Orange Light

I love London. I really do, the history and poignancy of the place fascinates me, there’s so much to do and it’s amazingly different to anywhere else I’ve ever been. But Paris….. that felt like home. 

I mean, this shouldn’t surprise those who know me. Cheese, coffee, pastries and hot men- everything I appreciate- is available on-tap (well, not so much the hot men, but they’re a dime a dozen to look at). 

But there’s something else to Paris, apart from it being breathtakingly beautiful and intelligently laid out for the walking tourist. Even the price of everything (excessive to the point of nausea in some places) isn’t enough to put you off, in fact, I was more than happy to pay 5 euros for a coffee that made me want to swear off Starbucks for life. That’s right. I said it.

My knowledge of London up until this point has come purely from television, movies and what people have told me. 

First off, it’s bloody awesome. Vibrant, busy, old and huge, pretty much everything NZ isn’t. 

But in the just over 24 hours I’ve been in this huge city, I’ve learnt a few things. 

1. Londoners are mean. Well, maybe not mean, but not friendly. If you’re out walking your dog in the middle of Howick at 7am in the morning, you’ll probably get the ‘morning’ or the little half-smile of acknowledgement. In London? Forget it. Chivalry is dead here. Worse than dead. If you’re stupid enough to smile at someone walking down the treadmill streets (treadmill because they all look the same, no matter how long you keep walking for), you’ll get more of an accusatory stare back, and you get the idea they’re wondering if you’re mental, dangerous or just lost. I’m now going out of my way to be nice to people, just for the hell of it. 

2. Places remind you of things more than usual. Example- Waterloo Station. Guess what song I had in my all day (Sorry Emma). You can’t help but get the theme song of Coronation Street in your head when you look at all the adjoining houses( I keep expecting Bev to pop out from around the corner. That’s her name, right? Bev?)Also, there’s a strong Harry Potter vibe, especially at night, mostly due to the streetlights. Now, at home, they’re normally a nice, bright white. Not here though, they’re a garish shade of yellow that actually fail to light anything up at all. 

3. On that note, it gets dark at 4.30. Bizzare. 

4. There’s too much stuff. I am one of the most accomplished shoppers you’ll ever meet, but for the first time in my life, today I actually had to walk out of a mall because of the ridiculous size. (Don’t worry, I’m going back tomorrow). 

5. Don’t ask for chips if you mean crisps. They hate that. 

6. You can’t judge a book by it’s cover. London is grey, it’s drab, there’s graffiti everywhere and you can’t go past the obvious inequalities and injustices. But there’s so much more to it then meets the first eye. It has a certain magic to it, you just have to dig a little bit deeper than the obvious beauty in some parts. 

<3 I love this city! <3

There are times where I’ve wished for one of these. 

…but we’re all growing up. How that happened, I’ll never know. One minute, you’re watching your friend hand in a year 10 English assignment titled ‘Attack of the Flying Monkeys’( it was supposed to be a serious essay), and the next he’s piloting commercial aircraft without a monkey reference in sight. 

But blatant Wizard of Oz rip-offs aside, we’re all finally entering the real world, as it were, and as you do, you have to take a moment to reflect on where you’ve come from. Well, I do. I’m reflective by nature, which is lucky, considering how many reflective essays I’ve had to do over the years. 

We’ve gone from drinking hot chocolates to coffee, sneaking a illicit pash behind the water tanks to, well, not having gap as soon as you see the deputy principal walking in your direction, and from worrying about putting on too much eyeliner and getting a weeks worth of detention to worrying about not putting enough to set of the 50’s vixen look you’ve tried to go for with that morning’s makeup application. 

And then of course uni came, and finally we all managed to find like-minded people that didn’t laugh at you and your ridiculous ‘big’ word usage and useless current affairs knowledge (Journo crew holla). 

This jump is the biggest of all, going from the world of theory and academia to writing for actual people. If we fuck up now, it’s not a D, it’s a defamation case. Scary. 

It’s at uni where you find people who think the way you do, meet smarter people than you, learn things you actually care about and learn what it’s like to actually contribute to the world in your own way, and because of this, well, for me anyway, they’ve been the best years yet. 

The feeling you get when it’s affirmed that what you want to do with your life is what you’re meant to do is probably the best in the world. This was identifiable to me in true journalistic fashion when I would sit in the newsroom, with a deadline rapidly approaching my blank word document, and I would get calmer, rather than more stressed. But I’m pretty fucked in the head, so who knows if that’s normal or not. Probs not. 

It’s also the time when you begin to, as corny as it sounds, figure out who you actually are as a person. Nearing the end of my three years, I’ve learnt many of life’s biggest lessons whilst juggling media comm essays and soul-destroying PR assignments, which I’ll remember for the rest of my life, guaranteed. Sigh. 

I’m lucky in the respect that I’m leaving my course with a job, which is a rarity and I thank my lucky stars everyday that this was how my career started (actually, I have a lucky golf ball, but that’s a long story about my pitiful attempt at golf in year 13 PE. The luck is supposed to be ironic. Never mind.). 

It will be the most surreal feeling walking down Queen Street with my class and getting handed a piece of paper which says I can actually write. In keeping with my inner (and frequently outer) geek, I’m planning on wearing a maroon dress. Our robes are black, and we have gold hoods. If you know me, or are a fan of a particular book series, you’ll understand what this is in homage to. 

So this blog really didn’t have a point, I don’t think, it’s merely a reflection. One I wasn’t forced to do, or get marked on, or get critiqued against. And that is a bloody fantastic feeling. 

Journo field trip- Noho Marae. We learnt stuff. <3

Anarchy for the UK, 

It’s coming for sometime and maybe I give a wrong time, stop a traffic line. 

Your future dream is a shopping scheme ‘cause I want to be anarchy, it’s in the city. 

Well damn. There’s almost nothing and everything to say at once. 

All of this because one man got shot by cops? Nah, not even. 

The UK has the lowest social mobility in the developed world, their social system is in chaos, unemployment has skyrocketed and the gap between the rich and the poor might as well be an ocean. 

One one hand, (mind you, a small hand) I feel incredibly sorry for these rioters. Obviously there are huge frustrations that have overflowed in the most inappropriate way possible. Yes, these people are scum, they’ve no respect, no social conscience, but you still have to look at the situation and circumstances that has lead them to this almost psychotic break. 

Compare New Zealand’s social policies to those of the UK, and you’ll realise how easy we have it here in comparison. 

On a personal level, I’m worried about my four best friends who are currently living in London. They’ve managed to stay away from the violence so far, but it’s starting to creep up on their west London suburb. 

I mean, these are some seriously pissed off people. 

I just hope everything’s back to normal for when I visit in three months time. I’ve already read about the Great Fire of London, I don’t need to experience it too! 

I have a friend who’s allergic to dairy and gluten. Like, legit allergic, if she eats it, well, I don’t exactly know what happens but I’ve been assured it’s not pretty. 

I’ve mocked her and her eating habits from pretty much day one, in fact, you’ll probably find her on any given day sitting in the newsroom either a) chewing her 16th packet of gum for the day, b) downing a Pepsi Max faster than the speed of light, or c), munching on carrot sticks dipped in gluten-free marmite (which has recently been substituted for salsa because gluten free marmite was getting “bloody expensive”). 

Today was a stirling example, to avoid making noise in the kitchen in the morning, instead of peeling her carrots over the sink like a normal person, she was doing it at her desk in front of the computer, attracting hearty sniggers (from myself, mostly) and sending bright orange peelings flying everywhere. 

I’ve never really appreciated how hard it is for her to actually find food she can eat, or why she actually has to bring her poor carrots to class everyday. 

So, as a journalist, and in the interest of fairness and balance, I’ve decided to try it out myself for one month. 

This, of course, eliminates, or at least severely modifies, all my favourites. Favourite food? Cheese. Goneburgers. Burgers, in fact, mostly gone, unless I spent thousands of dollars at the local burgerfuel. Beer! Gone. Wine! Gone. 

The biggest change for me though will be coffee. Soy milk is icky. But coffee is vital. What to do?!?!

I know that the ability to process both dairy and gluten is in fact a genetic abnormality. I’ve seen the stories of people praising their healthy lifestyles, that they feel fantastic for not eating these. 

Well, we’ll just see, won’t we. 

Time to go downstairs for the farewell beer. And damn, how i’ll savor that baby.