Firstly, I have to apologise for the lack of updates to the blog in recent times. The last week has involved a lot of settling in, getting organised and, more importantly, exploring. I think it’s more valuable to go about actually living/reading/meeting people than it is to update a blog daily based on random brainfarts, so I’ve been out there living a wee bit. And let me tell you, London is a pretty good place for that sort of thing. And not just the breathing in breathing out type of living, but the actually enjoying yourself type of living. I’m not going to turn this in to an extended version of a postcard or a primary school news copy, but I will share a few of my favourite bits of London so far. So I don’t forget, if for nothing else.
I’m living in a predominantly Turkish community, with a large black population also. As I walk around the high street in the middle of the day I stand out like a sore thumb. I’m definitely the neighbourhood short, blonde oddball. The major benefit to living where I do is that I am surrounded by ridiculously tasty, ridiculously cheap Turkish food. It turns out this food is ideal for me as it has all the tasty parts of Eastern food, with none of the spice. I’m going to be fat as a fool in no time, but I honestly will be too contented to care.
The other great thing about the neighbourhood is the fabulous little arthouse cinema just down the road. I’ve made it my business to make Monday nights my cinema night (cheap tickets on a Monday). It’s called the Rio and it’s liek the Kino in Cork, but with wider options for grazing and a bigger auditoriom. They sell cake, popcorn, coffee. It’s wonderful. So far I’ve been to The Wave and Linha de Passe. (Former more interesting/engaging than the latter, with the latter more likely to clean up at film festivals and award ceremonies.)
The really strange thing about London is that nobody can seem to say my name. I understand that it is an Irish name and no one has heard of it, but it only has four letters and is pronounced phonetically. I’ve had the extreme reaction in a Hoxton nightclub of ‘EMER – Are you taking the piss? What kind of name is that?’ to which I meekly responded…’uh, I don’t know, it’s just what I’m called.’ More often than not, people just politely do the introductions and then ten minutes later when parting rather awkwardly go ‘Emhrmiraryer’ through their fingers as they grasp for the right name. One Indian guy I met in my course induction got straight to the point and asked me to say it twice and then spell it. We had no more problems then, but the downside was that the exercise was so drawn out that I forgot his name… So basically, I’m getting used to being looked at like some kind of Irish version of a Pokemon.
As well as settling into the college side of things and doing all the boring bits to do with banks and phones and things, I have been doing the culture thing as much as I can while I’ve had the free time. Enjoyed a visit to Tate Modern last week. To be honest, don’t really get a lot of modern art. It’s not bad, but I, personally, can only get so much from coloured squares or a picture of a hamburger. I do love a lot of the photographs they have in there though, particularly ones from the 1930s and 1940s, as well as a numbe rof their more political exhibits. (My particular favourite was the room of Soviet propaganda posters.)
The Imperial War Museum was much more my type of thing. An interesting, if slightly reserved and unmissably British, Holocaust exhibition was one of the things that I spent a particularly long time perusing. The Secret War section was definitely the best part. It was so interesting. There were examples of equipment used in Secret Service operations, such as Nazi insignia and pens with hidden bugs, as well as written records of missions undertaken during wartime by the Secret Service. There was also a room at the end of the exhibition designed to ‘make you think’ about the need for and dangers of secret wars, and the significance of the secret service in the history of Britain and in the protection of British subjects. Plenty of quotes from world leaders adorned the walls. Churchill’s 1945 quote stood out to me: In wartime, truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies. Many of the quotes struck me because they were said over 50 years ago, but could easily have been said in modern times. It does make you think, which I suppose is the point of museums.
Anyway, I’m enjoying life here so far. If all the above didn’t do it for me, the builings, parks, rivers, canals, markets, shops and food probably would seel the deal. I’m very excited about starting my course next week, so hopefully, when I do, that will be another thing to add to the list. I’m optimistic.
how I would have to get myself a new suit from Monica John and turn on the horsey charm in order to pull a Kate Middleton and bag myself some 17th-in-line-cousin in old St. Andrews.
bit too much of a struggle for me so i went for a bit of a tea break. Thanks to the delights of Coffee Dock’s ginger green tea I took a nice half hour break from the intense film-watching, and then returned to the library.
hands. She is one of two things: someone with a sense of irony wanting to make her fellow collegegoers snigger, or a complete twat. The t-shirt was pointed out to me under the latter assumption. And the impression left with me was of same. She may just be a colossal knobhead. In which case I hope the t-shirt was expensive and her boyfriend dumps her next week. While she’s wearing the t-shirt.
Classic, cute and no need for try-hard jokes. I like. As the proud owner of a joe cool snoopy t-shirt myself, I have to say I fully approve of having Woodstock’s sleepy friend emblazoned on your attire. Thought of marriage proposal, decided exam time probably not best occasion to start planning a wedding, or make any big decisions. Went back studying instead.
anybody really) and a joke that changes itself throughout the day (think of all the people he could end up standing next to.) Also, a nice nod to the trend of dragging stuffy American PC humour out of the 1980s. You’re not with stupid anymore, you’re telling strangers your friend likes cock. Next, it’ll be taking out the * in cock. Baby steps though, this is an institution of higher learning, after all. Still, worth a hawkish crane of the neck.
ith lots of pictures of mullets. hmmm, tricky one. T-shirt – potentially funny. A few schoolboy errors: the pictures of the mullets were too small and thus lost their desired effect from more than a few feet away. (to save myself from further restraining orders, I have to keep some decorum.) Also, wearer just that bit too scrawny to carry it off. Results in pictures being lost around his sides.
