Results tagged “London” from Test blog

I walked straight into a plate glass window on Friday.

It wasn't the highlight of my week, but seems fitting a party to the strange syndrome of behaviours offered up to me by my body these four days gone by. Mild disorientation, sensorily unique headaches, neck pain, considerable body heat and a couple of aggressive mood swings in the testosterone-driven raging-silverback-gorilla sort of direction.

Transparent walls aside -- apparently this marriage of biology and silicous oxides runs in the female line of my family -- these are the mild symptoms of mild brain inflammation caused by a vaccine, and the thought that there's two more shots of this intravenous liniment to go isn't the most exciting thing in my Universe.

Still, if the antibodies are already on the go, then tomorrow's shot will either result in few further symptoms, or complete anaphylaxis. While occasional drama spices up the daily run, I hold out for the more probable scenario.

I've decided that things will be back to normal today, though the likelihood of my body agreeing with my stubborn mind makes the temptation of staying in bed, in the buff, all day long, the most attractive recourse possible. Alas, stuff beckons.

Oh, but it was strange.

Out in the sunshine, walking father Thames in the fresh air and awash with summery vibes, there were moments when I wanted to curl up and cry on the pavement for no good reason, punctuated by my own amusement at the fact that this sudden volatility of mind so isn't me.

Then anger and frustration, and wanting to smash my knuckles into the piles of broken rock and glass on the beaches at Battersea to put my mind elsewhere, toward a crimson decoy, something tangible. Preservation algorithms threw slag at the low tide instead, a limitless volume for transiently limitless feeling.

Then on the street, miles down the road, I chanced upon a proverbial angel, and my inconstant choler, as capricious and fickle as she was potent, fled with her burgundy skirts hitched above her ankles in the face of his genial smile and allusive embrace.

Once in a while, friends will pitch up at just the right time and place to crush a demon, unaffected in manner, straightforward and sincere, unaware of how you feel and utterly resplendent for it.

And whether or not you let them know it, they become heroes.

Being the statistic of me in London.

It's kind of nuts, really, to try to fathom just how many people that actually is. It mightn't be all that high a figure in the grand scheme of things vis. Chongqing with 31M, Mumbai with 13M, Sao Paolo with 11M, or Seoul with 10M, but it's pretty staggering all the same. We're just a smidgen behind New York, though in terms of community, I get the distinct impression from my Atlantic-straddling friends that it's a lot less easy to feel isolated in London than it is in New York.

Give me a sense of community any day.

Yesterday, I undertook the everyday task of walking from London Bridge all the way west along the river to Wimbledon. This took about four hours at a friendly pace, since the river route is quite a bit longer than the direct one, but it was incredible fun, and perhaps all the more so for being alone. Not to suggest that I didn't want the company -- I really did -- but it was nice to get in some me-time with my favourite Big City, and my how she roared in the hot Spring sunshine.

There was talk and laughter, food and drink, some of the best street musicians I've ever heard in this city, and even a whole lot of gaïety to boot. According to Google Earth, the walk home was a respectable 16.7 kilometres (10.4 miles), and during that time I passed at least four gay couples holding hands, and handful of less obvious candidates too.

I guess the warm-gooeyness must have got to me, because a pair of men took me to task on my smile -- they evidently misconstrued it as my thinking that they were an amusing sight to see, a pair of men holding hands.

"No," I said, "I'm really very jealous - I think it's totally lovely, but the hand I usually hold is stuck behind an office desk today!"

"Don't mind him; he's just a bit militant", one apologised.

And fair enough; some people do smirk, and for various reasons, but most of the looks all of these guys were getting seemed to be positive.

It's always a reaffirming thing to see. Even if it was only because they were all plain gorgeous.

This entry comes as an audio post (140 kb - low quality and it shows; sorry; bandwidth). The events in London have really put my work on hold -- they were a hard thing to ignore -- but I have to make headway, so a time saving audio it must be.

I'm so ready to sleep off this day; it has been more draining than I realised. Two friends were, in fact, affected, but walked away unscathed.

Reassured to know that all of the people I've been able to contact in London are alright, if stuck in funny places as a result of the slew of explosions across the northern part of Zone 1. Explained away initially as the result of a power surge on the Underground, the detonation of an explosive on the upper floor of a double decker bus at Tavistock Square has put paid to that.

Information is sketchy and infuriating; I have no reason to be in a panic myself, but I find this assault on my city disquieting and saddening. Part of me wishes I could be there to document some of it, but I know I'm better off being as removed as I am from home.

People can be so selfish and disappointing.

This is where I tell you all how wonderful the London Open House weekend -- an annual event where various private buildings and features in many London boroughs are opened up to the public -- was, except that I wasn't in a position to go.

I'm hoping that a few of the people that I'm chained to post some pictures; though vicarious living isn't quite the same as doing it yourself, there's still something to be gained from sharing other peoples' experiences.

The one I wanted to see the most, besides the inaccessible 30 St. Mary Axe, was the Kingsway Tram Tunnel at Holborn... but these pictures take a little of the edge off my disappointment. All said, it really has been a fun and relaxing weekend; there's always next year.