We're only three days into the Ashes and I am already so sleep deprived it ain't funny. For many reasons I wish Oz was closer, and this bloody time difference is on top of the list at the moment. And this is only the Brissie test. Starts at midnight UK time. Sydders and Melbs are half an hour later. But man, do I love it.
Take Thursday night. I went to bed rather excited (and rather pissed, but that's a different matter) as our batting was only just underway. Waking up Friday morning to a 220/5 and a wicketless final session (and a sore head) meant I had a slight spring in my step, making my way to work. My English partner and other colleagues were clearly starting to get worried, which only added to my joy.
Come Friday night, I stayed awake on espresso and jelly beans. Close to 2am, when Australia were at 308/5 I couldn't possibly stay awake any longer. Waking up this morning, the first thing I did was to check the score on my Blackberry. 481/10. Bring it on. And now, I am again counting on espresso and jelly beans to keep me awake for another 2,5 hours or so. In 2014 I probably need to take 6 weeks unpaid leave and just go to Oz. For now, I am accepting the fact that I will look like a ghost on valium by early January. It's all worth it.
Saturday, 27 November 2010
Tuesday, 16 November 2010
A weekend in York
Knowing I have (much!) less than a year left in Old Blighty, I am determined to make the most of it. And that includes venturing out of London every now and then. Last weekend, friend Ilse and I boarded a northbound train, and were in York in two hours.
There are three distinct facts about York. 1. It's very pretty. 2. People speak funny. ;-) 3. Girls on Saturday night wear no clothes. Or hardly any. They do wear ridiculously high heels.
On 3: I don't quite get it. If you wear virtually no clothes, you will have to empty a Wetherspoon's supply of booze to stay warm in November. That doesn't quite match with the enormous heels tho, let alone on the cobbled streets. So this is a bit of a mystery to me.
Anyway. York was lovely. Pretty little streets with little shops. Nice food. Friendly people. Ilse and I both beeing foodies, we made sure to eat very well. Nineteen was a Yorkshire restaurant, with interesting dishes. Cosy and delish. The Blue Bicycle used to be a brothel, and came recommended by a work friend. Best resto in York apparently, which meant we could only get a lunch booking. So Saturday arvo was spent eating lovely food and sipping prosecco, cab sauv and tawny port. Dinner was a simple pasta while we watched the locals. Sunday lunch was afternoon tea at Betty's tearooms, including the obligatory Carpenters played by a pianist. It was lovely though in all its oldfashionedness (is that a word?).
Next UK trip: Edinburgh in two weeks time. Yeah!
There are three distinct facts about York. 1. It's very pretty. 2. People speak funny. ;-) 3. Girls on Saturday night wear no clothes. Or hardly any. They do wear ridiculously high heels.
On 3: I don't quite get it. If you wear virtually no clothes, you will have to empty a Wetherspoon's supply of booze to stay warm in November. That doesn't quite match with the enormous heels tho, let alone on the cobbled streets. So this is a bit of a mystery to me.
Anyway. York was lovely. Pretty little streets with little shops. Nice food. Friendly people. Ilse and I both beeing foodies, we made sure to eat very well. Nineteen was a Yorkshire restaurant, with interesting dishes. Cosy and delish. The Blue Bicycle used to be a brothel, and came recommended by a work friend. Best resto in York apparently, which meant we could only get a lunch booking. So Saturday arvo was spent eating lovely food and sipping prosecco, cab sauv and tawny port. Dinner was a simple pasta while we watched the locals. Sunday lunch was afternoon tea at Betty's tearooms, including the obligatory Carpenters played by a pianist. It was lovely though in all its oldfashionedness (is that a word?).
Next UK trip: Edinburgh in two weeks time. Yeah!
Tuesday, 9 November 2010
Movember
It's that time of the year when more and more 'taches pop up around me. At work, quite a few men have started to grow a moustache. The reason? Movember. The month when men grow 'taches to support prostate cancer research. A bit like October is breast cancer awareness month for women. With one massive difference: men take the Mickey out of themselves by looking silly. For women, it's all about having fun and doing pink things in the name of breast cancer awareness. Every year, that annoys me more. I prefer the men's style. Hands down. A month of looking stupid, and reminding everyone who sees you of the importance of prostate cancer research. Bring on the mo's!
Friday, 5 November 2010
Busy bee
Working on a proposition for our Insurance clients, supporting two partners in bringing Finance practitioners across the globe together, working on a big proposal for Singapore (gotta love time differences....) and a two day conference in Zurich. That's been pretty much all I've been doing in the past two weeks, bar a few gym visits. So this weekend is all about not working. I nearly killed myself in the latin dance class in the gym tonight, watched Broken Embraces, and had a few glasses of vino. The weekend has officially begun, thank the lord!
Saturday, 16 October 2010
Books
One of the best things about traveling by myself is being able to spend days reading without having to talk to someone. I must have gone through about 12 books on my last hols. Fair few detectives (Jonathan Kellerman, Faye Kellerman, Ian Rankin, Michael Connely, Janet Evanovich, Henning Mankell) and a couple of 'proper books'. And good ones at that.
First I read Three Cups of Tea, the remarkable story of American mountaineer Greg Mortenson, who after an failed attempt to climb K2, started building schools for girls in northern Pakistan (that's a massive shortcut - read the book for the full story!). The story is about friendship, about courage and about rural Pakistan. It's very touching, and incredibly fascinating. Without being an expert, I also strongly believe how educating kids in these schools will help balance the indoctrination of poor kids in many of the Saudi-funded madrassas. His second book is on my Amazon wish list, I cannot wait to read it.
Next there was The Family Way, recommended by a friend. I'd heard of Tony Parsons of course, but had never read his books. I really enjoyed this novel about three sisters and their struggles around having kids. Sister 1 can't conceive, sister 2 does not ever want to be a mom (or does she) and sister 3 ends up pregnant after some fun between the sheets with an random Australian. Impressive how a man puts himself in women's shoes so well. And with humour too. Again, some of his other books are on my wish list.
Purple Hibiscus is Nigerian Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's first novel. I read her second, Half of a Yello
w Sun last year and loved it. I am glad I read than one first. Despite it being set in Nigeria's civil war, I found it less gruesome than Purple Hibiscus at times. That said, it is a fantastic debut. It tells the story of a 15 yo girl and her brother, who grow up in a wealthy, catholic Nigerian family. Their father is a religious fanatic and does the most awful things to them, emotionally and physically. In his eyes, he does them a favour punishing them for their sins as he helps them become good catholics. Her aunt and cousins show the reader another Nigeria. Working for the university, the aunt is struggling financially, but the happy household full of laughter is a world away from the one of the main character. Both come together and split again several times throughout the book. Read it for yourself. It's brilliant.
And I managed to save the best for last. The Lacuna is the first book I've read by Barbara Kingsolver. It's the story of a half Mexican, half American boy-grows-man who spends par
t of his teens and twenties with Frieda Kahlo, her painter husband, and the guests of their household, Trotsky being one of them. When he goes back to the US at some point, he becomes a very succesful novelist. Until his past catches up with him as J. Edgar Hoover's witch hunt for unamericanism gets him in trouble. The story slowly unfolds through the main character's notebooks and letters. The Lacuna is rich, colourful, and incredibly well written. Best book I've read in a while. Lucky I noticed it at Island Bookstore during a recent visit to Amsterdam!
And didn't I read anything rubbish? Oh yes. Number Ten, by Sue Townsend, a gift from a friend at my farewell party back in '08. The title refers to Downing Street. The Prime Minister is said to be too estranged from the people, and decides to travel the country, disguised as a woman. Worst book I read in ages. What a waste of time.
First I read Three Cups of Tea, the remarkable story of American mountaineer Greg Mortenson, who after an failed attempt to climb K2, started building schools for girls in northern Pakistan (that's a massive shortcut - read the book for the full story!). The story is about friendship, about courage and about rural Pakistan. It's very touching, and incredibly fascinating. Without being an expert, I also strongly believe how educating kids in these schools will help balance the indoctrination of poor kids in many of the Saudi-funded madrassas. His second book is on my Amazon wish list, I cannot wait to read it.
Next there was The Family Way, recommended by a friend. I'd heard of Tony Parsons of course, but had never read his books. I really enjoyed this novel about three sisters and their struggles around having kids. Sister 1 can't conceive, sister 2 does not ever want to be a mom (or does she) and sister 3 ends up pregnant after some fun between the sheets with an random Australian. Impressive how a man puts himself in women's shoes so well. And with humour too. Again, some of his other books are on my wish list.
Purple Hibiscus is Nigerian Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's first novel. I read her second, Half of a Yello
w Sun last year and loved it. I am glad I read than one first. Despite it being set in Nigeria's civil war, I found it less gruesome than Purple Hibiscus at times. That said, it is a fantastic debut. It tells the story of a 15 yo girl and her brother, who grow up in a wealthy, catholic Nigerian family. Their father is a religious fanatic and does the most awful things to them, emotionally and physically. In his eyes, he does them a favour punishing them for their sins as he helps them become good catholics. Her aunt and cousins show the reader another Nigeria. Working for the university, the aunt is struggling financially, but the happy household full of laughter is a world away from the one of the main character. Both come together and split again several times throughout the book. Read it for yourself. It's brilliant.And I managed to save the best for last. The Lacuna is the first book I've read by Barbara Kingsolver. It's the story of a half Mexican, half American boy-grows-man who spends par
t of his teens and twenties with Frieda Kahlo, her painter husband, and the guests of their household, Trotsky being one of them. When he goes back to the US at some point, he becomes a very succesful novelist. Until his past catches up with him as J. Edgar Hoover's witch hunt for unamericanism gets him in trouble. The story slowly unfolds through the main character's notebooks and letters. The Lacuna is rich, colourful, and incredibly well written. Best book I've read in a while. Lucky I noticed it at Island Bookstore during a recent visit to Amsterdam!And didn't I read anything rubbish? Oh yes. Number Ten, by Sue Townsend, a gift from a friend at my farewell party back in '08. The title refers to Downing Street. The Prime Minister is said to be too estranged from the people, and decides to travel the country, disguised as a woman. Worst book I read in ages. What a waste of time.
Saturday, 9 October 2010
Home sweet home
Coming home is pretty much as nice as being on holiday. I am sat on the couch with the Indy, Times and a coffee, watching the cricket in the mean time. A very normal Saturday morning, and a very happy one at that.
My days at the beach were bliss. Though it poured during the night, the days were pretty much dry which allowed me to spend hours with a book on the deckchairs. Thanks to a lovely fella with a second hand book shop, I swapped my detectives 2 for 1 until I had nothing more to swap. The more literary books I read are now on my book shelves, where they belong. Before flying home I had a last day in KL. I stayed at the lovely Royale Chulan, who kindly upgraded me to a club room, which meant access to the club lounge but, more importantly, provided me with a balcony with view of the Twin Towers. Awesome. I pretty much spent my last day having a mani, facial and massage, browsing the luxury shops in the mall in between. Got my Chanel khaki rose nail polish that had sold out in Singapore, so all happy. That was pretty much the extend of my shopping too, which was good! A last hainan chicken rice, a last portion of sateh, and off to the airport I was. All tanned and chilled!
My days at the beach were bliss. Though it poured during the night, the days were pretty much dry which allowed me to spend hours with a book on the deckchairs. Thanks to a lovely fella with a second hand book shop, I swapped my detectives 2 for 1 until I had nothing more to swap. The more literary books I read are now on my book shelves, where they belong. Before flying home I had a last day in KL. I stayed at the lovely Royale Chulan, who kindly upgraded me to a club room, which meant access to the club lounge but, more importantly, provided me with a balcony with view of the Twin Towers. Awesome. I pretty much spent my last day having a mani, facial and massage, browsing the luxury shops in the mall in between. Got my Chanel khaki rose nail polish that had sold out in Singapore, so all happy. That was pretty much the extend of my shopping too, which was good! A last hainan chicken rice, a last portion of sateh, and off to the airport I was. All tanned and chilled!
Tuesday, 5 October 2010
A special friend
After graduating in '98, I decided to go traveling in New Zealand for three months. Back then, a call home cost a guilder a minute, and internet cafes were nowhere near as common as they are now. Traveling solo, loads of people suggested I go see there second/third/fourth uncle, cousin, long lost sister and what have you. I ended up contacting relo's of my friend Elisabeth (and visiting them in Marlborough) as well as Brien. Brien was a funny contact. My nan's friend, a rotary member, had been host to a rotary chapter from New Zealand the year before, and Brien was part of that group. So basically, I dropped him a note saying I was the grand daughter of some rotary guy he'd met, and would he be keen for a coffee once I made it to the land of the great white cloud.
And this is what you get when you combine Irish (he was born on the Emerald Isle) and kiwi hospitality. Brien drove over an hour to the airport in Auckland to meet me, showed me around town, and dropped me off at a hostel he'd booked for me (in a house once owned by some queen). He gave me his number and told me to be in touch when I would make it to Hamilton. So I did, a while later. His wife and him wined and dined me, made me call my folks to tell them all was well, and gave me a bed for the night. Still, without really knowing me. Next day, Brien announced they were taking me to their bach (kiwi word for beach house) for a few days. We ate the best fish and chips on arrival, I had a kick ass bedroom (being used to 8 bed dorms that was a total luxury), and couldn't believe my luck. I vividly remember what the place looked liked. I felt so awefully welcome, and at the same time not a guest but a friend. Weeks later, after I'd traveled the South Island, we met again at the bach, shortly before I went back home to start a working life early '99.
So almost 12 years it's been, I realised when Brien emailed me today and told me they had bought a new house ('hint, hint'). We met for dinner when I lived in Sydney in '02, and had planned to meet again in Melbs last year, a trip they had to cancel because of illness of his wife. Twice a year, Brien sends me an email. Always him, never his wife. The email always includes jokes about Australians. And the emails always give me the warmest feeling inside. He's well over 70 I think, and lives as far away as possible, but I consider Brien to be a dear friend, and hope to see him in New Zealand on my next trip down under.
And this is what you get when you combine Irish (he was born on the Emerald Isle) and kiwi hospitality. Brien drove over an hour to the airport in Auckland to meet me, showed me around town, and dropped me off at a hostel he'd booked for me (in a house once owned by some queen). He gave me his number and told me to be in touch when I would make it to Hamilton. So I did, a while later. His wife and him wined and dined me, made me call my folks to tell them all was well, and gave me a bed for the night. Still, without really knowing me. Next day, Brien announced they were taking me to their bach (kiwi word for beach house) for a few days. We ate the best fish and chips on arrival, I had a kick ass bedroom (being used to 8 bed dorms that was a total luxury), and couldn't believe my luck. I vividly remember what the place looked liked. I felt so awefully welcome, and at the same time not a guest but a friend. Weeks later, after I'd traveled the South Island, we met again at the bach, shortly before I went back home to start a working life early '99.
So almost 12 years it's been, I realised when Brien emailed me today and told me they had bought a new house ('hint, hint'). We met for dinner when I lived in Sydney in '02, and had planned to meet again in Melbs last year, a trip they had to cancel because of illness of his wife. Twice a year, Brien sends me an email. Always him, never his wife. The email always includes jokes about Australians. And the emails always give me the warmest feeling inside. He's well over 70 I think, and lives as far away as possible, but I consider Brien to be a dear friend, and hope to see him in New Zealand on my next trip down under.
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