Christmas 2008 newsletter

Money's tight
Times are hard
Here's your '08
Christmas card...

First, apologies for not sending a Christmas letter in 2006 and 2007. (I did actually write one last year, but never sent it. Trust me, that's a good thing.) Second, apologies for only sending an e-card this year, but postage from the UK to the US is outrageous!

2008 started on a sad note: Alex the iguana passed away in February. She was 17 years old, and she graced the cover of the Christmas cards from 1994 to 2005, most of which can still be seen here. (I have no idea why that site is still up; I closed that account years ago. I can't even update it.)

As you're probably aware, 2006 was a low point for me, and most of 2007 was spent recovering. If you're not aware: I spent my life's savings restoring an historic property that was in my wife's family, with the intent of moving there and opening a bed and breakfast. When it was finished, however, we got a divorce, instead, and I ended up with no money, no job, no car, and no home.

That's not entirely true: I still had a home because the house in LA had been on the market for over 6 months without a single offer. It was already mortgaged to the hilt so I couldn't afford to keep the house; I had to fix it up and sell it fast, or be forced into bankruptcy. So, for the next four months, I was living in my own house with no furnishings save for an inflatable bed, a battered old chair, two suitcases of clothes, a mini-fridge, and a 12” TV, plus my neighbor loaned me a frying pan, a knife, and a can opener. I had no car, the house was a construction zone, and my life was in limbo waiting for the house to sell. That was the worst part, not being able to move on, and even though I had to walk everywhere, I put on 35 pounds during the period.

It got even more bizarre: When the work was finished, I hired someone to “stage” the house, which meant she put in furniture, paintings, decorations, etc. Now I was living in my own house with somebody else's stuff and--contractually--I couldn't even sit on the sofa! (I did, anyway. I'm such a rebel.)

The house finally sold in February 2007 but, as I said, I had no equity left and I'd spent what little savings I had left fixing it up, so at the age of 37, I was flat broke and literally starting over from scratch. Now, I was born and raised in LA, all of my friends and business contacts were in LA, so naturally I decided to move to London. It was crazy, it was reckless, but if I had to start over anyway, I figured, why not do it different?

However, for the UK work permit, I needed proof of employment for the past 12 months, which I couldn't provide because of the bed and breakfast. So I took a job a friend offered me in LA, I rented a funky loft apartment downtown, I completely furnished it (although I still slept on the air bed for two months), and I decided not to get a car, but instead rely on public transportation. I went to shows, concerts, and museums; I ate the best food at the seediest little hole-in-the-wall restaurants; I went to the gym and started taking yoga classes; and I got to experience a whole different side of Los Angeles, which I actually loved. That didn't make me want to stay, but it did make me feel like I wasn't running away.

When I got my UK work permit in May 2008, I quit my job, sold all of the furniture I'd just bought, packed the remaining stuff back into two suitcases, reserved a hotel room in London for two weeks, and left. It was crazy, irresponsible, (kind of) impulsive, and scared the hell out of me—which is exactly why I did it. I told everyone I was leaving, of course, and people put me in touch with a couple of contacts, including some friends of friends, who had a daughter living in London.

I called Jessica and we spoke a few times before she agreed to meet me on Primrose Hill on a Sunday afternoon in June. I knew from our phone calls and emails that I was attracted to her, but I was completely unprepared for how gorgeous she was. I was so smitten, I wanted to be sure I didn't blow it by talking about my ex-wife, my lack of employment, or anything that had happened to me in the last two years. Naturally, she started the conversation with, “Are you married?” “Where do you work?” and “Why did you move to London?”

I was devastated, knowing she would never speak to me again—or at least not consider me dating potential—but, ironically, she appreciated my honesty, and agreed to a second date. I had butterflies all week, and felt like a teenager. Of course I was in love, but I didn't even recognize it until the end of the second date, when I kissed her, and suddenly it all became very clear.

Jessica is very warm and open, but she can also be shy and private, and she asked me not to take any pictures of her, which meant that for six months I was sending emails to friends and family saying, I've fallen in love with the most amazing woman, but I don't have any photos of her. Of course, they all thought I was lying, so in December I brought her back to California with me and, in eight days, she met most of my family and about 50 of my friends and co-workers.

So in the end, in spite of everything over the past three years, I know that it was all for the best, and I can honestly say I have no regrets. Even though the unemployment situation is stressing me out (and unemployment here is at a 20-year high), and I still don't have a permanent place to live (I'm subletting a furnished apartment until February), I absolutely love London, my relationship with Jessica just gets better every day, and I'm happier than I've ever been.

Happy holidays and best wishes for the new year!

P.S. Jessica agreed to let me share this photo, which my mom took in Los Angeles.

Moving on

In moving out of the hotel, I had a lot to reflect on:

• I checked in May 25, with a 2-week reservation, and stayed for 5 months
• I read 12 books (My Year Off, Angela's Ashes, Time Traveller's Wife, How To Be a Brit, 'Tis, A Monk Swimming, Shantaram, Poems on the Underground, The Little Prince, Dummies Guide to Prince2, the Highway Code, and now the complete works of Sherlock Holmes)
• I've studied four chapters of my Italian book, and can say "I have a ski mask" in Italian ("ho una passamontagna")
• I joined a gym for 3 months, took 3 yoga classes per week, and lost 20 pounds
• I ate salad and hummus for two months (which probably contributed more to the weight loss than the gym)
• I found two tennis partners online, both of whom happened to be American.
• I joined a vegetarian meetup group, and met a lot of weird people.
• I've wandered around fifteen parks (Holland Park, Hyde Park, Kensington Gardens, Regents Park, Primrose Hill, Hampstead Heath, St. James's Park, Shoreditch Park, Battersea Park, Alexandra Park, Highgate Woods, Queen's Wood, Cherry Tree Park, Parsons Green, Jubilee Gardens)
• I've gone to seven concerts (Rufus Wainwright, Diana Krall, Moody Blues, Royal Philharmonic [twice], Mozart Festival Orchestra, and a classical pianist at St Martin's-in-the-Fields)
• I've seen six shows (War Horse, Blood Wedding, Brief Encounter, Cirque Surreal, Ballet Trockadero, and some play in Camberwell)
• I've watched seven films (Indiana Jones, Dr Zhivago, Buster Keaton, Wall-E, Rocky Horror, Somers Town, the Visitor, and the Pope's Toilet)
• And three DVDs (Eddie Izzard, Bellevue Rendezvous, This is England)
• I've watched six hours of TV, not including the Olympics
• I've been to seven museums (Natural History, British Museum, V&A, Tate Britain, Tate Modern, Science, and National Portrait Gallery)
• I've ridden the tube 212 times (estimated)
• I've attended dozens of free performances at National Theatre, Trafalgar Square, Hyde Park, and the Scoop
• I've journeyed three times outside of London (Trowbridge, Crawley, and Warwick)
• I've watched two fireworks shows (Shoreditch festival and Thames festival)
• I've seen one comedy show, one carnival (Notting Hill), one poetry reading, one Thai festival, and one gorilla run
• I've visited two cemeteries (Brompton and Highgate)
• I've gotten my NHS (National Health Services) card, my library card, and my provisional driver's license
• I bought a long rain coat, a sweater, two scarves, and a stripey shirt, so I could blend in.
• I've whiled away ten afternoons at the laundromat
• I've met Jessica's parents five times (and they took me to two of those shows)
• I missed the Duck Race at Mosely Lock, and have not yet been to the Doctor Who exhibition

Of course, I still have much to look forward to:

• I am going to see an animated movie about worms on Saturday, and a classic British cult film (Withnail & I) on Sunday
• I am going to a (free) New Orleans festival next weekend
• The Lord Mayor's Parade is in two weeks
• I have tickets to see Steve Winwood early November
• In mid-November, I am having dinner with some of Jessica's co-workers, and attending her friend's wedding (not related)
• I am returning to California for a week in early December
• I am running out of money mid-December
• I am seeing the "Pitmen Painters" mid-January

Here are some photos of the flat. Only two complaints: When I looked at the place (twice), I did not appreciate how loud, how often, or how early, the airplanes flew past; and I can't get the wireless to work, but just having a reliable Internet connection is fantastic. I may even hook up Skype again and call some people in the US! Here's a map to my new place.

A Tale of Two Interviews

"Severe delays due to an earlier person under a train." That was a warning I saw on the Underground a week ago. (Jessica suggested the person was probably no longer "early" but now "late.") It was interesting, but not really relevant, and I didn't think about it again.

Until this morning, when that same person apparently climbed under the train I needed to get to my interview. Yes, interview! After a two-month dry spell (mostly self-inflicted), I finally had not one, but two interviews today! (And, oddly, both were with online marketing firms.) The first was 2 miles away, I had 45 minutes, I was wearing a suit, and there was a person under my train!

A reasonable person would have hailed a cab, but I've taken a cab two miles in London and it cost US $30! After paying the security deposit and one month's rent on my new flat (which I'm moving into tomorrow), my bank account is looking pretty anemic, which is why I was hoofing it through Kensington Gardens, arriving two minutes early, soaking wet.

Still, I must have made a favorable impession, as they invited me to a second interview, and asked to check some technical references. My second interview of the day was a phone screen, but they also asked me to come in for a face-to-face, so I was feeling pretty good. However, the reality remains that I only applied for these positions out of desperation, and there's no way an online marketing firm doing web pages and video animations is going to hire a conservative old-school Unix practitioner like me.

But in the end, I couldn't help but feel I was still better off than my friend under the train. Unfortunately, I couldn't find any information on him over the web, except for a generic blurb in a BBC article from 1999.

"[The Jubilee line has] glass platform doors that match perfectly to the position of the train doors, making it difficult for passengers to fall in front of or under a train. 'The primary aim was to do with ventilation, and litter and human hair - we get tons and tons of human hair down the tunnels and it can take hours and hours of cleaning time,' [a spokeswoman] said. 'But of course there is the added safety benefit that it stops people committing suicide.'"

I also found that there are about 50 suicides per year (plus an undisclosed number of fatal accidents), the peak hour for tube suicides is 11am, and people who commit suicide by throwing themselves under a train are called 'one-unders'.

Thursday I should have photos of my new flat, but for now I've attached a picture of the marina right outside my flat. (That's the moon in the photo, although most days the sun looks about the same.)

Flats of fancy

As I've previously mentioned, renting an apartment -- sorry, "letting a flat" -- is completely different in the UK. Instead of landlords advertising in the classifieds, flats are registered with letting agents (similar to real estate agents, in that they're one step above used car salesmen) who advertise primarily via index cards pasted to their shop window.

If you're a typical renter, who knows where he wants to live, can commit for at least a year, and is willing to pay US $4,500 per month, this works out reasonably well--you call an agent and he does all the legwork for you. But if you're only willing to commit for 3 months, don't know the area, and are only willing to spend US $2,000/month -- ie, me -- then you're pretty much screwed. Agents won't talk to you, and there are no classifieds to check, and I wasn't about to go around checking every agent's shop window.

In early September, I stumbled upon the local version of craigslist -- called gumtree -- which did have some "short let" listings, though that was open to interpretation. (Many had a 6 month minimum, although one advertised rooms by the hour.) The pickings were slim, but I found a guy who was working abroad for three months and looking to rent his flat while he was away. In the US, that's called "housesitting," and you get paid to live in someone's home. Here, you pay them, but he only wanted US $2,000/month so I thought I was in business.

And it was a nice flat -- on the ground floor, with one bedroom, a small living room but big kitchen, and a patio in back. The only drawback was that he wasn't leaving until the end of September, and I didn't want to wait that long.

Fast forward to October, and I've looked at a dozen more places, talked to at least 50 owners or agents, travelled the length and breadth of London, spent a small fortune on phone calls and tube rides, and still haven't found anything as nice as the first place. I came close in Canary Wharf, which was tiny but was on the water and had floor-to-ceiling windows. I would have taken it except it was so far from Jess (and everything else) that I knew she'd never visit.

In fact, it was that realization -- plus the horrific studios I was seeing in central London -- that made me even consider Brentford, which was equally far from central London but in the opposite direction, close to where Jessica works. A woman was going to Africa for three months, and so was renting out her beautiful one bedroom flat overlooking water on both sides. I loved it immediately, but was concerned about how far it was from the city. (It's only 5 miles from where I'm currently staying, but remember that the average speed here is 5mph.)

After banging my head against the computer for about two hours, however, I discovered that with a monthly "season ticket" I could take the train for the same price as the tube, and it would only take 12 minutes longer! In fact, even though I'm further away, it takes the same amount of time to get to Jessica's house. (I'm still not really sure how that works.) So I took it. Now I just have to prove I can afford it, and I can move in 12 days.

Here is a map of London with placemarkers for every place I've considered. Light blue indicates where I'm currently staying (south), and where Jessica lives (north). Green are the two places I liked -- Brentford (west) and Canary Wharf (east). Note the big "hole" in the center -- those places go for £500-£800 per week, and my budget was £250.

The ones in dark blue I never even looked at -- they wanted 6 months minimum, or jacked up the price by 50% for a "short let," or in many cases they were already taken by the time I responded. (I read September was the worst time to be apartment hunting because 100,000 kids were flooding into London for college, all looking for apartments.)

In red are places I looked at that I wouldn't let a dog stay at. One place was so disgusting, I refused to even look at any other flats in that entire borough. Another place reeked of cigarette smoke, primarily because the owner was sitting on the sofa smoking! Most of the places didn't even have enough space to turn around, and almost none of them had an oven, never mind a washing machine. One had a shower between the bed and the kitchen, and the toilet was down the hall! (Funny how they forgot to mention that in the ad.) Almost all of them had a view of a brick wall, or a busy high street, or just didn't have any windows at all. (One was literally a hallway, with two bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling.) In other words, it was the most depressing bunch of places you've ever seen, and they cost as much as my 1200 square-foot loft in downtown LA!

The ones in purple were just scams. (And no, I didn't wire anybody any money.)

Yellow were places I was interested in, but didn't get a chance to look at, usually because the agent didn't return my call despite me leaving messages every day for the last three days. I had appointments with three places today, but decided to cancel them and take Brentford because they were too expensive, too inconvenient, or -- at Holly Lodge Estate -- too "soulless," as Jess described it. The buildings were lovely, the streets were wide, there was plenty of green, it was just a few minutes walk to Hampstead Heath on one side and the tube on the other, and it was only 2 miles from Jessica's -- in other words, ideal -- but it had such a "Stepford Wives" vibe, with absolute conformity, that I knew I couldn't stay there. (Interesting side-note, Wikipedia reports it was built in the 1920s for single women only.)

Anyone who remembers my dilemma in Los Angeles -- the nice, safe apartment vs. the raw, funky loft -- may see similar overtones here, but that's not the case. The flat in Brentford is lovely--who knew I had the exact same decorating taste as a British woman in her 50's? There is nothing raw or funky about the place: the ceiling is finished, the floors are wood, not cement, and the kitchen is not in the middle of the living room. And best of all, it comes fully furnished, and is filled with plants. There is a large private garden nearby, and Kew Gardens is just across the Thames. I think it will be a little awkward staying in somebody else's place -- since I obviously can't personalize it very much -- but I suspect that come January, when she returns from Africa, I will be very sorry to leave.

Heck, I'm sorry to be leaving the hotel I'm at. I know that sounds crazy, but this is a small, family-run place, and I've gotten to know the owners (and the four chambermaids they've gone through) quite well. They've given me a free hand, trusted me completely, and even asked me to man the phones occasionally. They've fed me, helped me, and are even trying to teach me Italian. (Imparo lentamente.) They have been my surrogate family, and good friends, and I will miss having them around. (I will also miss them making breakfast and cleaning up after me.) Ma la vita continua...

Oh, more British-isms:

• torch = flashlight
• jumper = sweater
• till = cash register
• way out = exit
• full stop = period
• hash = pound sign
• hob = stove
• trousers = pants
• cuffs = shirt cuffs
• turn-ups = pant cuffs
• mange-tout = sugar snap peas
• dustman = garbage collector (or "sanitation engineer")
• rocket lettuce = arugula
• basil = basil (yeah, they're spelled the same but pronounced completely differently)

Oh, and some more photos

"traffic" was taken when I was returning the rental car, last week. (FYI, the bastards refused to reschedule or refund my money, so I reported them to my credit card company, contesting the charge on the grounds that they didn't deliver the service or disclose the terms. We'll see what happens.)

"battersea" is the power station, which is actually quite beautiful now that it's not choking London with coal smoke. Normally closed to the public, they're talking about turning it into high-end residences so they let everyone tour it one day. (With the current housing market, I'm sure the plans will be scrapped.)

"electric_car" is just that. It's top speed is 50mph, it only goes 60 mph on a charge, and it makes the "Smartcar" looking positively roomy. But it's a perfect commuter car for London, and between the cost of gas, parking, and the congestion charge (none of whch you have to pay for), I don't understand why everyone doesn't have one.

"millenium_bridge" is a footbridge across the Thames, built in 2000, hence the name. (Jess told me it was originally built as a swaying bridge, but so many people got sick, they stiffened it a bit.) That's St Paul's in the background.

"merlyn1" is the hotel I'm staying at, and "merlyn2" is my room in the basement. Google maps, if you want to find me. So far no luck finding more permanent digs.

"lion1" is at the base of Trafalgar Square. I took this today; it's been a month since I've seen the sun, and I was quite excited.

"sherlock_holmes" is a nighttime shot of the museum at 221B Baker Street, which is sandwiched between 235 and 239 Baker Street. I read it's the only museum in the world dedicated to a fictional character. (And 221B was not a real address, so obviously they took some liberties when creating the museum.)

"london_skyline" is the London Eye ferris wheel, Westminster (houses of Parliament, the equivalent of our Congress), and Big Ben.

"fireworks1" is the end of the Thames festival, a couple of weeks ago. They launched them from boats, and we watched from bridges.

"warwick1" (the second "w" is silent, of course) is Warwick Castle -- not bad from a crappy cell phone. I took it during a break in the rain.

"trebuchet2" is also at Warwick Castle, and is purported to be the largest in the world. It works just like a catapult, except it swings the payload at the end, adding extra "oomph." They threw a 200-pound fireball, but it was raining so hard that the fire was immediately extinguished. :-(

"haircut" is, well, let's just say, "where else but Britain?"

"police_box" is for any Doctor Who fans out there.

And "jess" is the best photo I have of her, sorry. (It is also an excellent demonstration of the "two-fingered salute" I mentioned yesterday...)

Ode to London

Today marks my 4 month anniversary in London, and if you've been reading my emails (and following my blog before that), you might think I hate it here.

In fact, the exact opposite is true.

Oh sure, not seeing the sun for weeks at a time has been a little depressing, not finding a job has been a little frustrating, living in a hotel has been a little maddening, and learning how to drive all over again has been a little humbling. But all of the things I complained about in LA -- the sprawl, the lack of public transportation, the generic suburbs, the lack of culture and history -- are all notably absent here. In addition, I thought LA was multi-cultural, but there are street corners in London where I can find people from 50 different countries. I think the city is amazing.

My California friends have probably heard this: California, by itself, is the seventh largest economy in the world. That's quite remarkable, until you consider that the UK is less than two-thirds the size of California, and is the fifth largest economy in the world. London has over 12,000 people per square mile, 60% more than Los Angeles. (And if you thought LA was a sprawl, London comprises 600 square miles; LA county is just 500 square miles.) Hard to believe that so many people, from so many backgrounds, can not only come together and get along, but thrive.

Ironically, with all those people, London also feels safer. I read that you're five times more likely to be robbed, and 11 times more likely to be murdered, in New York City than in London. And while New York has just Central Park at 843 acres, London has the equivalent of eight Central Parks -- Richmond Park (2,360 acres), Bushy Park (1,100 acres), Hampstead Heath (791 acres), Hampton Court Park (700 acres), Hyde Park/Kensington Gardens (625 acres), Regents Park (487 acres), Kew Gardens (300 acres), Victoria Park (218 acres), Battersea Park (200 acres), Alexandra Park (196 acres), Greenwich Park (183 acres), and Green Park/St James's Park (111 acres), not including all of the small parks and private squares. I think it's simply fantastic.

That's not to say it's Shangri-la, of course. The taxes are ridiculously high, but nobody complains because it used to be much worse. The roads are a rat's maze, the average speed during rush hour is less than 5mph, the subway system is on the brink of collapse, and although violent crime is rare, the overall crime rate is still high. I hate the smoking and littering, although I think the city is kept remarkably clean in spite of it. I also hate feeling like I'm taking my life in my hands every time I cross the street. And, of course, the cost of living here is astronomical. Yet thousands -- if not millions -- of immigrants survive just fine, so I think the real problem is that I'm not used to the style of living here. (Note I said "style," not standard.)

The population density also means everything is small: small streets, small cars, small houses, and astoundingly small bathrooms. I've looked at apartments that are 160 square feet, including the kitchen, with a bathroom wedged into a closet! (And they cost more than my 1,200 square foot apartment in Los Angeles, except these have no view!) When designing the bathrooms for the B&B, I thought they were ridiculously tiny; now I think they are palatial. (I also changed the kitchen layout because it only had 16 square feet of surface space; the new layout has 30 square feet. Most kitchens here have 4 square feet, and I'm not exaggerating.)

My timing couldn't have been worse, with a dreadful currency rate and looming economic depression. I figured that with my experience at an investment company, I could easily find work in London, the financial capital of Europe--little did I realize what the "credit crunch" portended. Still, despite all of it, I love it here. Of course, if I hadn't met Jessica, would I feel the same affinity for the city? I think so. I was here almost a month before I met her, and I was already quite smitten with the city. (Plus there was the week I spent here in 2003, which obviously made me comfortable enough to move here.) That Jess was here is just remarkably good fortune.

The big question is, did I find what I was looking for? I was looking for a change, a challenge, a way to force myself out of my rut and confront my assumptions and understand how other people live. I was trying to find the "real" me, free of externalities and custom and convention. In other words, all of the things I was looking for in Pennsylvania, but did not get a chance to do. Still, I've had a remarkable journey over the past four years: restoring the B&B, moving to Pennsylvania, living in the country, changing careers, getting divorced, being a million dollars in debt, returning to LA and experiencing the city of my birth in a completely different light, spending time with my family, moving to London, and now falling in love again. Of course I would have liked to have done more of all of it (except, perhaps, the divorce, although that was obviously a necessary step in my eventual growth). I've learned a lot about myself: That I'm resilient, I can handle change, I can love unconditionally, that I have some basic needs but I can be happy just about anywhere. These are all things I wanted to believe about myself but never really had an opportunity to test, and I'm grateful for all of my experiences, and everyone who has contributed to them. And yes, I think I found what I was looking for.

One odd thing I've noticed is my new circle of friends consist of a South African, an Italian, a Kenyan, a Slovakian, and two Americans. Not a Brit in sight. This is partly my fault: I assumed I'd meet enough Brits through work, so I have not gone out of my way to introduce myself. (I'd also planned a heavy dating regime, which ended before it even began after my second date with Jess.) I have gone to a couple of "vegetarian meetups" where I happened to sit with an Australian, an Italian, a Romanian, and another American, but no Brits. I've read that over 25% of London's population are immigrants, so I shouldn't be surprised.

So that's all; no funny anecdotes, no self-deprecating humour, no crazy rants about unyielding bureaucrats, just a little bit of information about me, because that's another thing I've learned about myself over the past four years: That I can share my thoughts and feelings without worrying about how others see me. I've learned I have good friends, people I can trust, people who care about me and support me and want the best for me. Of course, when I run out of money in a couple of months, we'll see who is still talking to me.

P.S. Okay, one funny anecdote: This morning I made a rather embarrassing discovery at the laundromat. Washing machines here have two detergent slots, for wash and pre-wash, and it turns out I've been using the wrong one. For four months. You'd think at some point I would notice--or someone would point out--that I hadn't actually cleaned my clothes in four months, but no. Worse, I didn't discover this until after I had done the wash, and I didn't have enough change to do it again, so it will be another two weeks before my clothes see soap. They'll probably disintegrate.

Oh, and some Brit-speak I've learned, in no particular order:

• pram or pushchair = stroller
• manky = dirty
• nappy = diaper
• dummy = pacifier
• brilliant = well done (sometimes used sarcastically)
• anti-clockwise = counter-clockwise
• braces = suspenders
• suspenders = garter belt
• plebian = ignorant
• chav = trailer trash (not exact, but closest equivalent I can find)
• bin = toss (throw something away)
• blue badge = handicapped placard
• Continent = rest of Europe
• lorry = truck
• boot = trunk
• flat = apartment
• lift = elevator
• 1st floor = 2nd floor
• pavement = sidewalk
• tap = faucet
• toilet = bathroom
• amber = yellow
• holiday = vacation
• return = round-trip
• half-eight = eight thirty (as in time)
• snog = make out (as in kissing)
• whinge = complain
• squidgy = soft
• stroppy = mad
• soppy = sad
• floppy = lazy
• mate = friend (of either sex)
• two finger salute = the bird (same as "victory" sign, but with palm facing the other way)
• naff = uncool
• daft = stupid
• kip = nap
• football = soccer
• gutted = upset
• the bill = the check
• chuffed = pleased (archaic, used primarily by London's mayor)
• cheers = thanks
• Bob's your uncle = that's it (as in, that's all there is to it)
• on your bike = get lost
• zed = 26th letter of the alphabet
• pinch = steal
• put paid to = to stop something
• posh = snobbish (originally, acronym for Port Out, Starboard Home, the most
• expensive cabins on the route to India)
• rotor = schedule
• quid = a pound (as in money. They also use "dollar" as a pound, which is quite confusing)
• tin = can (as in a can of beans)
• pot = jar (as in a pot of yoghurt)
• cock up = mistake
• bum = butt
• bollocks = balls
• camp = gay
• pissed = drunk (other terms include sloshed, legless, motherless, plastered, rat arsed, shitfaced, etc.)
• take the piss = make fun of someone
• mind the gap = no American translation, because in America they would never acknowledge the gap, because then they'd be legally responsible for the gap.

I'm still working on my cockney rhyming slang. The mechanics are simple enough: you take a common, two-word phrase where the second word rhymes with the word you want to use, and use the first word instead. So instead of "have a look" you might say "have a butcher's" because "butcher's hook" rhymes with "look." The problem is, you can't just make up your own rhymes; you have to know the specific, original phrases...and nobody will tell you what they are. In some cases, they have no idea themselves: "Taking the mickey" (or "taking the mick") is cockney slang for "taking the piss," and while the assumption is "Mickey Bliss" is the original phrase, nobody knows where "Mickey Bliss" came from!

Driving in London, part 2 of 3

Last Friday, I passed my theory test, missing only one question on the multiple-choice. (Although they don't tell you which you got wrong, I'm pretty sure it was the question about when you can reverse around the corner from a minor road onto a major road. I answered "Never" but -- this being England -- I'm sure that was wrong. You can do anything here.)

I got 71% on the hazard perception, primarily because I didn't understand what I was supposed to do for the first four or five videos. I was clicking the mouse when the car was supposed to *react* to certain events, but I was supposed to click when I saw the event that would *result* in the car reacting to them. In other words, I was clicking at the last possible moment, which was bad, and so for those clips I got a 1 out of a possible 5. (But 57% is passing, and a blind man clicking drunk could have scored that, so who cares.)

The next (and last) step is the road test, which you can't schedule until after you've passed the theory. Fortunately, the driving instructor last week let me know that different test centers have different wait times. What he didn't warn me was that there were over 40 test centers within 20 miles of me, and I'd have to look up each schedule, one by one. It took me an hour and a half to discover that most test centers didn't have any availability until mid-November, but one center had an appointment on Monday. I called the instructor -- because I needed his car for the test -- and he basically told me I would fail, and I should schedule it for November.

While I appreciated his brutal honesty, I am not a patient man, and waiting two months was not an option. Still, it was going to be hard to pass a driving test without a car. As I was stiting at the laundromat watching my clothes spin -- another exciting day in London -- I realized that with my US license, I could rent a car!

So I signed up for the Monday appointment (and paid the £67 fee, because 4:30pm is considered "evening" and incurs a £10 surcharge.), then called Avis and found manual cars are £30, but automatics are £84 (US $160)!! After considerable effort, I found Europcar had one for £39, but they were inside the congestion zone, so that added another £8, and of course I took out full insurance for another £12, plus £9 in petrol. Including the £50 for my provisional license, £30 to take the theory test, £10 for a test book, and £4 for the tube, this stupid driver's license has cost me £230 (US $435)!! In the US, I could have bought a car for that money.

On a side note, I have also resumed my search for a flat (apartment), as three months in a hotel is bordering on ridiculous. I still don't want to commit myself for a year, but I have found several "short-term" flats, and figured I could check them out with a car. What I didn't expect is that the letting agents -- who actually get paid if I rent the flat -- don't actually have any interest in showing the flat. So despite multiple attempts (via email and phone), only one agent out of six called me back and set up an appointment. (One agent even has a voice mail message that says they only schedule appointments online or in person, and don't bother leaving a message as they won't call you back. I'm not kidding!)

Still, I figured I could at least check out the areas, since (like any metro area) some parts are better than others. I also had to stop by Jessica's because Mill Hill (where I was taking my test) wasn't on my London map, and I was borrowing a bigger atlas from her. I wanted to avoid rush hour so I scheduled the rental for 10am. Their web site said it was next to the Victoria Coach Station, and my map showed Victoria Bus Station right next to the tube station, so I was all set. Except when I arrived at 10am, there were no rental cars, and nobody had any idea where I should go. (And of course I didn't bring the phone number.)

I finally realized that in England, a "bus" is for short distances and a "coach" is for long distances, and the Victoria Bus Station and Victoria Coach Station are not the same, and I needed to be half a mile away. It was after 11am when I picked up the car, and at my first stop -- in Shepherd's Bush -- I took the wrong exit from the roundabout, and ended up on the A40. That wouldn't have been a problem -- I just got off at the next exit -- except the next exit was full of roadworks, and it took me over half an hour to go three blocks. So now it was noon, I only had four hours until my test, I was starving and grumpy, and I really didn't need any more practice idling in traffic.

Google Maps says my route should have been 38 miles; my odometer said I went 80 miles. I took a lot of detours. I did arrive for the 4:30pm test in time -- a few minutes early, actually -- but there was a sign outside that read, "Test takers park at the top of the hill," so I did, and I waited. And I waited. And I waited. The parking lot was full of kids taking lessons on backing up and parallel parking, and it was the scariest place in the world to wait, but there were no signs and nobody to talk to, so I just waited. Finally one of the instructors -- after his student came to a violent and unexpected stop right next to me -- told me I had to go to the office furthest away from the parking lot, and I better hurry because if I was late they would cancel my test.

I found the office and gave them my paperwork, including the rental car information because they have to see registration and proof of insurance. The guy threw the paperwork back at me and told me I couldn't take the test in a rental car.

I like to think of myself as pretty jaded, and not surprised by much, but his reason was so stupendously bureaucratic, it shocked me: I couldn't take the test in a rental car, he said, because even though I could drive the car using my international license, and I had full insurance using my international license, the minute he got in the car with me I was no longer 'using' my international license, but my provisional UK license, and the car rental didn't insure learner drivers.

I was flummoxed, but it was obvious I wasn't going to convince him how ridiculous that was, so I asked about rescheduling and he told me -- with a straight face -- that because I didn't come prepared, my test was cancelled and my fee was forfeit, and I would have to pay another £67 to reschedule! I was pissed* but, again, there was no point in arguing with him; I'll call the agency in the morning and give them hell. Obviously, this isn't over yet.

Like most people who fail their driving test, I got in the car and drove off by myself. I called Jessica and asked if she wanted to meet for dinner, since I was about halfway between her work and home, but we couldn't figure out a meeting point, so we decided to meet at her house. Although she was twice as far, she got there half an hour before I did. I drove her to dinner (like a proper date) for the first time, and then returned her safely home, although I did crunch the curb there and back again. (And one time I wasn't even parallel parking!)

Jess gave me explicit directions back to Victoria, and told me it should take 45 minutes. I didn't want to admit it took me 90 minutes, so I sent her an ambiguous text message, "Made it," hoping she'd assume I returned the car, caught the tube, and already walked back to my hotel. She replied, "All the way home?!" so I had to admit that, no, I was still at the car park. I never get away with anything.

In reflection, not being allowed to take the test doesn't bother me -- I still need more practice, although trying to extort another £67 is ridiculous -- but I drove for 8 solid hours and only went 80 miles. That's 10 miles per hour! If the goal was to practice driving, then it was a success. If the goal is to actually get somewhere, then I really don't want to drive in London.

Below is a map of my driving route today, even though it looks like evidence in a DUI conviction. As I've mentioned, the Brits take great pleasure in not posting street names, so this is really a 'best guess' as to where I might have been. I have, for reasons of personal respect, left out all of the little streets that I turned into when I got lost, only to get even more lost. (It turns out maps don't really help when you don't have street names.) I have also not indicated the number of times I went through the same roundabout, or came up the same hill, although suffice it to say that 3 was not an uncommon number.

Next post: My even-more depressing search for a short-term let.

* In Britain, "being pissed" means drunk, not angry.

Driving in London

Driving in London is absolute chaos. Not because they drive on the left -- there's no clear advantage to right vs left, as long as everyone follows the same convention -- but many streets are so narrow, only one car can fit, and yet it is a two-way street! Drivers don't follow lane markers; it seemed you could park anywhere and in any direction (including the middle of the street, in some places); you don't stop at intersections; there are few crosswalks; the signs make no sense; and the road markings make even less sense.

Two weeks ago I read the Highway Code and the signs and road markings now make sense, but driving was still madness. So I did what any 16-year-old would do: I signed up for driving lessons. For an obscene amount of money, I had a two-hour lesson, and the instructor -- who was Nigerian but had lived in Miami and New York City -- stressed three main points: positioning, priority, and consideration. Positioning is where you put your vehicle, and it has nothing to do with lane markers; those can be helpful at times, and completely ignored at others. For example, if there are no cars parked on the left side, you should be a "drain's width" (about a foot) from the curb (or bicycle lane). If there are cars parked on the left, you should be a meter away to avoid car doors, because they have the "right" to open their door without fear, even if double-parked! (Try that in the US.) On narrow streets, with cars parked on both sides, that means you have to drive down the middle of the road! If there is oncoming traffic, then you need to slow down and get back on the left, or possibly even pull over in a really narrow road.

Priority is just that: Cars on main streets have priority over those entering from a side street, etc. There are two dashed lines at intersections to indicate "give way" and if you can see in both directions and determine it's safe to go before you reach those lines, then there is no need to stop. If there is traffic, you may need to stop, or even do a "creep and peep," but bottom line is you're responsible for pulling out. In a roundabout, you have to give priority to those already in the roundabout, those entering the roundabout from the right (unless you can safely enter before they get there), and oncoming traffic turning right (your left) because -- well, I'm not sure why, but you do. (Roundabouts are a whole different beast, and there's not much point to explaining them to anyone in the US, but there are guidelines for entering and exiting that make them more of a choreographed ballet than the free-for-all they appear.)

In my last email, I jokingly referred to consideration as determining priority, but it is actually the basis for determining fault. Unlike the US, where the laws (and lanes) are clearly defined to specify right-of-way, they have no concept of right-of-way here. As the instructor explained, if a pedestrian steps out in traffic and you hit him, the police look for skid marks: If you tried to stop, then it was the pedestrian's fault; if you didn't, then it's your fault, because you didn't give him consideration. If you were driving on the left and someone tried to overtake you on the right, but you suddenly swerved to get around a stopped bus and hit the other car, he was at fault -- because he should have realised you needed to go around the bus, and didn't show consideration. Similarly, if you are driving and an oncoming car swings into your lane to get around a stopped bus and hits you, it would be your fault if you could have anticipated this and moved over to the left!

Any set of rules will work as long as everyone follows them, but I think it's fantastic that they don't just have a different set of rules, but a whole different mindset. By making the driver responsible not just for his car, but really for the whole road, it makes it much more challenging, but ironically much safer. (The instructor told me the UK has the lowest incident of traffic accidents, per capita, in the world.) And it makes sense -- in the US, the rules are very specific in order to determine fault; here the rules are very loose, and fault is a judgment call based on the road and circumstances.

I think the most telling statistic about the safety of UK roads is that only 42% pass the driving test the first time. So now when I see people rolling through intersections, or driving 30 mph down the middle of a narrow road, or reversing around a corner, or driving into oncoming traffic, I no longer think of it as reckless driving, but controlled chaos, and I understand the method to the madness.

On Friday I will be taking my "theory" test and "hazard perception" test. Assuming I pass, I can then sign up for the practical (road) test, but I've been told there is a two-month waiting list!

P.S. Driving on the left is easier than it looks, probably because I've spent the last two weeks "thinking" about driving on the left. That is, I'd watch cars and imagine myself in the driver's seat, and when I was on a double-decker bus, I'd go up top and sit on the right, above the driver, and watch the road. (Being a passenger in a car didn't help because I was sitting on the left, so everything felt backwards.) The only thing I found difficult is that when turning right, you're supposed to go to the far-left lane. The US equivalent would be turning left into the far-right lane. Try it some time--I'm sure you'll find it just as disconcerting. (And should you hit anyone, you'll be at fault, because you didn't have the right-of-way.)

The future of America

This is a short email, I promise, but I'm so chuffed about the NHS, I just had to share. NHS is, of course, UK's National Health Service. I thought I was excluded from the plan but it turns out, if you live in the UK, you're covered. (And they don't really care if you live in the UK, either.) So last week I signed up and saw a nurse for a basic checkup, and today I went and saw a doctor about my asthma--all free. She prescribed 4 drugs, each a 3 month supply. In the states, I would have to go the pharmacist three times and paid US $120. Here, I went once, and paid £28 (about US $52). But wait, it gets better, because the NHS has a "prescription pre-payment certificate" and so, for £28, all of my prescriptions are covered for the next three months. So in about 11 weeks, I'm going to go back and get all of my prescriptions refilled...for free. Now, you're probably thinking it doesn't quite seem fair that all of the working people in the UK have to subsidize my medical care when I'm an immigrant, in reasonably good health, and perfectly capable of working. Well you, my friend, are a selfish, petty, greedy, capitalist pig. -Gregg

A test of epic boredom

A few weeks ago, I lost my wallet. I was able to replace all of the cards easily, and only lost a little cash. (One of the perks of being poor.) I couldn't replace my California driver's license, though, because they required me to appear in person -- in California.

When I moved here, I had no intention of driving anywhere, so I thought this was no big deal. However, Jessica has a few days off next week and wanted to go somewhere--anywhere--and I wanted to be able to share the driving . (Note: In the UK, you can drive for 12 months with a foreign driver's license, but since I no longer had my license, I couldn't drive, period.)

So I decided it was time to get a local driver's license. I did some research and discovered how it works in the UK:

1. I had to send away for a "provisional" license. This cost £50 (US $94) and I had to mail them a photo, my passport, and testimony from someone who lived in the UK and had known me for at least two years, asserting my identity! Fortunately, the hotel owner remembered me from 2003 and was willing to sign.
2. Once I have my license, I can drive on the streets, but not the motorways (highways to you yanks). I can then sign up to take the "theory test" (written) which costs another £40 or so.
3. Once I pass the theory test, I can then sign up for the "practical test" (driving) which costs another £40 or so. In addition to normal driving, I have to parallel park (on either side of the street), and reverse around a corner. (In California, that's known as "reckless driving.")
4. Once I pass the practical test, I have to send my provisional license back, along with my pass certificates, to get a full license. I don't even know how much that costs.

Note that the UK driver's license never expires, and you never have to take the tests again. Contrast that to California, where you have to re-apply every 4-12 years, depending on your driving record. (The UK does require you to let them know if your vision deteriorates or you develop seizures, though, so they can take your license away. I'm not sure how many people actually tell them, though.)

Naturally, the first thing I did, after sending away for my provisional license, was to buy a book. The actual test is about 60 questions drawn randomly from a block of 1,000. The book was basically all 1,000 questions, with a small section at the end called "The Highway Code." (Which is odd, since they don't have highways here--motorways, carriageways, and clearways, but no highways.) So after spending 30 minutes reading, I then spent four days slogging through all 1,000 questions. It was gruelling, it was tedious, it was mind-numbingly boring, but there wasn't any other way around it since many of the questions were not covered in the Highway code!

I just graded myself and got 105 wrong, or about 89%. Passing is 75%, so I could have skipped the past four days and still passed with flying colors. Some interesting misses:

8. You are approaching traffic lights that have been green for some time. You should maintain your speed.
Nope, the answer is: Be ready to stop.

38. At a crossing with flashing amber lights, you must give way to pedestrians waiting to cross.
Nope--if they aren't in the crosswalk, they don't have the right of way. (FYI, those are actually called puffin crossings. There are also zebra crossings -- presumably named for the white stripes on the black pavement -- pelican crossings, toucan crossings, and pegasus crossings. Toucan crossings are for pedestrians and bicyclists, so it's easy to remember as "two can." Pegasus crossings, of course, are for horses--the push button is located higher up the pole, and the light is actually a red or green horse instead of a man. Pelican crossings are just normal crosswalks.)

46. A lorry (truck) is trying to overtake you, but taking a long time. You should hold your speed.
Nope--you're supposed to slow down.

47. Name seven vehicles that will use blue flashing beacons: police, fire engine, ambulance, bomb disposal, blood transfusion, coast guard, mountain rescue.
Doctors on emergency calls use green lights. Everyone else uses amber lights, including power wheelchairs, which are legal for street use even though they only go 8mph. (Note that they don't have yellow lights in the UK. They have yellow lines, but amber lights.)

61. You should ONLY flash your lights at other drivers to let them know that you are there.
That's correct, you use your lights like a horn. Even better, you're supposed to turn on your hazard lights to let people behind you know that there is something going on ahead, but you have to turn them off as soon as you're sure they've been seen.

69. You are stuck in traffic at night. To avoid dazzling other drivers, you should switch off your headlights.
No! You should use your handbrake instead of your footbrake, so your brake lights aren't shining. (I thought switching off headlights was a bad idea, but it certainly seemed like a better answer than making the person behind you think you were moving.)

135. Driving at 70mph uses more fuel than driving at 50mph by 30%.
181. Driving smoothly will reduce fuel consumption by about 15%.
182. You can save fuel when conditions allow by missing out some gears.
192. What percentage of all emissions does road transport account for? 20%.
Who the heck wrote this, Al Gore? I assure you, none of these answers are in the Highway Code. (And I don't even know what "missing out some gears" mean, but I assume it refers to manual transmissions, so I don't care.)

261. A police officer is standing at a junction, facing you, with her right arm raised and her left arm outstretched, pointing to your right. This means turn right.
No, it means stop. "Turn right" she would just have her left arm outstretched

295. You are driving towards a level (train) crossing. The first warning of an approaching train would be twin flashing red lights.
No, a steady amber light. (Oh, and some train crossings have manual gates, where you have to get out of your car, call the local operator to verify no trains are coming, lift the gate, drive through, and lower the gate behind you. I am not making that up.)

391. You see a pedestrian with a dog. The dog has a yellow or burgundy coat. This warns you that the pedestrian is deaf.
Apparently, in the UK, they have hearing-aid dogs. (I answered "color blind," because who would dress their dog in a yellow or burgundy coat? I would have answered "retarded" or "Paris Hilton" but those weren't on the multiple choice.)

632. At a crossroads thre are no signs or road markings. Two vehicles approach. Which has priority? Vehicles approaching from the right.
No, that's only true in the US. In the UK, nobody has priority, and nobody has to stop. That is to say, it's a free for all. This is true even at an intersection that has traffic lights, but the lights aren't working. (Apparently they are relying on that notional idea of fairness and good sportsmanship that the British are known for.)

633. You see a blue circle with a red outline and a red diagonal line through it. This means no waiting.
How could you not get that? And two red diagonals mean no waiting at any time. ("No cars" is a red circle with a car and no diagonal line, and really looks like it should mean "cars ok.")

935. Your vehicle catches file while driving through a tunnel. You should pull up, then walk to an emergency telephone point.
No! You should drive your burning vehicle out of the tunnel.

Not surprisingly, I missed all of the questions on driving in ice and snow. (Apparently you're supposed to drive in high gear, not low gear.) There also some ambiguous ones; eg you took the wrong route and ended up on a one-way street, but they don't tell you if you're going the right way or the wrong way. (Kind of makes a difference.) And tellingly, they have 20 questions on the vehicle excise tax, but only one question on child seats.

Oh, and the best part, is that as a provisional license holder I am forbidden from driving on the motorway, even during the practical test. However, once I get my full license, I can drive on the motorway with no experience at all! How cool is that?

P.S. After all of this, yesterday I found my wallet, complete with driver's license. (It was at the bottom of my closet--I must have left it in my pants, then hung my pants up.) However, since I'm already £60 pounds and four days into the process, I might as well finish it.

London for under £40 per day

London has always been ridiculously expensive, and even more so with today's exchange rate. A hot breakfast will set you back US $10, lunch US $15-20, and dinner a minimum of US $25. (And we're not even talking good food here, and certainly no alcohol.) Throw in a 3-star hotel, and you're looking at over US $1,000/week.

So, you ask your local London expert, how do you slash that in half?

First, stay at a two-star bed and breakfast. It's clean, comfortable, and you stayed here five years ago when just visiting, so you know the owners. (Back then you picked it because it was only one of two places that advertised itself as completely non-smoking, although recent laws have made all hotels non-smoking.) Breakfast is a simple affair of tea, toast, and cereal (bring your own banana) but it's pretty much the same thing you'd make yourself, and it's included in the room rate.

The owners are really friendly, and they offer--actually, they insist--on lowering your rate when they find you're going to be staying awhile. You have a room in the basement--a closet, really--and while you don't get much sunshine, it has four distinct advantages:

1. It is en suite (private bathroom), which is still not that common in European hotels, and certainly unheard of at £35/night in central London.
2. It is the only guest room in the basement, so it's very quiet (except when someone drags luggage down the stairs above you)
3. There is a TV lounge immediately adjacent which, while public, is hardly ever used, so it feels like an extension of your room, someplace you can take your laptop to when you're going stir crazy, or just want to watch the Olympics.
4. The kitchen is also adjacent, and the owners don't mind you storing stuff in the refrigerator or cooking, as long as you clean up after yourself. There is a stove, a toaster, and a full set of dishes. (No microwave or oven, and certainly no gadets like a blender, though.)

There is an art to raiding other people's food so it doesn't become an issue. For example, as the B&B goes through 2 -3 loaves of bread a day, a couple of slices is no big deal, but opening a fresh bag in the refrigerator would be wrong. Instead, take the slices from the loaves which are intentionally left unwrapped overnight so the bread goes stale, making for crisper toast. (Toast or fry them, but don't eat them straight, because they're stale. Plus its white bread.)

Using condiments are okay, but if you use most of a large tub of butter, best to just replace it. Familiarize yourself with everything in the kitchen so when poaching oil and vinegar, or some herbs, you can quickly use it and return it. Even though the owner stocks a lot of cheese, best to buy your own, because he likes funky cheese. (He also likes marmite and sweet pickle relish, and will offer you some, knowing that it will make you gag and double-over in disgust.) Other things you can successfully steal: eggs, tomatoes, onions, Pakistani mangoes, tea biscuits, and ice cream. (Not necessarily at the same time.) Of course, by the same token, you can't get upset if something of yours goes missing.

Fortunately, there is a large, 24-hour supermarket two blocks away, so buying in small quantities is easy. Some suggestions for quick, easy, and inexpensive meals:

• Moroccan hummus and pita, £2 (they also sell dolmas and mixed olives in a chilli garlic marinade for about £2 each)
• Bagged salad and baguette, £2 (excellent with a ball of mozzarella, 57p)
• Cheese sandwiches, grilled or toasted, 40p
• Packaged soup (pumpkin is particularly good), £1-2
• Portabello mushroom fajitas, £4 (but makes three meals)
• 2-egg omelette, 29p (filling extra--recommend portabello mushroom fajitas)
• Eggs and fried potatoes, 69p
• Fried egg sandwiches, with or without cheese and tomatoes, 15p-50p
• Packaged tortellini with pesto, £4 (makes three meals, more if you don't get sick of tortellini)
• Rice and green curry vegetables, £3
• Rice and black beans, £1
• Rice and stir-fry with tofu, £4 (tonight's meal)
• For dessert, fresh fruit (plums, peaches, apples, grapes) or plain yogurt mixed with muesli, < £1 per serving
• (The supermarket has "American style" cookies for 25p each, but they're sickeningly sweet, and I can't stop at one.)
• I also keep juice (OJ, lemonade, or mango) in the fridge

One cool thing I've learned: If you slice the baguette and lay them on top of the toaster, you'll get black "grill" stripes. You can also heat pita bread and tortillas on top of the toaster as well. (If anyone has any other tips, or suggestions for two-ingredient meals that take less than five minutes to cook, let me know.)

So there you have it, excellent advice on staying in central London for less than £40 per day*. That, or just move out of central London. But where's the sport in that?

* Tube costs, mobile phone charges, Internet access, medications, gym membership, laundry, books, batteries, and incidentals not included. Living this way for more than three months is not recommended. Starting a new relationship under these circumstances can also be occasionally uncomfortable, but at least you know she's not interested in you for your money or possessions. :-)

Street names

In today's lesson on British life, we will discuss street names. Those in the States are used to a hodge-podge of names borrowed from other countries: street, avenue, road, place, terrace, lane, boulevard, drive, and maybe an occasional courtyard.

In Britain, you have these plus: close, mews, terrace, garden, circus, yard, tower, building, manor, alley, approach, arcade, back, bridge, broadway, causeway, centre, church, churchyard, circle, college, common, corner, cottage, court, crescent, embankment, estate, field, gate, green, grove, heights, mansions, market, meadow, mount, museum, palace, parade, park, passage, pavilion, precinct, promenade, quadrant, rise, roundabout, trading, vale, view, villas, walk, and (my favorite) house.

Of course, keep in mind that when the street name changes every three blocks, you need a lot of names.

Previously, I mentioned that in London they number the houses up one side of the street and down the other, rather than odds-and-evens like, oh, almost everybody else in the world. I should also mention they also name every street in the area with the same name, changing only the suffix, so directions like this are not uncommon: "Take Fortis Green Road, turn left on Fortis Green, and left again on Fortis Green Avenue."

But wait, it gets worse. Today I needed to go to 73 Courtfield Gardens, and discovered that could be on any one of five different streets! ("Courtfield Gardens" is in red, Courtfield Road is in yellow.)

Not to be outdone, just a few blocks away, Bramham Gardens (in red) took four different streets, and one of those streets is "shared" with Bolton Gardens (in yellow). That is, the streets on the north side are Bramham Gardens and the houses on the south side are Bolton Gardens!

But oh, my friend, if it were only so simple, because some houses just opt out of this whole scheme altogether. So at the corner of Earl's Court Road and Bramham Gardens (north) and Bolton Gardens (south) is a building with two entrances -- the one on Earl's Court Road is "3 The Mansions" and the one on Bramham Gardens is "4 The Mansions."

(Where "The Mansions" came from is anybody's guess.)

So if you wonder why London has such a complicated postal code -- 5 or 6 alphanumeric characters, such as SW59FE (mine) -- it is because the address is pretty much meaningless. And I suspect that the real reason Britons eventually lost their empire is that they became too afraid to venture out, for fear of never finding their home again.

A disaster of epic proportions

My second "date" (fourth "meeting") with Jessica was at an outdoor concert on Hampstead Heath, a beautiful area north of London. On the way out, I noticed Diana Krall was playing there next month, so I asked Jess if she was interested, and she said, "I was thinking about getting tickets for my parents." Now, anyone else would have thought she was blowing me off (and insulting Diana Krall) but I just invited her parents to go with us.

Bold? Perhaps. Presumptuous? Absolutely. Smart? No.

I had already met her other parents (dad and step-mom) in Los Angeles--they were the ones who gave me Jessica's number--but this was her mom and step-dad, who live about three blocks away. I knew I couldn't avoid them for long, so figured it would be better to get it out of the way early. Jess later told me she begged her parents not to accept, but it had been four years since she had introduced anyone to her parents, and they were keen to meet me. (Plus they really did love Diana Krall.)

So I bought the tickets and got a job, because I sure as hell wasn't going to meet her parents without being employed. Except...I didn't actually get a job, and of course they asked what I did and I had to admit I didn't have a job. And I was living in a hotel. They pretty much stopped asking me questions after that.

Did I mention it was pouring rain, for an outdoor concert? We went and sat in the wet grass, huddled under umbrellas, and couldn't even see the stage. But halfway through the concert, the rain stopped...and the wind picked up, and it was freezing. Then the rain started again. I brought a bottle of chilled chablis, which went home unopened. I was also soaked through but, coincidentally, I had gone clothes shopping that afternoon and left my bag at Jessica's, so I was able to change into dry clothes when we returned, albeit completely mismatched. (Green pullover, tan jeans, white socks, and black shoes...)

So that said, her parents were lovely, and real troupers. (And they'll certainly never forget me.) It certainly didn't compare to the *last* parents I met, but at least this time there were no machine guns or wolves involved. Her parents also reciprocated and invited me to the Ballet Trockadero (an all-male edition of Swan Lake) in October. If I thought it was presumptuous of me to make plans a month in advance, I wonder how Jess feels about her parents inviting me two months in advance? :-)

Tennis, anyone?

My gym is depressing. First, it's filled with Eastern European guys who bench press 2,000 pounds. I'm not kidding--on the machines, they attach extra weights because 150kg (330 pounds) isn't enough. I feel like such a wuss when I have I have to move the weight selector from the bottom to the top. (Sometimes I move it to the middle when I'm done, but I know I'm not fooling anyone.)

Second, it doesn't smell good, mostly because the Eastern European guys wear too much cologne. (And cheap cologne at that.) I have to come early in the morning or get a spot by an open window.

Third, there's no tennis. I was walking through Holland Park, which has six courts, and wished I had someone to play with. Then I stumbled upon londontennis.co.uk, which has a virtual bulletin board to let people find partners! How cool is that?

So I looked up females in my area, not because I was hoping for a date, but because I get too competitive when I play with guys. Of 5 invitations, Alisha was the only one who responded, and we set up a game for today. (She's 28 and married, so don't get any ideas.)

Then I went to Lillywhite's, the famous sporting goods store in Piccadilly Circus. (At least I'm told it's famous--I never heard of it before.) They had a decent selection of racquets, from £13 to £147 (US $26 to $294). Guess which one I bought? I wouldn't be surprised if it snapped in two the first time I used it. I let Alicia know I haven't played in six months, and so if I sucked it was because I was using a new racquet.

And suck I did. I think the guys in the next court returned as many balls as Alicia. (I tried to go practice yesterday, but the courts were booked right through 10pm.) I didn't even try to serve; I was having enough problems with my forehand. Fortunately, she was game, and while she did keep me running for the entire hour, she didn't humiliate me. We even set up another game for Thursday.

She lives nearby, so on the way back we talked, and it turns out she moved from New York five months ago, and she's a Jewish vegetarian. So if you're keeping track, the only two people I know in London (outside of the hotel) are both Jewish vegetarians. What are the odds of that?

Cost of living

All amounts are in US dollars:

• A subway ride, one-way, into the city: $3.00
• A soda at a cafe: $4.00
• A croissant at the local bakery: $1.18
• Rice and Spinach with potatoes at the local Indian takeway: $10
• Lentil burger at Gourmet Burger Kitchen: $11.70 (fries add $5.70)
• Lunch at a Mexican restaurant in Covent Garden (no drink): $24
• The cost to call a local UK number: $0.40/minute
• The cost to call a US number: $0.30/minute (go figure)
• A movie ticket: $18
• 2 tickets to the Moody Blues at Royal Albert Hall: $160
• 4 tennis balls: $5.98
• An hour on the tennis court: $12.80
• A pair of Levi's jeans at a small clothing shop: $140
• A pair of jeans at Gap: $100
• A pair of generic jeans at Primark: $16
• A load of laundry: $12
• Average rent on a 1-bedroom flat: $3,000-$3,500/month, plus council tax and utilities
• Average down payment on a 1-bedroom flat: $8,000

On the bright side, I've lost a stone* over the past 4 weeks. Spending that $98 on a one-month (off peak) gym membership was much smarter than buying food.

*1 stone=14 pounds

My uncle

I love my uncle. He annoys and frustrates me, he has no common sense, he can be blustering, but watching the gears in is his head turn is like watching a fine timepiece...that occasionally throws a spring. I'd say I want to be like him when I grow up, except he hasn't grown up yet.

Of course I've been keeping my uncle apprised of all my antics across the pond, but he's been particularly keen on the whole Jessica situation:

Saturday, June 7: Is that why I haven't heard from you lately? Jess? Did you take her up on her offer of a free lunch? Did you succumb to the Vegan temptress? Has Lord Gregg finally [edited for decency]. Take a moment and apprise me of your latest fuck-up. Good news is hard to come by these days, sonny.

Sunday, June 8: Don't fiddle dick around with Jess. Get her in your sights as soon as you can before she runs a check on you and your cover is blown.....assuring that [edit for decency].

Monday, June 9: I was hesitant to mention this, but hey, in for a pence in for a pound, wot? Women adore gay men. I am not suggesting you tell her you're gay and you don't have to curl your pinkie around the tea cup or swish your hips when you walk. What you do is adopt a hangdog expression and sigh longingly whenever some dude in tight jeans saunters by. Here's the thing, women ALWAYS believe they have the power to change us, boyo. I was the exception to the rule, because they recognized how hopeless a task that would be. No woman can ever accept that any man could reject her, no matter how much he [edited for decency]. By that time, it won't matter how you strive to belie her assumptions, it is far too late and you will have her right where you want her, [edited for decency]. Well, don't go overboard in your gratitude, sonny, it's always possible you might have found your way [edited for decency] without my help, but one never knows, do one?

Tuesday, June 10: Is it this coming Sunday you'll be making your assault on Jess...or was it Sunday past, in which case its too late to save her. I hope my subtle dating hints were helpful, boyo. Please remember you are an American and conduct yourself accordingly. All American tourists are not the low living scum wads depicted in the Limey media. Not every single one. There's bound to be exceptions.

Sunday, June 15 (before the date): Do I start preparing for the inevitable arrival of a new niece? One that will be thrilled and honored to make my acquaintance? One that will be relieved to know that meeting you was not a total loss after all? One that will embrace your aunt B. and envy her for her good fortune? Come on, Sonny, I can't stand the waiting. Shout her name to the Gods! OR..........did you just go and fuck up......again? Told her you were recently divorced. Told her you were unemployed and borderline broke. Told her you didn't know where your next tuppence was coming from. Told her you were voting for Bob Barr for president. Told her your uncle Georgie will cry himself to sleep once he hears from you and how you blew the only [edited for decency] that will come your way while you're in London.

Monday, June 16: Oy. you are going down like the twin towers! Time for you to suck it up and prepare for some serious [edited for decency]. This chick is beginning to take on weight....in a manner of speaking. I may not be able to save you.

Tuesday, June 17: Sonny, you have GOT to stop leaving your jugular exposed the way you do. Your Email letter revealed the fact that you ignored my advice and spilled your guts like a terrorist being water boarded. Told her you were divorced, unemployed and broke.....did you also tell her you were [edited for decency] to compensate for these negatives? Luckily she's willing to give you another round. Either she's a sweet and loving, not to mention moronic, person, or didn't believe a word you said and thinks you're an undercover wealthy beach rat on the prowl for a cheap lay by playing on her sympathy. Don't you realize, dummy, that honesty is NEVER the best policy. I'm an honest man and look where it got ME! Wise up and shut up! Your poor aunt B still believes I have a fortune stashed away somewhere. I never said I was ALWAYS an honest man, did I?

Wednesday, June 18: I just hope you can maintain your mysterious man from La Mancha persona without crashing and falling on your petard. Going back to your July 5th date, you could have scheduled it for July 4th and established your independence from the git go. Show those tea taxing bastids who [edited for decency] now! In summation just let me say that this Romance promises to be 'a bit of a dust up, what'? Just don't Britishize your ass too much too soon. Good luck with the Jess, boyo. She doesn't appear to be the nanny type, so watch it and don't walk around with your thumb in your mouth or you'll end up with it up your ass. Stay off that friggin 'date site' until you've sorted this one out. You may have a winner.

Thursday, June 19: Oh my. the plot thickens....and I ain't talking about the cemetery plot. LIKE WOW! Wait til she meets your uncle! You may as well quit surfing the date sites now, sonny. I hearby pronounced you hooked, hat, ass, line and sinker. Keep me informed about your adventures in Camelot.

Saturday, June 21: Here's how I see your situation, sonny. You are beginning to get a little stressed out. You've got a few things going at the same time. I think you should take a deep breath and recoup before you proceed with this thing with Jessica. You're trying to learn too much too soon and if you don't back off a tad you're gonna crash and burn. There's an aura of hysteria in your Emails. You're trying to promote her interest in you and you're creating an atmosphere of panic (paranoia). STOP ALREADY!

Of course he's right, albeit a day late. I really got my brain tied in knots, culminating at 4am Saturday morning when I sent an email to Jessica suggesting she "run away." Not with me, from me. She wrote back "No," and just like that the brain fever was gone. I guess I just needed some reassurance, as silly as that sounds.

The future

When I asked for feedback on my personal ad, one of my friends referred me to a guy who writes a blog on dating for men. I checked it out but came away with the impression that he was taking the “job interview” approach to dating -- get as many offers as you can, so you can choose the one that is right for you.

I personally take umbrage at this -- employers are not emotionally invested when they extend an offer -- but he did make some interesting points about what women generally look for, and one of these was security: She wants to know not only where he is, but where he is going. (Apologies if I'm just perpetuating male/female stereotypes.)

So that naturally begs the question, where am I going? For so many years, I was so focused on where I was going that I felt like I missed everything along the way. So when I had the chance to start over, I consciously chose not to worry about the destination, to be more flexible and open, and enjoy the ride. (Of course I still contributed to my retirement account -- I'm not an idiot.)

And now I'm being told that this very approach will sabotage any relationship I might have.

So I pulled out my Magic 8 Ball and tried to divine my future. Now, most people never plan for the future, they just have a general idea of what they want, and then work within their current situation. My problem is, I don't have a 'current situation' to constrain me; every option is on the table: Get married again? Have a child? Get a 'real' job or continue consulting? Start my own business? Retire from IT and do something else? If so, what? When (and where) to retire? What to do when I retire?

The problem is that I'm not really committed to anything, in part because I know it will all change once I'm in a relationship. Sure, I could make something up and then look for someone with similar plans, but I'd much rather find someone I like and then figure it out together.

So it's a catch-22: I need to plan my future to have a relationship, and I need to have a relationship to plan my future.

Where am I going with this? I have no idea. If I had a direction, I wouldn't be dealing with this in the first place.

A very busy year

Jessica and I were talking about the West End and I mentioned some of the "big" shows I've already seen (Wicked, Avenue Q, Phantom of the Opera, Chicago, Lion King, Les Miserables), and she intimated that I was only interested in musicals. For some reason, that kind of stung, so I pulled up my 'Google calendar' to see what else I did last year, and I was quite amazed. It only goes back to mid-August, but here's what I did in just over four months:

Aug 22	Dave Brubeck @ Hollywood Bowl (concert, with Madeleine Peyroux)
Aug 23	Kronos @ Cal Plaza Watercourt (concert, walked out on this one)
Aug 24	Big Bad Voodoo Daddy @ Hollywood Bowl (concert)
Aug 29	Nancy Wilson @ Hollywood Bowl (concert, with Regina Carter)
Sep 12	Paper Moon @ Egyptian (film)
Sep 13	Downtown Artwalk (art)
Sep 15	Beautiful Morning at Egyptian Arena (play)
Sep 21	Jungle Book @ El Capitan Theater (film) Musical improv @ National Comedy Theater (comedy)
Sep 22	CPR training @ YMCA "Slow motion dancing" exhibit @ Music Center (stupid)
Sep 23	LA Fair It's Just Sex @ Zephyr Theatre (play)
Sep 27	Junk: A Rock Opera @ Lyric Theatre (musical)
Sep 28	Downtown Comedy Club semi-finals (comedy)
Sep 30	Grand Avenue Festival Avenue Q @ Ahmanson Theatre (musical)
Oct 5	Kimberly Akimbo @ Victory Theatre Center (play)
Oct 11	Downtown Artwalk (art)
Oct 13	Genesis @ Hollywood Bowl (concert)
Oct 18	Eagles @ Nokia Theatre (concert)
Oct 20	Weird Al Yankovic @ Greek Theatre (concert)
Oct 21	Third @ Geffen Playhouse (play)
Oct 23	Cartoon dump @ Steve Allen Theater (don't ask)
Oct 24	Limonade Tous les Jours @ Hudson Mainstage (play, walked out on this one)
Oct 26	Gulliver's Travels @ Ivy substation (play)
Oct 27	Corteo (Cirque du Soleil)
Oct 28	Pumpkin party
Oct 31	'Twas the Nightmare before Christmas in 3D @ El Capitan (film)
Nov 3-4	Sacramento
Nov 7	Blade Runner @ Landmark Theater (film)
Nov 8	Downtown Artwalk (art)
Nov 9	Loudon Wainwright at El Rey Theatre (concert)
Nov 11	Pajama Game @ Carpenter Center (musical)
Nov 18	History Boys @ Ahmanson Theatre (play)
Nov 21-25	Sacramento (Thanksgiving, Mom's surgery)
Nov 27	Cartoon Dump @ Steve Allen Theatre (Loved that program)
Nov 30-Dec 2	Sacramento
Dec 2	Tom Paxton @ McCabe's (concert)
Dec 5	Ask a Ninja Live @ El Rey (don't ask)
Dec 7	Hair @ MET Theatre (musical)
Dec 8	Beethoven Piano Concerto No 4 @ Walt Disney Concert Hall (concert)
Dec 14	Chicago @ Hudson Backstage (musical)
Dec 16	DWP Festival of Lights @ Griffith Park
Dec 20	Ray Charles Live! @ Pasadena Playhouse (musical)
Dec 27-29	Sacramento
Dec 30	Color Purple @ Ahmanson Theatre (musical)
Jan 1, 2008	Rose Parade

Throw in yoga classes and tennis lessons, and you can see it was quite a busy year, but there were still a ton of things I would have liked to do: McCabe's and the Aero Theater were too far; the Cerritos Center wasn't convenient; the Arclight/Cinerama Dome was too expensive; I only went to the beach a couple of times; Max Vontaine was doing Sinatra every Thursday at Cicada, but I didn't see him until my last week; and I only saw Bob Baker's marionnettes once. I did make the museum circuit -- Museum of Contemporary Art, LA County Museum of Art, Natural History Museum, California Science Museum, Geffen Contemporary, and Norton Simon -- but I didn't get back to Huntington Gardens or Descanso Gardens. I saw the Perseids but not the Geminids or Leonids. I bought tickets for, but couldn't attend, James Galway and Celtic Woman, and I booked a trip to the Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta, but had to cancel last-minute. I never went to the Staples Center or Dodger Stadium, and I missed the Star Trek tour and the Star Wars convention, though that was more by choice.

So of 42 events, I saw 7 plays and 7 musicals--I think that's a respectable percentage. It was just the musicals had any name value.

On a completely different note, this made me think about some things I miss in LA: The Cal Plaza Watercourt; the downtown art walk; the Lotus festival and Tofu festival; tacos de papas, chile relleno burritos, and eggplant gyros; the Drunken Goat at Mendocino Farms (it's a sandwich); watching old films at the old cinemas; and seeing “CSI: New York” being filmed outside my apartment. (Plus, of course, the weather and my friends, but that goes without saying.)