"Blogging isn't journalism, it's graffiti with punctuation."

>who do you think you are? oooo, some kinda superstar? you have got to…

>last night, we celebrated.

only took us one week in this chaotic city of fast cars and faster real estate to find a flat.

we were able to move out of the bustling but septic-tank-esque hostel while others have been living there for months, ambitionless to find something better.

so, drunk on malibu/lemonade mixers and good ol’ guinness, we crashed through to a typical london pub on tottenham.


(l-r: courtney from newfoundland, jocelyne from edmonton, and toronto-moi) notice how saucy-jocey looks like she’s about to fall flat on her face? yeah, scroll through these photos for that recurring theme . . .


“it’s just a little british, it’s still good, it’s still good.”


“so i tied an onion to my belt, which was the style at the time. now, to take the ferry cost a nickel, and in those days, nickels had pictures of bumblebees on ’em. ‘give me five bees for a quarter,’ you’d say. now where were we? oh yeah — the important thing was that i had an onion on my belt, which was the style at the time. they didn’t have white onions because of the war. the only thing you could get was those big yellow ones…”


“smell my finger”


and notice how the toilets sign is pointed right at US.

how appropos!

oh saucey-jocey, i wuv u and your inability to drink any kind of liquor!

after dealing with this ridiculous bloke who thought regaling us with peter o’toole and michael caine impressions was the way into our panties, we hit the wind-blown streets to finally head home. tottenham was raging with clubbers, low-riders dragging the strip, and downbeats thrusting against the remodeled edwardian façades.

saucey-jocey, hammered out of her gord, shrieked that she was freezing, so i decided that getting her to sing would make her forget her exposed extremities.

what songs did i choose?

YO, I’LL TELL YA WHAT I WANT, WHAT I REALLY WANT SO TELL ME WHAT YA WANT WHAT YA REALLY WANT I WANNA HUP I WANNA HUP I WANNA HUP I WANNA HUP I WANNA REALLY REALLY REALLY WANT A ZIG-A-ZIG-AHHHHH.

can you get more quintessential-cockney than that?

not only did jocey join in, but she squealed in delight as we skipped home well past midnight. guys with crunchy-gelled hair hooted and hollered. yes, we know, we’re awesome.

SWING IT SHAKE IT MOVE IT MAKE IT WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? TRUST IT USE IT PROVE IT GROVE IT SHOW ME HOW GOOD YOU ARE!

found our way into our hostel, climbed giggley and obnoxiously into our rooms, found a plethora of boys shitfaced on our dorm floor, heads in the garbage pails. ready to purge.

this morning, we rejoiced. no more dirty hostels! no more loud dorm-mates blow-drying at 6am! no more stolen food from the kitchen. no more locking up our shit during the day! no more bunks!

finally, a place of our own to hang our clothes up, to decorate, for space, for quiet, for breathing room and clean kitchens and delightful bathrooms and our own bedrooms!

i’ve unpacked, i’ve decorated, i’ve grocery shopped, and now i’m relaxing in my flat which overlooks all of london. from the balcony i can see the london eye, big ben, the houses of parliament, buckingham palace, london bridge, the tower of london, the BT telecommunications tower, the famous dome of St Paul’s Cathedral, the skyscrapers of the financial district . . .

night envelopes london, the lights twinkle, like a gleam in your eye.

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4 responses

  1. Anonymous

    picture from your balcony, please!

    January 26, 2007 at 2:03 AM

  2. >picture from your balcony, please!

    January 26, 2007 at 2:03 AM

  3. oh good lordy that view sounds fantastic.

    January 27, 2007 at 4:47 PM

  4. >oh good lordy that view sounds fantastic.

    January 27, 2007 at 4:47 PM

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