Today did not start so well, I tell you. I got stopped and searched by the police under Section 44 of the Terrorism Act 2000. Yes, white young woman wearing jeans and a jacket, walking to a Tube station in a predominantly white middle-class neighbourhood must be a prime terrorist suspect, it's obvious, really. Or maybe not! The guy who searched me was a fresh-faced clueless young policeman and I really have no idea what he would do if I really was carrying a bomb or something. Either cry or call for his mum. But thanks to this little nuisance, I missed my train and the next one didn't come for almost half an hour. Not only are the government wasting my tax money, they are wasting my time as well. I'm not the sort of person who gets angry easily, but this seemed so totally pointless - and here is my proof, look ... I'm not making it up!!!So, anyway ... why the hell was I out on a Saturday, yeah? Because the London Through a Lens exhibition in the Getty Images Gallery was ending today. So I reluctantly dragged myself to the cathedral of consumerism, namely Westfield. But at least they have nice ceilings and the exhibition was nice, too. The gallery was smaller than I would have thought but it was nice to see how London used to be - how glamorous and unglamorous - especially before, during and shortly after WW2. There were photos of elephants on the streets, criminals and crooks, ladies with parasols and crinolines, celebrities, kids with faces dirty from coal, food rationing, horse-drawn buses, floods ... Westfield, on the other hand, I tell you ... that place makes my stomach turn. (Discard all previous favourable reviews I may have written about it.) It's so big you need a map to find what you want and even then it takes half an hour. And it's full of pretentious idiots trying to buy the latest this and that which will turn them into fashionable, cool and happy.
To continue the culture theme, I watched a brief spontaneous concert in Shepherd's Bush. The guys were actually pretty good, so I gave them a quid.
Since I had already established that I may be a terrorist, I decided to venture a little bit into Londonistan and went to Shepherd's Bush market, where I bought some tapioka, spring onions, lemongrass and avocados. I couldn't believe how many stalls there were selling headscarves. Afterwards I bought lunch from the kebab and falafel stand at the entrance to the market, which was extremely tasty and the guy selling it was super-nice. So maybe that's the terrorist connection - I eat too much Asian food to be normal.
Now I only have one problem left to deal with today. This white chocolate tiramisu I bought in Waitrose.
I have the choice between being fat and happy, or skinny and unhappy. But I will never be as skinny as the models in this Missoni advert anyway, will I?
So I'm back to blogging. After being annoyed for a while, thanks to the unsolicited comments about my blogging from my work colleagues, I'm back ... and there's lots to catch up on. And this time, darlings, I bothered to bring my camera along, so it's all about visuals, visuals, visuals.Two weeks ago (I know, how out-of-date of me), my dear Punjabi friend, Apu, came over to London for a day and it was the most fun I had in years. We were meeting in Southall, which is "full of Punjabis! Only Punjabis!!!" as Apu says. We went to the Sikh gurdwara (the largest in Europe, apparently), sat there for a while listening to the preaching going on, not that I know what it was about. My Punjabi isn't that great.
Afterwards we went down to the communal kitchen, the langar, as they call it, and had some food (stuffed ourselves like pigs, in Apu's case - he can't cook and being away from mummy for about half a year now, he is suffering badly). We had chappattis, chana dal, dahi, dal makhani, pakora and mixed vegetables. Apu was pretty impressed with my ability to name all the food correctly! So the gurdwara was an interesting place to see but unless you are with a Sikh, I wouldn't go there because it would probably feel a little weird, not that they would kick you out or anything. With our bellies full, we checked out Southall High Street, with its Bollywood cinema - the Himalaya Palace, and its many saree shops, where I bought a really nice blue kurta. I have been dying to get one for ages, I have a pink one that I bought in Delhi about a year ago and I totally love it. If there is a reason for me to come back to Southall in the future, it will definitely be the Indian sweet shops - there are so many of them there and their creations look irressistible, so many shapes and colours.
You know what ... the more I think of it, the more funny it is that a place like Southall exists in London. Because it has nothing to do with Britain ... or Europe, even. It's like you are walking on a street in Delhi, except you don't need to fly there. Just take a bus from Ealing Broadway.
After Southall, it was on to sightseeing - Picadilly Circus, Trafalgar Sq., Oxford St., Westminster and so on ... it was Apu's first time in London. (And I hope it wasn't the last because he is so much fun to hang out with. There just aren't many people left in this world who understand the importance of hanging upside down from railings and renaming Tube stations with funnier names and posing with two footballs as giant boobs and and ... you know? The importance of being able to act like a five-year-old sometimes. We are a dying breed, I am telling you!)
I flew back home to the Czech Republic for Christmas and it was great. For the first time in a long time, I really felt at home there. It started off with a high-school reunion, followed by horse-riding, skiiing, a wedding and of course Christmas Eve with presents. Among other things, I got a pair of shocking-pink socks, a Czech book by Michal Viewegh, and an anti-wrinkle cream (time to admit my age?).
I came back to London relaxed and happy, only to find a part of the ceiling in my apartment on the floor. Upstairs neighbour's shower leaking, apparently. So for the next couple of days, I am going to have builders in and out all the time. Living in a studio, it makes it kind of tricky ... but I am not going to grow more wrinkles over it. I've survived worse things - India, yes, I did love you, you taught me many things, especially patience.
So in the interest of keeping the remainder of 2008 as peaceful as possible, I left the builder alone and went to have breakfast at the Turnham Green Café. It's not somewhere I have been before, I just picked it out at random and it turned out to be a Thai-run greasy spoon but their bacon sandwich and coffee was nice enough for the price. The bacon was nice and crispy, just how I like it. I sat there for a while, reading Khaled Hosseini's Kite Runner and I was, ladies and gentlemen, feeling utterly and blissfully happy. (The reviews say that the Thai food at the Turnham Green Café is supposed to be very good, so I might come back. I miss Bangkok and eating cheap pad thai on the street!) The staff were lovely and attentive and waved me goodbye.
Afterwards, I strolled around Hammersmith, did some window-shopping, some book-shopping and sat in Starbucks reading my book again. I wanted to go to the cinema to see Australia, but it wasn't playing until the afternoon. With no New Year Eve plans, I called my old school friend Syn and arranged to join her and her friends.
We had dinner at Inn Noodle near Tottenham Court Road station, which is a lovely, lovely Chinese restaurant and their dumplings and char siew are awesome. Even tried a dessert, a golden red bean pancake, which was interesting. Afterwards, we were off to Embankment to watch the fireworks. We stood there for three hours and I was so grateful for my new sheepskin boots which kept me warm all the way through. We drank Starbucks instead of champagne, to keep warm and it was nice not to be drunk, actually. We danced along to the music, provided by a BBC Radio 1's DJ ... watched Boris and Homer Simpson and Rod Steward and a few other people wish us Happy New Year, projected onto a building next to the London Eye.
Syn's friends were all lovely and we had a good time together. One of boys even gave me a back massage, which is like birthday and Christmas combined! I love massages! The entertainers projected a number of text messages onto the building next to the London Eye as well, including "Free travel on the tube all tonight. Luv u xx Boris" and "Will you marry me?" and "Will you have my babies?" (For the record, the last two were not from Boris.)
The fireworks were truly spectacular and I was glad they didn't try to save money on the display due to the credit crunch or something. I have already had enough of these cost-saving measures in 2008, especially the credit crunch Christmas lunch that our office put on. At one point it looked like the whole sky was painted with glitter and it was coming down onto us. Soo cool! I have become too lazy to carry my SLR camera everywhere, so I have no pictures, but here's one that a friend took. (New Year's Resolution: Will take more pictures for my blog.)
And thanks to YouTube and the BBC, you can see the whole thing for yourself here:
Getting back home was a bit of a nightmare, as there were massive crowds walking towards Trafalgar Square and all the other central Tube stations. It was like the Pushkar Camel Fair, minus the pickpocketing. Queueing for the Tube at Leicester Square, I overheard a husband saying to his wife: "Next time I suggest doing something alternative and special for New Year's Eve, remind me that alternative and special means staying at home." Dear readers of this blog, next time I find someone special, please remind me not to date men who take you out somewhere and complain afterwards. Or worse yet, men who moan when you take them out somewhere. Or worst of the worst, men who puke all over themselves and afterwards take the Tube when it's packed, spreading their goodies all over their fellow passengers. Those should be shot!
So, anyway ... why the hell was I out on a Saturday, yeah? Because the London Through a Lens exhibition in the Getty Images Gallery was ending today. So I reluctantly dragged myself to the cathedral of consumerism, namely Westfield. But at least they have nice ceilings and the exhibition was nice, too. The gallery was smaller than I would have thought but it was nice to see how London used to be - how glamorous and unglamorous - especially before, during and shortly after WW2. There were photos of elephants on the streets, criminals and crooks, ladies with parasols and crinolines, celebrities, kids with faces dirty from coal, food rationing, horse-drawn buses, floods ... 
Westfield, on the other hand, I tell you ... that place makes my stomach turn. (Discard all previous favourable reviews I may have written about it.) It's so big you need a map to find what you want and even then it takes half an hour. And it's full of pretentious idiots trying to buy the latest this and that which will turn them into fashionable, cool and happy.
