Open House Saturdays

Wake up, breakfast, post office, drop off stuff at the charity shop and get a coffee;


Tube from Balham to the Bank of England, queue for two and a half hours, walk through Sir Merv's office and the MPC meeting room (note the bas-relief of Moneta holding a scale in one hand and a cornucopia in the other - somewhat ironic considering the former is pretty much ignored these days in favor of of the latter, à la QE) before lifting a gold bar (weight 13kg; value c. £459,000 - unfortunately they wouldn't let me take it home);


Have french onion soup for lunch beside St Paul's;

Continue toward Fleet Street and stop off to admire the Daily Express building's art deco foyer, marvel at the snake handrails in particular and almost recall being born upon looking up the spiral staircase;


Sit down in court room 15 for an intriguing and entertaining trial that originally took place in 1840's Nottingham (defendant, public execution, found guilty) at the magnificent Royal Courts of Justice;

Another coffee and off to Tottenham Court Road;


Negotiate a deal on a sweet new stereo (thanks Eamonn!) and DVD player, followed by grocery shopping and tube home;


Set up the new sounds and vids, enjoy a delicious meal with my beautiful wife, take out the rubbish, collapse into the swivel chair;


Knackered, but somehow end up writing this - all in all, happy days!

I'm back

Home sweet home

 It's been a rather long hiatus, I must admit. The last five months have, however, been busy to say the least. To give you a gist of how busy, there were 30 viewings of properties followed by careful consideration, on the basis of which we chose our new home. We then negotiated and managed the sale process, which included a not so proactive lawyer and going through nearly 300 pages of required reading on the building itself, its environs and local services - everything from sewers to chancel rights and planning applications, polluters and telecoms masts; the structure of Clapham South's society, if you will - which was fascinating indeed. Crammed between completing the sale and beginning the building works was a short, busy but sweet trip to Finland, and lots of choosing tiles, floors, furniture, vanity units, paint... you name it, we chose it. And too many trips to IKEA - although the kött bullar did make up for the stressed incurred, as they usually do. And so began three weeks of managing half a dozen builders over three weeks before we were able to move in and begin making the place liveable. Right now we're in the position of it being simply wonderful, incredible even.



As so often happens, however, just when you think things will calm down, someone or something begs to differ. On this occasion it was the boiler, which had to be put down due to it being at risk of exploding. And to top it off, no-one would take up the job of installing a new, legal carbon monoxide flue due to the formidably steep angle of our roof. (Big up respect to Simon "The Fearless" from SJB Building, Lurline Gardens, London.) Alas, we were left with a hefty bill attached to the mystery of why we were given a gas safety certificate that OK'd the boiler, when it was in fact about as stable as a Tasmanian Devil with tourettes. Again, as all too often is the case these days, everyone points to the other; "it wasn't me guvnor, honest." So busy days indeed, but great ones as well. In any case, I promise to do my best to make up for lost time.

What a coincidence!

The psychologist Carl G. Jung is well known for several influential ideas, like synchronicity, archetypes and the collective consciousness, each of which I find fascinating and quite plausible. The validity of synchronicity in particular has, in my life at least, had a strange tendency to reinforce itself the more I've learnt about it - although some would argue that this is in fact its major flaw, in that we find what we want to perceive.

In any case, there's an interesting and fun blog about synchronistic events called 67 Not Out, to which I recently contributed an unlikely happening of my own:

Unlikely Coincidence Meeting
 
The blog is full of amazing coincidences that would seem to indicate that Jung was on to something with his idea of synchronicity, that meaning is in fact a dimension like space: the former links events in our lives while the latter connects places in our world.

Enjoy - and see you again when I return from our much awaited honeymoon in Sri Lanka and the Maldives!

W-Day -1

The day before The Day. Everything has been organized to military precision. Over the past five months, the plans drawn up by the formidable General Valentina have been executed to the most minute detail, with logistics, sourcing and production support provided by Yours Truly. All is going to plan - but, then, from out the blue, trouble appears.


First, the Finnish union for air cabin crew threatens strikes, which are set to begin four days before the wedding, creating considerable worry for our guests arriving from dear aul Pohjola. To make matters worse – or infuriatingly surreal, actually – the National Mediator, Esa Lonka, refuses to reschedule his two week holiday in the forest to attend a national defence course. So, while he's with his buddies, playing war games by day and drinking around the fireplace by night, the talks to avert a strike are in a motionless limbo. And, incredibly, there is no-one to take his place as apparently he's the only person in the entire country who's qualified to negotiate such industrial disputes. The talks to avert the strike are thus allowed to progress only for one day per week (Saturday), two weeks running.


Mr Lonka does have the Finnish legal system behind him – national defence is a right for every man - and, in a typically Finnish manner, he insists in availing of it. He is quoted as explaining his decision, "the National Mediator plans any talks around his own schedule". The training was in no way compulsory, but he added as justification "the course is renowned as a good one." The fact that thousands of people would be affected by his decision, both personally and financially, does not seem to come into his equation. And so, with the abetting of this self-serving and sanctimonious git, the strike begins – forcing many of our guests to change their flight plans.


Meanwhile, a perfect storm is brewing. The coldest November in decades has arrived and snow storms hit England, closing down Gatwick airport and affecting the entire transport system of the South East - again creating havoc for our guests, forcing some to make their way to London via Riga, Oslo, Berlin and other distant lands.


After the English Ministry of Frost calms down, however, its Irish counterpart decides to throw a temper tantrum of its own. Subzero temperatures and heavy snow fall in Dublin disrupt both airports and roads - creating a virtually impregnable pincer movement affecting anyone wanting to travel. Four people have already had to pull out as a direct result, and, at present, Yours Truly still doesn't know whether the rest of the Dublin contingent will make it out from the no longer Green, now more White Isle.


But that's not all. The Italian familia has been struck down by a virus, meaning several immediate family members had to pull out at the last moment. In addition, some guests missed their flights for lack of boarding cards, while others have problems with their hotel bookings. Heathrow also doesn't disappoint, luggage gets lost on the way. Mamma mia...


We shall see how the rest of the day pans out; who will make it, and who will unfortunately be left behind. They say all is fair in Love and War. After this week, I'd like to add that all is also possible in them - for we are currently experiencing the The Fog Of Love! At 1158 hours, my thoughts are a) I cannot wait until tomorrow b) this is all worth it because of Valentina c) this is the last time we do this d) I'm incredibly touched by the lengths to which our guests are going to make it over e) what else can go wrong? f) bring it on, I'm only just getting started and g) needs must I stop writing now and snap back into action.

The first post

It's often said that, when writing, the first line is always the most difficult. Luckily for me, though, I'm literally about to start my last week as a bachelor. In exactly seven days and 11 minutes, on December 4th, your humble narrator will be tying the knot at Kew Gardens, London, with the beautiful and inspirational Ms Valentina.

People often talk of wedding jitters before the Big Day and, although I must admit to experiencing some butterflies when thinking about the day, overall, I just can't wait for it to begin. Anyone who's played their part in an important match or performance or such will recognize the feeling: I just want to go out there now and do it. In this case, the event is the rest of my life - but my luck is doubled by having the most amazing fianceé - this takes any pressure away because I know it will be sweet. 

So with that, the metaphorical champagne bottle is shattered on the hull of this blog. Welcome to any and all who might come across it - and all comments most welcome.