Ok so yesterday I told you all that we may face our first Christmas on our own due to all of the potential flight delays. Well, since my post at noon yesterday it has only gotten worse.
16:00 21 Dec: After nearly a foot of snow falling in Dublin, Dublin Airport was CLOSED until 8am today
22:00 21 Dec: BBC Weather forecasts freezing fog at Stansted Airport for the next few days (!!)
08:00 22 Dec: Dublin Airport reopens with delays and cancellations but Ryanair has cancelled most of its flights from London to Dublin because their aircraft aren't in the right places.
Our flight hasn't taken off for the last 3 nights.
GAH!
The Irishman and I made cookie dough last night (more on that later) and contingency plans for a festive meal together on Christmas Day if we do get stuck here, but I think we'll both be really disappointed. All we can do though is wait - we have no idea what tomorrow will be like.
Fingers crossed we make it - and that my fingernails stay intact!
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
The shortest day of the year
No where else I've lived has the shortest day of the year been so full of portent. It is noon and within three hours it will get dark. But that means that as of tomorrow it will start getting lighter earlier and by the time it's my birthday in March we'll start to see some real progress towards 16 hours of sunlight.
The Irishman and I are facing some serious travel disruptions to our holiday plans. With the issues at Heathrow and Gatwick, we thought we'd escape the madness by flying out of Stansted. But the Met Office is predicting snowfall tonight into tomorrow for north of London and despite Ryanair's dedication to getting their planes up and out of the airports on the dot we may not have much luck. Especially as we're flying out at 8pm and everyone knows delays compound throughout the day.
So we may have to go pick up some sort of meat and have it on the ready, and a few movies on standby, just in case we're here having a cosy Christmas for two. Fingers crossed!
The Irishman and I are facing some serious travel disruptions to our holiday plans. With the issues at Heathrow and Gatwick, we thought we'd escape the madness by flying out of Stansted. But the Met Office is predicting snowfall tonight into tomorrow for north of London and despite Ryanair's dedication to getting their planes up and out of the airports on the dot we may not have much luck. Especially as we're flying out at 8pm and everyone knows delays compound throughout the day.
So we may have to go pick up some sort of meat and have it on the ready, and a few movies on standby, just in case we're here having a cosy Christmas for two. Fingers crossed!
Saturday, December 18, 2010
"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas…
…everywhere you go. Take a look at the five & ten, glistening once again, with candycanes and silver lanes aglow."
I woke up this morning to the absolute silence that accompanies real snow - not just flurries but a real snowstorm - and The Irishman's snow report. The UK was under a snow warning and all of the London airports were shut or had most of their flights cancelled in preparation for the onslaught. The snow hit us around 10am and within an hour we had driving snow covering the roads, the trees, everything!
But instead of sitting on the sofa, drinking hot cocoa and finishing the knitting projects that are to be Christmas gifts, I had some work to do. Unfortunately, this year The Irishman has been a grinch. While I've been happily putting up the tree and all of our decorations, drinking mulled wine and eating my Cadbury advent calendar, he has been slowly avoiding the Christmas cheer. I'm not sure why, and he isn't really telling, but it may be the fact that we went to the US for 2.5 weeks and returned to find the Christmas season in full-swing. I don't think he had a chance to ease into the holidays and therefore has been ignoring it to the point that HE HASN'T DONE ANY OF HIS CHRISTMAS SHOPPING. And with the weather forecast calling for more and more snow, his de facto option of Amazon ordering is effectively not an option.
So today we suited up and took to the high street to start and finish all of the shopping at once. Holy Jesus, I know it's your birthday but leaving shopping to the weekend before Christmas is horrible. It was HARD. I prefer to do my shopping early and precisely, to avoid these situations, but The Irishman apparently does not. But you know what? Somehow, strolling down the street in 4 inches of snow really did make it feel like Christmas. People were nicer. The shops looked cuter. And I really felt like I earned the mulled wine I treated myself to in the end.
And for the record: The Irishman has declared he is ready for Christmas. Maybe because the Christmas shopping is done. Phew.
Friday, December 17, 2010
I'm still drunk.
It's true.
Last night was our company Christmas party. Apparently the parties before I got to London were legendary: booked out clubs, red carpet dressing up, the whole shebang. But unfortunately I moved here in 2008 right before the market crash and so ever since we've been having pub lock-ins in our company's local. Which is some ways much better - and much much worse.
Yesterday I made a major schoolgirl error and missed lunch due to back-to-back meetings, which meant I started drinking at 4. Sometime in the evening it started snowing making me love the party more, and I apparently stumbled into the darkness around 12:30am. I don't remember it but I did get in a cab and it only cost £7!
The Irishman tells me that I came home and tried to sleep in my coat and also sang him a few songs about how our flat smells like cabbage (it's true, we cooked brussel sprouts the other night and the smell won't leave). This morning I found my clothes all over, my bag in the middle of the hallway, and my shoes under a table.
Luckily our entire office is in a similar state so our lovely office catering manager is ordering in bacon and sausage sarnies for us all. I'm trying to take it easy but I have actual work to do and I also have to subject myself to the Post Office to get stamps for my Christmas card.
Ow.
Last night was our company Christmas party. Apparently the parties before I got to London were legendary: booked out clubs, red carpet dressing up, the whole shebang. But unfortunately I moved here in 2008 right before the market crash and so ever since we've been having pub lock-ins in our company's local. Which is some ways much better - and much much worse.
Yesterday I made a major schoolgirl error and missed lunch due to back-to-back meetings, which meant I started drinking at 4. Sometime in the evening it started snowing making me love the party more, and I apparently stumbled into the darkness around 12:30am. I don't remember it but I did get in a cab and it only cost £7!
The Irishman tells me that I came home and tried to sleep in my coat and also sang him a few songs about how our flat smells like cabbage (it's true, we cooked brussel sprouts the other night and the smell won't leave). This morning I found my clothes all over, my bag in the middle of the hallway, and my shoes under a table.
Luckily our entire office is in a similar state so our lovely office catering manager is ordering in bacon and sausage sarnies for us all. I'm trying to take it easy but I have actual work to do and I also have to subject myself to the Post Office to get stamps for my Christmas card.
Ow.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Tis the season for pickpockets and protesters!
Today I had three encounters with the sadder side of the holidays. On the bus this morning, the driver made an announcement that two boys wearing bright green gloves had been picking pockets on the 38 bus and urged us to be vigilant. For the record, I think it's slightly ludicrous to wear a noticeably bright color if you're going to engage in bad behavior and I found myself with the urge to tell those boys to keep their hands to themselves.
When I got off of the bus, I saw signs up on the telephone polls warning thieves THE METROPOLITAN POLICE ARE WATCHING YOU and WE KNOW YOU OPERATE IN THIS AREA and WE ARE TARGETING YOU. Scary! I wonder how many break-ins had to happen for the police to make these signs and install them.
And finally, on my way home from work, I passed by a small protest outside of a church hosting Carols by Candlelight. There must have been a MP in attendance, because someone exited the church and they started on their chant of "Make the bankers pay!" and "No ifs and no buts repeal all the cuts!"
I know that the budget cuts in Britain are hard, and I'm lucky that I'm somewhat sheltered from them. Yesterday the government announced just how much each local council was going to receive (or not) from the government, and I can imagine that come April when the cuts truly take effect that I will notice small unpleasant changes in Islington. But today I was reminded that I'm in the minority and that this recession really is affecting people - and they're not going to take it lying down.
When I got off of the bus, I saw signs up on the telephone polls warning thieves THE METROPOLITAN POLICE ARE WATCHING YOU and WE KNOW YOU OPERATE IN THIS AREA and WE ARE TARGETING YOU. Scary! I wonder how many break-ins had to happen for the police to make these signs and install them.
And finally, on my way home from work, I passed by a small protest outside of a church hosting Carols by Candlelight. There must have been a MP in attendance, because someone exited the church and they started on their chant of "Make the bankers pay!" and "No ifs and no buts repeal all the cuts!"
I know that the budget cuts in Britain are hard, and I'm lucky that I'm somewhat sheltered from them. Yesterday the government announced just how much each local council was going to receive (or not) from the government, and I can imagine that come April when the cuts truly take effect that I will notice small unpleasant changes in Islington. But today I was reminded that I'm in the minority and that this recession really is affecting people - and they're not going to take it lying down.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
What a week(end)
Oh, people.
This post took many forms in my head over the last 72 hours or so but only now am I finding some clear headspace to write it all down. Basically, the gist is that I've been bested by some Irish. Specifically, The Irishman's family.
Mum arrived on Tuesday for a few days of R&R and sightseeing. The Irishman took Tuesday and Wednesday off from work to hang out with her and I escaped from work after a half day on Tuesday to join them for lunch, a show (The Mousetrap) and rinkside mulled wine at Somerset House and dinner at Tom's Kitchen. Wednesday I had to work and met them after their action-packed day in Knightsbridge and Kensington (they roll posh) at Daphne's - a lovely restaurant that apparently was a favorite of Princess Di's.
Mum left Thursday afternoon, just missing her other son, The Irishman's brother, as he rocked up with The Irishman's cousin and a good friend of theirs Thursday evening for a lads weekend SLEEPING ON MY FLOOR. ALL OF THEM. I can report that my flat smelled like man for three days straight, I had to suffer about 1 million games of Guitar Hero and we went through probably 6 rolls of toilet paper. The Irishman and I both took Friday off from work to hang with the lads and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly, but let me say that I am pooped. I ate dinner in a restaurant for 5 days straight which made me feel like I wanted to die with fullness twice. I took like a gazillion cab rides, which is so indulgent and SO expensive, and drank probably 10 gallons of wine (not all at the same time). Basically, I am a shell of my former self.
So today, finally, we got our flat back to ourselves. We did 3 loads of laundry, made some restoratively healthy soup, set up our Christmas tree (hurrah!) and basically just relaxed. I would now prefer to never eat again and potentially hibernate from this point forward. Too bad I have to do it all over again (!!!) in two weeks with the same folks in Ireland. God help me.
This post took many forms in my head over the last 72 hours or so but only now am I finding some clear headspace to write it all down. Basically, the gist is that I've been bested by some Irish. Specifically, The Irishman's family.
Mum arrived on Tuesday for a few days of R&R and sightseeing. The Irishman took Tuesday and Wednesday off from work to hang out with her and I escaped from work after a half day on Tuesday to join them for lunch, a show (The Mousetrap) and rinkside mulled wine at Somerset House and dinner at Tom's Kitchen. Wednesday I had to work and met them after their action-packed day in Knightsbridge and Kensington (they roll posh) at Daphne's - a lovely restaurant that apparently was a favorite of Princess Di's.
Mum left Thursday afternoon, just missing her other son, The Irishman's brother, as he rocked up with The Irishman's cousin and a good friend of theirs Thursday evening for a lads weekend SLEEPING ON MY FLOOR. ALL OF THEM. I can report that my flat smelled like man for three days straight, I had to suffer about 1 million games of Guitar Hero and we went through probably 6 rolls of toilet paper. The Irishman and I both took Friday off from work to hang with the lads and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly, but let me say that I am pooped. I ate dinner in a restaurant for 5 days straight which made me feel like I wanted to die with fullness twice. I took like a gazillion cab rides, which is so indulgent and SO expensive, and drank probably 10 gallons of wine (not all at the same time). Basically, I am a shell of my former self.
So today, finally, we got our flat back to ourselves. We did 3 loads of laundry, made some restoratively healthy soup, set up our Christmas tree (hurrah!) and basically just relaxed. I would now prefer to never eat again and potentially hibernate from this point forward. Too bad I have to do it all over again (!!!) in two weeks with the same folks in Ireland. God help me.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Excellent thread for a Friday: London date spots
Earlier this week Krista over in Chicago wrote this lovely post with her suggestion for the perfect date in London. I know a few bloggers like Betsy have posted about how they met their lovely guys, but I thought the perfect blog topic for a cold Friday would be to invite all the London ladies to post their own preferred date spots. I'll go first, and everyone who wants to join in please post on your blog and I'll link to you tomorrow.
So in no particular order... my perfect London date spots.
Greenwich
When the Irishman and I first met, he was in the process of moving down to the Isle of Dogs so this pick has a special place in our hearts. Now, I wouldn't recommend hanging out on the Isle of Dogs, but its chief recommendation is the proximity to the village of Greenwich. There are underwater tunnels from the Isle of Dogs to the town, or you can take a Thames Clipper boat from Central London to the village for approximately £5. The village has a market and some lovely shops and an excellent Banh Mi truck but also hosts the Maritime College and Observatory - home of the Greenwich Meantime line. For a first or second date, going over to Greenwich for a wander is a lovely afternoon and almost like a day out of the city.
Fig
I love this restaurant. It's our neighborhood bistro, though the recent shift in format left the price-to-food-ratio a little steep. Nonetheless, it's casual yet intimate, quiet yet comfortable with amazing Michelin-star-quality food. You can have a really lovely tete-a-tete surrounded by other couples yet feel like you're the only people in the world.
MsMarmite's Underground Restaurant
This may seem like an odd one, but there is nothing like an out-of-the-ordinary experience to help you decide whether or not someone is a keeper - so a meal at secret restaurant is a pretty good measure. The Irishman and I went to a dinner at MsMarmite's that was astrology-themed and most of the attendees were actually astrologers. So if that wasn't a turn off for him (it was my idea) then I don't think anything will. But MsMarmite's underground restaurant, situated in her front room, is absolutely amazing and so is she. I wouldn't be surprised if she helped a budding romance along with a sprinkle of cupid seasoning in her food if she thought it helpful.
The Harlequin
The Irishman will kill me for posting this, because this is one of our favorite pubs that we call The Secret Pub for good reason, but I figure it's better to share it in the hope that it stays open forever. It's sort of hidden behind Sadlers Wells Theatre and is a good, all-round boozer with an open fire place, excellent mulled wine, and a great cheese board. It is only full before, during intermission, and after shows at Sadlers Wells and otherwise it's the kind of place that you can go and have a lovely drink and a chat without jostling for a seat or being shoved at the bar. It's the perfect place to meet before going out, or to stop into after a walk through town.
32 Great Queen Street
This is actually just one of our favorite restaurants, but they serve homey, lovely English fare in a dim red room that is comfy and cosy while still buzzy. It's right in the middle of Covent Garden so you can go there and share a meal for two and then wander to any of the pubs or bars in the area, or just head home...
Circus
I just heard about this place. It is a glitzy cocktail bar/club/restaurant with a bouncer at the door that features a huge central table on which circus acts like gymnasts and burlesque dancers perform every 25 minutes. It's loud, it's sexy, the cocktails are amazing and expensive, and it's a lot of fun. If you want to go all out and impress a date, it's the place to go.
So ladies and gentlemen... where do you take your special someone? I can't wait to read everyone's posts!
So in no particular order... my perfect London date spots.
Greenwich
When the Irishman and I first met, he was in the process of moving down to the Isle of Dogs so this pick has a special place in our hearts. Now, I wouldn't recommend hanging out on the Isle of Dogs, but its chief recommendation is the proximity to the village of Greenwich. There are underwater tunnels from the Isle of Dogs to the town, or you can take a Thames Clipper boat from Central London to the village for approximately £5. The village has a market and some lovely shops and an excellent Banh Mi truck but also hosts the Maritime College and Observatory - home of the Greenwich Meantime line. For a first or second date, going over to Greenwich for a wander is a lovely afternoon and almost like a day out of the city.
Fig
I love this restaurant. It's our neighborhood bistro, though the recent shift in format left the price-to-food-ratio a little steep. Nonetheless, it's casual yet intimate, quiet yet comfortable with amazing Michelin-star-quality food. You can have a really lovely tete-a-tete surrounded by other couples yet feel like you're the only people in the world.
MsMarmite's Underground Restaurant
This may seem like an odd one, but there is nothing like an out-of-the-ordinary experience to help you decide whether or not someone is a keeper - so a meal at secret restaurant is a pretty good measure. The Irishman and I went to a dinner at MsMarmite's that was astrology-themed and most of the attendees were actually astrologers. So if that wasn't a turn off for him (it was my idea) then I don't think anything will. But MsMarmite's underground restaurant, situated in her front room, is absolutely amazing and so is she. I wouldn't be surprised if she helped a budding romance along with a sprinkle of cupid seasoning in her food if she thought it helpful.
The Harlequin
The Irishman will kill me for posting this, because this is one of our favorite pubs that we call The Secret Pub for good reason, but I figure it's better to share it in the hope that it stays open forever. It's sort of hidden behind Sadlers Wells Theatre and is a good, all-round boozer with an open fire place, excellent mulled wine, and a great cheese board. It is only full before, during intermission, and after shows at Sadlers Wells and otherwise it's the kind of place that you can go and have a lovely drink and a chat without jostling for a seat or being shoved at the bar. It's the perfect place to meet before going out, or to stop into after a walk through town.
32 Great Queen Street
This is actually just one of our favorite restaurants, but they serve homey, lovely English fare in a dim red room that is comfy and cosy while still buzzy. It's right in the middle of Covent Garden so you can go there and share a meal for two and then wander to any of the pubs or bars in the area, or just head home...
Circus
I just heard about this place. It is a glitzy cocktail bar/club/restaurant with a bouncer at the door that features a huge central table on which circus acts like gymnasts and burlesque dancers perform every 25 minutes. It's loud, it's sexy, the cocktails are amazing and expensive, and it's a lot of fun. If you want to go all out and impress a date, it's the place to go.
So ladies and gentlemen... where do you take your special someone? I can't wait to read everyone's posts!
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
City Cat and Country Cat
Editor's note: I started this post on Tuesday and am only now finishing it and posting it. Apologies for the delay in weekend reporting!
This past weekend, the Irishman and I spent an enjoyable Sunday in Salisbury where some of his uni friends as well as friends of theirs who have become our friends as well. They, and we, and another uni friend who lives in Portsmouth spent the day bouncing babies and eating a lovely Sunday roast in front of a rather large fire in an old country pub while drinking entirely too much wine. When it came time for us to bundle up and head to the train for our return to London, I had one of those moments of desperation that equates, roughly, with "what am I doing with my life". Why am I busting my butt to earn a decent wage to afford my centrally located shoebox apartment? Why am I risking breaking my ankle tottering around in shoe-boots on ice in order to look fashion-fierce in an industry focused on image? Why am I always worried about things that, when the weekend comes, always seem so inconsequential? WHY DON'T I HAVE A DOG?!
Sometimes when I come back from being a Country Cat, hanging out in a small village and enjoying the simple pleasures of food, friends, and family, I start to think about whether I may be approaching the time when I need to make the life changes that scare me the most: moving out of the city, rethinking my career, essentially settling down. Those decisions feel like such a failure to someone like me who has spent most of my adult life stomping through the windy corridors of big international cities with reckless abandon. To admit to myself that I might not want to live like that anymore is absolutely terrifying - it's what I know and [I thought] I love. But maybe it's not enough anymore?
Mom-Mom said something particularly interesting to me about all of this nonsense over the summer; she asked me, and I quote: "when are you going to stop running around wasting time and settle down and start living your life?" She of course was referencing getting married and having babies and at the time, I told her that I was in fact living my life and that I liked it at the moment thankyouverymuch. But recently I had an epiphany and it dawned on me just what she was asking me and I realized that I don't really have the answer. Because saying to myself that having the right Chanel nail polish isn't actually living is a pretty big statement and blows a big hole in the identity I've fashioned for myself up to now. Going further and asking myself what I'm building and creating and making with my life right now, besides a very fashionable collection of insensible footwear, deepens the hole and makes me question whether I'm a City Cat after all.
Yikes. How deep! Weekend afternoons in the country aren't supposed to be so thought-provoking! But to be honest, it's probably been a long time coming. I'm rapidly approaching 30 (deep breath, exhale) and I suppose all people start to review their current life-states at that point. So I'm going to roll with it, and see where it leads me. I'm not sure whether it will be outside of the M25, but I suspect it may lead to more cooking, more moderation, and more realistic expectations of who and what I want to be.
But hopefully still some gorgeously in-sensible shoes.
Carvela Ganges
This past weekend, the Irishman and I spent an enjoyable Sunday in Salisbury where some of his uni friends as well as friends of theirs who have become our friends as well. They, and we, and another uni friend who lives in Portsmouth spent the day bouncing babies and eating a lovely Sunday roast in front of a rather large fire in an old country pub while drinking entirely too much wine. When it came time for us to bundle up and head to the train for our return to London, I had one of those moments of desperation that equates, roughly, with "what am I doing with my life". Why am I busting my butt to earn a decent wage to afford my centrally located shoebox apartment? Why am I risking breaking my ankle tottering around in shoe-boots on ice in order to look fashion-fierce in an industry focused on image? Why am I always worried about things that, when the weekend comes, always seem so inconsequential? WHY DON'T I HAVE A DOG?!
Sometimes when I come back from being a Country Cat, hanging out in a small village and enjoying the simple pleasures of food, friends, and family, I start to think about whether I may be approaching the time when I need to make the life changes that scare me the most: moving out of the city, rethinking my career, essentially settling down. Those decisions feel like such a failure to someone like me who has spent most of my adult life stomping through the windy corridors of big international cities with reckless abandon. To admit to myself that I might not want to live like that anymore is absolutely terrifying - it's what I know and [I thought] I love. But maybe it's not enough anymore?
Mom-Mom said something particularly interesting to me about all of this nonsense over the summer; she asked me, and I quote: "when are you going to stop running around wasting time and settle down and start living your life?" She of course was referencing getting married and having babies and at the time, I told her that I was in fact living my life and that I liked it at the moment thankyouverymuch. But recently I had an epiphany and it dawned on me just what she was asking me and I realized that I don't really have the answer. Because saying to myself that having the right Chanel nail polish isn't actually living is a pretty big statement and blows a big hole in the identity I've fashioned for myself up to now. Going further and asking myself what I'm building and creating and making with my life right now, besides a very fashionable collection of insensible footwear, deepens the hole and makes me question whether I'm a City Cat after all.
Yikes. How deep! Weekend afternoons in the country aren't supposed to be so thought-provoking! But to be honest, it's probably been a long time coming. I'm rapidly approaching 30 (deep breath, exhale) and I suppose all people start to review their current life-states at that point. So I'm going to roll with it, and see where it leads me. I'm not sure whether it will be outside of the M25, but I suspect it may lead to more cooking, more moderation, and more realistic expectations of who and what I want to be.
But hopefully still some gorgeously in-sensible shoes.
Carvela Ganges
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