Taken opposite Madison London, against St Paul's backdrop
This is what my days have been like:
Wake early, do some appointment / recruitment registration / job interview / printing and head home. Apply for jobs. Try and exercise (or not). Watch the second season of 13 Reasons (whyyyy I don't know, I find it so hard to get into shows so when I find one I like, I binge watch). Repeat.
I've attempted to start a bank account here, but it turns out that my account back home wasn't, in fact, global and I have somehow managed to freeze that account by failing to answer my own security questions. Fail. Made worse by the fact I have done this three times in a row.
WTF could I have got wrong in spelling my own Mother's Maiden Name?!
This has resulted in me having to FAX a form to Australia. Just to change my address with them.
I hobbled along London's streets going into all the museums and actually found a working fax machine, they charged me £15 to send my form.
Fax machines, I gotta hand it to ya - still lucrative.
Apparently this ancient artifact is a "secure" way of sending things - can't be hacked - and is a preferred method of the yanks, according to the guy in the fax machine museum.
I thought the SMS and phone networks were some of the least secure? Is there some sort of special fax network? And I don't know about you, but whenever I send a fax at work, it takes six attempts before it actually goes through and the pathetic blurry black marks on the page are transmitted through space.
Thrilling stuff. That and the dramas with the AirBnB hosts (whom I am avoiding like the plague), it's action-packed here.
So I'll tell you about my weekend instead.
Friday night was spent with a lovely school friend and I had the most delicious felafel ever. She also took me to Madison Rooftop bar, which was full of tossers trying to be sophisticated with their plastic champagne glasses but the day was lovely and sunny and spirits were high.
Just kidding, I am SO not cool enough for Madison's but at least I know what champagne glasses should be made of. And it was probably a health and safety thing.
Saturday. Big Day Out, London styles. Too many Kiwis than I care to count. Thanks to the legendary Clint Heine of the infamous Kiwis in London page, I was able to attend on Saturday.
Day drinking is always a challenge.
You need to have a big breakfast, drink lots of water and take it easy. I tried.
Let me describe the Big Day Out, London. Rare London sunshine, thousands of Kiwis, many Maori. Lots of rugby. Lots of Kiwi accents.
What do I remember? Megan's DRESS!
Portaloos and stinging nettles. Expensive bogan beer (Export, VB, Tui, Tooheys). Catching up with old and making new (very new, spring chicken 20-year-old friends).
Seriously excellent music. Really nice people. A few naked rugby players. Hilarious commentary of the Royal Wedding.
Hot sun piercing through our sunscreen. Vegan paella. A Danish girl called Panella.
I came across a Kebab stop near Hammersmith Station after. I desperately needed caffeine. The person before me, his card declines. He is allowed to go with his food anyway.
'Not my money'. The staff member says with a cheeky grin. Somebody is not getting paid enough.
The fall of capitalism will happen one step at a time, my friends.
I went to the birthday party at Studio 88.
Again, very sophisticated. It was worth the wait as I actually met some English people and ended up deep in conversation for several hours (I believe the bubbles, shots and cocktails helped).
A brilliant day and evening.
A brilliant weekend. What a way to kick off, London.
Oh, and I got a job today, they were kind enough to write a letter to where I am staying so I wasted £15 at the fax museum; I'll just go with another bank.
It's good because I was actually going to go for an interview in Taunton tomorrow, 3.5 hour's train ride away - I don't know how but I applied for a job there. No sense of direction.
But I must have something going for me - I was expecting more of a holiday but can't complain.
Here's to the new role.
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