Tuesday, July 5 2005, 15:21

Three cubed

Al once mentioned that the only interesting thing about the number 27 is that it's three x three x three. Not much of a theme to build a celebration around, but it had to do, despite my loathsome associations with the mobile company, 3. Bastards.

Even though I had carefully reserved the day long in advance, I was slightly remiss in following through with details of the day's events. Once again, my birthday was hijacked by London Pride, ensuring packed out bars, restaurants, and clubs in central London just when I was planning to be out and about with pals. To add insult to injury that scruffy chap with the birds-nest hair, Bob Geldof, decided July 2nd would be the day for the Live 8 concerts.

Overcrowding in central London was far from my mind when I woke up on Saturday next to my spunky boyfriend who surprised me with some fab gifts :) Probably best to gloss over that with a big wink and move smartly on to the first event of the day: a picnic lunch in Greenwich Park, consisting of gourmet culinary delights prepared by Chris, and washed down with copious amounts of Pimm's; it wasn't the sunniest of afternoons, but the weather was warm and the afternoon sped by until John and Beth made their trademark tardy arrival bearing home-made fairy cakes (what else?) festooned with strawberries and Barbie™ glitter, and containing generous amounts of Teflon®. No wonder they watched everyone else before trying one themselves...

We retreated home to scoff cake and neck champagne quickly before heading to Wagamama in Haymarket for dinner. Anyone who knows me knows that if there's one thing I dread more than change, sprouts, poor spelling/grammar, or Dale Winton, it's embarrassment. I should have steeled myself against the possibility of a cheery rendition of "Happy Birthday", but I couldn't have imagined my so-called friends yelling the chorus loudly enough to encourage the entire restaurant to join in.
Twice.
At least I got a free dessert to calm my nerves.

From there, with cheeks still flaming, I led the gang to All Bar One in Covent Garden for a few more birthday drinks. Paul arrived shortly afterwards, leapt onto a seat and, with Simon's help, launched into yet another deafening performance of that damn song while I cringed below... Very amusing, I'm sure.

The following twelve hours spent in Heaven, Beyond, and Later were much like our regular clubbing marathons, but much more fun. Needless to say, I was exhausted when I finally dropped into bed a full twenty-four hours after Mum thinks I might have been born (but isn't sure). Thanks very much to everyone who came along to help me celebrate my birthday and make such a memorable occasion of such an unexciting age. We saw off my mid-twenties with a bang, and I had a blast. :)

Friday, July 8 2005, 15:04

Numb

My journal entry celebrating London winning the 2012 Olympics is half-finished; after yesterday's events, it'll remain that way.

It's funny what little things can change the course of your day. When I stay at Simon and Mikey's place, I take the Victoria Line up to Euston with Mikey and change to the southbound Northern Line to Angel and walk from there to work. Mikey worked late on Wednesday and had a lie-in, so I did the journey by myself. I considered getting off at King's Cross or changing there, but the change at Euston's quicker. My foot's still a bit sore from that 10k run, so when the explosion ripped through the Piccadilly Line train between Russell Square and King's Cross, I was halfway up an escalator at Euston.

The escalators shuddered to a halt throwing us all forwards and the lights darkened briefly before coming back on. The Tannoy announced a power surge while I eventually found the right platform via the stairs. We heard that some stations were closed due to the surge, but I thought they'd probably be open by the time we got there, so I jumped on the first train. After around five minutes, we started moving and eventually passed through a deserted and dimly lit King's Cross station before being told that all stations on the Bank branch were closed through to London Bridge; apart from the odd grumble, the carriage was silent as usual, and we passed through dark and empty stations at Angel, Old Street, Moorgate, and Bank, where station evacuation messages were playing. I managed to get a mainline train up to Farringdon and walk from there, and it was then that John called to ask if I was ok.

John didn't know very much, and by the time I reached work I'd heard enough sirens to know something was quite wrong. There was nothing on the BBC site except a short "breaking news" message; I'm surprised my F5 key didn't lose its letters from my refreshing the page so many times over the next few hours. It was immediately obvious to me from the timings of the explosions that Londoners had again become victims of terrorists; but it was the first time I'd been in London at the time, and although I'd not have been on any of those trains, it was chilling to think I might have been one of those people emerging choking from the Underground when the station was evacuated.

We were unable to use our phones for most of that morning; text messages weren't going through, and calls wouldn't connect. Frustration grew more nervous as the first news and pictures came through on the BBC and Sky News websites. Emails flooded between my friends as we each checked up on each other, numb suspense gradually replaced by relief as messages eventually came through. At some stage, some part of you switches off so that you can become desensitised to the things you witness or experience. I was lucky enough to witness and experience nothing at first hand, but I'm glad that for most of yesterday and today I've felt numb, only occasionally having clear thoughts about the horror and fear and pain of those people who have experienced this nightmare, or the anxiety and distress of friends who are still waiting for a text message that reads, "I'm ok".

I've never seen as many people on the streets as I did on my way home last night. It took me two hours to bus and walk to Tower Gateway and get the DLR home. On such a bright, sunny day, you'd normally expect more smiles - but there was a definite tightness and anxiety in people's faces. It occurred to me that it was a bus like the No. 38 I was sitting in that had been ripped apart with sides left limply hanging like wrapping paper on a Christmas present only that morning, with seats and people thrown out in all directions. I look at the cut that's been healing on my finger for the last two weeks and think how delicate skin is, and what fragile things we are.

Thanks to everyone for all of your messages yesterday xx

Wednesday, July 20 2005, 13:30

The boy from Canadia

It's outrageous how long it takes me to get these journals out after the events they describe. Bah! Brace yourselves, it's a longun.

Simon and I were up early and necking Red Bull on Saturday (16th July!) at Gatwick Airport to meet Wally, freshly arrived from Toronto for a week-long visit to Blighty. It had been nearly two years since I last saw him, and that last goodbye was a sad one. Obviously helloes are happier occasions; it was really good to see him again, and of course he hasn't changed a bit - apart from different hair! :)

We set off through the suburban sprawl of South London back to the charming council estates of the Isle of Dogs and packed the poor boy into bed for a snooze while Simon, Chris, and I started preps for Chris' birthday party in the evening. By the time the guests arrived, we had all manner of tasty canapes prepared from the cookbook Beth got me for my birthday. Yum. As per usual, the party went long into the night, although I had told everyone I'd be booting them out at a reasonable hour so jet-lagged Wally could get some sleep. Didn't work, Wally and I were the last ones to hit the sack!

Matt's photos from Chris' party.

When we surfaced on Sunday, we headed off to the Vauxhall Tavern see the Dame Edna Experience, which Wally absolutely loved; but somehow we ended up in a bar, and then in a club, and then in another club! In shorts and flip-flops! Not my usual look.

Monday was pretty much a write-off while we caught up on sleep, but we were up in time to meet Paul to go to Heaven in the evening. I hadn't expected to be taking Wally on a tour of London clubs, but I was beginning to think this was where we were headed! We only stayed until 3, because we had an early start the following day.

Tuesday was our visit to the Tower of London, courtesy of my pal Claire, who works for Historic Royal Palaces. What a star! Matthew and Paul joined us, and it was a wee bit like old times in Sydney (apart from the 1000 year old building behind us). Determined to make up for the lack of culture so far, we went for fish and chips for lunch...

Wednesday and Thursday were not the best of days, as Wally got hit by jetlag and disco flu, so we took it easy - we had a gentle afternoon with Beth taking in Buckingham Palace, Green Park, and Piccadilly, and he had a day's sightseeing complete with attempted bombings with his other ex-boyfriend (welcome to the First Wives Tour), and we chilled out in Soho and did very little - spent an evening playing Monopoly with Simon, Ed, John, Matt, and Christian. Because that 's what we Brits do at night, isn't it? Just sit at home and play Monopoly with a glass of wine!

Before we knew it, it was Friday, and we went over to Kensington Palace armed with more tickets from Claire. Wally was clearly keen to see Diana's dresses (I swear I had no idea he was such a Dianafan), but there was lots more to see in there. I wasn't too impressed with the renovations Princess Margaret had made in her time there - but it was interesting to see her tastes. No visit to London would becomplete a quick stop at Harrod's, another stop at the Diana tour! Dodi and Diana's "memorial" there is a tacky shrine worthy of a rich teenager's bedroom, complete with huge gold dove, and swirly serif font madness. Even I wanted a picture. And then it was back to Soho where Wally treated me to a last dinner before heading home to pack. :(

Saturday was another early start to get Wally to Victoria for a train to Gatwick, which we did in pretty good time. Waiting trains make me nervous, so I made sure he was on the Gatwick Express that was there ASAP. But then the doors began to close, and I realised I hadn't said goodbye properly! Suddenly it felt like Sydney Airport all over again, and I watched the train pull out with eyes that were full. I managed to sob out something more like a proper farewell on the phone later.

And then it was over. Wally's week here flew by, but he got to catch up with old friends as well as meet new ones who now know why my four months in Sydney with him were some of my best ever.

Pictures from Wally's visit.