Tag Archives: list

Sep16

The Magnificent Something for Time Out London

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I had to make a list; then shorten it; then add to it; then shorten it again; sigh, huff, puff, frown, add a few more and look at it again. This is going to be impossible.

When Time Out London asked me to do a piece with my Top 5 Secret Spots in London, I felt a strange mixture of panic and happiness. I was at work, so I could not fully express either, so I just combined both: my feet did a happy dance under my desk while my chest was trying to control an incoming hyperventilation.

Pen, paper, and a few pages afterwards I was back at square one. What is a spot? What is secret in London? I opened every London app, website, map, newsletter and contact list I had. Secret spots; spots that are secret; spots with secrets inside. I started making lists of places that even though they were new, and relatively unknown, they did not really represent me. I don’t want to make a list just to list places; I want to make a list of places that are important to me. A spot that is secret; a spot with a secret inside.

And then it hit me. My secret spots are not going to be secret because they are not known; they were going to be secret because they contain a secret. They will be personal. They will be my secrets. I took a gulp from my (now cold) latte, bit the lid off the pen, and started writing the list again.

I chose the Cuming Museum because I really think that it is a collection of magnificent somethings; of objects that regardless of monetary worth, we’re valuable to the Cuming family. They meant something to them, so they mean something to me.

Hobbs is the only place that I can say I fully trust with my volatile reactions when it comes to haircuts (plus, the pulled pork sandwich really helps).

Homemade brought back memories of breakfast before work, good coffee, and bacon with Maple syrup pancakes. It had to be in.

The ‘There are no Prostitutes’ sign was not in my initial list. However, when I was trying to find another spot (I think people do not realise the extent of my lack of orientation), I bumped into it, and remembered how much it made me laugh when I first saw it; it was my first year in London, and for some strange reason, it added a little bit of magic in my view of this wonderfully weird city.

And finally Gay’s the Word is so close to my heart, and I genuinely believe that it keeps inside the best kept secret in London: Jim Macsweeney and Uli Lenart have to be discovered from anyone that enjoys an intelligent discussion, a good book and a hearty laugh.

You can read the full post here. Below you can find some more pictures from the spots that could not fit in the Time Out blog, but thought I would show you anyway.

I did not want to just make a list of secret spots; I wanted to share places, people and things that need to be discovered.

I really hope that you enjoy it.

Love,

G

Aug14

The Relaxation Cold

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I walked in the bathroom, and looked at my reflection in the mirror. I turned around, turned the tap to the hottest setting, and turned the water flow on. I shifted my gaze back to the mirror, and tried to register what I was seeing; I tried to return to the present.
I never knew it was possible for someone to feel so tired. I blinked. I felt like my body was drained from all blood, my mind drained from thoughts, my energy drained from the everyday. I grabbed the plastic shower gel bottle, opened it, squeezed it softly close to my nose, and took a sharp inhale, my nostrils trapping the scent in. I closed my eyes, extended my hand, and tightened my grip. I felt the gel rushing out, and by the time I was able to let go, half of the contents were out.
The room started filling up with steam quite quickly. I looked at the mirror, fogging from edge to edge. When it was fully covered with a thin layer of steam, I reached and put my palm on top of it. It felt cool. I took my hand away, and there was a trace of five fingers and a palm, the steam rushing into it, soon covering it up.
I grabbed the sides of the bath and lowered my body down. The water was scorching. I welcomed the pain. It was as if the water was pushing my legs like a hand, grasping them and squeezing them in the tightest embrace.
Last Friday was my last day at work. From the beginning to the end, it was a big confirmation that I am doing the right thing. I trained my replacement (everyone is replaceable), talked to my senior managers, the directors, and even the chairman (something that took me by surprise), finished my shift, and caught myself smiling on the way out. I was outside now.
Since then I went to Ikea, had Swedish meatballs with cranberry sauce, bought new furniture, went to the Olympics, refused to shave (I look like a wookie), wore flannel shirts and trainers, made a list of things I want to achieve, made a list of lists I want to make, and content, I looked at all my plans for the two free weeks I have until my internship starts.
I started getting a cold yesterday. I sneezed and sniffed and had a peppermint tea and could not smell the peppermint. You see, I have what I have named the ‘relaxation cold’, something that I always get almost immediately after my mind realises that I can afford to relax.
The moment my brain registers that I can let go, my body floods with the stress that I so skilfully ignored all this time. My organism so weakened that will not be able to cope another day on this hectic rat race gives up, and demands attention.
I had my whole schedule planned for the days between the end of this job and the beginning of my internship, and now my incessant sniffing, frequent sneezing and occasional coughing means that the schedule is changed.
For the first time in a long time, I am happy with not achieving any of the goals I set, and as I bring the paper in front of me, I realise that (true to form) I set them too high.
For the first time in a long time, I am happy with just lying in a tub with scorching water, bubbles covering the skin around my toes, the steam covering my handprint on the mirror almost completely by now. A part of my life closed, and now I will rest until the new one starts.

Thank you all for being so incredibly supportive,

G

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Jul30

Minding the Gap

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The couple next to me is making a list on the back of a receipt. They look like they are in a hurry, the girl looking at the boy for reassurance, the boy looking at the list for an escape.

I am sitting at EAT. I just finished my lunch, and am now relaxing next to the window reading my book. The door is open, and the cold wind is rushing in, leaving the sunshine outside.
I had an orange juice. I need the vitamins. I am so tired. I had a lot of sleep, but my eyelids still feel heavy. It is all about perspective. I sleep more and feel more tired. It is all about perspective.

I am walking the fine line between content and stressed. A lot of things have changed in the past month -even in the past week. Have you ever experienced the kind of relief that will not allow you to be happy? The kind of relief that seems almost impossible; almost out of place?
I am so used to seeing my day as a list, that I forget the heading. Life. Living it. Not completing tasks, but experiencing moments.

I walked through a park today; I passed a patch of daisies, a full rubbish bin and a dog carrying a branch. I reached the road, and saw a gap between two buildings across the street. Everyone was walking past it, not paying attention to how wonderfully out of place it was. And then I noticed over the gap, how the wall of another building was taken over by a green moss; my heart skipped a beat. It was so beautiful, so unexpected, beauty of the world that stays hidden in plain sight. Looking at a gap should not only be about taking note of what is missing; it should be also be about finding out what is already there.

I sigh; the couple next to me have finished their list, and they look content; I am content too, even though my list is far from over.

Love,

G

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