In which we are domestic (somewhat)

This week has been fairly uneventful, as you can see from lack of photos. The Indian food turned out to be recognisable, which is nice, but not exactly what I was craving. THEN, I went to Small's house in London, and she introduced me to instant sambhar mix (I know, I know, it existed beforehand, but I hadn't actually tried it before). A couple of days later, whilst grocery shopping at Tesco's, I found the same brand, along with rice and pickle and made myself a meal. And THAT was good. So, all in all, yay me.

Right. The  new book. Doing something for teenagers this time, with Scholastic, and I'm very excited about it. It should be out later this year and writing for the young adult segment is something I've always wanted to do, ever since my very first Judy Blume (Superfudge!) back in the day. I hope though, that I've done the life of a sixteen year old girl (in Delhi, yes, yes, it continues to be the only city I can write about with some authority) full justice and that readers will be able to identify with the narrator. The only sixteen year old I have ever known in close contact is, well, me, so I'm drawing a lot on my own experiences and the way I used to feel. Luckily, I still have all my old journals from way back then (I knew they would come in useful someday!) and so quite a mine of information. Plus italics and oh-the-drama-and-the-angst. Sixteen was an interesting year. I'm trying very hard to wrap it up ASAP, so that is also why I've had a quiet week.

Oh, and I bought a bright red trenchcoat from the Monsoon sale (as in the brand, not the season. English rain is very calm compared to the roaring storms of Bombay). So much for saving my money, eh? But it's SO awesome and I love it more than I have ever loved a coat before. Besides my black coat is nice and warm and dressy on occasion, but it's almost ten years old, and I think it's time I got a new one. Luckily, I still have more than a month of my English trip left, so I will have lots of opportunities to wear it.

And, either I've acclimatised, or it's gotten much warmer here. Recently, I have been wearing only one sweater to go out, sometimes, I don't even need a scarf. Okay, so I have a bit of a cold today, but that's just because I was JUST out in the garden smoking a cigarette and it's WINDY out there.

Also, the other day was discussing movies with JC's brother's fiancee (who really needs a name of her own on this blog, so how about, erm, Sylvia? That's a pretty name, and I've been wanting to use it for a while.) Anyhoo, so Sylvia and I besides both being about to get married (eeee!) to members of the same family, also have very similar taste in the cinema. I have a bunch of her chick flicks, that she loaned me (which sit like a devil on my shoulder each time I have work to do) and I was talking about how I really really wanted to see the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice  (made famous by Bridget Jones and Colin Firth in the fountain) and then, the next evening, when I came home from Small's, I found an Amazon package waiting for me. Inside which... the movie! Yay! I was both thrilled and touched. It's things like that that make my day. My week, even.

Soooo, that's what I've been up to. Slow-ish week, but sometimes the best part about a long trip is just the settling in and feeling comfortable, right?

The Wondering Of Wandering

Here we are, week two of my two month long stint in The Country That Once Colonised Us But Is Now Colonised BY Us (TCTOCUBINCBU). I had a pretty good time this last week. For one thing, Small got married and I got to pahtaaaay London style. For another, I am filled with the little insights that make foreign travel so worth it. But let's begin at the beginning.

Small's wedding:

The couple decided to get married at court and have a day long party after that. We met Small and Mr Small (who really deserves his own name here, but I can't think of one at the moment, so Mr. Small it is) at one of London's oldest pubs, The Prospect Of Whitby. So old that it even has its own Wikipedia page! Coolness. The pub was delightful, we had the upstairs 'Pepys Room' all to ourselves, a wedding party of about twenty people, foreigners and Indians and it overlooked the Thames. Interestingly, the room we were in was once used for cock fighting and boxing matches, which made me think of Sherlock Holmes , which in turn made me think of Robert Downey Jr with his shirt off. Good times.

I wore my red Cotton-On H&M dress with a red sweater on top and JC wore... a suit. People in London are usually very nicely dressed, and I find myself for the first time in my life, not completely satisfied with my clothes. It's odd, I'm used to being nicely turned out and now I either look ordinary or out of style and this means I might have to do some shopping while I am here and use some of my already limited resources to buy some new clothes. Even though it's unfashionable and weird to shop there, Oxfam, the charity shop has some very cool second hand clothes on display. I don't have a thing about preworn clothes like a lot of other people do, the Oxfam shop that I popped into had some pretty nice stuff, and cheap too, so what's the harm, eh?

This was the view from the pub, right below me, which you can't see is a gallows, because apparently, some bloodthirsty judge used to love to drink there and watch the prisoners dangling beneath him. Gross.

Later on, after stopping at the Smalls' for a brief rest period, we made our way down to a boat on the Thames, where the reception was held. The boat was called Tattershall Castle and it was the coolest party I have been to in a long time. (We did have this pretty nice boat party in Bombay a while ago, but that was pre-terrorist, and now I don't think you're allowed to have boat parties anymore.) The boat stayed in one place, but it did rock every now and then, so you felt like you were drunk even if you weren't. For this one, I wore a proper evening dress, daring to go sweater-less, but I had my coat close by, in case I felt suddenly chilly. I'm still not daring enough to check it in to the cloakroom.

We had to leave fairly early, because JC had work the next day, also London is a fair bit away from where we are staying, about 40 minutes commute, but I did manage to get some dancing in, and quite a lot of drunkeness. All in all, a brilliant party and the couple looked so sweet and happy, my heart was overflowing with love and good wishes.

Other stuff:

I've basically been at home for the rest of the week, writing and watching TV. Saturday night, we did manage to go out to a pub called The Railway, in Crawley (which by all descriptions sounds like the underbelly of England, but it wasn't so bad.) It was nice and cheap with a live band and we met a friend of JC's and all her friends, so I had a pretty nice time. Also, the sambuca shots went a long way in loosening my inhibitions, even though I paid the price quite heavily the next morning.

It's sort of strange being the only brown person in a bar, people keep looking at you, and you don't know whether it's your hat or your clothes or just you, yourself, that look odd. And JC and I both got ID'd at the entrance, which MAY have been about us looking too young, but more likely because we looked like unpleasant elements. I was all like, "Seriously? Seriously? Do I look like I'm going to blow up a random pub in the middle of England?" But then I DO get ID'd in India as well sometimes, so I'm just going with the looks-too-young explaination.

Also, I guess London has a lot more Indians than the smaller suburbs. It makes me happy to spot posters like this in the tube stations.

Tonight, I go out with JC and his brother and his fiancee to dinner to an Indian restaurant. I was planning to be all cool and not eat any Indian till I got home but I can't hold out any longer! I hope they do a good biryani. I have this rice craving that will not go away.

Baby, it's cold outside

I'm here! I'm in England! Writing this at 7.33 pm but my laptop's still tuned to Indian time so it might just show up as Monday's post, but don't be fooled! I'm still writing this from Sunday.

I've been an absolute ball of stress and nerves and bad temper. I always get very antsy before I travel, but this time I was going to do it for TWO WHOLE MONTHS. And what would happen to my cat and my flat and my city in my absence? (Ans: Friend, maid, and I have no idea.) But once I was on the plane--rent paid and things taken care of, and visa gotten and bags packed and so on, I began to actually relax a little bit. And now here I am, day three, having been woken up this morning by sheer SILENCE (and man, silence can be really loud when it wants to be), curled up in bed and writing, the only fly in my ointment being that I can't smoke when I want to, but instead have to put on many layers and go outside, which is sort of a blessing because I smoke a lot less, but still. I didn't realise how integral a cigarette was to the whole writing process. It feels very odd to have nothing to inhale at while I ponder my next sentence. But it's so damned cold that even though I have now written myself into an absolute CRAVING, I'm resisting going out again. Also, cigarettes are very expensive and we omitted to buy any at duty free and so we're smoking roll up cigarettes, which I can't make, but JC can, and so I am dependant upon him in a way.

Wow. Deep breath. I have so much to tell you, evidently. Today we went for Sunday lunch at the Polo Club, owned by the drummer for The Who, and THEN, Ronnie Wood walked in. (I'll give you a minute. Did you hear crickets? I did.) Ronnie Wood is one of the guitarists for The Rolling Stones and okay, so it wasn't Mick Jagger, but it was still quite exciting. JC's mother pointed him out to us, with his very young girlfriend and do you mind if I segue into a little rant about the English girls I've been seeing with very bare legs and shoulders and how I look at them with horror and envy, half wanting to be them, confident that it isn't really thaaaaaaaaaaaat cold, or be that age again, when vanity took precendence over comfort.

Last night in the train back home from Brighton, so many twenty somethings, eyes shiny with drink, talking about their kids and why in a country that has so many choices would you go ahead and have kids that young? One girl staggered through our compartment, dressed in a cowgirl outfit, and followed by a man dressed as a Native American. She turned to us and said, "It's my 24th birthday!" I tried not to stare at the sores around her mouth as she went on about her daughter and how her boyfriend had left her and how all men are wankers and so on, until she staggered away into the distance. I'm trying very hard not to be judgemental, and of course, people have babies at a very young age all over the world, but it was still rather odd for me to see a side of this country that the books I read didn't speak about to a great detail. When you think England you think Austen and Wodehouse and so on, but there's parts of it you don't hear about, like the football fan dad, on another train we took, encouraging his ten year old son to chug from his can of beer.

JC's mother has a WHOLE SHELF full of chicklit. I have basically spent the last two days curled up in bed and reading. Can you think of a better way to spend a weekend? I can't. Of course, we did go to Brighton last night, to meet a friend of JC's for drinks at  a lovely pub, and I felt all English-y. Later, we picked up some booze and went back to his house, where I introduced them to the joys of this video and this one. I'm all about spreading the culture.

We haven't done London yet, we're going up on Wednesday, when Small is getting married. It's true. We're all grown up. But I think in my two months here I should be able to get an understanding of this country, in a way I've never been able to do before about a place that isn't India. It should be fun and it should be a learning experience. Watch this space!