Showing posts with label london. Show all posts
Showing posts with label london. Show all posts

Sunday, 11 December 2011

London baby



Last weekend was my last weekend in London for 2011. And what a nice weekend it was. The city is so lovely when it's all Christmassy. I stayed with Melburnian friends in Notting Hill, which is an area I've only ever visited as a tourist or to go shopping. Staying there, and being out and about on Portobello Road when the shop owners are preparing for the crowds gave a whole different view of the area. I also finally made it to Primrose Hill, and enjoyed my Saturday morning walk there.

Other than endless walking I caught up with loads of work friends which made me realise once again how blessed I am with the people who have crossed my path in my three years there!
Gail's in Portobello Road before the tourists get there

Christmas music in Peter Jones on Sloane Square

My granola fix and some chocolate

Tuesday, 6 September 2011

Back in Blighty

Big Ben by Gypsy Saskia
Big Ben, a photo by Gypsy Saskia on Flickr.

It had been two months when I landed at City Airport on Thursday evening. Two months of missing London terribly. And it was good to be back. As soon as I got on the DLR this big grin appeared on my face and it didn't leave it all weekend (well it did briefly but I'll get to that later). Reason for the visit was my friend Heather's farewell drinks as she is moving back to New York. It was lovely to be back in The Hide, have a chilli raspberry martini and catch up with colleagues. For the rest of the weekend, brekkies, lunches and dinners were planned. I saw many friends, ate fantastic food, and managed to do some shopping as well. Heels from LK Bennett, tea and granola from Waitrose, books from Waterstones and bits and bobs from Boots. I visited Nero and Pret at least twice a day, reading the papers on my iPad while people watching.


The only 'minor' glitch was the fact I showed up at City Airport for a flight out of Heathrow. Oops. Expensive 'oops' too.... Hopefully a mistake I will never make again. But even after leaving the UK a few hours later and many a pound lighter because of this, I can look back on a fantastic weekend in the city where I'm at my happiest.

Saturday, 11 June 2011

Times columnist Giles Coren on a roll

On yer bikes, you whining first-time buyers

Can I just quickly write about the property crisis? It’s massively boring and you must feel free to skip me this week, but I think I have seen to the heart of the matter and arrived at a solution. Although there is a danger I could be wrong, because it is about house prices and mortgages and debt and first-time buyers, and that is all very tedious stuff to which I generally pay no attention and about which I thus know very little.

So correct me if I’ve misunderstood, but isn’t it the case that property prices are now so high that first-time buyers are dying out as a significant market sector? I think that’s what I read. I think it is because they cannot save for the deposits. And so, after a long period of reluctance to lend, banks and building societies are now offering massive percentages again to first-timers who have to dig behind the sofa for 20p pieces and sell their second pair of shoes to raise any sort of capital.

I see, for example, that the Coventry Building Society (who knew Coventry had its own building society?) announced a 90 per cent loan-to-value mortgage this week, and that at least 48 lenders were offering such a thing in May 2011, which is a 60 per cent rise from the 30 lenders who were doing so in 2010.

Furthermore, the Government recently outlined plans to work in conjunction with new homebuilders to offer mortgages to buyers who can raise only a 5 per cent deposit. Five per cent. Loosely translatable as NOTHING. Houses for people with no money at all. Hurrah!
But of course a lot of personal finance experts are saying this is bad, that it puts borrowers in danger of becoming victims of negative equity, losing all their money and generating another crash, like the sub-prime thing in America that nobody understood at all, not even Warren Buffett or Carol Vorderman.

And at the same time, at the same time mark you, as all this is going on, I’m reading that UK house prices are falling everywhere apart from London. The average national house price is now down to £160,519, and in such unfashionable places as, for example, Stoke-on-Trent, the average is £73,000. In Merthyr Tydfil it’s even less: £69k. And that’s an average. So there will be houses there for £30k if you look hard enough. Borrow 95 per cent and you need only find fifteen hundred quid for a down-payment. That’s less than a decent meal in London. So what’s all the fuss?

Oh, you don’t want to live in Merthyr Tydfil? Can’t even point to it on a map? Sure you can. Give it a go.

Nice try, but that’s Belgium. And you really don’t want to live there.

So then what about Stoke? It may be so grim that it doesn’t even have a Pizza Express (on the basis of which staggering fact alone it could legitimately be twinned with the Moon) but if you can’t afford to buy a house in London, you have to be realistic.

The endless expansion of London into some sort of world supercity where just about everybody lives is not a good thing. Nobody benefits by it. We don’t want you here. You don’t like it here. And you can’t afford it anyway. But still you come. All of you.

You finish your education, say goodbye to modder and farder, load your stuff into a hanky on a stick, arrive in the middle of the night and immediately start complaining about how expensive everything is and how the beer isn’t as good as wherever you’ve come from. But you stay. You rent. You complain about this and about that, and bang endlessly on about your boring northern childhood and how you hate us all for being fairy ponces who eat our meals sitting down at a table and don’t know the value of a farthing. But most of all you complain that you can’t afford to buy a house here. As if it were our fault.

But prohibitive pricing is not imposed from above, it is generated internally by a shortage of supply and works automatically as a population control. That’s what a market is (although, yes, fair point, it is also the thing in the town square you used to drive the chickens to with Mam on Saturdays). And if you can’t afford to live here, go somewhere you can.

All the trendy thinking now is anti-London. We’re supposed to be pretending that Britain, like France, Italy, Spain, Germany, America, is a country of many capitals. That cities such as Manchester, Liverpool, Birmingham and that other one, I forget its name, are just as important as London. Scotland now thinks it can get along entirely on its own.

The Prime Minister is constantly having to pretend he’s interested in the regions. The BBC is moving to Salford, for heaven’s sake. And I am constantly badgered to review restaurants out of London by readers who seem to think I haven’t noticed there are other cities in Britain, rather than that I just don’t like them. And now this stupid Olympic torch is going all over the country to be gawped at by grockles who take it as a huge source of pride that a giant cigarette lighter is being schlepped their way by a former bronze medallist in the octathlon, but dumbly accept that if they want to see any actual sport they will have to come to London.

It is one of the principal missions of the modern Left, a keynote democratic ambition, to spread money, media, government and business out of London to the boondocks. So this glorious capitalist crisis of unaffordable housing ought to be celebrated, and the opportunity it presents to spread young, vibrant talent around the country instead of concentrating it all in the grotty old Smoke should be pounced on.

If you can’t afford to buy a house in London, go and buy one in Salford (there are plenty for under a hundred grand, I just checked) and get a job at the BBC. Or buy one in Warrington or Pontefract or Derby. Or in the tragically depopulated countryside where only old people now live because the young ’uns all went to London, and it is as rare to see a nine-year-old as it is to see a foxhunt or a hedgerow.

With a couple of grand for a down payment and an interest-only mortgage you can live practically anywhere apart from the greatest city on Earth. So stop grumbling and go and start something. Where you go, Pizza Express will surely follow. You can’t afford to live in London, so move to Stoke and make it nicer.

• NB: if that’s all just stupid then I draw your attention to research published this week which appears to prove that left-handed people, such as myself, are much thicker than was previously thought. Revealing his findings at Flinders University in Adelaide, Professor Mike Nicholls said that the “reduced cognitive ability” of left-handers is not huge but is similar to the “negative outcome” of being born prematurely.

This comes as a great blow to me because my three massive natural handicaps — being born left-handed, short-sighted and Jewish — have always, I thought, had the tiny upside of at least traditionally connoting a bit of creativity, a bit of reading ability, a dash of low cunning. Now it seems I’m as dim as everyone else. Dimmer. No wonder I never really understand anything.

Tuesday, 26 April 2011

Sun sun sun

My first easter in London was wet and grey, if I remember well. And though the weather is generally better here than in the Dam, of course that weekend it wasn't. The second year I planned to go away, until a friend anounced he'd celebrate his 30th that weekend and hope we'd stay in town. Bastard then decided to stay in Peru for a bit and Easter weekend turned out wet and grey with no friends in town. So this year I planned to go away once more. Until friend Gorkem suggested a visit, and I decided to stay. And third time lucky: what a glorious weekend. Ridiculously warm for the time of the year.

Poor GG had to spend Saturday by himself as I'd gotten sick on Friday night and couldn't move, but luckily I was alive and kicking on Sunday. Brick Lane, Shoreditch, Spitalfields, via the empty City to London Bridge and the boat back to the Wharf. A perfect Sunday. Monday was spent walking from my place to Tate Modern, with a lunch break at Dim T in front of my office (new office, I may add, in the most amazing location, I can see Tower Bridge from my desk!). And off GG went again. A weekend with a fab friend, in the sun, after a few stressful weeks at work was just perfect. Glad I stayed!

Saturday, 9 April 2011

In Dutch....why I don't want to go back

M'n laatste kwartaal hier.... Een klein jaar geleden hakte ik de knoop door na een gesprek met mijn Nederlandse partner. Ik zou terug komen. Hij en enkele andere collega's namen een risico door me de kans op uitzending te bieden (men dacht en masse dat ik niet terug zou komen), en hebben me enorm gesteund toen werk hier vorig jaar klote was. En terug ga ik. Ik heb een belofte gedaan en die zal ik nakomen. Op z'n minst voor een jaar.

Maar ik ga terug naar aan land met een Sahar quotum. Waar een minister en de PVV koehandel drijven over een meisje. Waar mijn Turkse vriend zich niet langer welkom voelt. Waar mensen hun handtas dichter tegen zich aan klemmen als mijn oud-klasgenootje (van Srilankese afkomst) in de tram stapt. Naar intolerantie, botheid, en ieder voor zich en god (zolang het niet allah is) voor ons allen. Tuurlijk is Londen niet perfect. Maar ik voel me thuis in deze tolerante stad. Waar mannen even wachten als je aan komt lopen om de deur voor je open te houden. Waar iedereen zich in rijen van tien opstelt om 's ochtends in een veel te drukke metro te stappen. Waar een zekere courtesy heerst die ik in Nederland zo mis. Ik ga terug. En wil het minimaal een jaar geven. Maar het zal me niet verbazen als ik bij de volgende Ashes weer hier woon. En weer fijn banter heb met collega's over de cricketprestaties van de poms en de aussies.

Sunday, 27 March 2011

East London FTW

Every so often I re-fall in love with East London. Today was one of those occasions. My friend Liesbet was here, and I decided to take her to Spittalfield Markets for brunch at LUXE. Good food, good coffee, and fantastic people watching. The shops around the market are generally pretty cool, I especially love the florists with the beautiful bouquets that I cannot afford. There is also a pretty funky hairdresser. The SM Barbie dolls in the pic were in its window. Only in the East end...

From Spitalfields it's a short walk to Brick Lane. Turn right and you will have to fight off a gazzillion Bangladeshi restaurant-staff trying to lure you in. Turn left and you will find loads of street food, cool market stalls, and loads of vintage shops. Actually, don't turn into Brick Lane straight away. First there is Nude Espresso, serving one of the best brews in London (staff fully dressed...).

From Brick Lane we wandered (well...speedwalked) to Columbia Road as I wanted to buy flowers just before the market closed. On a beautiful spring day like this it's ridiculously busy, but fun nonetheless. Three bunches of flowers for a tenner brought spring into my flat. As we walked a million kilometers yesterday, we then took a bus home, through Shoreditch High Street. I was still too full to consider tea, or I would have taken Liesbet to Pizza East, a good New York style pizza place in the Tea Building.

The things listed above could be anywhere. But what makes the East End so special is its variety of people. Once the Jewish part of London, it is now the home of many Bengali and hipsters. Especially Brick Lane and Columbia Road are fantastic for people watching: it's where all the cool Londoners seem to hang out on Sunday afternoons. And between the Alexa and Russell look-a-likes, you find the stalls handing out leaflets on Islam, and grey men with kufis. A good mixture.

Friday, 25 March 2011

Sword of Damocles

"We really didn't think you'd come back", several Dutch colleagues told me in recent conversations. Whoever betted that I would, should be a rich man soon. Next week April will be upon us. And with April, my last three months in London. The 'one more year' was fine. The 'six more months' bearable. But the daunting thought I have only three months left in this city that is more home to me than any other has ever been....it's tough. Yes I will be back heaps of time, made easier by the fact I'll have every other Friday off as of July. But I will so miss the mixture of people, the friendliness, the buildings, the restaurants, the Sunday papers, the gym, the supermarkets, even the commute! Back to massive traffic jams, supermarkets not unsimilar to your local 7-11, rudeness and miserable service in very average restaurants and an utter lack of cricket and rugby convo. I know it also means back to friends and family. And there are of course decent places to eat in Amsterdam. And the canals are pretty. And maybe the supermarkets have improved. But the closer I get to the end of June, the more certain I am my move back home will be a temporary one. Let's see what I will call home in a few years' time. Melbs? London? Or will something happen that makes me want to stay in the Dam? Time will tell.

Sunday, 6 March 2011

Brixton

There's no need to leave London every time I want to explore something different. Since friend Zoe moved to Brixton, it's become one of my favourite places to feel like being abroad. The indoor markets are full of exotic products: African fabrics, many types of yams, small colourful peppers, you name it. The butchers sell parts of animals I have only ever seen at African or Asian markets. One of them tried to tempt us into buying a bag of pigs' feet. 'Just a quid dear!'. A google search tells me it's very good for your skin but I think I'll stick to avoiding fags and relying on Chanel to make me look 27 (ahum). One of the nicest things of the market, are all the little cafes. The one selling sourdough pizza is apparently very famous, and the queue must have been at least an hour. We settled for a Colombian place where we ordered the 'Saturday lunch'. Once we were eating, we noticed we were pretty much the only non-Southamericans there. Always a good sign. Our soup of corn, chicken and potato was absolutely delicious. And I'd go back for the juices alone. My soursop was wonderfully sweet and sour at the same time, and Zoe's passionfruit a jug of deliciousness. One to remember!

Sunday, 23 January 2011

Hotel Saskia

Hotel Saskia will relocate in five months and a week. And those last five months and a week are going to be busy! This week alone three friends booked their fligths to London. Then there are a few placeholders, and some visits that were booked last year. So between my trips (Algarve, Guernsey and US) and these visits, free weekends are becoming scarce. Although I do really need my me-time, I am thrilled to have all these visitors. A whole weekend with friends gives such an extra dimension compared to dinner dates or running sessions used to meet up at home. It's proper quality time. I may leave my friends for an hour or so to exercise, but other than that, it's a lot of time spent in each others company. Chatting, eating, drinking, sightseeing. It's simple as that. When I am back in the Dam this summer, we won't have to pick up where we left it, as we never left it. It's good.

Saturday, 4 September 2010

Ta'if

"The top notes are pink pepper, dates and saffron, the heart is of rose, freesia, orange flower and jasmine, and the base is of broom and amber. Ta'if is a earthy rose scent; the broom, amber and saffron in the blend make an accord that gives me an olfactory impression of the warm earth from the Arabian town of Ta'if where the roses are grown. The rose in the scent is voluptuous and full blown, supported by the warmth and spice of the rest of the blend. This is definitely a warm fragrance, rather than a cooler rose scent." Now I am not able to describe a perfume in this way, but blogger Londonmakeupgirl is. So I 'borrowed' it from her.

For ages I had been planning to visit Ormonde Jayne, a London perfume house. They have a little shop just off Bond Street. When I walked in, the shop girl was helping a middle aged couple find the right scents for them. They were lovely, 'normal' people, as opposed to the many rich folk you find in Bond Street. It seemed their son had given them a voucher each, such a lovely gift. Ormonde Jayne is a tiny shop. They have a handful of fragrances, and that's it. After watching her help the couple, I was quite keen to stick my nose in some of the bottles. When it was my turn, I described what I did and didn't like. Five minutes later, I walked out of the shop with Ta'if on my left wrist, and Sampaquita on my right. Twenty minutes later, when the scent had settled, I returned to buy Ta'if. What a lovely scent it is. And what a nice 'London' thing to have.

Monday, 30 August 2010

Amsterdam-London weekend

In two days in the Dam I got soaked twice and got the umbrella out a gazillion times. It usually rained for about three minutes at the time when I was out witht he brolly, and of course it wouldn't stop when I left the brolly at Mary's. Ah well. I went for friends and babies and friends and babies I saw. Plus I stocked up on drop, sultana biscuits and volkorenbrood. Gutted I forgot the walnut boterkoek. Then again, as the plane that was meant to take us to the Dam broke down on its way to London, I was lucky to even get there. Thank you VLM/KLM for sorting out a spare plane and crew within two hours!

And thank god for the bank holiday in Old Blighty today. It was sunny and warmish and lovely. Friend Ilse and I decided to go west and explore Richmond and Twickenham. I had been to the park and the rugby ground but that was about it. We spent five hours outside. Walked along the fields, ate blackberries, we even took a wee ferry across the river. Lunch was BBQed food at a pub by the river in Twickenham and we finished the day with a cuppa and a cannoli. I took one pic that I am too lazy to upload now but trust me, it was fabulous. And worth the 20 stops on the District Line as the fecking Jubilee line was out of service again.

Monday, 2 August 2010

Culture vulture and amateur chef

Two things keep me busy at the moment. Post having to balance football, Wimbledon, cricket and more, two things is manageable. They are the red pluche and food.

A big wish came through last weekend: with friends Ilse and Heather I went to see the Bolshoi ballet. Ilse is now spoiled forever as this was her first ballet, Heather used to be a pro dancer herself and saw it in that light. I just love ballet and was stunned by how good this company is. Unbelievable.

Two days later, Ilse, her parents and I joined the Arab contingent in Kensington. While we ate our pre-theatre dinner at a local Italian, we were entertained by two fat blokes with a fat car, boot open, who were handed bags full of designer clothes by the ladies they accompanied. Not once or twice, but four or five times. Business as usual in the rich parts of London in August, when many Arabs come here to shop, sometimes bringing their own cars from Dubai and the likes. It's a phenomenon that makes for great people watching. Anyway...the whole reason we were there was the Royal Albert Hall, as we had tickets for the Prom. I knew 3 of the 4 composers that were played that night. It's probably a good thing I didn't know the 4th as his piece was just awful! Nothing a three year old with the right tools couldn't do, we all thought. Weird avant garde noise. It was the premiere of that piece, the composer was there and half the crowd absolutely loved it. Rave reviews in the papers the next day too. Ah well.... Let's just say it wasn't for me. A half empty RAH on a Monday night by the way, turned out to be great for prommers who like to listen to their music horizontally. Several people were lying in the proms area as there was so much floor space. A funny view, from our balcony.

Coming up next on the culture front are Sondheim's Into the Woods, Shakespeare's As you Like it and Noel Coward's Design for Living. Plus I got tickets for Classical Spectacular. Slightly tacky but they do some beautiful pieces and play very English songs at the end.

Then food. Since I moved here, having access to proper supermarkets, I have completely rediscovered my love for cooking. At home I usually can't be bothered thinking ahead on a Saturday, and my local Albert Heijn is just that....an Albert Heijn. An inflated 7-11. Here, the abundance of great products make I enjoy preparing my own food more than ever. Throw in a website I discovered last year by a girl who does fashion and food equally well, and I eat like a king. The past two weeks I have made fantastic mozzarella and halloumi based salads, grilled organic chicken with lemon time and other stuff, squid salad, nice pastas, thai style tofu and what have you. At work, I am already thinking about that night's meal and popping down to Waitrose on the way home, I know another nice meal is on the cards that day. Life is good.

Monday, 5 July 2010

Wimbledon


Two years ago, I had only been in London for a few days when I went to Wimbledon. Women's final from Murray Mound. I couldn't believe how British it all was. Yesterday I went again. And after two years here, I still found it incredibly British. And lovely. The picknick areas, the black cab that drove me from the station to the ground (for £ 2.50!), the queuing sytem, the people with centre court tickets dressing up, it was all the same and all so different from say the Rotterdam tournament. No need to get myself a copy of the queing guide this year though, as a mate who works in the changing rooms got me a ground pass (and drinks for that matter). It was sunny, we had champagne and strawberries and I was ready for a smashing final.
A smashing final it wasn't. The most excitement from the crowd could be heard whenever Rafa changed his shirt (nowhere near often enough, I may add). Quicker than a priest could strip a school boy, most of Murray Mound cleared after the last ball. But it is as much about the experience as it is about the tennis. And the experience was wonderful once more. One minus of the whole day: I should have hung around, judging from my mate's Facebrag a few hours after I left: "Having a Haagen Dazs with Rafa". Aaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Friday, 2 July 2010

Summer in London


Tower Bridge
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia
Summer in London can be Wimbledon, cricket, parks. But it's also walking along the Thames after work, passing BBQs that resto's set up, Italian al fresco dinner by the water. And on the way back, loads of locals and tourists hanging out by the river as if it were a boulevard.

That was last night for me. And when walking to the tube station, Tower Bridge just opened, the light was just beautiful and I embraced London once again.

Saturday, 26 June 2010

Happiness is...

...visiting friends in Barcelona
...watching Ned-Esp by yourself in a Spanish cafe
...watching Ned-Cam with a friend in a London pub
...summer in London
...hearing your name on way home from pub
...staying for that one too many pint
...being busy at work and building relationships
...the football craze
...facebook chats between four dear friends in three different countries
...rocket, mozzarella and blushed tomatoes
...wine and cheese

And when all these things come together in a week and a bit, life is just ever so good.

Tuesday, 25 May 2010

London Fields


London lady
Originally uploaded by Gypsy Saskia
Just off London Fields is a small photo studio. I can't remember how I found out about it, but when I read about a one day camera workshop, I signed up. Friend Ilse decided to tag along, and so we found ourselves in Hackney on Saturday morning. It was an interesting mixture of people and experience. The course was good and structured, and provided me with quite a few tips and tricks

London Fields (that was partly cordoned off halfway through the day as a guy had been shot, and air ambulanced away) and Broadway Market are amongst the best places in London for people watching. I am not a great people photographer, so stuck to other themes. When the girl in the pic wasn't looking tho, I managed a quick shot. She's very Hackney, and I love the contrast with the older lady in the background. Need to go back on a shooting-free day to spend some more photo-time in London Fields.

Friday, 21 May 2010

Sunny days, but not for all

Canada Square is the home of HSBC, of Citibank, of several restaurants, a gym, a supermarket. It's buzzing during the week. And it does not buzz more than on a sunny Friday during lunch hour. Office staff read a book on the grass, eat their lunch at one of the tables scattered around the square, or sit on one of the benches, chatting away. Nothing says Friday more than office workers relaxing. It's the sign the weekend isn't far. And where better to relax than in the sun? So I bought some sushi and joined the crowd. So far so good. Happy feelings.

A stones throw away, a plaque is covered by flowers. When I walk up to see what it says, I notice the other people around it are crying, and comforting each other, and are not nosy office workers like myself. I quickly walk away, and look up the date on the net. Ten years ago today, when the HSBC building on 8 Canada Square was being constructed, a crane collapsed, killing three construction workers. The people I saw must have been relatives. Mourning the loss of their loved ones, by a stupid accident while the three men were at work. Their 21st of Mays will never be sunny again.

Sunday, 25 April 2010

London Marathon

The London Marathon is one of the highlights on my London calendar. It is the most amazing event. A huge number of runners dress in beer bottles, ballet costumes (men mainly), pooh suits and god knows what. I have seen firemen run in full gear. As if 26 miles isn't enough, imagine the extra weight and discomfort of those suits. Stood by the 16 mile mark, I watched a lot of runners struggle immensely. Striking difference between those who were clearly enjoy it and those who are just in pain. I have no idea how much was collected for charities today, but it must have been a lot. In the picture (knicked from bbc.co.uk) you see Richard Branson, and his kids Sam and Holly. If you look well you see princess Beatrice too. They were running as an 34-or-so-person catterpillar, raising money for various charities. Big cheers from the crowd when they walked past. Just made me wonder if there is anything Mr Branson can not do when he sets his mind to it.....

Wednesday, 17 February 2010

Skin OD

After my last project, I got the feedback that I was very lifestyly (yes, I know that is not a word) and too much of a fashionista (the latter says everything about the person who said it and very little about me). Fair enough. Had said person told me while I was still on the project, I would have worn a suit a bit more. As it were, I was wearing 3/4 black trousers and red patent heels on a regular basis.

What I wasn't wearing, were short skirts and low cut tops. Each to their own, but I don't think it's particularly suitable in an office environment. Clearly, many of the female staff of a London company I visited this week, think differently. Half of them could have gone clubbing straight from work. F*ck me heels, cleavage, short dresses, the works. Only the sparkles were missing. It does make me wonder....if I get hugely distracted by staring into someone's cleavage during a meeting, how must the men that were present have felt? Surely 3/4 black trousers and red patent heels would have been less distractive?

Friday, 2 October 2009

London life

Well, was I too busy working to have a life at first, the last two weeks I was too busy having a life to blog.

Kaat visited me for a weekend, and we did loads of relaxed walking around East London and Angel. The church on the photo is the largest surviving church in the City. Great Fire and Blitz haven't brought this baby down, though the IRA managed to do almost just that in the early nineties. This is next to one of my clients and one of my fav places in the city. Old churches and the modern Gherkin (in background) and glass office buildings are an inspiring combination.

Last weekend Zoe and I visited a Comedy Club on Leicester Square. Great way to spend a Fri nite after a busy work week. In a few hours I will be off to the Dam again for a fun filled weekend of friends and relo's. If only I could bring the gorgeous London sun!