The weekend - movies, signing and a workout at the gym...

By the way... this isn't me... yet!

Following drinks in Soho's Thirst bar with the VEE-TV team on Friday night, I went to the gym on Saturday morning partly to try and rid myself of my hangover (which was then replaced by lethargy in the afternoon!) and partly to remind myself that I've got a fitness regime I'm trying to keep up! Every time I go to the Oasis gym in Holborn, it seems that I bump into more and more deaf people - and it seems that every deaf person that keeps fit in London goes there!

The great thing about this is that while I'm sweating buckets on a 20mins cycle ride, I can sign to the person on the step machine at the other side of the room. The hidden benefits of being deaf, eh..? Particularly because the music in there is so loud that someone who can't hear can still keep up with the vibrating beat...

From there, it was only a short walk to the City Lit college for their annual 'deaf day,' which combines the twin benefits of being an opportunity for deaf people to find out a host of opportunities for deaf Londoners, and also a chance for the deaf community to have a good old chin-wag on the side! After I'd checked out everything that was on offer (including recieving a religious sermon from one stall...!) then it was off to the cafe for a cappucino (glamorous life!).

I picked up a prospectus and think I'll defintely be doing some kind of part-time course in September - although in what I haven't yet decided! I'm interested in doing something related to scriptwriting, but then they also have drawing classes, photography classes... and acting too, which I'm really up for doing more of... as ever in my life, I'm interested in a few too many things at once!

There's a set of courses in British comedy which involves writing and doing some performing that seems most likely - lately I've been addicted to comedy shows like Seinfeld, Curb Your Enthusiasm and The Fast Show, so I'm going to check this one out!

Feeling lazier and lazier into the afternoon, and having seen two other VEE-TV people who were suffering from the night before, I headed back to the flat to watch two films I've waited a long time to see, Before Sunrise and Before Sunset.


Made nine years apart, they cover the brief yet intense romance between a young American traveller (played by Ethan Hawke) and a French girl (Julie Delphy). In the first film, over the course of one night, they embark on a passionate affair in Vienna, promising to meet in the same place six months later. The second film answers the question of whether they did meet up, and finds the two lovers nine years on in their lives.

What's great about the films is way that the two characters are drawn. In the first, we see two fairly confused, young adults, whereas in the second we see that they've grown up, they've matured, but they're still essentially the same two people. They attempt to make sense of their emotions and feelings, which seem far too strong to be based on just a few hours of their lives.

The movies are a reminder of how at any moment life can throw something unexpected at you - and how moments and people can stay with you for far longer than you would think (I know nothing of this, naturally!). Both films are beautifully written, naturally acted and well recommended by yours truly...

I fell asleep after watching an epsiode Seinfeld... and that was my Saturday night.

I'm guess I'm a real party animal, eh?!

Snapshots of life at 73 Woodhall...

Great things - # 1 John Martyn's 'One World'

The first time I heard One World was late one hot night, Summer 2004, lying down in bed in the attic of the new house my family had moved to on the outskirts of Nottingham. Debris filled the first two floors of the house and hence I was unable to sleep in what was designated as my bedroom, instead retiring to the attic every night... whilst everywhere around there were boxes, sheets and dust!

Daily toils at that time included stripping wallpaper, moving boxes to the right rooms (!), and wondering what was going to become of my life! I’d just quit being an estate agent and I wanted to get into the media, but paid work seemed pretty hard to come by, and indeed would take me another six months to find (although I didn't know this at the time!).

The attic was where I watched late-night TV and listened to mix cassette tapes on my old clock-radio.

One night I saw a BBC4 documentary called Johnny Too Bad which compelled me to buy One World the day after. It was the first time in years I had loved a whole album through. One World was funky, it was mellow, it had jazz, it had folk, it seemed to have everything. It’s mixture of desperation, joy and melancholy was compelling...

"If you ain't got two words to say then I can't talk to you
No use crying, there's been no crime,
I say it's just the way the wind blows
Just the name of the game, the way of the world
Way of the world"

What interested me most was that there seemed to be a brutal honesty to John Martyn's music, despite a madness to his method. He had been an alcoholic most of his life, and had persevered in music through periods of illness and personal crises. The documentary showed him about to undergo an operation to remove his right foot, a side-effect, supposedly, of years of leaning on it as he played guitar...



















His music was full of free, improvised, strange forms that would somehow ultimately come together and make sense. John’s voice was often slurred (perhaps because of his drinking!) and seemed to strain to express some indiscernable, desperate yearning. ..

“Let me in, let me in,
Let me in sweet darling…”

There was nothing John wouldn't cover in song. The eponymous One World was a beautiful essay about the complexities and beauties of life, while others, like Couldn’t Love You More were seemingly simple love songs with an added sense of colossal yearning, of love, even when fulfilled, seemingly not being quite enough..! Smiling Stranger, meanwhile, brought a little fun and randomness to the proceedings, detailing bumping into people while on the road from town to town.
















Best of all was Small Hours. It reminded me of the Cotswolds home that my family had left behind. It's beautifully mellow, ebbs and flows like a tide (seriously), and was recorded by a lake, and I'd later listen to it by a lake in Sweden (see past post!)... sad, eh?! It brought back my youth now past, when my friends and Isaw the countryside by blue moonlight and lay with friends in the middle of the road hearing only the rustle and creak of the trees at either side. It took me back to kissing a girl while standing in a nighttime stream (all very innocent, I'll have you know!) when I was sixteen, and all we listened to was the REM song Nightswimming. For all the eight and a half minutes the song lasted, the lyrics were beautifully brief... and due to John's slurring, meant searching on the internet to work out what he was saying...

“Gonna get on up for another day
Get on out for another way
And a new day’s dawn
Gonna carry on

Keep on loving ‘till your love is gone
Keep on loving ‘till your love is strong
All the way”

Whatever that means.

The album took me back to long-forgotten times in my life, as I gazed out of the attic window at the moonlit blue sky above, dotted with stars. All around me were odd possessions, tennis racquets, books and mess, surrounded by the smell of the people that had lived there before...!

There's that funny thing with music, that when you listen to an album or song again it reminds you of a memorable time in your life when it was all you listened to. I listen to One World all the time, and it still takes me back to the attic, Summer 2004!

I say that like it was a long time ago..!

I remember listening to it and thinking that somehow, this new house was to be our new ‘home,’ and the final chords of Small Hours faded out I somehow felt that 'home' was what this might just be.

Random Scribble # 2

Scribbled at work, July 2005

Great venues for a game of cricket - the Oval, Trent Bridge and...the Ghetto

Since I became a member of 'The Ghetto', we've witnessed a few memorable household activities...

First, we had 'Table Olympics' in January, the most memorable event being Zhao's five minute long arm-wrestle battle with George's cousin, Alex... which Zhao, smoker, drinker, all, managed to somehow win (Alex is a master cyclist, but he lacked explosive power).

Then table tennis, table football (to which we were addicted through Febuary and March) and even plastic duck shooting followed, all enlightening our evenings (and general time-wasting skills).

Then there were our weekly 'Ghettrio Film Club' nights, which screened classics such as Zulu (played on jerky VCD, we had to give up watching near the end), Ed Wood (everyone nearly fell asleep) and finally, Nick's cameo appearance one week, when he turned being 'five minutes away' into a two hour real-life art installation which involved him walking through Regents Park estate and continually, repetitively taking the wrong turns.

Nick's getting lost was more entertaining than Beijing Bicycle, the film that followed, and indeed he earned the seismic cheer we gave him from my bedroom window when he finally walked by, beer in tow, heavily traumatised.

Then, last week there was cricket.













A few of Zhao's old cigarette boxes, a plastic gun and a table-tennis ball all combined to produce possibly the most bizarre yet finest game of cricket ever seen, certainly ever played on the estate.

The games did not pass without controversy, however. They began with the obligatory 'sledging', which is abuse handed out from bowler to batsman, and included such gems as -

"Your mother's rather unattractive, old bean"

"You don't have the first clue how to hold your gun... I mean bat... old chap!"

and the classic -

"You're simply not very good, are you?!"

Zhao batted most of the insults skyward, earning sixes, although a couple of inferences about his Chinese heritage did result in a few beamers hitting his stumps. George's experience at the crease (cultivated in the Charlbury countryside) seemed to evaporate meanwhile, as he struggled to cope with the unpredictable non-bounce of the table tennis ball hitting carpet...














I'd like to say I was the most naturally talented player there, but that would be an inaccuaracy. Rather, I was simply a 'plodder', effective in the bowl, effective at the crease, no more, no less.

Even on a spectacular wicket such as this, I could do no more than play my natural game, frustrating even the most skillful of bowler, annoying even myself, and eventually resulted in a short walk back to the pavillion (ie- my room) with my tail between my legs, having been caught by the solitary fielder.

Has there ever been a game of cricket played such as this? In such brutal, yet majestic settings? With the game forcibly ended, it was time to retire to the kitchen for a good old cuppa, to calm our collective competitive feuds.

After damage to the wicket, we haven't played since, but we are sure that with careful watering, and a shorter fibre length, our carpet will soon be playable again.

Random Scribble # 1

Scribbled in Nottingham, May 2005

Jumbo jets and mobile phones... inexplicably linked

Just flown back from Gothenburg, there'll be a number of photos published here in the next couple of days - so watch this space! Thanks for all the messages, readers... you know who you are... and your bosses probably know what you've been looking at..! Never fear though, this site is censored... for now!

Anyways, back to the serious business of blogging...

This morning, I was about to take off from Gothenburg airport (having said that, we all were about to take off, I don't just mean me personally) when a familiar announcement came over the tannoy...

"Ladies and Gentlemen... we are about to take off. Could I remind all passengers to turn off their mobile phones as it might interfere with flight controls. Thank-you."

Cue numerous people scrabbling about in their bags to turn off their mobiles. Something got me thinking though...

In a world where you have to remove razors from your bag, get full body searched (as I was both on my outgoing and return flights) and go through the metal machine bleeper, all in case of mad terrorism, are we really saying that one unguarded, ringing mobile phone could bring down a jumbo jet?

For all our concerns about Al Quaeda cells, bombs, knives, plasticine explosives, we should really be looking out for a terrorist branding the latest deadly... Nokia?

I can just imagine the scene...

"Jim?"

"Yes honey?"

"That man looks awful nervous... he's fiddling with his pockets... he's sweating, he's getting out his mobile phone! My god! I thik he might make a call - what is he, mad? We're all going to die! Stewardess! Do something..."

Just a thought...

Returning to serious matters though, arriving at Standsted and getting straight onto a train, I was a little perturbed to see people leaving the train in a blind panice, and security guards checking out a carriage. Moments later, a lady came running back up the platform, having forgotten her guitar case, and sparked a security alert.

The security guards didn't see the funny side, as they handed the absent minded lady back her bag... before allowing people back onto the train.

Funnily enough, no-one sat on that carriage before it departed for London once again.

Serious times...

Moving Stillness

In Delsjön, just ten minutes drive from where we are staying in Gothenburg, there are literally miles and miles of beautiful, clear lakes, perfect for all manner of water-based activities (swimming, canoeing, skimming stones...), and a few non-water based activities too! (barbeques, camping... you get the drift)

Thursday morning, Steve, Stevie D and I jumped into the lake for a swim and a dive (along with the obligatory lads games of pushing each other off the diving platform into the water). Then in the afternoon, we set off on a 10km row in canoes (this time with two Germans, one Swede and Steve´s fiancee Laura in tow) to a barbeque spot, complete with jetty, hut and fire. This, my friends, was where we planned to stay the night!












We were joined by Helena, Stevie D's naturally blonde (I'm obsessed with natural blondes at the mo - since I'm in the right place for it!) Swedish aquaintance (she is a dedicated outdoor enthusiast, and also happens to quite fancy Stevie D!), and also two of Stevie D´s German friends, Johannes and Felix, who, as well as being exceptionally fast rowers, later turned out to be exceptionally talented vodka drinkers too...













The row must have taken a good 10km, although since this is the first exercise we´ve done since we arrived in Sweden, it was welcomed, albeit with aching arms and stiff shoulders. Above you can see Steve and Laura plugging away on the oars... hard work it sometimes was, but perhaps a good test for their future nuptials (since they are getting married next year)!












I was in the boat with Helena and Stevie D. As you can see from the photo above, Stevie D spent a great deal of time neglecting his rowing duty in favour of trying to look meaningfully and solemnly at the lake (he suceeded, but only just) in the style of a catalogue model. Lazy... but I´m sure Helena fancied him even more for it.












Our canoes (as the Swedish call them... although they're larger than my idea of a canoe) moored up outside our gaff for the night. Once we´d moored up, we were greeted with a large hut, complete with two pincic benches and a fireplace, all in remarkably good condition. A little graffiti perhaps, but surely the equivalent hut in Britain would have been burned down by pyromaniacs by now. Thankfully, the Swedish are respectful of their public facilities (just thought I´d neatly signal an important difference between the two cultures there...)













The barbie... wow, we´d skipped lunch and after the row, more than a few of us were suffering from starvation-induced madness. I managed to maintain my composure just long enough to take this photo of the barbeque in full flow. I was eating a matter of seconds later... and the mad hunger neatly drifted away. After two hot-dogs and a couple of burgers, we were calmly chatting again, as if nothing had ever happened.















The best way to describe the serenity of the lake is as a moving stillness(it took me all night to think of this description... any better ideas, please feel free to drop a comment on this site). At one point, a spectacular rain fell down, as you can see from the 'atmospheric' shot above...















At this point, I occupied myself by simply trying to look cool as the german lads rowed back to the jetty, as you can see from the photo above. I think I'm improving at the whole 'looking cool' thing.

As the rain had just poured down, they were pretty wet, although they'd luckily found a wooded area where they could shelter. We, meanwhile, had luckily hidden in the relative warmth of the hut, allowing myself to focus purely on improving my cool 'look' as they journeyed back for more burgers...

Anyway, back to the serious prose..

We bore witness to the lake gently ebbing and flowing into the evening, and, accompanied by food, drink(vodka) and conversation, saw the pink of the sky and the blue of the night slowly draw in until all was dark, and the lake was lit only by a deep purple illuminated by the white brilliance of the moon...

...poetic, don´t you think?

And the photo below is of the six of us trying to re-invent an ABBA album cover... it's not cool, it's not clever, and we had to take the photo five times on a self-timer on the camera. But somehow, we're proud of it anyway...















As the blue of the evening set in, Steve and I listened to a track called 'Small Hours' by John Martyn. The song, recorded by a lake, sums up the feeling of being water-side in the early hours of the morning... and this seemed as apt a time as any to enjoy it... it is calm and mellow, much as were were as we sat on the jetty listening to it...





















Here we see Steve doing the manly thing and getting the fire going... we all slept on the floor of the hut, which meant a very stiff back in the morning. Luckily, the fire kept the mozzies at bay, so thankfully we were not eaten alive into the bargain, although as I write I've realised that my foot is rather itchy. I guess no holiday's complete without a few bites. Mozzies seem incredibly attracted to me, far more than any woman ever has been. If only I could switch these two facts, my life would be a far happier one..!




















We are now all in recovery after eating a few too many dodgy burgers and failing to get erm, any sleep at all...

Can't complain though, since on this evidence, Sweden is a little too perfect. There simply must be a catch somewhere along the line.

Until I find what that catch is, I'm going to give Sweden the benefit of the doubt, and keep loving it!

London... recurring scares

The news that there are further problems in London while I've been away certainly means I'll be returning to the UK with some level of trepidation. Warren St tube, where one of the latest suspects was caught on CCTV, is only down the road from my house, while news that Tottenham Court Road was evacuated means that almost certainly my colleagues and friends in the area were taken out of work, some for a long walk home for the second time in two weeks.

Inevitably, for some people thoughts will turn to alternatives to London living, although we do not yet know whether terrorist alerts and scares will become a routine occurance, or whether this will be one of the last incidents in the near future. In this sense, the city will have to get used to a sense of uncertainty, whether we like it or not.

Already, commentators are comparing the situation in London to that of Northern Ireland not so long ago, most directly with the Omagh bombing of 1998. Let's hope that the situation does not become so bad that these comparisons become confirmed and accepted, and that things return to some state of normality soon.

Gambling, drinking and a dose of Hard Rock... hello from Sweden!

After a quick one and a half hour flight to a very small airport (that looked like an oversized porta-cabin) we were soon drinking coffee and eating cake in Steve D's friend Jenny (pronounced Yenny) high above Gothenburg in a minimalist apartment full of strange and beautiful plants.

The serenity of the way we began the holiday soon went out of the window though, as we went out, ate, had a fish meal and catch-up-chat (between four) then gambled, drank and finally grabbed a dose of dancing in Gothenburg's Hard Rock Cafe! All before staggering home in the early hours... when Steve D forced me to watch a DVD of Liverpool's European Cup win (he's a frustrated ex-pat who gets very excited when English visitors arrive with English DVDs!). Needless to say, we got to sleep sometime in the early hours as the sun was coming up..!

As for gambling, we went to a bar where they had blackjack on the side. I put £6 in, doubled my money, and quit while I was ahead. This paid for my round of drinks..!

The swedish people are pretty interesting. They're not all blonde (funnily enough) but they do have that Scandanavian look (quelle suprise). Quite a few of the guys look like Benny and Bjorn from Abba and I keep expecting them to lauch into a few bars on the piano and an impromptu version of 'Dancing Queen.'

We're off to watch IFK Gothenburg play in the Swedish first division today - then off to the lakes tomorrow... this holiday's shaping up pretty nicely!

Natural blondes, saunas and lakes, here I come..!

Last day at work before a week in beautiful Scandinavia...

Six months in London and I’ve barely spent two whole days out of the smog. In between unemployment and reality TV there was the crazy journey that was seven weeks at VEE-TV, and mad nights out on the town that seemed to occur every other day! I’ve been hankering for a proper break for a while and so it is that tomorrow morning, I fly to Gothenburg, Sweden for seven days… can’t wait!

At last I’m getting a break from the hustle and bustle, and a plunge straight into the idyll (hopefully) that is Sweden. I’ve been promised lakeside camps, expensive beer (!) and natural blondes. I’ve packed my camera, ipod and Nick Drake biography, and since I’m meeting Steve and his finance Laura at Stansted Aiport tomorrow morning, it looks like I won’t be short of conversation either. Once there, we're meeting Steve Daly, another school buddy who currently works for Volvo! He's going to show us around. On top of that, I have a list of things I can’t wait to do on holidays (I feel like a kid right now) and here they are…

1) Sample that full-body rush you get when the plane launches into the sky on take-off... don’t we all wish the rush would last longer?

2) Taking numerous saunas (preferably with natural blondes)

3) Swimming in lakes (a favourite Swedish pastime apparently)

4) Doing some writing… I’ve got a deaf film treatment which still isn’t finished, and need some peaceful time in which to think!

5) Taking as many photos as I can...

6) Sampling the Swedish ale… in moderation of course...

7) Seeing some of Gothenburg's 17 museums, 25 theatre stages and 38 cinema screens, in the shadow of the Poseidon statue (photo on its way..!)

8) Discovering the truth about Nick Drake’s tragic life (uplifting stuff!)

9) Finding some tasty stories about Steve for my best man’s speech… I’ve got a few, but they’re just not controversial enough…

10) Not having to go to work for seven whole days, YAY!

Dear blog reader, I’m just too excited to think of any more to write. Keep looking though, because I’m going to keep postin’!

A cappucino in the sun

Sitting in the sun, reading the paper at a café table, I became aware of a heated phone discussion from a man sitting alone at the table in front of me.

“I can’t do it on Thursday! No, I can’t! What about Friday, 3pm? 4pm? 5?”

He was furiously thumbing his way through his diary, which I could see was full of scribbled notes. ‘He must be a busy man,’ I thought to myself, a typical hands-free set user.

“Tell them it’s cancelled! Cancelled!”

He was middle aged, lanky, wearing a suit and tie. Still, the diatribe continued. Some people looked at him strangely as they walked by.

“I’ve had just about enough of this!” He continued.

I picked myself up to leave, folding my paper under my arm.

“Who do you think I am?” He shouted, still furiously turning the pages of his diary.

I walked past him and looked round to see his face. No wires. No hands-free set. No phone.

Just a man speaking... to himself.

I left him there, debating alone in the warm summer air.

One moments silence

The past week has been dominated by the 7/7 (as they're being called now) bombings. Yesterday, I found myself taking the tube again after a gap of two weeks (luckily I'm close enough to the centre of town to walk almost anywhere), feeling apprehensive about the journey.

Above ground, there are still regular sirens and emergency services passing by to remind Londoners and tourists that there is a heightened sense of vulnerability in the city right now.

My journey passed without incident, but it was a sign of how different the landscape feels after last week.

As we stood outside our offices at 12pm today, for a Europe-wide moment of silence, as the traffic ground to a halt and hundreds of people stood motionless along Tottenham Court Road, there was a sense of calm and reflection about the events of that morning just one week ago. The atmosphere, however, was predictably sombre.

In the time since last week, we've seen numerous accounts of those tragic events come to light, along with frenzied media speculation about the bombers, and finally, in the last few days indications (yet to be fully confirmed) that these people were British-born, that they were seemingly normal individuals, that their families did not even know what they had planned.

It is true to say then that the threat of terrorism will always be upon us, that at any time, London or any city in the world is vulnerable to sudden, horrific, ife-changing events. For all that, one attack since 9/11 must give us hope that the security forces are doing their job to the best of their ability, that these events are rare, and that we should carry on our normal lives, putting fear to the back of our minds.

As two minutes of silence ended, so a spontaneous round of applause began that echoed up the street. People smiled. The sun blazed down. The traffic started to move again, and the streets began to take on the motion and energy we are so used to. We trickled back to our offices, our desks, our chatter. Normal life began again.

Joy and devastation - two days in the life of the city

When I moved to London in January, I did so with the belief that I would be heading to the city where things happened; I was moving to the capital - the cultural, political and economic centre of the UK, where everything of any note seemed to take place.

It has been a whirlwind time - London has suprised me over the past 6 months - and I've seen many sides to this city while I spent time both in and out of work.

'The big smoke' may be exhaustibly and suffocatingly busy, sometimes impersonal and almost mechanical at times, but it is also packed with personalities, images and sounds which are fascinating, never-ending, and ultimately addictive.

I remember feeling exhausted in my first few days in London at the sheer number of faces I absorbed strolling by or standing around me on the tube. I still look at each and every face (until they look back at me, at which point I swing my gaze away!) but that tiredness has subsided. Seeing everybody, everything, has become something I love. Over time, London has begun to feel like home.

In the six months I've lived here, I have seen a number of notable events, or at least, what I thought were notable events. I saw Nelson Mandela kick off 'Make Poverty History' in Trafalgar Square, and I was privvy to a concert in Westminster Abbey for the same campaign. I've seen the spectacle of the London marathon, walked anti-war marches, and filmed on London's streets (and bridges!) for the deaf magazine show VEE-TV.

Of all the sides of London I've seen, it was surreal to see the city literally swing between utter joy and devastation over the past few days.

On Wednesday, I dashed during my lunch-hour to meet George and Zhao in Traflagar Square for the 2012 Olympic announcement. This was like a four-year reunion for the three of us. We were in China on the extraordinary night of July 13th 2001 when Beijing was awarded the games.

We saw a city rejoice with joy then; as if China had finally been recognised by the world. People beeped their car horns in packed traffic, the night seemed electric, alive, a carnival atmosphere. We walked for miles to get home and soaked it all up, drinking cheap beer and celebrating with Beijingers.

In Trafalgar Square, we found ourselves in the sober light of day, on the edge of the crowd, waiting with hushed breath for the announcement.

The moment when London was awarded the games was surreal; we expected to hear the word 'Paris' and instead heard only the joy and cheer of the crowd as it reverberated from the base of the square to the steps of the National Gallery, and finally to us, jumping up and down in the air.

Multicoloured confetti blew in the wind, the Red Arrows roared above leaving behind a trail of red, white and blue in the sky. The Olympics were going to be held here. Here, in London!

The city was in celebration mode. Wednesday evening's news and Thursday's morning press were gearing up to celebrate a national victory. Okay, so the city wasn't going as mad as Beijing back then, but there was a smug satisfaction on peoples faces - Britiain had won something for once!

My first indication of tragic events that would totally overshadow the award of the Olympics was when I saw Zhao walking back towards our flat at 9.30 on Thursday morning. I was nonchalantly setting off towards the office at the time.

Apparently there'd been some kind of power surge on the tube, the whole underground network was shut down and emergency services were all around the tube stations. His first thought, and mine was that this could well be the terrorist incident we'd been told was 'inevitable' at some point after September 11th.

Teletext reported nothing more than a 'bang' at Kings Cross, so I headed towards work as usual, but on the short journey past Warren St tube and down Tottenham Court Road, I began to get an ominous feeling. Police cars and ambulances were rushing past at regular 30 second intervals, crowding around the entrances to Euston Square and Warren Street tubes. I could hear helicopters whirring overhead.

There was hardly anyone at work. The few of us that were there turned on the TV and realised that events had unfolded rapidly in the preceding minutes. Just two streets away, a bus had exploded. The sirens we were continuing to hear from outside signified a panic, a horror that was unfolding close to us.

We stayed put through the day. A workmate of mine, who lived in Omagh, Northern Ireland at the time of the bombing there, was particularly affected. Some continued their working day as if nothing had happened. We all congregated to hear Tony Blair's national address at 12. People phoned their families, workmates, checking that they were alright.

Finally I walked home at 4pm, seeing the unusual sight of the street being even more full than usual, packed with people starting the long walk back to their homes.

Still, police cars rushed past, and still the Euston Road was blocked by police. There was, however, a sense of solidarity in the mood yesterday evening as people took to the streets, even as further reports came in of the carnage that had occured.

The next morning, tubes ran, buses returned to the streets, and although central London was quieter than ususal, people were going about their daily business again. People looked jaded, but there was still the familiar chatter, rush of people going about their day.

Has London changed? Does every city affected by terrorism change? There will be fear, for sure, but there is also a sense that the city will go on, as cities always do. London is a very cosmpolitan city, and has the virtue of being packed with people of every culture possible living side by side. I hope that when the pictures of the people that commited these crimes are published, we do not see a cultural backlash against minority groups as was seen in New York after September 11th.

Thursday was a surreal day in my life, in all of our lives, that showed just how quickly the mood, the conciousness of a city and a nation can turn on it's head. As horrific as those events were, they will become part of the chequered history of this great city, just as London's successes and failures have been remembered from the past.

Me, myself and I...

Ok, so who am I?

The basic plotline of my life over the past year reads like this -

Summer 2004, gave up soul-destroying post-university Estate Agents' job in favour of uncertain foray into the media world... only to do free work - in a variety of media settlings - for six months with no hope of gainful employment. At the same time, move with family to house that needs extensive rennovation. Find self surrounded by dust, boxes and burst water pipes.

With job interview at Channel 4 News on the horizon, move to London in January '05 only to fail at interview (despite putting self through reading Jon Snow's autobiography). Two months unemployed and on the edge of a sales job in a building society, flunk interview for a deaf television series... only to beg for two days 'shadowing' during which they are somehow convinced I'm not a total doofus... even though I'm from a deaf family and have seemingly forgotten how to sign...

Get offered two weeks, end up doing seven and then land role at a reality TV company. Two months later I sit at a desk in Bloomsbury, or should I say rotating desks in a busy office where the faces change every day, and I see both the glamour and the hard labour of the media world, going to plush conferences at the BBC one day, then handing out flyers in Chelmsford, Essex, the next!

On the home life side... I'm lucky enough to be living with Zhao and George, who I grew up with at school and have remained close to ever since. We live in a flat (albeit on an estate!) which is 20 minutes walk from Oxford Street, and spend most of our evenings watching old episodes of Seinfeld, or art-house movies, or avoiding Zhao's rubber bullets fired from a kiddie's play gun he picked up from a community fair..! The three of us have breakfast together every morning.

Sounds idyllic? I guess it is!

So - finally - allow me to welcome you to my weblog. Since I'm a keen photographer, you'll see regular snaps added to these pages, along with random warblings from my bemused and befuddled mind.

Hope you enjoy reading it, and please leave (positive) comments on my posts!!!