(Adventures of) LexOnline

Finished.

2009-12-05T15:18:00.004+11:00

Brighton, UK

Dear UK,

Four months after leaving your pebbly shores, I look back on you and remember sunny days, good people and amazing art. I miss the atmosphere of winter, where every inside space is warmly lit and cosy. Where Christmas with images of snowflakes really fits. I miss the Tate and all that great art and the member's room at the top with the view of St Paul's. I miss St Mary's, the comraderie of the other teachers there and my class of 30 hilarious five-year-olds.

UK, I know without question that you were tough. But somehow memory takes the edges off, and when the edges are worn enough that I only remember the good, it's time to move on.

Lauchlin took me out this morning for coffee and french toast. We imagined up some new dreams that are totally different.

It's time to move on. And it's time to finish writing here. Here's to new dreams.

Love,
Lex

where to go when it's 36 degrees and rising

2009-12-01T15:44:00.003+11:00

Botanic Gardens, Melbourne. Taken with phone camera.

Permablitz

2009-11-27T12:22:00.003+11:00

Last weekend Lauch and I joined in a Permablitz - basically we volunteered with a bunch of other people to help turn someone's garden into a permaculture garden. Thats me at 2:07 in the slideshow planting tomatoes! The people who owned the garden put on an amazing vegetarian lunch for us and their Greek mum showed us how to make dolmades. It was pretty cool putting the seedlings in. The smell of tomato plants is amazing.

Rain Like You Mean It

2009-11-26T14:36:00.002+11:00

It's raining hard like the raindrops could pierce our corrugated iron roof. The bleached grey fence is now dark with water. Lightning just snapped as if it was above our house, specifically.

I only remember two thunder storms in the years I was in London. Still getting used to this place where most days pass in a hot fug and it rains like it really means it.

Like a Billabong

2009-11-16T09:12:00.005+11:00

Lauch and I went to see what was outside of Melbourne yesterday. Found this place called Wonga Park... all the names here seem a bit odd after nearly three years of "Shoe Lane" and "Paddington" and "Cambridge." We walked for an hour and a bit along the Yarra. People were canoeing and swimming and some were just floating along in black rubber inner tyres. There were parts where the river widened, corners where people's shouts echoed and you could hear the stillness of the trees and the splashing of the river. So, so Australian.

It's Mango Season!

2009-11-14T12:20:00.003+11:00

I thought when I left Thailand I'd never have mangoes that good again. But today we found mangoes, 3 for a fiver at the local farmer's market. Now all we need is some sticky rice.

Tuesday's Graffiti

2009-11-11T13:40:00.002+11:00

Friday Night

2009-11-07T13:00:00.002+11:00

I took this photo at St Kilda on Friday night, as the sun was going down. Those houses look out at the beach toward the horizon.

I love where I live right now.

Look Down

2009-11-02T17:31:00.002+11:00

I was on the 39th floor today, looking down through floor-to-ceiling windows at floor-to-ceiling skyscrapers. I snuck this photo with my phone camera, eating a kool mint and filling out forms.

Transition

2009-10-30T12:57:00.004+11:00

I woke up to the sound of rain on the roof and now the front porch is slick with water. Strangely, it all feels cozy and somehow right that it should be wet outside and the light falling through our kitchen window is filtered and dozy.

Lately, I've had this desire for soup with pearl barley and potato and celery in it, wanted to light candles in the evenings. Felt slightly odd that it's been humid and 27 degrees outside. I have this feeling of autumn, even though it's coming towards summer here, if I were in the UK now it would be autumn and frosty and beautiful leaves everywhere and soup would be just right, for now.

Funny that I went to the UK wanting to get under its skin, somehow to understand what it is to be English. And instead, it made me realise how truly Australian I am and crept its way under MY skin. Funny how things don't always happen in the way you would expect.

Cinque Terre

2009-10-26T21:58:00.000+11:00

A cool evening with the breeze wandering through Biassa, sitting in a little local place eating thin thin pizza with just tomato, mozarella, basil and a beer. Hair still wet from swimming in the sea, sand between my toes. Looking out and down to the harbour. Walking home past a church and some Italians tending their gardens, windows open, the smell of vines in the air.

Sunday Morning

2009-10-25T22:23:00.003+11:00

Vanilla soothing black tea; Silver stars in a whiskey sample bottle

Heat

2009-10-20T16:38:00.002+11:00

Me at Saadien Tombs, Marrakesh, photo by Lauchlin

Marrakesh, height of summer.

You are surrounded by crisp dry heat just like when you've done your washing and hung it out on a particularly sunny summer's day. You bring the washing in and it's superdry all crispy in your arms. Heat-soaked all the way through.

Your clothes, before you put them on in the morning, they feel like that. Hot already, right to the core.

Clothes and walls and rooftops and roads. Wind.

All of it is hot.

Five Minutes, Friday

2009-10-17T20:24:00.005+11:00

Near Flinders St, Melbourne

Midnight. I was standing, waiting for the tram. It was drizzling lightly, falling in whorls, in flakes like snow. Thinking about beer, tiny shoes, conversations with new people whose names are already blurring. About how strange it is that, with some friends, time stretches so almost-three-years feels like not-that-long-at-all.

Spain

2009-10-13T14:35:00.006+11:00

I'm taking a break from writing endless job applications to daydream, as usual, about being somewhere else, somewhere with windy coastline and amazing old palaces.

This is what I remember: long dry dusty roads, strangely lush olive groves, wind farms looking small and then looming huge from below. Weird signs on the roadside from a long ago iconic ad campaign.

The road near Cartejima

Rounding a corner to see a white-washed, tiny village hugging the hillside with barely room for cars. Ducking my head to fit through a doorway squashed by several hundred years. Eating cherries marinated in some kind of spirit, five would tip you into silliness.

Cartejima

Window at the Alhambra

Dusty hot hot day at the Alhambra, walking slow, looking and looking at tiles and carvings and patterns on patterns.

I put a slideshow here if you want to swoop through Spain for a bit - the photos are in chronological order so it's a bit like a little tour.

Sunday

2009-10-11T19:19:00.012+11:00

I took the slow tram to st kilda
had a chai latte with josie & dooley
can't stop loving the height and incredible blueness of this sky.

Crossing

2009-10-08T18:35:00.005+11:00

I'm curled up in an "ocean-view recliner" with a yellow blanket snuggled over my jeans, reading Burning Chrome. Half-listening to the man wheezing as he crosses the room to sit near me. "I suppose you'll never get old," he says, when he catches his breath. He smiles when I tell him "Probably." Tells me he's 84. I'm watching the night get deeper, feeling the thump of distance as the sea disappears beneath us. Wondering if my generation will be able to choose to live forever.

Addicted to New

2009-09-09T22:00:00.002+10:00

On the one hand it's hard, all this beginning again. Making another home. Building a reputation within my chosen career again. I'm back in Australia, house hunting and job hunting and wearing my only two pairs of trousers because it's cold and everything else is still in shipping. I wouldn't have to wear the same jumper all the time if I had settled down somewhere, if everything in my life was in its place and just how I like it.

The street we stayed in, Bodrum, Turkey

On the other hand, all this change, it's great. It feels like I'm still travelling - not looking at things with bored eyes but with the eyes of a foreigner. Noticing Art Deco details on buildings, amazing graffiti, a stylish Melbournian wearing a waist-tied camel coat with elbow-length sleeves over a grey stripey top.

Tower of a mosque, Bodrum, Turkey

I think I might finally understand why people can become travellers permanently. Maybe it's about feeling constantly inspired. Addicted to newness.

Tiles from Topkapi Palace, Istanbul, Turkey

Turkishly Delightful

2009-08-30T03:55:00.007+10:00

Istanbul is cool. Not London black-skinny-jeans-attitude-with-punkish-haircut cool. But cool in the style of a Uni student with funky clothes and bouncy enthusiasm. The place has a non-stop energy about it that we felt the minute we stepped off the hydrofoil from Greece. Totally different from the slow island pace of Greece.

I loved the shopping here. The Grand Bazaar is totally touristy but the men (and yes, it is almost entirely the men being shopkeepers) are particularly charming about it. I heard so many lines today, most of them beginning with "Hey lady!" My favourite was "This scarf will change your life." Lauchlin says they are silvery-tongued but I think it's genuine. I think these people, although they are of course trying to sell stuff, are just being... nice.

Other highlights of Istanbul for me have been: the pastries (SO GOOD), the apple tea and the tiles at the Topkapi Palace. Photo of one of said tiles above. My already rampant tile obsession (specific to Moorish tiles and Turkish Iznik tiles) has had fuel added to its fire.

On our way back to the hostel tonight we passed lit up mosques and sizzling grilled fish. We went back to the turkish delight specialist we went to last night. The man recognised us and greeted us effusively (helpfully informing Lauchlin that turkish delight is an aphrodisiac) and we spent the last of our Turkish lira on turkish delight. I couldn't think of anything I'd rather spend my last lira on, on my last night in Europe.

Sea-Dog (Salty)

2009-08-26T00:30:00.003+10:00

I didn't want to say anything... but I've been worried about Lauchlin lately. The longer we stay on the sea, the more his personality seems to change.
At first I thought it was just me. But then I noticed other people looking at him slightly strangely too. It began with a tendency to call people 'Matey.' Then exotic talking birds started to flock around him, sometimes landing and perching on his shoulder. His usual bushwalker's gait turned into more of a swagger. And even for an Australian, his language became saltier than usual.

Finally, today I saw it. The gleam of gold and adventure in his eye.

Now I know what it is.

He's turned into a pirate.

I always knew that beard was up to no good.

Arrrrrrrrgh, me hearties.

Frappelicious

2009-08-21T03:09:00.003+10:00

Santorini, Greece

I'd been itching for days to sample a frappe, as enjoyed by many old Greek men. They appear to sit for hours in cafes. Nursing a frappe, chairs facing the street, calling out every now and then to their fellow shopkeepers, next door neighbours, mothers' sisters' cousins, lovers... when you don't understand a word, a handshake and a clap on someone's shoulder could mean anything.

In Santorini, find appropriate cafe with incredible view.

Cost of frappe is only slightly ridiculous. Frappe arrives immediately in slick-looking glass. First mouthful... DISGUSTING! How can this be? Tastes of... COFFEE... but cold, without even heat to take the edge off foul taste. Even the froth is sludge-brown coffee flavour not the milky escape it should be. UGH.

Evil frappe

Decide foul taste is reason Greeks linger so long over their latte, not delicious flavour as previously imagined. Deceptive Greeks!

City of Athena

2009-08-16T22:33:00.008+10:00

Athens is somehow exactly the way I thought it would be. I'm not sure how this has happened - did I somehow see photos of everything or read a guidebook that described it perfectly? Is it deja vu? Was I Greek in a past life?

Either way, it's a strangely satisfying feeling.

Yesterday I did a walking tour run by an expat American from South Carolina, who showed us all the old stuff. Like, you know, the Parthenon, Hadrian's Library, the Acropolis, the Agora (market place) - it is all lying around, piles of old stones scattered between tufts of dry grass, pine trees and the constant creak of cicadas. Nothing feels too grandiose until you're standing nose to nose with a big fat column of marble and you look up.

Somehow, we managed to end up in Athens on a public holiday weekend, which means the city has a very relaxed vibe. A tapas-eating, Greek dancing, balalaika-playing, ouzo-drinking relaxed vibe. All of which I have eaten, watched and drunk. Now I'm off to shop for sandals.

Drifting

2009-08-14T02:27:00.007+10:00

Piazza Santa Maria Novella, Florence

Travel is really about passing through, passing time. Waiting for buses, trains, planes. Planning. Doing the washing. Sleeping. The other stuff is hyped, the seeing of great sights, eating of great meals. People don't so much mention the drifting time.

I'm sitting here on this lush grass - if we were in London you wouldn't be allowed to sit on it - and it's that time of day when all the shadows disappear. Nothin' but sun. Nearby are some workmen in florescent orange pants, sweeping and shovelling and scraping. A group of hipsters on the grass, wearing aviator sunnies and eating a picnic lunch. Tourists passing through, pausing and posing for goofy photographs.

And me. Lying in the sun. Wearing a giant hat and a lot of sunscreen and just lazily watching the time pass. Because after two and a half weeks on holiday things have finally slowed down and all I can say is, it's good.

That Cash Cow Feeling

2009-08-04T00:48:00.004+10:00

Atlas Mountains, Morocco

Lauchlin and I are up in the Atlas Mountains. Across the way is the highest mountain in North Africa. We are staying in a most luxurious place with two tiny grasshoppers wandering around the walls, hot water in the showers and 360 degree views of mountains.

I came to Morocco determined to respect the (Muslim) culture. Since it's not really safe for women to travel alone, I've been everywhere with Lauchlin, wearing full length trousers and long sleeved shirts all the time. I'm wearing my wedding ring (dont worry mum, we haven't eloped!) and I'm speaking as much French as I can.

But still.

I have this feeling that I have suddenly stopped looking like my usual gangly red-head self and turned into a giant white cash cow. Whenever we buy things people try to charge us double, or triple - or even, like at dinner last night, FIVE TIMES the price that things should cost! It can be a little stressful trying to pursuade people to charge us fair rates.

However, people seem friendly, it is interesting eating tagines from terracotta tagine pots, and the night market in Marrakesh was fascinating.

Night Market, Marrakesh

I will write some more about the beautiful bits of Morocco when we get back to Marrakesh.

Love
Lex

South of Spain, North of Africa

2009-08-01T21:38:00.004+10:00

View over Tarifa, Spain - those blue hills are Africa

Hello from Tarifa!

I'm siting on the roof terrace in my fisherman pants with crazy salt-caked hair blowing in the breeze. We went swimming in the sea today. It was warm and calm and there were maybe a few thousand tanned people swimming. There were topless ladies.

I'm watching the moon rise and the horizon dim. Listening to goat bells clunking on the hill, ships honking dimly. Here, the wind BLOWS that's why there's a hotel called the Hurricane Hotel. The Spanish have names for the different strengths of wind.

We're staying in a house with no doors and no locks; a dog like a wolf and a couple of strange looking tomato plants tucked away behind a chimney pot. You can see Africa from here.

x
Lex

Hola! Habla ingles?

2009-07-30T06:29:00.004+10:00

Hi! These photos were taken in Cartejima, a tiny white town in the south of Spain. White as in ALL the buildings are white! There are lots of these in the south of Spain but this one was particularly cute. We stayed in a little old building run by an Englishman who is very welcoming and enthusiastic and enjoys a few drinks on the roof terrace.

These photos were taken at 7am in the morning. Mmm. Because in this heat, 6.30am seems like quite a reasonable time to be awake. Niiiice and cool. It is hard work putting up photos on the tiny laptop so there will only be a photo every now and then.

The last week has been full of swimming on the roof terrace in Granada, white mountain towns in Cartejima, staying on a little farm with some lovely ex-hippies in Tarifa. And swims in the sea which was WARM. Now Lauch and I are in Seville and will be flying into the madness of Marrakesh in two days.

Lexonline, alive and well in Seville, signing off.
x

It's Official

2009-07-19T03:00:00.000+10:00

Lauch and I are hitting the road! We fly out of London this Friday 24th July and will be somewhere between London and Istanbul for the next four or five weeks. Lauch's bringing his mini laptop so I hope to be able to put a few photos up while we're away in the heat of Spain, Morocco, Italy, Greece and Turkey.
x Lex

How to Say Goodbye

2009-07-19T01:13:00.000+10:00

Leaving means:

The end of
arthouse movies at the Barbican,
the kind that never make it to Australia.

The end of
wandering through the centre of London, that gorgeous bit
with neon lights and bookshops and that incredible feeling of age.
London is hard to describe
feels like Chatuchak market in Thailand - endless and maze-like
and you never know what magic you might find.

This is the end of the best teaching job I ever had
and the most amazing five-year-olds I ever met.

This is the end of lazy weekends
frittered away in Lantana
and idle conversations with Frank and Andrew and Sid and Chetna.

A few friendships finishing,
you know the ones that were just beginning,
with people you think are cool
but you didn't have quite enough time to work up the courage
to tell them so.

And leaving means the beginning of something new
and shiny and good.

Late Wednesday Night

2009-07-16T08:07:00.006+10:00

walking home from Putney
across a bridge, the river was the colour of indigo with a moon shining on it
bright white mixed with royal blue.

there were party boats turning wide uturns in the river
ripples of waves sinking outwards.

somewhere near ten, light just fading
people walking like shadows across the bridge.
an american with a giant beard and a bottle in his hand
asks us if the party boats go to Oxford
but suddenly the 220 bus pulls up and we run to get on it.

tonight, bellies full of thai food
and good conversation
and goodbyes, a little awkward
but promising:
new friends we might see again soon
on the other side of the world.

Heat

2009-07-04T18:43:00.004+10:00

White Cliffs, Dover

It has been about 30 degrees for the past two weeks. In the two and a half years I've lived here it has never been so hot. There is of course no air conditioning at work. All the teachers have been wearing shorts. The kids have turned into bedraggled creatures with bright pink patches on their cheeks and sweat dampened hair. The dinner ladies bring them inside early at lunch time, into the classrooms with all the lights turned off to feed them iced water and let them cool down.

This week there was a "weather warning" from the government to tell everyone how to deal with the heat. We were not to do PE outside. (The PE teacher took the kids out and they were only allowed to run in the shade of a building). Actually what you don't know is that there is no grass for our kids to run on in the playground - it is entirely made of bitumen. Which is hotter than grass I expect. We were not to have any electrical equipment turned on. No lights. No computers.

It takes me forty five minutes to walk home rather than thirty, my feet drag and shuffle and sometimes I'm eating icecream. It is wonderful, apart from all the sweat. Steamy and thundery and wonderful. All this heat and only three weeks left in London.

Headlines

2009-07-02T06:20:00.002+10:00

These were the headlines on Sunday. According to the Evening Standard, anyway. I love how sensationalist they are. Seriously, it's like they've predicted the end of the world already, several times this year.

But this time London is responsible for the death of Michael Jackson! Really! Since when do entire cities take responsibility for the death of one person?

I got to school on Monday expecting my class to be in blissful ignorance but no. They ALL knew who he was! They were all astounded that he was dead. One of them told me one of MJ's songs is "scary." (He was referring to 'Thriller.') I said to them solemnly "Yes everybody, Michael Jackson has died and now he will go to Heaven."

"No he won't!" said one bright boy. "Right now he's in the body room, and then he'll be in the one of those boxes in the ground... and THEN he'll be in Heaven."

Some Kind of Utopia

2009-06-30T04:02:00.003+10:00

The Barbican is a space-age kind of place. It was designed to be a kind of inner city oasis - a living centre with high-rise apartments that you get to on highwalks (a bit like a series of bridges) with a lake and an arts centre as its heart. Scenes from the latest James Bond movie were shot there. Lauch and I actually got engaged there exactly a year ago yesterday.

We turned up there yesterday to see a movie and found a dome! A dome which is actually an artwork.

It's a geodesic dome that is a teahouse. You can go in and get little cups of hibiscus tea from a waiter for free. You sit on triangular raw wooden tables and stools and drink this tea that is like blackcurrant herbal tea, deep hot pinkyred and STRONG.

And all the waiter will say to you is "I'm sorry. Goodbye."

I think the concept of the dome to recreate some of the futuristic housing designs of the fifties. Why did the waiter say "I am so sorry. Goodbye?" Apparently they were alluding to the relationship between the built environment and nature. Yes, hello global warming. I am so sorry. Goodbye.

Monsoon

2009-06-28T17:03:00.002+10:00

For the last few days it has been the kind of heat you get in tropical countries: the kind where the air buzzes with thunder while the sun is still shining. At about six o'clock last night we were walking to the station when the skies cracked open and down fell the rain in buckets. My jeans were soaked to the knees. My shoes became squidgy. It was beautiful.

The Flusher

2009-06-21T02:41:00.002+10:00

After, you know, the toilet locking episode... there was another incident.

The child who had a fascination with the toilet last time, he got a hold of the playdough. It was red this week. A big round ball of lovely red playdough.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed the playdough and it was all wet. Dripping.

Dripping?

A crowd of children came to tell me what was going on. "Miss Lexonline! He put the playdough.... in the toilet!"

But the part that made me laugh (but of course I had to keep a straight face since this was a Very Naughty thing to do) was when the story grew and the drama intensified. Five minutes later they were all sitting on the carpet, telling each other how the child had put the playdough in the toilet. And someone put their hand up.

"Miss Lexonline, he put the playdough in the toilet," the little girl's eyes widened and her voice was all drama "and he FLUSHED!"

Of course he didn't flush. But it was a great touch to add to the story.
It was all Very Naughty and This Must Never Happen Again.
And then it was over and they all went home and I had a good laugh.

Like a Mirage

2009-06-20T23:35:00.009+10:00

There are five weeks to go before we vacate our West London flat.

There are five weeks to go before we leave this place and already it feels as though being here is hardly real. I've been taking photographs of all my favourite places, trying to somehow grab hold of it before I'm back at the other end of the earth and can't just pop down to Portobello Road for the morning.

I know I've mentioned this place a few times before but I love it. It's the closest market to our place and the one I've spent the most time at, wandering through the great vintage clothing section, eating at the Grain Bakery vegetarian place, visiting my favourite shops.

The Spice Shop is wonderful. It's this tiny closet-sized shop packed with little bags of spices and its smell is deep and rich and even though it is the smell of a million curries mixed together, the smell is not awful, it is like a dark corner of a forest.

My other favourite shops are down the road from the Spice Shop - Books for Cooks and the Travel Bookshop. Books for Cooks is entirely a shop for cook books and out the back they test recipes. There's a cafe where you can eat their latest testings. I had tea there with mum when she was visiting. The Travel Bookshop is the bookshop that Hugh Grant's shop in the film 'Notting Hill' was modelled on. It's a great bookshop, with creaky wooden floors and big high shelves of books and a very good section of London books.

Today I bought a 60s tin from an antique shop and wandered home to show it off to Lauchlin.

It might have been the last time I'll see Portobello Road for a very long time.

Weird Art and the New Hendrix

2009-06-18T03:08:00.000+10:00

When I was walking to the Columbia Road flower market on Sunday, I noticed an advertisement for a highrise apartment building and its tagline was "just minutes from vibrant Brick Lane."

Vibrant Brick Lane? It was only a few blocks away and I hadn't been there since last summer, and that time the winter before.

Within a few blocks I was back in the mess and smell and noise and hipsters jostling for bargains laid out on the grotty ground along the laneway. Policemen bumped shoulders with fashionable young things and I wandered past great graffiti, broken glass, buskers drinking from wine bottles and the New Hendrix.

There's this little area at one end of Spitalfields market that's packed with vendors of food from around the world. The smells accost your nose. I went for the one with the biggest queue and got a japanese cheese and egg omlette called okonomi-yaki. And an onigiri (rice ball).

I went past the curry houses to see the Whitechapel gallery and looked at weird art. Bought a half dozen bagels from the bagel shop with grotty tiles, flourescent lighting and a queue that doubled up and went out the doorway. It was a great day out.

Down Columbia Road

2009-06-15T02:48:00.002+10:00

Columbia Road Flower Market was the last "famous" market in London I wanted to cross off my list. It was in this little cobbled street in the East end of London in what felt like the middle of nowhere. And then suddenly! This one tiny street appears, bursting with flowers and stall holders shouting "Three for a fiver" except it sounds more like "Free for a five-ah" and shouting "Orchids, orchids, Michael Jackson's favourite flower" and "Peonies, two for a five-ah, this is our last box for the day." Well-heeled shoppers politely jostling in the tiny space, gathering around the stall holders and lugging huge bags and boxes of flowers around. In this one street there are maybe ten super stylish shops selling screenprints and cupcakes (apparently cupcakes are the thing) and vintage stuff. It was worth the visit just to hear the hawkers.

Criminals, as Seen by Children

2009-06-12T03:21:00.000+10:00

There was a problem in my class of 5-year-olds the other day. Some little critter was going into the toilets, locking the door and crawling out, leaving the toilets locked from the inside. The old classic.

Who could it be? Better yet, how best to encourage children to stop doing this? I sat the 30 of them down and we had a discussion about how many germs there are on the toilet floor and how leaving the toilets locked would make the other children wet themselves (which happens every now and then anyway).

They were intrigued.

One little boy told me that if we couldn't find out who it was, the police would have to come and find out.

No no, I said. The police only come to catch adults who are naughty. Teachers are in charge of catching naughty children.

Somebody else said that the police come to get "robbers."

And a little girl said that sometimes naughty adults steal children. Time to end this discussion.

***

The next day, a little boy noticed that the toilets were no longer being locked from the inside. He told me that the Head Teacher had caught the child who was doing it and sent them to another school.

Guess he hadn't noticed that there were still 30 children present.

The View From Here

2009-06-08T00:39:00.003+10:00

You know how sometimes your life reads like a story? A fairytale, even? Then, other times it's tragicomedy... bit of light romance... At the moment my life is a to-do list. Seven weeks til we leave the UK! Here's what we need to do! Then we get back to Australia! Then here's what we need to do! Gah!

I won't bore you with my to-do lists. Hopefully life will turn back into a story soon. One with a happy ending.

Commute

2009-06-05T03:16:00.002+10:00

The french alps, photo taken from a plane window in January

A parent came up to me as I was dismissing the kids today. She told me her son had seen me walking home yesterday, but they were on the opposite side of the road from me. His dad had said "Oh look there's Miss Lexonline" and he'd said to his dad "Yep, she'll be going home to Australia now, that's where she lives."

Can you imagine the commute? West London to Tasmania and back again...

Everything in its Place

2009-05-30T01:07:00.002+10:00

Bookshop, Charing Cross Road

I love that London has lots of neat little areas where you can find things. For example, if you were looking for bookshops, Charing Cross Road is the place to go. There is also a little side street that sells guitars. When Lauch and I went shopping for my engagement ring, we went to Hatton Gardens - because that's the diamond area. And it's not just one block of shops either - Hatton Gardens is several blocks solid of glittering diamond paradise. Brick Lane for curry - although Ealing and Wembley are big areas for curry too. The West End for theatre. West London for Australians.

When you get to know the areas, you get to know certain things that happen there, like there is Speaker's Corner in Hyde Park - where anyone can get up on a soapbox (literally they stand on a box) and make speeches about whatever they're passionate about to the passers-by. And there are the Hari Krishnas - I'm always seeing them at about 6pm, dancing along Oxford St and then down Charing Cross Road singing "Hari hari hari..." They sound so cheery. (They're in the photo above left).

Chinatown at night - right near Soho

Lots of big cities have little areas of things, but London does it specially well because it's just had such a long time for things to evolve.

Dim Sum Daily

2009-05-29T08:36:00.002+10:00

Chinatown, London

I took this photo tonight on the way home from a little restaurant called the Cork and Bottle, it is inside a cellar near Leicester Square and it is in fact a wine bar run by some kiwis.

That is why you can get pavlova for dessert.

We met my uncle there and discussed the future without books and how people these days have more of everything: possessions, books, access to information, television channels...

I love way Soho feels at night: all busy and exciting full of rushing black cabs and those silly rickshaws. I have other photos to show you exactly what I mean, because I have been thinking about London and the bits and pieces that I love and about maybe recording and sharing my ideas about it.

Chetna says that maybe twitter and facebook give depth to people's conversations because you already know all about how people have been lately so when you see them in person you talk to them immediately at a different level, you don't ask "so how have you been" you skip that and begin with the interesting questions.

Maybe that's why I continue writing this blog: so when I see you I don't have to answer "so how was London and what have you been doing for the past two years" you already kind of know... and we can pick up the conversation at a different point.

I will show you some more photos of Soho tomorrow.

Barbeque

2009-05-25T04:46:00.005+10:00

It is the English way. The second the weather is convincingly sunny, the sky is clear, bright blue, the SUN IS OUT we strip down to shorts and tshirts and run outside. The parks are full. Everywhere there's a patch of grass, there we are, soaking it up because tomorrow it will rain. (And probably the day after that too.)

These SUN IS OUT days, they bring out the Australian in Lauch and me. We yearn to scorch food on a grill above hot coals. We bring out the vegie kebabs, the burgers, the great bread, potato salad, maybe a bottle of Corona.

There is nothing like a piece of grilled haloumi and the feel of a breeze on skin that hasn't felt breeze on it for at least six months.

How to Coddle an Egg

2009-05-23T17:27:00.003+10:00

A few months ago in the depths of winter, I was sitting in a cafe with Ken and Karina talking about how being in London had changed us. We noticed England had made us feel drawn to history, old things, rituals and tradition. So, months later, Ken and Karina presented me with a perfect UK souvenir as a birthday gift.

It is an egg coddler. The basic concept is, a boiled egg without any shell.

You crack the egg into the coddler, screw on the lid and put it in boiling water for about 10 minutes.

Voila! Eggs on toast. Perfect to go with a pot of tea.

White Cliffs (Crumbly)

2009-05-20T03:35:00.003+10:00

This is Dover. The white cliffs, seen from the clifftop near the town of Dover to be precise. It's the narrowest point of the English channel and is therefore the place where you can catch a ferry to France. You can see France off in the distance.

This is me, sitting on the cliff edge thinking of that lady who swam the English channel inside a shark-proof cage covered in some kind of lard to keep her warm. I wasn't thinking about how crumbly the cliffs are and about how we are supposed to keep five metres from the edge at all times.

Crumbly like fetta.
Sometimes what you aren't thinking about is as important as what you are thinking.

Anticipation

2009-05-18T06:03:00.003+10:00

What does the future hold? All things going according to plan, a trip around Europe in summer for Lauch & me. A very budget trip by the looks of things. We spent most of Saturday drinking tea and flicking through guidebooks and websites figuring stuff out. I'll tell you the gory details when it's fully booked. We have the beginnings of something beautiful.

School, Home, Making Notes

2009-05-13T03:37:00.003+10:00

This bag came from Portobello Market, the end where all the vintage stuff is. I got it from an Italian stall holder and managed to knock £5 off because of the writing inside the flap. But actually the writing is cool.

Walked home from work today with this bag slung across my shoulder. It was a perfect spring day. Bought an icecream with a scoop of nocciola and chocolate and walked past the op shops, the fishmonger, the fish and chip shop. A girl from work caught me window shopping and we walked up the street past the plant nursery to the station. Across the wide zebra crossing where the cars always stop for you.

One of the parents told me today that it was a shame I won't be working at the school next year. It is a shame.

I'm making notes, gathering momentum, wishing to stay and make this ending last a little longer.

I Always Miss The Ocean

2009-05-08T05:47:00.005+10:00

From the Pier at Brighton

It surprises me, the things I miss about home. For example, I don't miss vegemite. In fact, I never liked the stuff. Or barbeques, or any other food particularly. I miss my stuff - kitchen things, bowls, my blender. A certain arty cafe. There are a few people I miss.

And then there is the ocean. Kathryn did a painting once and it says on it "I always miss the ocean." The phrase has stuck in the back of my mind because whenever I find myself with sand under my feet, my heart jumps a little and a strange contentment fills me.

I do always miss it.

Scotland" />
Clockwise, left to right: Beaches in Wales, Plymouth, Loch Lomond and Brighton

A Wee Postcard from Ben Lomond

2009-05-06T04:55:00.004+10:00

Dear Mum, Dad and Everybody,

Hello from Ben Lomond, Scotland. I know what you're thinking. So where's the Loch Ness Monster? It's hiding um, under a rock.
Seriously - and I have to keep this short since there's not much room on this postcard - the shortbread here really is good, there aren't that many red-haired Scottish people, I didn't see ANY Scottie dogs and yes, the Scots really do talk like that. They're friendly too.
I loved the view from this mountaintop - Loch Lomond (to the left of this photo) was misted over with rain and there were lumpy islands gathered towards the end of the Loch. A perfect place for a monster to come into existence inside people's imaginations.

I hope you're well,
love,
Lex

P.S. They really do say things like "a wee postcard." It's lovely.

Spring

2009-04-30T03:20:00.000+10:00

The daffodils had the most amazing lines on them.

Things You Might See at the Seaside

2009-04-26T08:56:00.007+10:00

Bournemouth is two hours from London by train and it felt like another world. A world mostly populated by teenagers and grannies. A world with a brightly shining sun - yes, it was raining in London when we left.

Things we saw in Bournemouth:

* Icecream trucks selling Flake 99s (soft serve icecream - see photo of Lauchlin above)
* Clans of grannies playing Bingo in a real proper bingo hall
* Teenagers drinking and forming relationships
* Young teenaged boys smoking *special* cigarettes
* Teenaged girls getting into the ocean and screaming with the cold
* Rowdy huddles of men wearing identical stag night tshirts and playing minigolf
* Most people wearing tshirts while I shivered away in my coat, jumper and thermal top

Honestly, I was glad to come back to London and leave the teenagers to their awkward experimentation. Bournemouth was beautiful though - the space seems bigger when you look off a clifftop and see nothing but blue.

The Great Australian Beer...?

2009-04-26T08:54:00.002+10:00

We had a pint of Foster's in Bournemouth, since it was Anzac Day back in Australia. The strange thing being that I don't know anyone back home who drinks the stuff. It's everywhere here! How has that happened?
The beer itself was labelled "super chilled" and was served... COLD. It was pretty good actually on a sunny spring evening.

If You Were Here Now

2009-04-25T04:20:00.004+10:00

An old friend from Tassie visited me yesterday. Walking through the red front door he said it felt like deja vu because he'd seen photos before.

I love having people visit because it makes things seem less two-dimensional... you know, you go from seeing photos to seeing all the ugly bits but it's a more real experience. You can look around corners and into cupboards.

If you were here now, you'd find me in the kitchen boiling eggs for a picnic lunch tomorrow. You'd smell something incredibly garlicky, that would be the risotto I'm making to use up the remains of last night's bottle of wine. How many cloves? Oh... maybe six.

(Excuse me while I stir the rice).

My friend left a thank you note anchored down by a jar of vegemite. Great style!

If you were here now, you'd find me stirring the risotto and I'd probably ask what you were having for dinner.

Colour, Shape

2009-04-23T04:06:00.002+10:00

These are a few photos I took in Kew Gardens on the weekend. The colours, shapes and textures were amazing. It was all like a catalogue, you know, I'll take it in that deep purple, that inky black and that scale pattern thank you.

Oh Great and Mysterious Crema Plant (and Piranha)

2009-04-21T05:27:00.005+10:00

Hot chocolate, Lantana; Orchid leaf, Kew

It was the most beautiful weekend. I spent Saturday lazing around in this great little Aussie cafe called Lantana with Olly & Frank & Andrew, then on Sunday spent the entire day in the gigantic Kew Gardens with Ken & Karina examining the plants... and the piranha. Did you know there's a piranha at Kew Gardens? Apparently it can bite off 3cm of flesh in one bite. And they like to flock together in schools of up to a MILLION. Chomp chomp chomp.

Making Plans

2009-04-18T04:01:00.004+10:00

Lauch and I are going to Edinburgh! It will be more camping (hello, budget holidays), on the weekend of my birthday, somewhere near Ben Lomond but not Loch Ness. So I'm guessing we won't be seeing the Loch Ness Monster...

Where the Mountains Meet the Sea

2009-04-14T21:13:00.008+10:00

I was sure Wales was going to be a grey, rainy place where I felt the cold seep through to my bones.

It wasn't.

The view from Mt Snowdon

Lauchlin and I sweated our way up Mt Snowdon, the highest peak in Wales. In hazy sunshine I stared down at rolling green hills and turquoise lakes. The sea lay somewhere in the distance.

In fact, the sea was closer than I had expected - we managed to drive to the beach in 20 minutes from the base of Mt Snowdon. Apparently you can see Ireland from this beach on a clear day.

On Easter morning we woke up to find more clear blue skies. Tromping through a small forest to the top of Mynyth Mawr (pronounced Minith More), a little man with a smooth bald head overtook us. I made a cheerful comment about the weather and he called back "It's always like this in Wales," as he zoomed up the hill.

The view from Mynyth Mawr

From the top of Mynyth Mawr we could see yesterday's beach - but not Ireland.

Several kilometres later, Lauch and I ended up in a pub with a nice refreshing pint of er... warm ale. It wasn't literally heated, it just wasn't ice cold. We decided to ride the steam train back to our campsite.

Our tent was located in the campgrounds of luxury. Free hot showers! Sinks to do our washing up in. And the sound of a real waterfall to fall asleep to. Lauch and I left Wales with sore calves, surprisingly rosy cheeks and the feeling of optimism that a full weekend of sunshine inspires.

Happy Easter!

2009-04-12T18:42:00.000+10:00

By the time you read this I will be in Wales, attempting to understand a bit of Welsh and hiking up mountains in Snowdonia. Happy Easter! I hope your long weekend is filled with joy and adventure.

Canterbury Cathedral

2009-04-09T02:43:00.002+10:00

Inside Canterbury Cathedral

Columns stretching high
flagstones smooth from the feet of
pilgrims of Becket.

The Black Prince's Feet

Memory-heavy air
hushed voices, tales of murder
spirits lurking near.

Columns inside Canterbury Cathedral

Outside, the sunlight
flickers, ghosts disappear and
more tourists arrive.

In Progress: Portraits

2009-04-07T22:37:00.002+10:00

My painting; Noa Noa catalogue

I'm interested in painting faces at the moment, as well as mucking around with how to use the watercolour paints. I like the layers you can get with the watercolours and sectioning parts off into different pieces of colour.

From Lucian Freud's painting of Francis Bacon

The one above is my favourite.

I'm actually looking for some photographs to paint from... I'm after photos where the faces aren't too white, where there are some good sections of light and shadow. I would love it if you would email/send me a photo for me to paint. My painting probably won't look much like you but it will look interesting!

Stockholm

2009-04-06T06:37:00.000+10:00

There is no question about it. I went to Stockholm because of the artist and illustrator Camilla Engman. I was intrigued by the colours in her photos and I wanted to see the world as she saw it, a little bit.

I saw the light the way she sees it. Somehow different from English light, Swedish light is tinted blue, different shades of ice. I loved certain colours in particular: blue-greys and rosehip red and washed-out yellows like grasses waving next to lakes.

I came away with a long, slow memory of cosy afternoons spent in cafes drinking from giant mugs. Walking through dark, rainsoaked streets arm in arm with Lauchlin, holding a too-small umbrella between us. And wishing to return to this place where the colours of winter are somehow beautiful.

The colours of a place soaked in water and the changing seasons.

*Note: I wrote this back in October 2008... it was Autumn.

Short Beds for Shakespeare

2009-04-04T07:27:00.000+11:00

Nash House - a property owned by Shakespeare

According to vicious rumour, Shakespeare may not even have written his plays. Apparently, there are no draft copies of any of Shakespeare's work. Word has it that he was a canny businessman and outsourced the writing work to somebody else. There is, of course, no evidence that anyone else has written the plays either but it is an interesting concept. NotShakespeare.

Ken, Karina, Lauch and I went to visit NotShakespeare's birthplace and place of death in Stratford-Upon-Avon. In case you are like me and have wondered why the English name their towns -on-something, the Avon is the river that runs through Stratford. Therefore, Stratford-Upon-Avon.

We had cream tea (that is, scones with jam, clotted cream and a big pot of tea) and wandered through quiet streets full of fake reproduction Tudor buildings that Shakespeare and his various relatives have lived in. There is Shakespeare's birthplace, his wife's house, his daughter's house and his mother's house.

Reconstructed Tudor buildings in Stratford-Upon-Avon

Inside the house where Shakespeare was born is a very short bed with very large cushions. Why the short beds? In Shakespeare's time, people believed that they needed to sleep sitting up. Only dead people were laid out and that was how they let God take their soul. So just in case God thought you were dead and took your soul, you had to sleep sitting up all the time. I wonder if anyone ever slid sideways in their sleep.

Ken and Karina

The prettiest house was Anne Hathaway's cottage, which has a thatched roof. It was a mile or so out of the town and across the road from it was a babbling brook surrounded by wild primroses and bluebells and little white flowers like stars with ducks that had shiny green feathers on their heads. It was straight out of an Enid Blyton book. After that we went to look at a castle that is 900 years old. Days like this I feel like I've found the real England. But not the real Shakespeare.

Radish

2009-04-02T05:16:00.001+11:00

It was perfect red with a cute little tail. Lauch cut them into fancy shapes and put them in a salad for dinner tonight.

Back Down the Rabbit Hole

2009-04-01T04:22:00.005+11:00

I went back to Oxford because I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something magical about the place. Was it the sand-coloured College buildings? Those doorways? Or just the fact that we visited on a sunny day? I half expected it to become a dingy ugly place on second visit.

Nope, Oxford still had a certain charm about it, despite the weird weather conditions we had - little showers of hail all afternoon, bouncing off my umbrella, then back to golden sunshine.

It might be the air of secrecy that lurks about the place. So many colleges and Uni students with their minds full of dreams. So many alleyways and locked doors leading to mysterious rooms. You can hear the odd stream of piano music escaping, a conversation here or there echoing through stairwells or cloisters.

To add to Oxford's charm, we found some fantastic places to eat. We had high tea at the Grand Cafe, which served cream teas on tiered cake stands. For dinner we ate in this Chinese restaurant that was all dark wooden tables, filled with steam from the kitchen and the scent of chilli and rice. It was incredibly atmospheric and the food was great. We stumbled back on the train buzzing from so many cups of Chinese tea and half wishing we'd lived in Oxford for a while.

Tree Man

2009-03-25T08:23:00.007+11:00

Man in the Tree, Hyde Park, London

My dreams lately have been filled with fairytale creatures - tiny two-person aeroplanes fighting giant robots, people inside trees. Even the cat wailing on the fence at the moment sounds like a fictional character.

Is this some kind of reaction to the real London? The industrial, isolated city where people drop rubbish because there are people who are hired to sweep it up?

But really England IS the place of fairytales. There are tiny little stone cottages, castles and a place called Sherwood Forest. There is a countryside where stories of King Arthur began.

And even the streetsweepers dance... sometimes.

Connections

2009-03-22T08:07:00.000+11:00

St Paul's Cathedral, seen from the Barbican Centre, London

I made the strangest connection the other day. It was one of those things that is common in Tasmania but much rarer in London.

Lauch and I went to the Barbican to see a movie at the Australian film festival, a movie called Whatever Happened to Brenda Hean? The movie's basically about the disappearance of Brenda Hean in the '70s. She was an environmental activist who was trying to save Lake Pedder in Tasmania.

As luck would have it, the film's director was there to talk to the audience after the film. He is Tasmanian and an interesting guy... we chatted to him after the film and it turns out he is a distant relative of Lauch's. This is, of course, an incredibly Tasmanian thing to happen. Except that we are here, in London. Where nobody looks at you in the street, let alone looks you in the eye, strikes up a conversation with you to find that lo and behold! You are family.

Maybe it was this odd moment of connection that made me look up and notice St Paul's Cathedral in the photo above. You can see it from the fourth floor of the Barbican but as you go down the stairs to street level, it disappears. I like the idea of collecting odd little facts.

How to Survive the Winter II

2009-03-22T08:06:00.001+11:00

Halfway through January I read this quote on Keri Smith's website. It talks about being "loyal" to the winter, even through the deepest dark and I completely agree with this idea. "Loyalty to winter" I suppose is a kind of embracing things even when they are a little uncomfortable. Something that applies to living I guess. I'm considering the idea that we should expect a certain element of deep & dark in our everyday lives and that it is part of the balance of things - not just an unwanted thing to be dismissed and squelched and buried but to be acknowledged along with the brighter things.

Written 10.3.09

How to Survive the Winter

2009-03-22T08:05:00.000+11:00

Waterfront, Brighton, England

Two years ago, I asked a friend for some advice.

"How did you survive the winter?"
"You've got to remember that you're only there for a short time," she said.

A difficult thing to do, when you're also trying to remember intricate details about the learning of thirty five-year-olds in six complicated curriculum areas.

But still, every now and then I have these moments when time seems to stop. Suddenly I can see that next year all of this will be memories, in fact, that yesterday seems a little blurry, and that even today is just about to fade away.

I see more clearly when I know it's disappearing.

Written 10.3.09

Snow Day

2009-03-22T08:04:00.000+11:00

Lauchlin came home grinning last night, covered in huge white flakes. We could hear the girls down the street screaming as they had a snowball fight in their pyjamas.

The snow is here! There is a thick, fluffy layer of snow all over everything.
There are two snowmen outside in the street, nice chunky ones that might be as tall as my armpits. And still big flurries and chunky snowflakes are falling. I am surprised at how quietly snow falls, none of the drama of rain with all its roof-rattling. Snow has a more gentle, curling stealth. You wake up and there it is. Everywhere!

Snow, you bring the joy back into winter.

Written 2.2.09

Ice

2009-03-22T08:02:00.000+11:00

Birds standing on frozen pond, Hampstead Heath

Winter solstice has passed - we're staring in the face of the REAL winter. Permafrost has settled on the sides of buildings that never see the sun. Today Lauch, Andrew and I went walking on Hampstead Heath and watched birds swimming in the frozen pond. We had Duvel beer in the local pub that had a wood fire, sinky chairs and they were playing songs from the seventies.

I wanted to tell you about hazy, long-shadow sunlight, the kick of wintery beer (yes, apparently beer can be wintery) and cosy pubs.

Winter is the most beautiful time of year in London.

Written 30.12.08

Snow on the Ground

2009-03-22T08:01:00.003+11:00

The air felt cold inside my lungs as I walked home tonight. Suddenly there are patches of unsatisfying snow on the ground. Scrawny piles at the edges of the road, quickly turning into slush as the rain pelts down. It is the kind of snow that only children can appreciate.

Written 24.11.08

I Love Winter

2009-03-22T08:01:00.002+11:00

It is raining and I get to thinking of how the rain on the roof is romantic.
And so are the long dark nights inside.
And the lights reflecting in the puddles on the way home.
And that deep blue of the sky when it gets dark

I am thinking that winter does not have to always be that season that we all hate
and maybe it could be
as nice as autumn.

Written in November 2008

Recording / Not Recording

2009-03-22T08:00:00.000+11:00

Honestly?
I thought I wouldn't blog anymore.
I thought life would be better unrecorded, letting everything just slip past.

Life was good - but I still kept writing anyway. There are a couple of posts I've written over the last few months and kept unpublished. I figured I might as well put them here. With pictures. To show you. Because even when I make a phone call from halfway across the world, well, it isn't possible to say everything.

Holiday from Online

2008-09-16T05:40:00.007+10:00

I'm going to take a little break from blogging. Because of a combination of being lost for words and wanting to spend a bit more time offline.
Love,
Lexonline

Edited to add:

I probably could have explained a bit better.

I was talking to a friend the other day about how she doesn't carry a camera because she believes it comes between her and the experience of whatever she's doing. I've been feeling lately that I want to experience things more and think about them less - just soak up the experience of being here before it is time to move on. I'm doing a screen printing course, have become a member of the Tate gallery, have been painting a lot, the new teaching job is keeping me busy and there are, like, a million things to do in London.

So. For a while I will be out there doing stuff and not writing about it. But I will still be taking the odd photo because I love photos and I think often they capture experiences in ways that we are only able to see after time has passed.

Forever is composed of nows.
- Emily Dickinson

Fast

2008-09-15T05:30:00.004+10:00

Oxford Street at night

late friday night

2008-09-13T07:46:00.007+10:00

Kimchi tonight with Andrew and Lauchlin at a Korean restaurant near Oxford Street; another painting in progress. Maybe you're wondering if any of them are finished. They aren't. There's something nice about having a zillion things on the go at once.

in progress: toe-sock nude

2008-09-09T05:11:00.005+10:00

ironwork, Venice; unfinished toe-sock painting by me

Painting. Massaman curry cooking on the stove. Cloudy days. And amazing Venetian ironwork curling away in the back of my mind.

rain on the roof, laptop on the table

2008-09-06T03:04:00.006+10:00

photo of trees by Lauchlin; half-finished painting by me

I am sitting on a cushion on the floor, listening to the rain on the roof, dreaming of rich indigo paint and stitching and one day having a pet daschund.

This week in my new class of five-year-olds, somebody sat on a banana. I have never seen a banana so flat. I would have screamed with laughter if I wasn't a teacher with a bewildered-looking five-year-old standing in front of me, bereft of her banana. I got her a new, three-dimensional banana.

It has been a good week.

Do Not Forget the Knobbly Dumplings

2008-09-02T03:01:00.007+10:00

Old Town Square, Prague

The problem with travel is that the details are often lost. Somebody will ask you "How was your trip?" and if you're not careful, you end up giving answers like "It was nice." But what does "nice" tell you? It shares nothing of what it was like to be there.

"Nice" is sometimes all that people want to hear. We don't often have time to hear about every detail of everyone's holidays. But sometimes I want to ask someone about their holiday and hear about how it was different. What little things were there that showed a different culture's way of looking at the world?

Here, then. I give you three little things that were different in Prague. In case you might be interested in the details, too.

* There are knobbly potato dumplings. They come served with a big clump of stinky half-melted cheese and nothing else on top. They are interesting in their cheesy knobbliness.

* This is how you order a chocolate icecream: "Jedna shockolade prosim." (Pronounced "yed-nah shoc-o-lada pro-seem." I can now order a chocolate icecream in German, Italian, French and Czech. Ahem. And I might have eaten a few icecreams in all of those countries. Maybe I had one every day.

Falconer holding a bird, Prague Castle

* If you explore the Prague Castle grounds, you might find the little part that is home to the falconry. At the falconry there is a peregrine falcon (fastest bird in the world, apparently it dives at up to 400km/hr) and an owl with the cutest ears and a lady who holds a bird on her arm that you can pat. As long as you pat it where it can see your hand. Its feathers are soft and... feathery. I do not want to imagine what its beak would do to my finger if I tried to pat the back of its head.

The Dark Peak

2008-08-27T23:02:00.007+10:00

It was a long weekend! We shoved doonas, a box full of food and some camping gear into Luke and Trang's car and headed for the hills.

The Peak District hills, to be precise. The Peak District is an area about three hours north of London and is quite famous for its beauty. Our flatmates were heading up there to go rock climbing so we all drove up together. Lauch and I spent three days wandering the hills, squidging through mud and talking to cute mountain sheep.

My uncle warned us that there are two general areas in the Peak District: The White Peak and the DARK PEAK. He said the Dark Peak could get quite muddy.

It did.

In fact, there was sometimes more mud than path. Lauchlin liked to take the direct route through the mud. I preferred to hop from grass clod to grass clod.

The views were spectacular and the walking was generally easy. My walking boots have now begun to leave the skin ON the heels of my feet and now I'm feeling ready to get into training for hiking in Tibet.

On the way back to London, we stopped over in the kooky town of Blackpool. Blackpool seems to be a very small town with a sandy beach and its entire beachfront is covered with the most insanely tacky, yet also fascinating, fairground rides and amusements. Its residents speak with a different accent and describe "Between the hours of nine and ten" as "ninewellten." As in, "Breakfast will be serrrved at ninewellten."

Take one last look at the view! I start a new job on Monday, so no more gallumphing through the muddy countryside for me. No more sleeping in, either... I have to be at work at "eightwellnine".

Just Here to Catch the Train

2008-08-21T23:57:00.006+10:00

We had to catch the train from Cologne to get to Europe and then again to get back to England. It became a necessary place, a place we stayed in just because we had to catch the train.

It rained both times we were there. We spent our time bagging out the dodgy hostel we stayed in and drinking tea in a shop at the end of a cobbled street. Tea from bone china so fine it was almost transparent, in a shop where the shelves were lined with tins of tea and the proprietor slouched behind the counter watching us with satisfaction. She spoke only German and had a bright red lipsticked mouth and a stripy tshirt. It is suprising how much you can understand when you try.

Velkommen!

2008-08-21T22:29:00.008+10:00

Welcome to Munich, home of Schloss Nymphenburg, palace of Kings. Probably. I didn't pay that much attention to the real history of this palace - I was too taken by the amazing decorations.

The palace in the photo above is the entrance. Then out the back is a huge garden filled with other buildings that are all amazing in their own right. There is a chapel whose walls and ceilings are covered in sea shells. There is a stables area with the most ridiculous, I mean fancy, carriages I have ever seen.

The pictures above are all from the Amalienburg building, a hunting lodge that was decorated in Rococco style and also in Chinoiserie (Chinese-inspired) style. I wanted to move in. Except that the dusting would have been a bit much.

The photos above are taken around the centre of Munich. Clockwise from the left, there is a gravestone along the side of the Frauenkirche, the Karlstor which is one of the original gates to the city, the view from the Frauenkirche dome and a random Free Tibet protest we happened to wander by.

One day in a place is not enough to really know it or to know much about it. But one day in Munich was pretty nice anyway.

Where Have All the Venetians Gone?

2008-08-21T20:55:00.004+10:00

Venice,

There is the feeling that you exist solely for us, the tourists, and that deep in your watery heart you are sleeping and dreaming of your former days of grandeur.

I didn't find you spooky, like others have. The sun was so bright, there was so much noise and heat and voices, even in the churches, which are normally always always the quietest most solemn and musty of places.

From top left: inside the Basilica di San Marco; the queue outside the clock tower; the Piazza San Marco; view from the Basilica.

Who are you, Venice? Where are your people? All I can see (and smell) is tourists, for miles and miles. Getting lost down your alleys and lugging bags of purchases from your glitzy glass, lace, antique and paper shops. Tourists with deep, deep tans, long legs, gigantic sunglasses. Looking for places to sit. Devouring gelato with something almost like desperation. Clicking photos with little silver digital cameras, angles that can never be original.

From top left: Restoration workers; gondoliers arguing; gondolier waiting; the only way of transporting goods - no cars here.

It cannot be that your people are only here to serve the tourists. But however hard I looked, all I could see were people wedging gelato into cones, pushing carts to carry boxes through narrow alleys, paddling gondolas, sanding away at old buildings only to put on layers of preservative to keep them precisely in their crumbling state.

I get the feeling, Venice, that you keep your real heart hidden. The real Venetians are hiding away somewhere inside and all we tourists can hear is the sound of their televisions humming and the scrape of forks on plates.

Venice

2008-08-15T23:53:00.003+10:00

This is the first photo I took in Venice. We'd just got off the overnight train from Munich, arrived in all bleary-eyed. Stepped out of the station and onto this bridge somewhere near 7am. Aha! Just like it is in all the photos. Venice is one of those places that is, in real life, incredible.
I have more to say about it but am still thinking over all the places we visited before I try to put it into words.

I Was Here

2008-08-13T06:24:00.003+10:00

Maybe this has happened to you.
You're on holiday, and it's that one day you decided to wake up at 5am because you suspect that if you get up earlier than everyone else the city will be secretly more beautiful, and reveal its beauty only to you.

But getting up at 5am, it's hard, and you're grumpy and you argue with your boyfriend because it's 5am and humans aren't really meant to wake up before the sun.

The sun, which while you're busy being crotchety, is rising quietly over the tops of the buildings and poking yellow rays into dark shadowy corners.

So you take a few photos and forget all about it. And a few weeks later, you're back home. You have to go shopping for milk and it's raining on the washing and your boyfriend is sitting on the couch talking to your flatmates about flexinodes and content types.

You open up your photos on the computer and there's that photo of the Old Town Square in Prague, that morning you got up really early.
God, that's beautiful! Didn't I notice that? Was I ever really there?

From Venice

2008-08-01T23:52:00.002+10:00

Buon giorno. I am in Venice! Its fascinating, exactly as I had imagined and intriguing in a lot of ways. Pigeons take off vertically from alleyways, just like helicopters. People are deeply, deeply tanned. Gondoliers really do wear boater hats, black trousers and blue and white stripy tshirts. It is just like all the postcards. And no, it doesnt smell particularly, nothing beyond the normal watery smell and the odd waft of sewerage that appears in every city Ive ever been in. I will write more when Im back in London... after Vienna, Prague and Berlin. Ciao!

How (not) To Travel Light

2008-07-20T19:29:00.012+10:00

There are two types of traveller: those who like souvenirs and those who do not.
I am not a person for souvenirs, having bought a few over the years and ended up throwing them away because once I return home they collect dust and become kind of useless.

For more than a year I have resisted the urge to Buy Stuff. I came to England with just a backpack (weighing less than 20kg) and intend to return home with a backpack of a similar size.

But there is this need to collect, to make a place a home and somehow I have tricked myself into finding a few exceptions to the rule of "I cannot accumulate Stuff."

Like postcards. I find it interesting to scan a few racks of postcards in a new country, checking to see if they have any historical ones or ones that are more stylish than the usual type. And how much do they weigh? Nothing! I can always post them home to myself when I return.

Like guidebooks. I've been given a few, have purchased a few from op-shops. They are useful. Clearly they are not to be classified as souvenirs.

There are other collections, too. A little pile of maps, about a zillion photos, a stack of paintings I've done on paper.

Is it really possible to live somewhere for a long time and not accumulate Stuff?
I'm beginning to think not.

What did you do at school today?

2008-07-18T02:58:00.003+10:00

I took this photo at work today. It is a picture of a man, a duck and a girl, according to the extraordinarily artistic four-year-old who drew it. Note the abundance of glitter surrounding man, girl and duck.

Today was all about the three little pigs, the Big Bad Wolf, and showing children how to fold stuff to fit it into tiny envelopes. Some of them thought the best way to fit their pictures in envelopes was to cut them into strips. Some of them took great pleasure in cutting off long pieces of sticky tape to stick all over things. And all of them could not resist the glitter.

There is glitter up my nose, I am sure of it.

The Crush

2008-07-12T18:08:00.002+10:00

Alice's, Portobello Rd

Dear London,

There is no other way to say it: You need to be bigger.

We have lived in your quarter-of-a-house-with-very-small-kitchen for more than a year now and I am gradually going mad trying to force more and more stuff into your tiny little oddly-shaped nooks and crannies. The kitchen is bulging! The bedroom drawers will not shut! The windows are just not big enough!

Also, your tube needs to expand. Its belly is bursting with people and I am tired of smelly men who take up all the elbow room.

And while I'm at it - I do not know about the toilets in all your cheapish restaurants. What is it about there being barely enough room to stand up in them?

Luckily Lauch and I are going to escape your crush, London. We are going away in two more weeks, on a train journey around Europe. Onwards to the squish of train carriages, backpacks and hotels. Maybe when I return you will have become mysteriously bigger.

Love,
Lexonline

Steam

2008-07-05T06:27:00.001+10:00

I have winter nostalgia. It has crept up on me as I've noticed Londoners doing their usual stylish thing of wearing scarves even in the middle of summer. The weather has quietly become "Will I need a cardigan?" and not "I must put on my thermals, woollen jumper, woollen coat, gloves and scarf." And I LOVE this warmth, but somehow there is the odd feeling of missing wearing a coat and scarf, watching my breath turn white in the air and watching steam rise from tea.

Me Outside St Paul's Cathedral

2008-06-29T22:38:00.001+10:00

Lauch and I are engaged as of yesterday!

St Paul's Cathedral

2008-06-29T07:06:00.001+10:00

St Paul's Cathedral By Lex

You could be forgiven for thinking that London was some exotic city in Europe today. It was all long shadows, porcelain blue skies, people speaking in different languages. Lauch and I saw a theatre performance that had dialogue in English, Chinese and Farsi (there were subtitles!) then went to admire St Paul's Cathedral.

Oui

2008-06-27T07:10:00.003+10:00

A chocolate tart and a deep, round, white cup of tea in Paul (a French patisserie chain) at Holland Park. People watching and listening to the employees talking in French. Oui! D'accord.

The South Downs

2008-06-22T19:24:00.005+10:00

Uncle A and I went walking across the South Downs, through fields of wheat and up and down rolling hills covered in grasses. I was breaking in my first ever pair of hiking boots because one day I want to hike up Machu Picchu and see temples in Tibet.

Click here to see a few more pictures from the South Downs and the nearby cute little town called Steyning (pronounced "Stenning").

Pimms

2008-06-16T02:13:00.002+10:00

Pimms is a type of gin that is mixed with lemonade, mint, cucumber, orange, lemon, lime and strawberries. It's great.

The World Naked Bike Ride

2008-06-15T03:50:00.004+10:00

I went to Hyde Park to see the start of the World Naked Bike Ride. As I strolled towards the crowd and noticed several people walking around in the nude, I wasn't quite so keen to pull out my camera. Is it right to photograph people when they are naked? Even if they are naked in the middle of Hyde Park? The other onlookers around me didn't seem to have any qualms though, they were snapping away with their phones and cameras.

The people in the ride were wearing body paint, fancy hats, slogans written on their bodies. They wore wigs. One wore a bear suit and rode in a bike that had an armchair attached to it. A girl rode a unicycle. There were people with slogans like "Curb car use" and others with loftier ambitions for world peace.

I decided that it was all right to take photos.

While I was standing around, taking it all in, a nude man came along and said "Excuse me miss, would you mind posing for a photo with me for charity?" Certainly, for charity. He said he'd lost a bet and so he had to raise money for charity doing this bike ride.

Then he said "And would you raise £10 extra by giving me a little slap on the bum?"

That wasn't what I signed up for!

"Just a little one? For Greenpeace?"
I thought of saving the whales and gave him a slap on the bum.

Then there was a loud whistling and a cheer went up. A couple of hundred people - mostly men, with a few women as well - jumped on their bikes and slowly the World Naked Bike Riders wheeled off down the road.

I walked away, thinking that if the world benefits from such a quirky and entertaining event, it has to be a good thing.

P.S. Click here to see photos of the rest of the world doing their bike ride!

Book of Wishes

2008-06-14T01:45:00.002+10:00

These pictures are for you, Hannah. This is a book I've had lying around for a while and every now and then I paint a page or stick something in or sew in something. It has the odd pocket sewn inside it and I've written wishes and put them in the pockets.

Sunday Afternoon, Hyde Park

2008-06-09T06:10:00.001+10:00

Spent laying on a picnic rug, eating a Freddo frog and reading the Venice guidebook (because we are going there in August!)

Cupcake Royalty

2008-05-28T07:29:00.006+10:00

I had last week off because it was half term holidays. If you are not a teacher, you might think we are the laziest people on earth with ridiculous numbers of holidays. If you are a teacher, well, I just know you understand.

I didn't go outside of England this holiday because I'm saving money for um, another holiday. So it was hard to know what to do with myself in order to conserve funds but not go insane because of course it rained the whole week and I was indoors watching the washing dry.

To escape the quietly steaming washing, I went to Hummingbird Bakery on Portobello Road just to get a cupcake. It was cookies & cream flavour icing, with chocolate cake underneath. It was decadently, ridiculously sweet with enough icing for like, three cupcakes on it. Maybe there was more icing than cupcake.

Holland Park is not far from Portobello Road. It is the second poshest park I've ever been to. It has a Japanese garden, the ruins of a very fancy house and lots of Keep Off The Grass signs, and we all know what fancy grass means. Oh, and also it has a statue of Lord Holland sitting in his favourite chair. Says a lot about the guy. "I'm so comfortable with myself that I'll put a statue of myself up, sitting in my favourite arm chair." Me, I'd choose something more glamourous. Maybe commission Dali to do a statue of me, crossed with a giraffe. Or a cupcake.

Tiles

2008-05-27T03:31:00.004+10:00

I like the roof tiles on the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square.