justin can cook

i somehow managed to haul myself out of bed. a hard thing to do on a saturday morning, but i had things to do. so i got into the british library by 9:30 and went to check some stuff. the place is huge and ultra modern. i would have taken photos, but it isnt allowed, so i will have to find a much smaller and more spy-like camera than mine before i dare to foto that place.
the cafe in the library is nice, and i spent some time there while waiting for my books.
after about 2.5 hours in the library, i met Justin at King's Cross and we headed to South Kensington. we checked out the V&A there not long ago, and today it was the darwin centre and science museum. the building is incredible. it is worth going there just for the architecture. i dont know why my parents never took me there as a child, i guess they werent intrested enough in dinisaurs to want to spend a day among their bones. so i got dragged to endless old houses instead. i am not especially interested in dinosaurs myself, but there is still something impressive about seeing them in their full size and glory, and as i said, the building itself merits the visit. pictures are curtosy of Justin!
afterwards, we headed back to justin's place at finsbury park. justin is a serious cook. he prepared his own home-made soup as well as some lasagne-like aubergine and mozzerrella creation...i occassionally contributed to the effort by stirring a pot....the extent of my culinary abilities. the food was great....on the ride back home i was sitting next to a ukrainian woman and her spanish husband. they were having a lengthy private conversation that spanned their midlife crisis, their sex life (on this subject they would stop to make out, on the bloody train) and their (his) career. the woman was trying to persuade the guy to leave the uk.
given how widely spanish is understood all over the planet, you would think they might have been more discreet, but i guess not. but really, there are some things you dont want to have to listen to.
the cat needs new anti biotics to fight her ear mite infection. she goes made everytime she sees me with the ear dropped, and hands are covered in scratches. yuck.

and here is the other, the shetland islands preacherman! the only problem he doesnt get along with the other neighbour, which has led to some explosions recently...agh what to do? 

oh and here are some pictures of my human neighbours/ servants. 

but when in doubt, i have my own solarium to keep me toasty. 

the armchair next to the bed is alright when it is not too cold (otherwise, the bed next to the radiator is better) 

a different perspective is provided from the top of the desk perch 

the sofa is also convenient 

in my study quarters, i have many places to sit, on top of the computer is a favourite spot 

i have a lot of books upstairs too 

to go from my library to my sleeping and reading quarters, i have to trot up the stairs 

these are the chairs and desks i like, but the place is rather chilly in winter 

but i only come here to the british library when i have to find something, as i do at the moment for a certain jeronimo; otherwise, i use this library whish is inside my house! most of the books are boring, but the chairs are nice 

and here am i taking one of my habitual late morning snoozes. actually i wish i could be doing this right now, however i am in the british library as i write. i would just like to state for those readers who might one day end up here: they charge you 5 pounds an hour to use there wifi services, however, if you use picasa, they are unable to block and you can do so for free, as i am right now! 

so here is the view from my back windows (i have several of them) on the same one day it snowed. 

so i have been asked to post some pictures of my living space. so here it all is in living colour. this is the view from out my front window, i took the picture the one day it snowed. unfortunately, this being england, it wasnt real snow, and it was gone by noon. i took the picture right after dawn, to make sure i didnt miss what seemed to be a fleeting moment. 

in print

For a long time, maybe forever, i have had the feeling of being completely unable to control my own life or destiny. I often wondered if this was some perverted left over of my calvinist inheritance or a twisted version of post soviet fatalism.
This feeling of being unable to control my life has led to the feeling of watching my actions from above, as though watching a television show or a film. sometimes it seems i am not even a particpant in the naneh-show, but just a helpless observor sitting in the audiance. This feeling was strongest the day i woke up in a serbian hospital an operation. Prior to the surgury, i hadnt had enough time to think about serious or logical stuff. Instead i had worried over what language i would speak when i woke up from the anesthetic the doctors were at that moment preparing. My forms all stated i was a pure blooded russian, and orthodox sister of the serbian nation. The doctors had made numerous comments on my fake ethnicity as they wheeled me into the operating theatre. they all seemed very excited to have a representative of mother russia in their provincial hospital, and tried to put me to ease with the little russian they could remember from school. “tovarishice pacijentka, ja sam vrach, u vas sechas budet operacija!” the surgen announced. Needless to say, i shouldnt have been so preoccupied with language. I was conscious long before i could speak. My brain came out of the anesthetic first. I remember hearing all the noises around me before i could open my eyes. I could hear my ukrainian roomate ira asking if i was dying, i can remember the doctors, jasmina talking, everything. But it took me forever to open my eyes, they just seemed to be glued together. Even once they opened, it took another minute to find my voice. So i had plenty of time to formulate a coherent sentance in serbian. Finnally, all my vital organs coordinated enough for me to tell jasmina that i thought i had mistakenly fallen into a film. she laughed nervously.
This was an extreme case, but the feeling has persisted. It has been rendered only stronger by the representations of myself in others work. A particularly disturbing version appeared was my biography written by marko in partial furfillment of an MA class he took on biography writing. I hardly recognised myself. Or i did, but it was a strange sensation.
So the latest work to present a view of me from the outside is a book which has just come out. And i am in it. I got my copy expressed to me from athens this afternoon. And there i am in black and white print, a character in a book, or in someone else’s life. It is an incredible feeling. The book is brilliantly written, so much so that the first time i looked at the page number, i was already close to 100. and the details are so lovingly recounted that i adore reading even the scenes that feature me in not terribly flatering situations (like taking a piss in a sunflower field in full view of a bus load of people) even jasmina from my film-hospital experience is there, depicted as vivedly as i remember her. So my confusion is perpetuated by another literary representation. Do i exist as on these pages? But there are parts of me i dont recognise, yet the scenes are all fixed in my brain in more-or-less the same way as the author writes of them. So perhaps bakhtin is correct? Only others can see us and give us our character? It is all very confusing....

electronic logs

so i had another meeting with my supervisor yesterday evening. i guess my paper went over ok, the pen didnt bleed red. i will have another meeting to discuss it with my other supervisor sometime soon, which means as soon as it can be arrange ( a more complicated matter than it would seem, given that i can only meet in the evening, given my job)
most of the meeting with my supervisor was actually spent trying to fill in this ridiculous electronic log that all phds are forced to maintain. it is a collasal waste of time in my view... i guess since i hadnt filled in a single entry in 3 months my supervisor got the idea that i had no intention of doing so, so she suggested we do it together....but this meant her copying and pasteing from the guidelines page! what an absurd waste of energy these logs are....pages of garbage along the lines of "what professional skills do you intend to acquaire of the the next 3 months?" groan..
in the mean time, i have a lot of (more important) work to do on primary sources...enough to keep me busy for several weeks i guess.
i also have a group of italian 16 year olds at work to keep me occupied, so i guess i am not in danger of beoming bored!
after the meeting with my supervisor, i followed the usual routine of meeting razvan outside the science library and going for drinks at the ritual pub. it must be a ritual shared by many of razvan's fellow anthropologists, since we ran into a whole group of them as we walked in. there was a vaguely insane mexican girl a german...the two were somehow cousins or something like that...i didnt really catch the connection...then ana came, which was surreal since i dont think i had seen her since we were all living in budapest 2 years ago...but she is here now, also on a phd. in fact, i guess she is regarded as some kind of genius, since she has been given a monstrously large stipend of 22,000£ a year. incredible. and she gets really cheap housing from the university, so i guess she has it pretty nice at the moment.
so once again i had to stumble back form the pub to the train station....fortunately i could count the correct change needed to buy my evening sandwich for the trip home this time!
i got back (as usual) clode to midnight and it was seriously difficult to haul myself out of bed for an early morning consultation with professor today...i guess the strain must have shown on my face, since he immediately suggested we consult over coffee....

drinks

I hate wasteing my time for no reason !
Today after work i went running out of the building in order to catch my 15:45 train, even though my boss had said she wanted to speak to me about the italians after work. The reason i thought i was in such a hurry was that i was scheduled to do medical testing at one of the universities medical faculties at 16:45. so i arrived at the place;;;;;and no one showed up! Then i walked over to my own faculty and checked my email from the post grad lab, and guess what? The medical people had sent me an email at 16:00 saying they didnt need me any more! But at that time i was already on the train, so i could not have got it anyway....grrr. so, since i had already come in to the university, i decided to take advantage of being there: i fotocopied bout 100 pages of a book i really need for my work, but cant take out of the library (it is classified as a reference work, grr again) then i texted razvan and we arranged to meet for drinks. It seems i am developping a series of regular pubs. Igor and i always go to a pub next to his faculty. We tried a couple of times to go to other ones, but they were either closed for private parties or they just couldnt compete with the one next to the faculty and its big leather chairs....so razvan and i go to another one, but with equally regularity. We always meet outside the science library where razvan works, we contemplate going a different direction, looking for a new unexplored pub....but i guess we already know them all in the area, and the one down the street from the science library is....well, conveniently just down the street. So we end up there. We both always order the same red wine. Our conversation last night ended up somehow on the 1980s and early 90s. Things in romania were i guess much worse than in the collapsing soviet union. Razvan’s early memories consisted of running back and forth between bread and butter lines and constantly being told by his parents not to ask inappropriate questions as to why the lines were so long and no one else said anything. Ceaucescu was a freak. But i also think maybe razvan has a longer memory than i do. Or maybe mine is just exceptionnally short. I recently read in vesna goldsworthy’s chernobyl strawberries how she describes her daily routine at the age of 7 or so. I honestly cannot remember mine. I have some memories that stand out perfectly clearly, like the death of Brezhnev and the other two goons who followed. I can remember certain books that i read with great passion, and certain places we went on holiday are clear to me......But most of my “daily life” memories are lost. I cant remember what time i got up, or what i ate, or who my teachers were, or what i did after school....total blank....is it possible to develop alzheimer’s in my 20s?

coordination difficulties

yesterday morning seemed like a nice day (definition: it wasnt raining) so i decided to spend part of the morning in the library, and then walk about a bit with friends. actually i made the tour of libraries. i spent most of the time in SOAS and senate house. i like the SOAS library since it has a nice bar....and it also has a great selection of middle eastern and asian stuff, which is exactly what i needed. so i got a bunch of books on syria and lebanon, and i will probably get into them today. then i went over to senate house, which is enormous...the place is yet another maze of badly organised books. you have to keep running up and down stairs and climbing ladders. but the selection is pretty good...although it didnt have exactly what i was looking for (all for you, jeronimo!) so i will have to make the pillgrimmage to the british library for that.
after my library adventure, i went to meet igor, outside what we call MGY.
we alked a bit around the area, but ended up as usual in the pub that seems to be becoming our regular. it is just next to his law faculty, and it has these great massive leather chairs. you can sit for hours and no one notices...and generally we are not the only people getting drunk and speaking loudly in russian, the last time we were there (last weekend) we ended uo next to serbs...so we were drinking. igor had whisky (as usual) and i had wine (as usual) and i got a bit drunk since i hadnt eaten all day....so afterwards, when i was at the train station, i decided it might be a very good idea to get something to eat. so i stumbled over to upper crust and asked for a sandwich...but then i had great difficulty counting the change...the woman behind the counter was looking at me like i was insane, and i was embarassed, but dammit i just couldnt count those coins! so finnally she did it for me. it is bad when you cant count to £3.29! so then i flopped myself onto the train and chugged a liter of water and ate my sandwich and in such a fashion returned more or less to a functioning state.
so now it is sunday and i am trying to get myself prepared for the coming three weeks, which promise to be hectic, since the place where i work is going to be flooded with italian teenagers.
dio mio fatemi morire!
and i have so much reading and writing to get done also;;dont know how i will manage it!

thanks marcus!

as you will notice, i made a few changes to the side bars, adding a friends and a news section with links...for the inspiration for this idea, and for the assistance in its excecution, i must thank my collegue, marcus, who is more sophisticated in such matters than am i!
thanks!

aie!

Je n’ai pas beaucoup d’expérience avec les gens dépressifs. Et j’utile le mot « dépressif » dans son sens clinique.
Je ne connais pas beaucoup de monde en Angleterre….et un de ces connaissances rares (mon voisin, Paul) évidement souffre de ce problème. Au début, j’ai remarqué qu’il était d’humeur changeante et j’avais du mal à comprendre. Tantôt il était charmant et aimable, tantôt il ne l’était pas. Mais tout le monde et un peu comme ça….mais j’ai remarqué que chez lui, c’était plus extrême. De temps en temps, il m’a achetée un verre, mais de temps en temps il a refusé de me dire « bonjour. » mais c’était seulement hier soir que j’ai compris jusque à quel point la situation était grave. Il m’a invité de prendre un verre dans un pub. Ian est aussi venu avec nous. Au début mon voisin était charmant et amusant. Et puis, il a reçu un SMS d’une fille. Le SMS était simple : je suis au travail, je suis très occupée, j’ai pas le temps pour t’écrire maintenant, je t’écrirai plus tard. Mais selon Paul, la fille l’a poignardé dans le dos. Il a chuté dans une dépression qui le rendrait incapable de parler. Je n’ai jamais vu quel qu’un comme ça avant. Quand il est allé rechercher le WC, Ian m’a expliqué ce qui se passe : Ce n’était pas le premier fois, ça arrive souvent, il prend les médicaments, mais ils ne marchent pas tout le temps….déprimé, il croit que tout le monde est en train de l’attaquer, il ne parle pas à personne, il s’enferme dans sa chambre avec ses livres comme un ermite. Il dit qu’il ne veut plus des amis, que tout le monde le déteste, qu’il va rester seul pour le reste de sa vie.
C’est horrible, mais on ne peut rien faire, il n’écoute pas ni les blagues, ni la raison. On ne peut que attendre…

rambling

Je prends le train chaque après midi à 15 :45. Je prends toujours exactement le même train parce que je quitte le travail à 15 :30, j’arrive à la gare à 15 :38, et il me reste le temps pour choisir un sandwich chez Upper Crust et monter dans le train. Le voyage prend environ 45 minutes. J’écoute la musique, ou je lis (ou plus souvent, je fais les deux au même temps) de temps en temps je suis trop fatiguée pour me concentrer sur un livre…et puis je regarde le paysage vers le fenêtre. En général, les paysages sont très beaux par ici… mais déprimants. L’hiver en Angleterre est morne et brumeux. Ça me rappelle un peu Leningrad/ St. Peters bourg où j’ai vécu autrefois avec mon père. Heureusement, il fait pas si froid ici que là-bas….mais c’est le même genre du froid : le froid humide qui est cent fois pire que le froid extrême qui accompagne le soleil dans les endroits plus loin de la mer que Peters bourg ou Londres. L’autre ressemblance entre les deux villes, c’est que le soleil se couche trop tôt. Un mois a déjà passé depuis le solstice, mais le soleil continue à se coucher lugubrement avant 16 heures. Cette semaine, je suis montée dans le train juste à temps pour le regarder. Ce n’est pas un spectacle coloré comme dans les autres coins du monde : le ciel simplement s’assombrit jusqu’à l’obscurité. Quand j’arrive à la fac, c’est déjà tout noir. J’attends l’été….La chatte est en train de mordre sans arrêt un bouchon de bouteille qu’elle a trouvé évidement dans la poubelle qu’elle vient de renverser (encore !) pourquoi est-ce que tous les chats font une fixation sur le renversement des poubelles ? benh, je vais pas demeurer trop sur cette question. Les canalisations dans l’appart de ma directrice des recherches ont gelé, et elle ne peut pas me voir aujourd’hui comme prévu. Donc, il me reste une semaine en plus pour lire ce que je veux- quel bonheur ! J’ai emprunté Chernobyl Strawberries par Vesna Goldsworthy à la bibliothèque, et je l’ai commencé hier soir (sur le train, bien entendu). Le livre me rappelle Hologrami Straha de Drakulic, ce sont tous les deux les mémoires incités par la maladie. C’est un drôle de genre !

see the fake snow? i dont know how they did that...it even felt like the real stuff.... 

no comment on this one 

these bratiya grimm fellows are a bit stange...and igor and i couldnt figure out if they are twins or just two guys who look almost exactly the same... 

������ ����� 

Братья Гримм/ ДДТ

С новым годом!!!!!
so last night the kind russian government rented trafalgar square in order to throw the second annual russian- london old new year's party.
there were thousands of ex soviets floating around the square. for a while (when DDT came on) it was almost impossible to move, there were so many people. it was basically like being in moscow, there was a huge tent selling baltika beer and those nasty street foods you can get in russia (shashlik...)
i went with igor, the event seemed just too surreal to miss. besides, luzhkov was promised to give a speech, and we of course could not miss such a momentous occasion.
the event opened with the red army orchestra playing the soviet national anthem (ok, it is the russian one now, with new lyrics, which no one seemds to have learned, since everyone was singing the old!) i wish my dad could have been there, he would have loved it: the soviet anthem in trafalgar square! baronness thatcher would have had a heart attack! then we had a few speeches, and then finnally, just as the sun was setting, DDT came on. they sang all the main hits.....when they played Рожденный в СССР the crowd got quite enthusiastic....it was funny....igor was laughing....afterwards Братья Гримм played a set...they had on very funny clothes;;;the organisers even payed for artifical snow to be blown through the air, and at least as long as DDT was on, it seemed that it was snowing....but then it started raining....and the nasty english rain washed away all the fake snow. igor and i finnally left before ivan kupala came on, mainly because i was freezing...that is the problem with outdoor concerts in the middle of winter, no matter what you wear you get cold....
so then we went to a pub near our unis. we sat in the back corner on huge leather chairs and decided to have an enormous typically english pub meal....only to find ourselves sitting next to a serbian couple who had also just been at the concert and had russian flags tied around their wrists...what can i say? brotherhood!

the new diet

So we got the first installment of the new diet today. I went to the vet on the way home from work to pick up the gourmet japanese meal. It came in an exciting package, with various approval stickers to allow it to be exported to south africa, britain and australia. This is international stuff, it would seem.
The vet gave me very strict instructions that she is to have this food, and only this food for the next four weeks. I nodded gravely.
So then i went home to try the stuff out on her excellency.
The cat and i have a tradition: every day when i get home from work i giver her “the special treat.” This is nothing fancy, normally just half a portion of wet cat food (not a full portion, since then she gets over excited and eats too fast and throws up, normally on the carpet!) knowing this, the cat is always waiting for me at the door when i get home, and she pulls on my trousers leg incessantly until she gets her “treat.” So today seemed like any other, i came home, she went through her usual routine....except, alas, she can have her special treat no more....it contains the wrong kind of protein!
So i got out the bag of.....well, according to the label it is Catelin mixed with manioc. (i always though manioc came from congo, since i was introduced to it by congolese, and they are the only ones i have ever seen eat it...but the package claims to be an “exotic asian mixture”....i guess this mystery is not really worth dwelling on!)
The mixture smells truely and completely putrid.
When i was a small child, i had fish. These poor creatures lived in a bowl, which i was supposed to clean once a week, since they were, after all, my fish. Except that i absolutely hated the task, the bowl’s bottom was inevitably foul, and there was this gastly odour.....so this is basically what the catelin and manioc smells like. The whole room reaked within minutes.
The cat, however, didnt seem to object, and after some initial complaining about the change in routine, set about eating the new stuff. But then, cats go for the smelly stuff.

She has now been well fed, so i can return to my reading. I have been indulging myself since i presently do not have a paper to work on. I read drakulic’s latest on the war crimes tribunal....one of her better efforts, but still annoyingly superficial. I then read sandor marai’s conversations in bolzano, which was disappointing, i must confess. It had its moments, but after Embers, which i greatly enjoyed, it was a pale comparision. I think i will have to switch genre now and randomly try something more removed from my speciality.....

pass the wasabi, please

So after three weeks of waiting for the steroids to get out of her little system, we finally went into to the vet for the blood testing.
The allergy specialist was very nice and seemed knowledgable. These guys really live the cool life- he hops between southern england and northern france testing cats and dogs! Apparently that is considered normal for such specialists.....and the fees they are able to charge i guess makes such a lifestyle attractive.
I was just amazed to encounter a british doctor capable speaking fluent french, i didnt know such creatures existed!!!!
So the specialist suspects it is a protein based allergy. We did the blood tests, but she is also being transfered immediately to a special diet that is supposed to be easier to digest for cats in such predicaments. So today we planned and ordered her diet for the next month. It is a japanese developped low-protein with vitamin-compensation diet that involves ROASTED TROPICAL FISH. no i am not kidding, such things apparently do exist for cats!
So tomarrow i have to go back to the vet to pick up the first installment of this gourmet treat.
It seems she can even have sushi, in fact it could be good for her as it has multiple food groups! On the way back from the bet, i started hallucinating about going into a sushi bar and splitting a meal with my cat, i get the maki, she gets the crab....
What next?

The End

it is edited, footnoted, done, and sent to my supervisor, exactly on time.
now i just have to wait as usual for the response.
in the meantime i plan to read all the fiction books i have been wanting to read for the past month but havent managed to....lets see how many i can get to before my next paper is assigned....

john knox reincarnated

so now that my holy neighbour has realised that the "secret" door in his study opens into my hallway, he has been visiting often. it is kind of funny actually...i will be sitting at my desk working on something and suddenly i will hear the punch of the "secret" door opening and a loud shetland accent announcing his arrival. (my building seems more and more like hogwarts all the time!)
needless to say, the cat has now also discovered this "secret" door and seems to think that all of the territory on the other side belongs to her as well....the preacher (i mean minister, of course) even ended up involuntarily sharing his crab lunch the other day....he left it unattended for a minute and came back to find the cat going at it!
but this minister in training has some pretty juicy gossip....like the head methodist minister's 17 year old daughter getting pregnant over the christmas holiday....ha ha ha thats what you get when you dont teach your kids about birth control!
i was a bit surprised at first, but this guy seems to know everything that goes on in the building....all this and protestants dont even have confession!
i still havent finished this paper, i am waiting for one last book that i need to consult before i can turn it in...the book was supposed to arrive last friday, but things are still delayed due to the holidays, and so i am still waiting...grrrr....otherwise the paper is ready to go...
and today is my first day back at work after the holiday....grrr again....but i need money, one has to eat (and buy books......)

preacherman

My neighbour who lives in the other section of the building (but his study room has a fire exit that, we just discovered, opens into my corridor) has been visiting. He moved here from THE SHETLANDS. I guess some one has to live up there! He is training to be a minister (!!!!!) and is very nice in a minister sort of way....he showed me pictures of the shetlands, and said it is beautiful up there....i am not convinced, the place looked like my definition of misery....and he had stories to fit my notion of celtic islands: alcoholism, 13 year old girls getting pregnant by there uncles....i imagine sheep fucking as well, but he is too well bred to get into that! It reminded me of the stories my collegue Cat in paris used to tell me about her years working on the isle of mann.....incest, drugs and alcohol....and sheep! What a nightmare.
I should get back to my paper, i got a copy of the constant gardener, the book, out of the library to entertain me on the excruciatingly dull train ride to nottingham, but that means that i couldnt get any work done until i finished the book, which i finnally did in the wee hours of the night.
Now, back to that paper!

here is the fake castle...i bummed the picture off the internet, since it was pissing rain when i was there 

as you can see, it is hardly an inspiring landscape 

nottingham

So Friday i had a conference in nottingham, which is somewhere in the middle of england. I didnt even know the place existed outside of robin hood until a 2 years ago when marko told me he had spent a year there. So it turns out that not only does nottingham exist, but it is located right next to sherwood forest...amazing huh?
Actually that is about the most exciting thing that can be said about the place. The town/city itself is drab and grey, i can see why marko hated it. It is too big to be cute and too small to be a city, in the sense that at least manchester is. It is dull, there is little to do or see except a fake castle and some robin hood kitsh. There are two universities, neither of them really well regarded, and neither of them particularly attractive. The one holding the conference was relatively new, designed in the kind of university-campus “modern” architecture that will look dated and hideous in 20 years....kind of like all the buildings of the university of novi sad. I am sure they were the height of modern in 1970s! The conference room was awful, the ventilation system seemed to be down and within an hour we were all yawning and the windows were steamed up.
The conference organisor seemed like a really nice guy, and there were three other guys who seemed ok....the girls were pretty awful for the most part, especially the english ones. I had lunch with a 3 women who spent most of the the time talking about the gym, their diets, and how much wieght they resolved to loose in the new year. YUCK! Needless to say, they were all overwieght and out of shape! There were a few exceptions, there were three girls from york (two were actually taiwanese, and not fat) who seemed ok and told me i have to come up to york, and one girl from trinity in dublin was ok as well....the rest were atrocious. The talks were up and down. One of the girls from york presented her ideas which were obviously still in the beginning stages, but which were really interesting (age as travel)....the problem with these conferences is that by the time the second session came around, i was so brain dead that i couldnt really process what was being said....
The journey back was a kleidoscope of depressing grey downs, the majority of which i had never heard of. The english train network is illogical, the train lines run north to south, but there is almost nothing going east-west, so the people coming from places just a bit east or west of nottingham spent hours trying to get to the place. The trains here are also obscenely expensive, and got more so on 1 january. So from london to nottingham, the ticket was slightly over 50 pounds return.....the girl from dublin paid 27 pounds return to fly over! No logic....

the latest news

well the latest news is neither pressing nor exciting..
i spent new years day with friends of the family who are in their 80s....the good thing is that they like feeding me, and as i like being fed, this is a good deal. so we went to the cinema to see the constant gardener (which made me want to go to africa, not that this was the films intention...) and then they took me to the house and fed me about 5 courses over a 4 hour period...i could barely breathe as i left....
then yesterday i continued my culinary splurging. i met justin in FCUK (where i was both restraining myself and uninspired by what is left of the sales)
we decided to go to the V&A....but we didnt know which metro stop it was at, so we went into a book shop and flipped through a guide. there was a selection of guides, and while i was looking at the "book lovers guide to london" justin had the sense to look at restaurants in the area of the V&A, which is how we ended up in a french place with cheap and filling food, before we got to the museum.
there is an expo on chinese photography on at the V&A. very worth seeing.
we then went back to justins house...were i ate even more....we (um that is to say justin, as i am gastronomically challenged) made fake raquelette....but it was really good!
but i still have to finish this bloody paper...it is killing me....