I'll pick up what I can, and Sunday start cooking. Should be good times. Oh, and that picture is of a street nearby my place.