Walk to work

Last night as I walked home from work, I walked past the NY Giants and Miami Dolphins tour coach (they played at Wembley Stadium on Sunday, in a bid to generate interest in “American Football” over here). There weren’t any football players hanging out on the bridge, so my guess is that they were down at the river, catching a Shakespearean play at the new replica Globe. There’s a thought.

Seeing the coach got me thinking about the strange things I’ve seen on Southwark Bridge. It’s a far more eventful bridge than, say, Blackfriars, which is the bridge I used to walk across to get to my old job.

Last week there was a massive raft stuck against one of the piles of the bridge (and I mean massive – you could probably have parked about 40 cars on it). At first, I thought it was just stuck. There was a full-sized shovel (the kind Uncle Rick uses) on the raft. The next day it was still there, and the shovel was depositing boulders at the foot of the piles in the river. ??

In the morning, I regularly see police motorcades escorting massive armoured vehicles to the Old Bailey, London’s central criminal court (pictured). One evening as I was walking home, I saw a flotilla of police boats on the river, and police cars on the bridge, where a police chase had led to a woman trying to jump into the river to get away. Unfortunately, she missed the river, and landed on the concrete steps of a building fronting the river.

This morning I saw the usual police motorcade escorting prisoners North to the Old Bailey. (I looked up the trial listing when I got into work, and then found a newspaper article: “A troublesome tenant was stabbed and battered to death in his bedsit after police ignored his landlord's threat to kill him, a court heard”. Six Sikh men, including the landlord, are on trial.) And then immediately after that – so close in time that I thought they’d just turned around and come back – another police motorcade came by, going South. But instead of armoured vehicles, the motorcade was escorting Gordon Brown, the Prime Minister, in his Jag. I would not have been certain of this (although I thought I saw Gordon) if I hadn’t seen the news 15 minutes later as I walked into the office. The BBC was broadcasting live from down the road from my flat, where Gordon Brown was getting out to make a speech....

I have to confess that I had a brief Calvin and Hobbes moment where I fantasised about what would have happened if the motorcades, which were going over the same bridge in opposite directions, had collided. I tell you what, Gordon Brown would have made short work of those prisoners.

Domestic comfort

It's cold out, and since Friday I've been feeling strangely sick to my stomach whenever I go out. So I'm staying at home today.

Home is a very good place to be. My kitchen is immaculate (yes, I know - I don't have children). I'm armed with coffee and food. Very nice Columbian coffee, which I'm drinking as I write (intermittently - not literally taking a sip every time I start typing). I just finished my breakfast - a lamb chop and eggs on toast. I've got everything I need for a comforting winter beef stew for supper. I'm listening to the second movement of Beethoven's seventh symphony (which, for anyone out there who doesn't follow Beethoven, is comfort food for the soul). I've turned the heating on. I'm wearing big woolly socks which either Jennie or Anne Marie gave me for Christmas about 10 years ago. And I'm settling in to work on my little novel project, interspersed with a bit of viola when I need to think my way through a difficult passage.

November is just around the corner, and with it Thanksgiving, probably the most perfect holiday. This will be my third in a row with family, and this year I'll be in Connecticut with Mom, Papasan, Ben, Jennie, Megan and Annie - the first time we've all been together since Ben's wedding. There will be lots of kids, too. The only thing that could make it even better would be to get Brad, Ben, Anne Marie and Mandy on board, and have a giant mega-Thanksgiving.

The day before I leave for the US, I have another family event. Barry and Anne Niblock, my quasi-family in Northern Ireland, will be in London for my citizenship ceremony, followed by a gathering of my friends in London for celebratory drinks. At the ceremony, I will have to make a pledge to the UK, and more controversially (for all you iconoclasts out there) I will have to swear by Almighty God to be faithful to the Queen and her successors. I had a long conversation with someone on this point last night. My friend was saying that she thought that it was ludicrous that the government should single out the monarchy for an oath of loyalty when the UK is, in effect, a modern republic. I asked her what she would replace the oath with, and she suggested an oath to Parliament. As I said at the time, Parliament is only the legislature. What of loyalty to the executive and the judiciary? It seems to me that, as a starting point, the only oath that would make any sense would be an oath which captures the entire government of the UK. For better or worse, the government here is run in the name of the monarch. That is to say, the government is 'Her Majesty's Government', and all of the powers exercised by the government are powers delegated by the Queen. As a necessary mechnic within this constitutional framework, the Queen must make any decision which is reserved to her alone - generally these are decisions which cannot be delegated (e.g., dissolving Parliament, confirming the appointment of her Prime Minister, etc.). However, these powers are, for the most part, exercised in form, and not in substance, or with any real discretion. I'm sure that, because I am defending the monarchy, some people will think me a witless romantic, nostalgic for the 'good old days' (particularly as I'm an outsider to the whole system, at least for a couple more weeks). But whatever you may persuade yourselves are my reasons, I think that the current constitutional set-up works admirably well in this country (although I wouldn't dream of trying to impose it elsewhere).

I'm feeling more connected to all of you out there, now that my internet teething troubles have ended and I've finally been granted a reprieve from applications and tax filings. As Brad said, we played a bit of Halo 3 last week, and it was just like old times. Yesterday was Ben K's birthday, and to mark the occasion we had a Halo session. As we were playing, some of my friends began to arrive - a couple of friends from Merton, and Matt, my old roommate from Freshfields. After about an hour of playing there were five of us, fighting as a team against prepubescent boys in the Far East. Needless to say, we lost. But as Ben so cogently observed, "playing with you guys makes me look good". Happy birthday, Ben.

Time to get some more coffee.

Ben asked for a picture of my setup. Well, here's a start, at least.

Almost British

So, this morning I received a letter telling me that my application for British citizenship was successful. I'm almost British. I still have to attend a ceremony (swear allegiance, etc.), and then I get a certificate saying I'm a British citizen. (I would still be American, too, of course.)

In other news, I've now sorted out my internet, and I received a new tv today (pictured), so I have officially joined the 21st century.

Bill Nighy and Technology

The two catchwords of this blog are not, as far as my intentions are concerned, at least, related.

I'll start with Technology. I have attempted to embrace Technology, and she has spurned me.

BY WAY OF BACKGROUND...

When I first moved to London four years ago, I bought a DVD player. You may not remember it, but they were all the rage at the time.

Well, my flatmate had a tv (tvs had been around for a while at this point), but it was so old that none of the little cables were compatible with the THINGS -- I cannot describe the ugly little aliens any more articulately than that -- on the back of the tv. So, we went out and bought a new (used) tv -- a nice JVC with a big old remote that reminded me of Jams, skateboards, mullets and Duran Duran (not that I really know any more about Duran Duran than I know about Technology). It's a great remote. It has more buttons than this keypad I'm typing on, and I still don't know what most of them do, but they're pretty cool anyway.

So anyway, we gave away the old tv and embraced the new tv. I felt pretty confident what to do with the cables this time round, despite the fact I'd never heard of a 'Scart' cable ('Scart' sockets being indiginous to the British Isles, it would appear, and not being inclined to travel). After all, I'm a Man, and Men know about audio-visual equipment and things. Shut up, Ben.

So the times moved on, and I thought I was changing with the times, but I was wrong.

It must have been 2004 when my poor computer packed-up. I loved that old IBM Thinkpad. She got me through three degrees, my PgDL and my LPC. In short, nine years of faithful service. I'll never forget that cold October day in 1996 when I rocked up to Merton with this beauty of a computer and simply plugged her into the ethernet socket. It was too easy. The internet was instantly accessible, continuously. I just kept it plugged in at all times (a dangerous confession in these environmentally fragile times - yes, I caused global warming, and I apologise). For instance, one morning in 1997 at about 5 am I heard an email ping in - it was from Ben, asking if I'd heard about Princess Diana's car crash.

Well, I'm getting sidetracked. As I said, that computer finally stopped whatever magical thing it is that computers do. And so I had no computer, which was no great inconvenience as my generous employer, Freshfields, handily supplied me with a computer 24/7 in an office which was open (and often occupied) 24/7.

NOW

Then it all changed. I don't know when, because if I could answer that I might have noticed the change.

Other people had iPods.

I still used cds (and my viola). Technology, that fickle temptress, had let me get too comfortable; and then she left without a word.

Well, I'm glad to say that my family was a great support during this period. My dad went out and got me a computer and an iPod. It was simple enough to use, but suddenly it became apparent to me that if you didn't have an internet connection, your computer wasn't much use. I didn't have an internet connection. My poor computer slowly wasted away, malnourished, until only three years later it had gone to the land of its fathers.

I left my job, and suddenly I found that I didn't have access to a work computer with an internet connection outside of normal office hours.

So I decided to go through the process of getting a computer, a phone line and an internet connection at home. Now, two months later, I finally have internet. A friend donated her computer to me on the eve of her journey around the world. So I have this computer, too.

So. I had internet. I worked out how to use Skype. I should have left it at this.

My hubris was to think that if I could go this far, I could go further. So I bought an X Box. Alas the day! Once again I have a tv that isn't fit for purpose (grim irony). Ben has been counselling me which bank account-busting mega-high-tech television I now need to buy. In addition to the tv incompatibility, my X Box is incompatible with the internet connection I just spent 2 MONTHS getting.

Why can't my X Box just be nice and get along with the other children? It's like some kind of Tiny Tina - some weirdo psyched-out antisocial little pratt of a gadget which doesn't realise that it's causing my poor loving heart to burst.

Now, if you feel stretched and tired, if you feel older just from reading this dull story, you'll have a sense of how I've felt for the past 2 months, on the phone every day, on hold to BT, Orange, whomever. Poor Ben.

So I made a coffee with coffee beans I bought at the market today. And I bought a silverside roast and lots of nice vegetables to cook. And I'm pleased to say that, so far, modern food is still compatible with my old oven.

BILL

Oh, yeah. Bill Nighy.

I mentioned to a few people about three months ago that I'd gone to a favourite 'cheap and cheerful' variety of Italian restaurant and that Mr Nighy (best known to Americans for his role as the aging rocker in Love Actually) had sat down at a table next to us. Well, I went back to this restaurant last night - for the first time since that last encounter. I went with another friend, but she knew the story (she had run across Hugh Grant that same evening) and so we were both incredulous when Mr Nighy appeared at my side to take his seat right next to me. Again. I don't think he properly appreciated all of my wry comments about getting an injunction so that he would stop stalking me; but there you are. Maybe he was just acting being a funny guy in all of those films.