A 2008 New Zealand 50 cent stamp set, featuring various kiwi icons (not so sure about Quake, however). In other news, I’ve just remembered about the existence of Jelly Tips*, Giant Jelly Tips and Jelly Tip Trumpets. Emotional.
*A Popsicle style ice-cream on a stick, featuring a wodge of frozen raspberry jelly on the tip, surrounded by a thin chocolate shell.
When I sent off some rolls of 35mm to get developed, I didn’t expect to get back a handful of Oxford photos. I don’t remember when they were shot (last year? Although the photo of Thom could be anywhere from the 70′s to now), but they definitely have a late summer/autumn vibe to them. Fun fact: the Tudor building now houses a shitty chain cafe, but used to be a brothel!
The next day I went to Jen’s place in Hackney Wick for breakfast. Everything was icy and cold. I slipped along the canal (spot the Olympic Stadium in the background), praying that I wouldn’t hit any black ice. The smell of wood-fires burning in the bellies of the canal boats filled the air.
Saturday night saw Thom and I head to Oxfordshire (emphasis on shire) for the weekend, where we basically spent the weekend hanging out with ponies and puppies, and having snowball fights. Best time ever, although I did get bitten on the hand by an overly enthusiastic Blue, when I was trying to give him Polo mints.
Not pictured – the biggest drooliest dog you might ever meet. Happy days, but looking forward to getting back to the South Pacific next week.
City Road Basin is on the Regent’s Canal, between Angel and Hoxton. Sometimes I wander past here on the way to work, just to look, and say hi to the ducks. This morning the black water was smothered with an oily sheet of ice. One of those rare London moments when you look up, and realise you’re all alone.
Last weekend I read a blog post by Penelope Trunk in which she said, “Gen Y mistakes the speed of the Internet for their own speed”. Which resonated a lot, like a little bell inside my brain. The fast pace of the internet is not my life (even though it is the nature of my job, hello March content plans). However in the real world, time plods. My grandmother would not have any sort of anxiety in telling her friends about the successes of her year in January, so if I want to blog about 2012 on January the 16th, I can.
In 2012, I started a new dreamy job at a digital agency in Clerkenwell, where I have made the best pals who I enjoy drinking cocktails with regularly. I visited Paris (twice), Barcelona, the Scottish Highlands and Norwich. I travelled through the Moroccan countryside in a taxi for three hours with a sheep in the trunk. I witnessed a year go past in one house, which made me feel stable. I fell in love with London, and I stayed in love. I worked my butt off and spent more time on Facebook than a normal human should. I also paid off a shit-ton of debt, which is not very sexy to talk about on the internet, but it is the achievement I am most proud of in 2o12. I drank wine and ate cheese in a 122 year old wine bar, then returned there to welcome the new year in.
My not-so secret? I’m a blubberer. I get weepy at tiny animals, internet onions, thoughts of home, and heart-warming stories of people being nice on the tube. I can trace it back to the first time I watched E.T. at my grandmother’s house, and spent the evening wiping my snotty nose into my sleeves. So when I saw Frank Warren’s, founder of PostSecret, TED presentation, I lost it. Watch right through to the end, or skip ahead to 8:30.
I called my parents an hour ago, they were eating breakfast in the sunshine at the golf course in Omaha. I was sitting in my living room in London, shivering because I am too scared to go and adjust the thermostat without supervision. Five minutes later, these arrive in my inbox, super cute double snapshots. Cue tearing up (look at those short wearing rebels!)
Email, Skype, cheap calls, gchat and le Facebook are communication miracles when you’re living on the other side of the planet. That said, it’s not the same. I miss the big and small successes of my friends, the nights out drinking feijoa cider solving the problems of the universe, and the freckles of my sister in high summer. 18 sleeps until I am, in the words of Shihad, home again.