Singapore
Sunday, October 23
Sunday, October 16
How do you know that you've been in London too long?
1. You say "the City" and expect everyone to know which one. (check)
2. You have never been to The Tower or Madame Tussauds but love Manchester/Brighton. (check)
3. You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Shepherds Bush to Elephant & Castle at 3:30 on the Friday before a long weekend, but can't find Dorset on a map. (check - probably)
4. Hookers and the homeless are invisible. (check)
5. You step over people who collapse on the Tube. (check, well no, but i get the point)
6. You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multilingual. (check - absolutely!)
7. You've considered stabbing someone. (check)
8. Your door has more than three locks. (just one less!)
9. You consider eye contact an act of overt aggression. (check)
10. You call an 8' x 10' plot of patchy grass a garden. (check)
11. You consider Essex the "countryside". (check)
12. You think Hyde Park is "nature". (check)
13. You're paying £1,200 a month for a studio the size of a walk-in wardrobe and you think it's a "bargain". (check)
14. Shopping in suburban supermarkets and shopping malls gives you a severe attack of agoraphobia. (check)
15. You pay more each month to park your car than most people in the UK pay in rent. (n.a.)
16. You pay 3 pounds without blinking for a beer that cost the bar 28p. (check)
17. You actually take fashion seriously. (check)
18. You have 27 different menus next to your telephone. (check - we're getting there)
19. The UK west of Heathrow is still theoretical to you. (check)
20. You're suspicious of strangers who are actually nice to you. (check, or strangers who ask for the time!)
21. Your idea of personal space is no one actually physically standing on you. (check)
22. £50 worth of groceries fit in one plastic bag. (check)
23. You have a minimum of five "worst cab ride ever" stories. (n.a.)
24. You don't hear sirens anymore. (check)
25. You've mentally blocked out all thoughts of the city's air/water quality and what it's doing to your insides. (check)
26. You live in a building with a larger population than most towns. (well no, but yes to villages)
27. Your cleaner is Brazilian, your grocer is Somali, your butcher is halal, your deli man is Israeli, your landlord is Portuguese, your laundry guy is Philippino, your bartender is Greek, your favourite diner owner is Italian, the watch seller on your corner is Senegalese, your last cabbie was African, your newsagent is Indian and your local English chippie owner is Turkish. (check)
28. You wouldn't want to live anywhere else until you get married. (check)
29. You roll your eyes and say 'tsk' at the news that someone has thrown himself under a tube train. (check - nah, joking)
30. Your day is ruined if you don't get a copy of Metro on the way to work. (nup!)
2. You have never been to The Tower or Madame Tussauds but love Manchester/Brighton. (check)
3. You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Shepherds Bush to Elephant & Castle at 3:30 on the Friday before a long weekend, but can't find Dorset on a map. (check - probably)
4. Hookers and the homeless are invisible. (check)
5. You step over people who collapse on the Tube. (check, well no, but i get the point)
6. You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multilingual. (check - absolutely!)
7. You've considered stabbing someone. (check)
8. Your door has more than three locks. (just one less!)
9. You consider eye contact an act of overt aggression. (check)
10. You call an 8' x 10' plot of patchy grass a garden. (check)
11. You consider Essex the "countryside". (check)
12. You think Hyde Park is "nature". (check)
13. You're paying £1,200 a month for a studio the size of a walk-in wardrobe and you think it's a "bargain". (check)
14. Shopping in suburban supermarkets and shopping malls gives you a severe attack of agoraphobia. (check)
15. You pay more each month to park your car than most people in the UK pay in rent. (n.a.)
16. You pay 3 pounds without blinking for a beer that cost the bar 28p. (check)
17. You actually take fashion seriously. (check)
18. You have 27 different menus next to your telephone. (check - we're getting there)
19. The UK west of Heathrow is still theoretical to you. (check)
20. You're suspicious of strangers who are actually nice to you. (check, or strangers who ask for the time!)
21. Your idea of personal space is no one actually physically standing on you. (check)
22. £50 worth of groceries fit in one plastic bag. (check)
23. You have a minimum of five "worst cab ride ever" stories. (n.a.)
24. You don't hear sirens anymore. (check)
25. You've mentally blocked out all thoughts of the city's air/water quality and what it's doing to your insides. (check)
26. You live in a building with a larger population than most towns. (well no, but yes to villages)
27. Your cleaner is Brazilian, your grocer is Somali, your butcher is halal, your deli man is Israeli, your landlord is Portuguese, your laundry guy is Philippino, your bartender is Greek, your favourite diner owner is Italian, the watch seller on your corner is Senegalese, your last cabbie was African, your newsagent is Indian and your local English chippie owner is Turkish. (check)
28. You wouldn't want to live anywhere else until you get married. (check)
29. You roll your eyes and say 'tsk' at the news that someone has thrown himself under a tube train. (check - nah, joking)
30. Your day is ruined if you don't get a copy of Metro on the way to work. (nup!)
Sunday, September 18
It's winter, darling.
It's bloody cold: I've just had to turn on the central heating. Summer is over.
Saturday, September 10
A new beginning
I moved into my new seat in the banking department on Monday. So it's back to square one again, the usual pleasanties with the banking folks, my new room mate, my new secretary, and my new appraisal partner; learning the finance speak; and getting to grips with the finance documents.
The best bit about the move, however, was how chilled out the week ended up being. Although I got hooked on the second day with the re-financing bit of a deal that I was working on in Corporate, it hasn't been too bad and I was able to leave the office before 8 almost every evening for dinner/drinks with mates.
Jewel (http://www.jewel-bar.co.uk/)
... is quite chi chi and luxurious for the swamp-land that is Piccadilly Circus. It is fairly pricey, but fancy enough to wow you for a bit. The Jewel bar is based on Baz Lurhman’s Moulin Rouge with Bordeaux coloured furnishings and striking chandeliers and I liked the pseudo-kitschness of the glass chandeliers and uplights, but wasn't very impressed with the weatherspoonish box-like seats. Certainly far more spacious and therefore not as claustrophobic as its sister branch at Covent Garden.
Lindsay House (www.lindsayhouse.co.uk)
... was where we had our closing dinner for the deal that completed last Tuesday. Lindsay House is owned by Irish-born chef Richard Corrigan who specialises in earthy, modern Irish cooking. The Lindsay House seats only 48 on two floors in a Regency style Georgian house that has been redecorated to reflect the original classic features of the building. As in an old-fashioned speakeasy, you ring the doorbell for admittance to a Regency town house deep in Soho. Unfolding before you are gilded mirrors, original fireplaces, and bare wooden floorboards. The staircase delivers you to one of two floors. There being 9 of us - a partner, four associates, three trainees and a paralegal - we had a private dining room booked.
We had decided on the tasting menu:
Magnum Paul Roger Extra Cuvée de Reserve NV
Ravioli of Chorizo & Feta, White Onion Soup & Shallot Rings
Risotto of Peas with Broad Beans & Cornish Crab
Grilled Tuna with Pea, Black Olive & Sardine Fritters
New Season Elqy Valley Lamb & Marjoram scented Broth
Goat's Cheese Sorbet with Black Cherries & Banyuls
Sablé of English Raspberries with Lavender Ice Cream
Chablis Grand Cru "Vaudésirs", Domaine Durup 2001
Magnum Cháteau Bel Air Saint-Emilion Grand Cru Classé 1983
Barsac "Cypres de Climens", Cháteau Climens 2000
I found the champagne very new, crisp, refreshing and it wasn't too bubbly, old, or fanciful. The 1983 Classé was lovely; it came with a beautiful rustic scent, was very rich yet vigorous and full-bodied. The Chablis was one of the best I've had; it was buttery crisp, dry enough, very fresh, with massive flavour but an elegant and tight finish. I'm not a big fan of dessert wine, however, and didn't fancy the sweet Barsac too much.
The food was good. It was exquisite enough yet not too rich. There was definitely some French influence but not stuffingly so. Still, I left thinking that whilst Lindsay House was a refreshing antidote to big, brash eateries with unknown chefs, I didn't get the wow! factor that I had with for example Nobu (http://www.nobumatsuhisa.com/flash/index.html) and Philippe Legendre's Le Cinq (http://www.fourseasons.com/paris/vacations/dining_77.html) at the George V, which incidentally is still the top restaurant on my list.
The exceptionally friendly service at Lindsay House was eager if a little amateurish. There was a very charming maitre'd but the waitors/waitresses seemed rushed and our private dining room was often left unattended.
The best bit about the move, however, was how chilled out the week ended up being. Although I got hooked on the second day with the re-financing bit of a deal that I was working on in Corporate, it hasn't been too bad and I was able to leave the office before 8 almost every evening for dinner/drinks with mates.
Jewel (http://www.jewel-bar.co.uk/)
... is quite chi chi and luxurious for the swamp-land that is Piccadilly Circus. It is fairly pricey, but fancy enough to wow you for a bit. The Jewel bar is based on Baz Lurhman’s Moulin Rouge with Bordeaux coloured furnishings and striking chandeliers and I liked the pseudo-kitschness of the glass chandeliers and uplights, but wasn't very impressed with the weatherspoonish box-like seats. Certainly far more spacious and therefore not as claustrophobic as its sister branch at Covent Garden.
Lindsay House (www.lindsayhouse.co.uk)
... was where we had our closing dinner for the deal that completed last Tuesday. Lindsay House is owned by Irish-born chef Richard Corrigan who specialises in earthy, modern Irish cooking. The Lindsay House seats only 48 on two floors in a Regency style Georgian house that has been redecorated to reflect the original classic features of the building. As in an old-fashioned speakeasy, you ring the doorbell for admittance to a Regency town house deep in Soho. Unfolding before you are gilded mirrors, original fireplaces, and bare wooden floorboards. The staircase delivers you to one of two floors. There being 9 of us - a partner, four associates, three trainees and a paralegal - we had a private dining room booked.
We had decided on the tasting menu:
Magnum Paul Roger Extra Cuvée de Reserve NV
Ravioli of Chorizo & Feta, White Onion Soup & Shallot Rings
Risotto of Peas with Broad Beans & Cornish Crab
Grilled Tuna with Pea, Black Olive & Sardine Fritters
New Season Elqy Valley Lamb & Marjoram scented Broth
Goat's Cheese Sorbet with Black Cherries & Banyuls
Sablé of English Raspberries with Lavender Ice Cream
Chablis Grand Cru "Vaudésirs", Domaine Durup 2001
Magnum Cháteau Bel Air Saint-Emilion Grand Cru Classé 1983
Barsac "Cypres de Climens", Cháteau Climens 2000
I found the champagne very new, crisp, refreshing and it wasn't too bubbly, old, or fanciful. The 1983 Classé was lovely; it came with a beautiful rustic scent, was very rich yet vigorous and full-bodied. The Chablis was one of the best I've had; it was buttery crisp, dry enough, very fresh, with massive flavour but an elegant and tight finish. I'm not a big fan of dessert wine, however, and didn't fancy the sweet Barsac too much.
The food was good. It was exquisite enough yet not too rich. There was definitely some French influence but not stuffingly so. Still, I left thinking that whilst Lindsay House was a refreshing antidote to big, brash eateries with unknown chefs, I didn't get the wow! factor that I had with for example Nobu (http://www.nobumatsuhisa.com/flash/index.html) and Philippe Legendre's Le Cinq (http://www.fourseasons.com/paris/vacations/dining_77.html) at the George V, which incidentally is still the top restaurant on my list.
The exceptionally friendly service at Lindsay House was eager if a little amateurish. There was a very charming maitre'd but the waitors/waitresses seemed rushed and our private dining room was often left unattended.
Friday, September 2
When the levee breaks in the most powerful nation in the world...
There's something about this new tragedy I can't quite fathom.
For years, scientists have predicted something like this would happen and it's both funny and disparaging when you realise on retrospect the existential implications of living in a city that is largely below sea level but virtually surrounded by water. But when you think about the sort of advanced warning the Americans had, vis-a-vis the Tsunami tragedy, it's a tad disappointing and a major concern that things have turned out the way it has.
What is perhaps more stunning is news of looting, murder and anarchy, which I suppose seems inevitable in such circumstances when people live to survive. You would think, however, that the US authorities, by encouraging local citizens to move to the Superdome, would do more to prevent/have thought about and done more to prevent the sort of starvation, rape, gang/mob rule, and racial abuse we are seeing now.
I'm not sure how morbid/callous I sound when I say that the Americans in New Orleans have responded considerably worse on every level (individual, organisational, governmental) than those in some third world countries that have faced larger hurricanes and typhoons. Katrina has pounded the thin gauze of social cohesion and the heart of American solidarity and pride in a way that no terrorist attack can, and the US Government's response to this emergency is simply unbelievable. But with most of American resources stockpiled in the Gulf, one can't be too surprised at how poorly a rescue effort will come out of this.
I wonder what the Americans think of Bush and the Cheney administration in light of New Orleans. Are they still blind to the US Government's astonishing failure in Iraq and its (lack of any) organisational ability, hoping for some sort of a miracle or decisive action from Bush or his administration, or are they as I suspect seeing Dubya as what a doofus he really is?
The real lesson to come from Katrina, and perhaps this should teach Bush about some humility when he next decides to diss and abuse Kyoto, the environment and global warming again in light of economic self-interest and wilful ignorance, is that the dramatic flooding of New Orleans is but one graphic demonstration of global climate change models, is a precursor to what can be expected in the future, and should be a catalyst for real policy change. Which brings to mind the movie The Day After Tomorrow.
But perhaps now is the time for Chirac (and Shroder) to offer some fine French (and dare I say German) food to the starving of New Orleans and win an enormous debt of the American common man's gratitude.
New Orleans.
For years, scientists have predicted something like this would happen and it's both funny and disparaging when you realise on retrospect the existential implications of living in a city that is largely below sea level but virtually surrounded by water. But when you think about the sort of advanced warning the Americans had, vis-a-vis the Tsunami tragedy, it's a tad disappointing and a major concern that things have turned out the way it has.
What is perhaps more stunning is news of looting, murder and anarchy, which I suppose seems inevitable in such circumstances when people live to survive. You would think, however, that the US authorities, by encouraging local citizens to move to the Superdome, would do more to prevent/have thought about and done more to prevent the sort of starvation, rape, gang/mob rule, and racial abuse we are seeing now.
I'm not sure how morbid/callous I sound when I say that the Americans in New Orleans have responded considerably worse on every level (individual, organisational, governmental) than those in some third world countries that have faced larger hurricanes and typhoons. Katrina has pounded the thin gauze of social cohesion and the heart of American solidarity and pride in a way that no terrorist attack can, and the US Government's response to this emergency is simply unbelievable. But with most of American resources stockpiled in the Gulf, one can't be too surprised at how poorly a rescue effort will come out of this.
I wonder what the Americans think of Bush and the Cheney administration in light of New Orleans. Are they still blind to the US Government's astonishing failure in Iraq and its (lack of any) organisational ability, hoping for some sort of a miracle or decisive action from Bush or his administration, or are they as I suspect seeing Dubya as what a doofus he really is?
The real lesson to come from Katrina, and perhaps this should teach Bush about some humility when he next decides to diss and abuse Kyoto, the environment and global warming again in light of economic self-interest and wilful ignorance, is that the dramatic flooding of New Orleans is but one graphic demonstration of global climate change models, is a precursor to what can be expected in the future, and should be a catalyst for real policy change. Which brings to mind the movie The Day After Tomorrow.
But perhaps now is the time for Chirac (and Shroder) to offer some fine French (and dare I say German) food to the starving of New Orleans and win an enormous debt of the American common man's gratitude.
New Orleans.
Snippets
God, where do I even start?
Life in the past two months has been somewhat akin to a shinkansen and I'm still rather zapped, despite a huge amount of sleep and lie-downs in bed. The deal I've been working on for the past 2 months "completed" on Tuesday morning, and I've been given some days off-in-lieu which means I won't be going into the office for the rest of the week. It has certainly been lush - waking up at noon everyday, chilling/lazing around, enjoying the good (sunny/toasting/boiling at times) weather - albeit a little surreal after 2 months of crazy hours culminating in a 120 hour week last week.
HR sends a (somewhat obligatory, and) short email asking if everything's alright once you clock up a certain threshold of hours (I don't know the exact figure but I think it's over 60ish). I'm speaking, of course, about trainees in the firm; I very much doubt the feasibility of doing the same with respect to associates. Getting the emails from HR is in a sense a rather nice gesture, but it also has the effect of reminding you that you've been missing out on a social life and, increasingly, the impetus to get to work everyday is diminishing with rapid speed...
So what exactly have I been up to?
Sometime back...
Saturday - Club session at Heaven with Leanne.
Sunday - Movie day (Skeleton Key - think the American south; voodoo/hoodoo magic hell-crap; twisted twist at the end, aka not a typical hollywood ending) at UGC Canary Wharf with Peter.
Tuesday - Missed the Stanchart 5km run at Hyde Park (which I had, funny enough, signed up for) as I was stuck in a conference call; ended up leaving the office fucking late, so no chance of meeting up mates for post-run drinks.
Wednesday - Business trip to Dublin; 17 hour day.
Thursday - Champagne reception; drinks with Felix.
Friday - Slight morning hangover; lunch with secretary at Pizza Express.
Saturday - Met Hani (visiting from Mancs) at Euston; quite an amazing lunch (foodwise) at Randall & Aubin (semi-chic champagne and oyster bar in Soho); Turnmills with Hani and 2 of his (rather infantile) mates.
Sunday - back to the office.
Fast forward then to Tuesday this week. Lunch at the OXO Towers - brilliant weather, balcony seating, good service, standardised food - which reminded me of lunch a few months ago with Rif at the members' room at the Tate Modern.
Wednesday evening. Met Dave for Mojitos at Cafe Kick (http://www.kipferl.co.uk/) at Exmouth Market, my local pedestrianised street hosting a row of eclectic bars/restaurants/shops, etc. Cafe Kick is my favourite nondescript evening bar and somewhat reminds me of Krobar in Manchester, only less chic (more down-to-earth) but certainly not cheap!
Thursday evening. The weather was looking dire, short of a rainy thunderstorm (I exaggerate), and I made the brave decision to go for a short jog along the Thames on my usual route. Feeling the cool crisp air (and dare I say, sweet river breeze) was very nice indeed. The regret of not being able to do this more often was quite genuine I think. I'm toying with the idea of a night/early morning jog sometime - the smell of sweet dusk/dawn air can be quite invigorating.
Friday morning. Woke up at 9, in anticipation of Chris coming in to clean the flat, and went out for a morning jog, followed by a visit to Kipferl (http://www.kipferl.co.uk/), an Austrian delicatessen 5 minutes away from the apartment, where I bought a pack of lush Manners (www.manner.com), and chilled for a bit at the Smithfields Carluccios (www.carluccios.com), before heading home. I'm so loving this life.
To be fair, whilst I'm no less chuffed that it has completed, I do appreciate the bloody steep learning curve I've experienced over working on this deal, and of course not forgetting the countless overnighters; the wry camaraderie with other team members; that business trip to Dublin - waking up at the ungodly hour of 4, taxi at 5, check-in at 6, airbourn at 7, dublin at 8, rushing for the return flight at 8, and back to LHR at 9; the shiatsu massage (the best thing to happen at the printers, other than the refridgerators, i shit you not); the uneasy relationship with the accountants; the pretty relaxed clients (we worry enough for them); and the brilliant finale (more of a "thank god it's finally over!").
Life in the past two months has been somewhat akin to a shinkansen and I'm still rather zapped, despite a huge amount of sleep and lie-downs in bed. The deal I've been working on for the past 2 months "completed" on Tuesday morning, and I've been given some days off-in-lieu which means I won't be going into the office for the rest of the week. It has certainly been lush - waking up at noon everyday, chilling/lazing around, enjoying the good (sunny/toasting/boiling at times) weather - albeit a little surreal after 2 months of crazy hours culminating in a 120 hour week last week.
HR sends a (somewhat obligatory, and) short email asking if everything's alright once you clock up a certain threshold of hours (I don't know the exact figure but I think it's over 60ish). I'm speaking, of course, about trainees in the firm; I very much doubt the feasibility of doing the same with respect to associates. Getting the emails from HR is in a sense a rather nice gesture, but it also has the effect of reminding you that you've been missing out on a social life and, increasingly, the impetus to get to work everyday is diminishing with rapid speed...
So what exactly have I been up to?
Sometime back...
Saturday - Club session at Heaven with Leanne.
Sunday - Movie day (Skeleton Key - think the American south; voodoo/hoodoo magic hell-crap; twisted twist at the end, aka not a typical hollywood ending) at UGC Canary Wharf with Peter.
Tuesday - Missed the Stanchart 5km run at Hyde Park (which I had, funny enough, signed up for) as I was stuck in a conference call; ended up leaving the office fucking late, so no chance of meeting up mates for post-run drinks.
Wednesday - Business trip to Dublin; 17 hour day.
Thursday - Champagne reception; drinks with Felix.
Friday - Slight morning hangover; lunch with secretary at Pizza Express.
Saturday - Met Hani (visiting from Mancs) at Euston; quite an amazing lunch (foodwise) at Randall & Aubin (semi-chic champagne and oyster bar in Soho); Turnmills with Hani and 2 of his (rather infantile) mates.
Sunday - back to the office.
Fast forward then to Tuesday this week. Lunch at the OXO Towers - brilliant weather, balcony seating, good service, standardised food - which reminded me of lunch a few months ago with Rif at the members' room at the Tate Modern.
Wednesday evening. Met Dave for Mojitos at Cafe Kick (http://www.kipferl.co.uk/) at Exmouth Market, my local pedestrianised street hosting a row of eclectic bars/restaurants/shops, etc. Cafe Kick is my favourite nondescript evening bar and somewhat reminds me of Krobar in Manchester, only less chic (more down-to-earth) but certainly not cheap!
Thursday evening. The weather was looking dire, short of a rainy thunderstorm (I exaggerate), and I made the brave decision to go for a short jog along the Thames on my usual route. Feeling the cool crisp air (and dare I say, sweet river breeze) was very nice indeed. The regret of not being able to do this more often was quite genuine I think. I'm toying with the idea of a night/early morning jog sometime - the smell of sweet dusk/dawn air can be quite invigorating.
Friday morning. Woke up at 9, in anticipation of Chris coming in to clean the flat, and went out for a morning jog, followed by a visit to Kipferl (http://www.kipferl.co.uk/), an Austrian delicatessen 5 minutes away from the apartment, where I bought a pack of lush Manners (www.manner.com), and chilled for a bit at the Smithfields Carluccios (www.carluccios.com), before heading home. I'm so loving this life.
To be fair, whilst I'm no less chuffed that it has completed, I do appreciate the bloody steep learning curve I've experienced over working on this deal, and of course not forgetting the countless overnighters; the wry camaraderie with other team members; that business trip to Dublin - waking up at the ungodly hour of 4, taxi at 5, check-in at 6, airbourn at 7, dublin at 8, rushing for the return flight at 8, and back to LHR at 9; the shiatsu massage (the best thing to happen at the printers, other than the refridgerators, i shit you not); the uneasy relationship with the accountants; the pretty relaxed clients (we worry enough for them); and the brilliant finale (more of a "thank god it's finally over!").
Saturday, August 6
I love Chris
Chris started working for us 2 Fridays ago. I shit you not when I say that she is the next best thing in London other than A. She mopped and vacuumed, did the loos and kitchen, and polished everything, including the bathroom handles! Weekends may now be spent chilling, meeting up with mates, and going out shopping in town. I'm so in love.
Sunday, July 31
Poem by Yevgeny Yevtushenko
I fell out of love: that's our story's dull ending,
as flat as life is, as dull as the grave.
Excuse me -- I'll break off the string of this love song
and smash the guitar. We have nothing to save.
The puppy is puzzled. Our furry small monster
can't decide why we complicate simple things so --
he whines at your door and I let him enter,
when he scratches at my door, you always go.
Dog, sentimental dog, you'll surely go crazy,
running from one to the other like this --
too young to conceive of an ancient idea:
it's ended, done with, over, kaput. Finis.
Get sentimental and we end up by playing
the old melodrama, "Salvation of Love."
"Forgiveness," we whisper, and hope for an echo;
but nothing returns from the silence above.
Better save love at the very beginning,
avoiding all passionate "nevers," "forevers;"
we ought to have heard what the train wheels were shouting,
"Do not make promises!" Promises are levers.
We should have made note of the broken branches,
we should have looked up at the smokey sky,
warning the witless pretensions of lovers --
the greater the hope is, the greater the lie.
True kindness in love means staying quite sober,
weighing each link of the chain you must bear.
Don't promise her heaven -- suggest half an acre;
not "unto death," but at least to next year.
And don't keep declaring, "I love you, I love you."
That little phrase leads a durable life --
when remembered again in some loveless hereafter,
it can sting like a hornet or stab like a knife.
So -- our little dog in all his confusion
turns and returns from door to door.
I won't say "forgive me" because I have left you;
I ask pardon for one thing: I loved you before.
as flat as life is, as dull as the grave.
Excuse me -- I'll break off the string of this love song
and smash the guitar. We have nothing to save.
The puppy is puzzled. Our furry small monster
can't decide why we complicate simple things so --
he whines at your door and I let him enter,
when he scratches at my door, you always go.
Dog, sentimental dog, you'll surely go crazy,
running from one to the other like this --
too young to conceive of an ancient idea:
it's ended, done with, over, kaput. Finis.
Get sentimental and we end up by playing
the old melodrama, "Salvation of Love."
"Forgiveness," we whisper, and hope for an echo;
but nothing returns from the silence above.
Better save love at the very beginning,
avoiding all passionate "nevers," "forevers;"
we ought to have heard what the train wheels were shouting,
"Do not make promises!" Promises are levers.
We should have made note of the broken branches,
we should have looked up at the smokey sky,
warning the witless pretensions of lovers --
the greater the hope is, the greater the lie.
True kindness in love means staying quite sober,
weighing each link of the chain you must bear.
Don't promise her heaven -- suggest half an acre;
not "unto death," but at least to next year.
And don't keep declaring, "I love you, I love you."
That little phrase leads a durable life --
when remembered again in some loveless hereafter,
it can sting like a hornet or stab like a knife.
So -- our little dog in all his confusion
turns and returns from door to door.
I won't say "forgive me" because I have left you;
I ask pardon for one thing: I loved you before.
Saturday, July 23
James Blunt
On a completely different track, James Blunt's album - Back to Bedlam - absolute rocks. I so dig the songs on this album... every. single. one. of. them.
Depression
It has been a month of strange bittersweet-ness as an adopted Londoner: the initial (short-lived) Olympic madness, the subsequent terrorist mess, and a bizarre wackiness of this mixture of sublime joy and horrid angst.
A budding terror – that’s what it is.
Depressing isn’t it – this horror on the streets, the edginess, the mourning, the weeping, the grief, and the realisation that it isn’t over. There is no easy synthesis; no plausible explanation; no sensible prediction. They say that life must go on. We can’t stay holed up. There’s an urgent need to defy and to win this reckless war.
But how does one win a war against terrorism? It’s easier where there’s some degree of calculated risk. Insurance companies know the drill by heart. Where fundamentalism is concerned, however, the predominant factors of control and prediction – normal parasites of risk – no longer act as indispensable constraints. It’s a dreadful thought: a game where the rules are as discerning as they are indistinct; an ideal that arises most pervasively to confront the world and life as we know it to be; a proactive reaction that perpetuates odious acts; a masked group of self-proclaimed victims and defenders of a faith which carries out orders of naked aggression and massacres in compliance with incomprehensible fanaticism - the uneducated young subscribing to, and falling for, such brainwashing.
It’s a pretentious thing, this religious fundamentalism. A fad that takes over the minds of those that engage in these acts against humanity with impunity. Is this not fundamentalism at its worst – as an excess that completely denies reality and disregards life; an ideal that is totally dependent on the whims of human nature, power, and contradiction.
And I hate it. I completely abhor fundamentalism of all sorts. Fundamentalism works on a lack of true understanding, and is oiled by an inability to rationalise. It reduces the word credibility to an all time low. Fundamentalists are like tunnel rats. They can’t see the light from different angles; everything looks straight. They breed in socially backward societies, thriving on insular concepts that are closed, racist, almost chauvinistic, passive obedience, feudalism, and fascist intolerance.
I find myself increasingly intolerant of extremist behaviour and ideals. Now, at the age of 25, I am beginning to re-evaluate what is important to me – what I think is worth fighting for or against. I have little (and shrinking) patience for religious or moral propaganda. You live your life. I live mine. My life is my creation and my responsibility. On many occasions, I have felt that Christians and Muslims alike are a bit too quick and hasty to pass judgment upon those whose viewpoints differ from theirs, especially where non-believers and dissenting views are concerned. Critical discernment of rational argument vis-à-vis taking the morality high ground within an ivory tower that rests upon hypocrisy, minimal thought maximal (and bloody conservative) belief, and rock hard stubbornness. As a lawyer, I find this particularly distasteful. And wrong.
In a sense, it is not difficult to appreciate why the existence of morality, the code of values each of us uses to decide on the choices and actions we make, is vitally relevant to our lives. In an age where the moral and legal order assumes no minimum moral consensus and appreciates moral pluralism and relativism in the field of legal consciousness, and amidst an atmosphere of uncertainty and confusion that extends even to the most basic values of human life, conflicting opinions about abortion, surrogate motherhood, homosexuality and most recently of torture and genetic engineering with the human embryo exemplify such moral perplexity. Eternal quibbling over these matters is surely a permanent fixture. But there are mainstream responses and fundamentalist responses. This is primarily a realisation that no one’s perfect; no one’s infallible; no one’s completely right. There are always divisions within any interpretation. Your vision is but one embodiment of this realisation.
For all this waffling, I think I am at a crossroad in my life. I am increasingly taking a view (though clearly not enough) of the matters that I recognise as incredibly important to me and I am increasingly willing to speak up. And I suppose there is something poignant about that as I have always been a fence-sitter: a moderate force that tries to complement and accommodate. I suppose there's another side to all this. Ori mentioned over messenger last week about how I am too complicated a person. “If I were to date you, you would be an intellectual challenge, which is very nice however at the same time might cause me a headache.” Apparently, I think too much. Frightening, isn’t it. Understandably, being complicated is a turn off. I hate drama. I hate soppiness. No one likes complication. Simple's good. It gives a straight road in life without any fudgyness of a directional choice.
But is that ideal? What would life be if everything was straight? Boring. What I dig is intelligent discourse. I’ve never been afraid to be wrong. You pick yourself up and there are things to learn throughout the process. What I do dislike, is passive agreement, which gets you nowhere and is in fact as dangerous as being wrong in the first place. I like confident people who negotiate their path in life. Mindlessness is such a disease. I’ve discovered, however, that looking stupid is a far better alternative as a means to an end vis-à-vis being terribly clever and terrifying people – the insecure sort that gets threatened by excessive and ostensible intelligence. It’s a desolate landscape for some, but no less uninhabited. I waffle sometimes.
A budding terror – that’s what it is.
Depressing isn’t it – this horror on the streets, the edginess, the mourning, the weeping, the grief, and the realisation that it isn’t over. There is no easy synthesis; no plausible explanation; no sensible prediction. They say that life must go on. We can’t stay holed up. There’s an urgent need to defy and to win this reckless war.
But how does one win a war against terrorism? It’s easier where there’s some degree of calculated risk. Insurance companies know the drill by heart. Where fundamentalism is concerned, however, the predominant factors of control and prediction – normal parasites of risk – no longer act as indispensable constraints. It’s a dreadful thought: a game where the rules are as discerning as they are indistinct; an ideal that arises most pervasively to confront the world and life as we know it to be; a proactive reaction that perpetuates odious acts; a masked group of self-proclaimed victims and defenders of a faith which carries out orders of naked aggression and massacres in compliance with incomprehensible fanaticism - the uneducated young subscribing to, and falling for, such brainwashing.
It’s a pretentious thing, this religious fundamentalism. A fad that takes over the minds of those that engage in these acts against humanity with impunity. Is this not fundamentalism at its worst – as an excess that completely denies reality and disregards life; an ideal that is totally dependent on the whims of human nature, power, and contradiction.
And I hate it. I completely abhor fundamentalism of all sorts. Fundamentalism works on a lack of true understanding, and is oiled by an inability to rationalise. It reduces the word credibility to an all time low. Fundamentalists are like tunnel rats. They can’t see the light from different angles; everything looks straight. They breed in socially backward societies, thriving on insular concepts that are closed, racist, almost chauvinistic, passive obedience, feudalism, and fascist intolerance.
I find myself increasingly intolerant of extremist behaviour and ideals. Now, at the age of 25, I am beginning to re-evaluate what is important to me – what I think is worth fighting for or against. I have little (and shrinking) patience for religious or moral propaganda. You live your life. I live mine. My life is my creation and my responsibility. On many occasions, I have felt that Christians and Muslims alike are a bit too quick and hasty to pass judgment upon those whose viewpoints differ from theirs, especially where non-believers and dissenting views are concerned. Critical discernment of rational argument vis-à-vis taking the morality high ground within an ivory tower that rests upon hypocrisy, minimal thought maximal (and bloody conservative) belief, and rock hard stubbornness. As a lawyer, I find this particularly distasteful. And wrong.
In a sense, it is not difficult to appreciate why the existence of morality, the code of values each of us uses to decide on the choices and actions we make, is vitally relevant to our lives. In an age where the moral and legal order assumes no minimum moral consensus and appreciates moral pluralism and relativism in the field of legal consciousness, and amidst an atmosphere of uncertainty and confusion that extends even to the most basic values of human life, conflicting opinions about abortion, surrogate motherhood, homosexuality and most recently of torture and genetic engineering with the human embryo exemplify such moral perplexity. Eternal quibbling over these matters is surely a permanent fixture. But there are mainstream responses and fundamentalist responses. This is primarily a realisation that no one’s perfect; no one’s infallible; no one’s completely right. There are always divisions within any interpretation. Your vision is but one embodiment of this realisation.
For all this waffling, I think I am at a crossroad in my life. I am increasingly taking a view (though clearly not enough) of the matters that I recognise as incredibly important to me and I am increasingly willing to speak up. And I suppose there is something poignant about that as I have always been a fence-sitter: a moderate force that tries to complement and accommodate. I suppose there's another side to all this. Ori mentioned over messenger last week about how I am too complicated a person. “If I were to date you, you would be an intellectual challenge, which is very nice however at the same time might cause me a headache.” Apparently, I think too much. Frightening, isn’t it. Understandably, being complicated is a turn off. I hate drama. I hate soppiness. No one likes complication. Simple's good. It gives a straight road in life without any fudgyness of a directional choice.
But is that ideal? What would life be if everything was straight? Boring. What I dig is intelligent discourse. I’ve never been afraid to be wrong. You pick yourself up and there are things to learn throughout the process. What I do dislike, is passive agreement, which gets you nowhere and is in fact as dangerous as being wrong in the first place. I like confident people who negotiate their path in life. Mindlessness is such a disease. I’ve discovered, however, that looking stupid is a far better alternative as a means to an end vis-à-vis being terribly clever and terrifying people – the insecure sort that gets threatened by excessive and ostensible intelligence. It’s a desolate landscape for some, but no less uninhabited. I waffle sometimes.
Friday, July 8
7 July 2005: this terrorist problem
Nuff' said
Hats off to London and Londoners. It's the spirit of the Blitz all over again. This oft-quoted English tradition, the stiff upper lip, is as impressive as is the stoicism you see around the city as people go back to work and resume their life. In a sense, we have had IRA bombs since the 70s. Why should we let the buggers interfere with our lives? It's business as usual, or else terrorism succeeds.
A group linked to Al Qaeda have claimed responsibility. I quote:
"In the name of God, the merciful, the compassionate, may peace be upon the cheerful one and undaunted fighter, Prophet Muhammad, God's peace be upon him.
Nation of Islam and Arab nation: Rejoice for it is time to take revenge against the British Zionist Crusader government in retaliation for the massacres Britain is committing in Iraq and Afghanistan. The heroic mujahideen have carried out a blessed raid in London. Britain is now burning with fear, terror and panic in its northern, southern, eastern, and western quarters.
We have repeatedly warned the British Government and people. We have fulfilled our promise and carried out our blessed military raid in Britain after our mujahideen exerted strenuous efforts over a long period of time to ensure the success of the raid.
We continue to warn the governments of Denmark and Italy and all the Crusader governments that they will be punished in the same way if they do not withdraw their troops from Iraq and Afghanistan. He who warns is excused.
God says: "You who believe: If ye will aid (the cause of) Allah, He will aid you, and plant your feet firmly."
The fools. Britain is certainly not burning with fear, terror and panic. If anything we are burning with wrath and rage. This terrorist fad will learn that nations will not tolerate fundamentalism inasmuch as we do not tolerate bigotry, racism, sexism and religious intolerance.
So it seems that the Al Qaida or a wannabe branch of the main group has claimed responsibility for the attacks. This surge of violent fundamentalism in the Muslim world will have repercussions. The rise of distrust breeds contempt and a lack of true understanding, as people become embroiled in the sensationalist ideas propagated by the media in favour of sensible ideals.
Despicable and hypocritical comes into mind when you read a message that quotes words from the Koran and the blessings of Muhammad in a warning that includes violence, murder and hatred and inspires fellow Muslims with misguided words of bravery, honour or morality within that context.
From what I’ve learnt of the Al Qaida, we can trace their origin back to the time of the 4th Caliph Ali. They rebelled against his rule, and eventually assassinated him. Those familiar with Islamic history would know it was the death of Ali that lead to the cataclysmic divide between sunni and shia (as to who was to succeed to the caliphate). At the time they were known as the ‘khawarij’ (‘those that left’ in arabic’). They twisted Islamic law in two major ways: 1. they considered that when ordinary people commit major sins their blood becomes permissible, and 2. armed insurrection and rebellion against the rulers was permitted. Retreating to the hills, the cowards have been fighting a rearguard action against anyone they consider too moderate for 1400 years. They occasionally make a comeback when things get tough in the Muslim world (as in today when virtually all Muslim countries are police states that persecute their own population). They are true extremists that simply do not consider innocent people ‘innocent’ for their warped logic.
It is hard not to wonder how ordinary Muslims really feel about seeing atrocities committed in the name of Islam. Do they feel a personal or religious affront, or conversely do they feel grudging fraternity for the perpetrators? Or are they, as I suspect, as melancholy, sad, confused, and slightly detached as the rest of us are?
I do not dislike Muslims, even if I do find some of their ideologies harsh and unconvincingly hypocritical, a personal belief which encroaches almost every religion, including Christianity and the Catholic Church. What I find most disagreeable about the current state of affairs is the lack of universal condemnation amongst the clerics and Muslim people of the world, in light of the attacks. To say you do not agree with the ideology behind the attacks is not enough. To condemn the attacks and then follow on with a proviso that "hey, you guys asked for it" does not, in my humble opinion, go far enough. It's like a little spurt of electricity that lights up a bulb for a momentary lapse before retreating to a safe, dark point. One cannot condemn and then justify. At the end of the day, you hurt yourself with the lack of integrity and the half-heartedness of your words. Because the terrorists will bend your words to their advantage and in their continued attempts to sully the name of Islam.
In the words of a letter from London to the terrorists:
What the fuck do you think you're doing?
This is London. We've dealt with your sort before. You don't try and pull this on us.
Do you have any idea how many times our city has been attacked? Whatever you're trying to do, it's not going to work.
All you've done is end some of our lives, and ruin some more. How is that going to help you? You don't get rewarded for this kind of crap.
And if, as your MO indicates, you're an al-Qaeda group, then you're out of your tiny minds.
Because if this is a message to Tony Blair, we've got news for you. We don't much like our government ourselves, or what they do in our name. But, listen very clearly. We'll deal with that ourselves. We're London, and we've got our own way of doing things, and it doesn't involve tossing bombs around where innocent people are going about their lives.
And that's because we're better than you. Everyone is better than you. Our city works. We rather like it. And we're going to go about our lives. We're going to take care of the lives you ruined. And then we're going to work. And we're going down the pub.
So you can pack up your bombs, put them in your arseholes, and get the fuck out of our city.
Tube announcement
All the lines are suspended
Touching
Tragic
Saturday, July 2
Tour de Londres: when Rif was here:: Pauls, Tate and the Brit
St Pauls: a cathedral overlooking the City
Designed by the court architect Sir Christopher Wren and built between 1675 and 1710 after its predecessor was destroyed in the Great Fire of London
An imposing structure
Tate Modern: formerly a power station
Some bull crap
Visualisation of the crap
Part of the members' room
(Part of the) London skyline
St Pauls in the background and the (controversial) Millenium bridge
Liking the table/chairs set
Comfort v Style
Bottoms' up
The venerable British museum
Very much imposing
Yet with a feel of modern
Natural lighting
Romanish architecture
Glass and sky - a stylish concoction
The main library - an overwhelming feeling
Rif and Mary at a bar in Islington
Tour de Londres: when Rif was here:: The Eye
Like a bicycle wheel
Enrapturing lines
A big toy, that's what it is
View from The Eye
Houses of Parliament
The erotic gherkin in the background to the right
Health and safety
The pod below
County hall
Sunday, June 26
Lazy sunday afternoon chillin at Soho Gardens
Tudor style laziness
Leanne (flatmate)
Film noir
Vibrant colours:: clear blue skies
Love the contrast
Some londoners
Rather tired from all that read
Looking sassy
Liking her texts
Benchers
More of them