Is somehow the amount of work required within the domain of my flat to coerce hot water to expunge itself from my tap. The relationship is, at best,
trying.
All right then.
So it's been about a week since I arrived in London, and so far my trans-atlantic communications have reinforced the point that no matter how lazy and free your exsistence, without a phone and internet you get to seem frantic, without any sort of pre-requisite franticisity.
Our flat is becoming more and more likeable as the days draw on, or rather as it becomes clear our distant and small abode is actually imminently affordable, neighbourly, and downright grandiose by London standards. So, like a case of chlamydia, you're not super pleased, but you realise it could be a lot worse. Like herpes worse. And no one wants to live in a herpes apartment. (No offense Bob.)
The grey blob of sky has eased the last few sunny days, and the difference in the city is obvious, even enjoyable. The word most commonly scribled on beer-stained postcards from europe is
old, as in
really old, derived oftenly from
i mean super old, man, and the vocabulary is of course fitting. Cities with the power and size of American behemoths, but girded with gold instead of iron, pebbled, not paved, born, not forged. But not to forget the roots of this history amidst gilded towers, it is still a country built on blood, and made of riches torn from the world's coasts. In a way this city is the birthplace of our culture, and it's beauty stands still triumphant...
I suppose I'll leave it at that.
Anyways, not a lot of photos yet, as like I mentioned before I have time, lots of it, and the gray skies lead to gray photos. I'm starting the work-hunt today, and if you could see my resume you'd understand why it'll be an interesting search, my cv actually containing the following paragraph:
unrelated experience: can speak spanish poorly, have worked at super cool jungle farmd deep in the amazon, have tried to surf (unsuccessful), am immune to chicken pox, learning to cook, really good at winking.
So you can imagine how that is going.
I need to do a whole bunch of grown-up things the next few days, like get a bank account and utilities and bathe, and all that rubbish, so you can guess it'll lead to some preeetty exciting blogging!
Oh my this island gig is weird.
Nick out.
P.S. I should add, Bob Does Not Have Herpes. (Or if he does, then at least he doesn't have such a great garden of herp that his apartment could not be classified as a "herpes apartment".)
You're gonna dye lonely Bob, I
will make sure of it.
