Day One

I have to say, I did an amazing job clearing out the refrigerator and pantry before leaving Brentford. Granted, I ate some very...unexpected...combinations of food during my final week, but I threw out very little, and I only took with me some soba noodles, two packets of instant oatmeal, a bottle of sherry, some ketchup and bbq sauce, and half a packet of fajita spices. These stayed packed while at Jessica's and so arrived at my new flat, where they practically filled the available cupboard space. (Did I mention the place was small?)

Today, I took an inventory of everything I needed for the flat. Now, bear in mind that I was essentially housesitting in Brentford, so it was fully stocked with dishes, cutlery, utensils, spices, etc. I only bought a few things to complement what I had; now all I had were those few things. So I had a rice cooker, but no pots. I had a mixer, but no bowls. I had an apple corer, but no peeler. You get the idea.

I took my (rather long) list down to the Robert Dyas store, which bills itself as an "ironmonger," but it's more like a Big Lots in that they have a bizarre selection of household goods, from hammers to tupperware. I bought some ice cube trays, a soap dish, and a screwdriver. (I can't imagine anyone who knows me being surprised that, of all the things I needed, these are the things I bought.) I also added a number of things to my list, such as a water filter, a colander, a cheese grater, a can opener, a kitchen timer, a kitchen scale, a toilet brush, coat hooks, candles, an hibachi grill, a bird feeder, and a printer/scanner. (I told you they had a bizarre selection.) However, I didn't buy any of these until I could do some price/quality comparisons.

I also got my utilities in order. The landlord took care of water and council tax (similar to property tax), and gas and electric just took a phone call. Internet, on the other hand, took six hours, cost £10 in cell phone charges, and I ended up doing exactly what the landlord suggested I do, which was ordering phone service from the local cable company.

The thing is, I didn't want a phone or a TV. I just wanted Internet, because nowadays you can make phone calls and watch TV over the Internet. I checked the local cable company--Virgin Media--and they charge £20 per month for Internet, or £25/month for phone, TV, and Internet, plus a £50 credit if you order all three. In other words, a phone and TV would only cost £2/month more, so it seemed silly not to take them. The only thing I didn't like was that Virgin required a 12-month contract, and I don't know that I'll be in this flat more than six months.

My other option was DSL, which was cheaper -- about £18/month -- but then I had to get a phone line. I called British Telecom (BT) and they said they could activate the phone line "within 4 weeks" and it would either be free or £122, but they couldn't tell me which until I placed the order. Then they told me they required a 12-month commitment as well. I also looked at a dozen DSL providers; O2 was the cheapest, but to get the lowest rate I would have to switch my mobile!

So cable was looking pretty good--it was £5/month more than DSL but twice as fast, included TV, I only had to deal with one company, and I'd probably get it sooner. But the real death knell for DSL came when Jessica pointed out the telephone jack: it was by a window, three feet off the ground, next to the dining table. There wasn't even an electrical outlet nearby, so I'd have to run a wire across the entire room, and hide the router behind a chest of drawers. The cable, on the other hand, was conveniently located, so I called Virgin and signed up. Even better, the rep not only gave me the £50 credit, but also gave Jessica a £60 credit for referring me.

My final goal was to go to the gym, since I haven't been in two months, but it was almost 7pm before I packed my gear and headed off. Then I realized I didn't bring any water, so I popped into the market on the way. Then I realized I was starving--I only had 2 bagels and a biscuit all day--but they didn't have anything that was appetising, and I thought eating a candy bar before going to the gym was self-defeating. Then I saw flour tortillas, and I remembered the half packet of fajita mix in the cupboard, and a little light bulb went on in my head and I bought a bell pepper, onion, and a big mushroom. Then I realized a) I was still starving, and b) what the hell was I going to do with this stuff at the gym? So I went home.

I mentioned in my last email that there were two markets on Pitshanger Lane, but I didn't mention they were both the same market. It's called "The Co-operative" and it's just a chain, but it's kind of weird having two on the same street, one block apart. This evening, though, it was very convenient because I realized I forgot cooking oil, so I popped inti the other one. When I got home, I also remembered I didn't have a knife, a pan, or a spatula. Instead, I sliced the vegetables with a plastic knife, cooked them in a pot Jessica had loaned me to boil water, and used a potato masher as a spatula. I also used the serrated edge of the cake server to open the pack of tortillas (scissors are on the list) and ate off a paper plate.

Oh, and did I mention the sofa was in the kitchen? The landlord was supposed to clean the carpet before I moved in, but naturally that didn't happen. He assured me it would be done today, so this morning I moved everything out of the living room, pushing the sofa into the kitchen. Naturally, he called in the afternoon and said it would be the next day, but it was too much effort to move the sofa back, so I just cooked around it.

Well, I think that's enough adventures for one day. Tomorrow I will pick up the rest of my belongings which I left at the hotel, including my camera bag, tennis racket, and all of my clothes hangers. (Why I didn't bring those with the clothes is beyond me; right now my clothes are literally stacked in the bottom of the closet.)

P.S. Here is a photo from Wadi Rum. From left: Martin, Anita, Gerald, Marcelle, Jessica, Ella, me, Yael, and Simon. (There was another photo of us all doing the high kick.)

Pitshanger Lane

OK, so I was having a breakdown, far from friends and family, and I'd pushed away the one person who'd been sustaining me. I was completely devastated, and unable to cope with anything. It couldn't get worse, could it?

Of course it could.

I moved back into the hotel and I don't think I left my room for eight days except to go to the bathroom, which was upstairs and down the hall. (I couldn't get my old room with the private bath.) I saw a doctor, expecting her to prescribe anti-depressants or refer me to a therapist, but she did neither. Instead, she spent the entire appointment telling me about her own qualifications in treating mental health issues, and then told me to make a follow-up appointment in two weeks.

I asked the doctor if there was anything I could do in the meantime, and she recommended the book, "Mind Over Mood." I checked online and the local library said they had 3 copies; I went down and they had none. But they did have quite a few other books on depression -- in fact, they had a disproportionate number given the size of library, which makes me wonder about London in general. I thumbed through one book which politely but firmly told me that depression is indicated by a lack of sleep and loss of appetite. Since I was sleeping ok and eating constantly, I thought to myself: Damn it, I can't even get depressed properly.

Then I stopped at a deli for lunch and there was a hyperactive young man in line in front of me who -- without prompting -- told me he was schizophrenic, HIV positive, and so depressed that he'd been cutting himself. (Both his arms were bandaged from wrist to elbow.) My heart went out to him, but in the back of my mind I thought to myself: Damn it, I can't even get depressed properly.

That evening, to cheer myself up, I treated myself to a folk concert at Royal Albert Hall. The concert was excellent, but it turned out to be a charity fundraiser for teenagers with cancer, complete with video interludes of these kids trying to lead normal lives while undergoing chemotherapy. In the back of my mind I thought to myself: All right, I get it, I have no reason to be depressed: I have my health, friends, family, some money, a roof over my head, and even though my life isn't going exactly the way I'd like it to at the moment, that's just a challenge to be overcome, so get over yourself and get on with it.

A friend helped me accept the fact that I wasn't going to move in with Jessica at this time, and that I still needed a place to live, so I did a fresh search online and found a dozen places within my budget that all looked dreadful except for a one-bed flat in Pitshanger Village. I called the agent and she said it had just come on the market the day before and several people were already considering offers, but if I came immediately then I still might be able to get it. I went down and it was actually perfect -- completely refurbished, light and bright, quiet, with a little private outdoor patio in back. It was on the ground floor of a 2-storey conversion, across the street from a church, and two blocks from a large park with tennis courts, bicycle paths, and a golf course. Just down the road, Pitshanger Village is a cute little "main street" with a book store and library, a couple of cafes and restaurants, and two markets. The area is well served by buses and trains, and there is a gym about a mile away with six (!) yoga classes per week. (I haven't been to the gym in two months, and I'm sure that contributed to my emotional slide.)

I should mention that I know all of this because Jessica used to live in Pitshanger Village, and she highly recommended it. I'd looked at a couple of places before, but everything in my price range had been dark and dingy including, ironically enough, the flat above the one I was looking at, which I'd seen a month earlier. (I didn't take that one, in part, because they were doing construction work on the flat downstairs.)

So I told the agent I would take it. It was impulsive, but it was the best place I'd seen since I moved out of Brentford seven weeks ago, I didn't want to spend any more time looking, I really didn't want to continue sharing a bathroom at the hotel, and I knew that what I really needed in my life right now was stability, which is exactly what this would provide. Then the agent told me that since I wasn't employed, they would require six months in advance, plus security deposit.

I had just transferred money to the UK, and so I ran the numbers: They wanted £7,125, and I had £7,125.81.

I didn't plan on living off 81 pence--I had some more money in the US, and it was easy enough to transfer it over--but there was obviously a huge emotional cost of giving away all of my money, especially since I was feeling so insecure. However, my cousin was quite pragmatic: Since I was going to pay them that money anyway, paying up front was just a way of budgeting, and once I'd given them the money then it would reduce my stress because I wouldn't have to worry about rent. The lease was for a year but there was a "break clause" after six months, so if I still didn't have a job then I would just give notice and move out. (We didn't talk about what I might do then, and I'd still rather not think about it.) I couldn't argue with her logic, so I agreed.

Of course, my new landlord wasn't quite through wringing me emotionally: She wouldn't take a check, only cash. If this were a private landlord, I would have run away, but the proprty was actually owned by a charity (the Marr-Munning Trust), which was set up in 1970 to help students from third-world countries come to London for education. They bought a number of properties and converted them into student housing, but now they rented those properties and used the income to fund other charitable work. So it wasn't a question of trust, it was simply that when you're giving away all the money you have, somehow it's easier to write a check than to count it in cash.

In the meantime, Jessica and I have basically started our relationship over. It's very awkward, of course, considering where we were just a few weeks ago, but it's a lot better than where we were two weeks ago. I know what she is looking for right now is consistency, and I'm just grateful she is willing to work through this. Last night I took her to a comedy show in Soho; today she took me into the countryside to see newborn lambs. (They were so adorable, but unfortunately I didn't bring my camera, so you'll have to find your own sheep.)

So that's where I'm at. Tomorrow I will be moving my stuff out of the hotel; in the evening, Jessica will drop off everything I'd left at her place, and then -- for the ninth time in three years -- I have to set about making a home for myself.

Attached is a photo of the flat, and here is a map. (Those colored lines are the Underground routes.) Any care packages should be addressed to:

  Flat 2, 197 Pitshanger Lane
  London, W5 1RQ

Poetry

You know you're in love when you're reading a poetry book at midnight by lamplight on stairs overlooking the Thames. However, in my case, I was all by myself.

The book was "London Underground Poetry" 10th edition, which were poems displayed on the tube. Perhaps not the most romantic, but the local library didn't have the greatest selection. I jotted down some of the poems that I liked:

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font.
The firefly wakens; waken thou with me.
Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.
Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.
Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.
Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake.
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson, from The Princess

---

Once, in finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy,
In the flash of gold heels on the hard pavement.
Now see I
That warmth's the very stuff of poesy.
Oh, God, make small
The old star-eaten blanket of the sky,
That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie.

Thomas Ernest Hulme, The Embankment

---

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle:

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold:

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning;
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

Christopher Marlowe, The Passionate Shepherd to his Love

---

Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new
Whose name you meditate --
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little

Stalk without wrinkle,
Pool in which images
Should be grand and classical

Not this troublous
Wringing of hands, this dark
Ceiling without a star.

Sylvia Plath, Child

---

I shall say what inordinate love is:
The furiosity and frenzy of mind,
An inextinguishable burning lacking bliss,
A great hunger, insatiable to find,
A dulcet ill, an evil sweetness blind,
A right wonderful, sugared, sweet error,
Labour without rest, contrary to kind,
And without peace to have great labour.

Anon. (15th century)

---

I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanis in oblivious host,
Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost;
And yet I am! and live with shadows tost

Into the nothingness of scorn and noise,
Into the living sea of waking dreams,
Where there is neither sense of life nor joys,
But the vast shipwreck of my life's esteems;
And e'en the dearest--that I loved the best--
Are strange--nay, rather stranger than the rest.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;
A place where woman never smil'd or wept;
There to abide with my creator, God,
And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept:
Untroubling and untroubled where I lie;
The grass below--above the vaulted sky.

John Clare, I Am

---

The goddess Fortune be praised (on her toothed wheel
I have been mincemeat these several years)
Last night, for a whole night, the unpredictable
Lay in my arms, in a tender and unquiet rest --
(I perceived the irrelevance of my former tears) --
Lay, and at dawn departed. I rose and walked the streets
Where a whitsuntide wind blew fresh, and blackbirds
Incontestably sang, and the people were beautiful.

John Heath-Stubbs, The Unpredicted

---

peaceful waters of the air
under echo's branches

peaceful waters of a pool
under a bough laden with stars

peaceful waters of your mouth
under a forest of kisses

Frederico Garcia Lorca

---

Fresh sighs for sale!
Prime doubts a penny!
Scowls going at a loss!
When I'm sold out I'll go
far from me and these among
be born again :
a mango warm from the bough,
a more than feline kiss,
a few objects without name.
Fresh hopes for sale!
Prime sooth a penny!
Smiles going at a loss!
Bargains, bargains, in and out of reason!

Alain Bosquet

---

Oh, to be in England
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England--now!

And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark, where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops--at the bent spray's edge--
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower
--Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!

Robert Browning, Home Thoughts From Abroad

---

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby,
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Care is heavy, therefore sleep you,
You are care, and care must keep you;
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Thomas Dekker, Cradle song

---

The season midnight: glass
cracks with cold. From lighted shop windows

girls half-sleeping, numb with frost step out.
We warm their hands between our hands, we kiss them

awake, and the planets
melt on their cheeks.

First touch, first tears. Behind their blue eyes darkness
shatters its pane of ice. We

step through into a forest
of sunlight, sunflowers.

David Malouf ~ Thaw

---

Such days, when trees run downwind,
their arms stretched before them.

Such days, when the sun's in a drawer
and the drawer is locked.

When the meadow is dead, is a carpet
thin and shabby, with no pattern

and at bus stops people retract into collars
their faces like fists.

- And when, in a firelit room, a mother looks
at her four seasons, her little boy,

in the centre of everything, with still pools
of shadows and a fire throwing flowers.

Norman MacCaig, February - Not Everywhere

---

The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.

World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.

And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes–
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of your hands–
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.

Louis Macneice, Snow

---

For the present there is just one moon,
though every level pond gives back another.

But the bright disk shining in the black lagoon,
perceived by astrophysicist and lover,

is milliseconds old. And even that light’s
seven minutes older than its source.

And the stars we think we see on moonless nights
are long extinguished. And, of course,

this very moment, as you read this line,
is literally gone before you know it.

Forget the here-and-now. We have no time
but this device of wantonness and wit.

Make me this present then: your hand in mine,
and we’ll live out our lives in it.

Michael Donaghy, The Present

---

Somewhere on the other side of this wide night
and the distance between us, I am thinking of you.
The room is turning slowly away from the moon.

This is pleasurable. Or shall I cross that out and say
it is sad? In one of the tenses I singing
an impossible song of desire that you cannot hear.

La lala la. See? I close my eyes and imagine
the dark hills I would have to cross
to reach you. For I am in love with you and this
is what it is like or what it is like in words.

Carol Ann Duffy, Words, Wide Night

---

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

William Butler Yeats, Cloths of Heaven

---

Time will say nothing but I told you so,
Time only knows the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
If we should stumble when musicians play,
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

There are no fortunes to be told, although,
Because I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.

The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
Time will say nothing but I told you so.

Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
The vision seriously intends to stay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

Suppose all the lions get up and go,
And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
If I could tell you I would let you know.

W.H. Auden, If I Could Tell You

Israel

My travelogues are usually a ridiculous combination of information and misadventures, but not this time. In fact, I deliberately chose not to do any research because I just wanted to be open to the experience.

That's not entirely true: I had been reading up on the history of Israel. For a country that is constantly in the news, I was surprisingly ignorant about it. In addition, 17 years in the Anglican church had taught me almost nothing about the Holy Land besides a few place names: Bethlehem, Nazareth, Jerusalem.

I won't go into the history of the Middle East issues--other than to say it was Britain's fault--but suffice it to say, I wasn't there to solve them. I was there for a wedding, which was bringing together 40 of Jessica's relatives, most of whom she'd grown up with in South Africa. (And that's still only a small part of her family; by comparison, I have a grand total of 24 relatives, half of whom I hardly know, and only once have I seen more than ten of them under the same roof.) Her entire family, though, is incredible: they are all open and loving, gracious, and still very close, even though they've scattered across four continents.

Plus, Israel itself is achingly beautiful, and a stunning collection of contrasts. My stereotypical view of a crowded market in the desert represents only one small aspect of the country: I saw suburbs, meadows, forests, mountains, metropolises, communes, ancient ruins, brand new resorts, coral reefs and bird sanctuaries. I even swam in the triumvirate of seas: Dead, Red, and Med. (I didn't go to the Galilee, but it doesn't rhyme, anyway.)

We also went into Jordan to see Petra and Wadi Rum, which were completely beyond my expectations, and absolutely stunning. My pictures are a terrible injustice, but that doesn't mean I won't subject you to them anyway. (Rough order is Masada, Cesarea, Jerusalem, Petra at night, Petra by day, Wadi Rum, and Eilat. I didn't get any photos of the wedding—I left that to the professionals.)

However, it didn't really matter how wonderful the people were or how incredible the land was, because I was having a bit of a breakdown.

In retrospect, I should have seen coming. I've been quite depressed over the job search, of course--not just the money, but the fruitless efforts, the lack of direction, and the stream of rejection--and then in January I had to dip into my retirement savings, which had a large financial penalty and a huge emotional penalty as well. Then in February I had to move, and I ended up staying with Jessica, which was the last thing I wanted to do.

Don't get me wrong, I absolutely wanted to live with her, but I didn't want it to feel like I needed a place to live. (In fact, I had been planning on going back to the hotel, but the day before I moved they had a pipe burst and had to shut the hotel for two weeks!) Jessica actually did find us a two-bedroom place to rent on Eel Pie Island, and talked to an agent about renting out her place, but the day before leaving for Israel, we went sign the paperwork and the owner threw in some surprises, so we ended up not taking it. (It's a long story that involves a boat yard, an asbestos hazard, another agent with a different price, and some really awful cabinetry.)

So, as my uncle would say, I was feeling mighty puny—withdrawn, antisocial, and vulnerable. That probably wasn't the best time to go on a 10-day trip with Jessica's family, feeling out of control and dependent on others, and spending a bunch of money. And on top of that, I had no time to myself--we were even staying with family--so I couldn't even recharge my batteries. My fears and insecurities overwhelmed me, I only saw the negatives, I blew everything out of proportion, and I got caught in a vicious spiral: fearing rejection, I pushed Jessica away, which ensured that I was rejected. Every time Jessica tried to resolve an issue, I felt like she was attacking me, and I pulled away further. She kept trying to reassure me, but I couldn't deal with any of it, and at one point I told her I had nothing left to give.

It doesn't really matter what happened or what my reasons were; the fact is I really hurt her, so when we got back to London she asked me to move out. I'm now back at the hotel, trying to get everything straightened out in my head. I'm seeing a doctor next week to see what else can be done, because I need to resolve this. Jessica is, without a doubt, the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me, and I can't believe that just a few days ago I tried to throw that all away. But, for the first time in my life, I'm trying to deal with my emotions instead of just running away. Unfortunately, I'm not very good at it, and I may have done irreparable harm in the process.