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09 January 2008 @ 01:41 pm
This is not quite the worst bit actually, but would be poetically: after having taken what I keep on thinking was four but actually only three flights over a twenty-four hour period and seeing the inside of four international terminals (maybe that's where the four comes from) and having washed myself and then washed myself again and eaten a mango and a perfectly ripe apricot (more difficult to find than a good mango) and scrambled eggs, because since my mum's been away my dad appears to have survived on thai pumpkin and prawn soup (judging by the level of dried shrimp paste left in the jar), eggs and chinotto; after browsing the pile of old Good Weekends and Good Livings that my dad kept for me*, even after my first cup of tea in six weeks that came from leaves and not a bag --

I'm still not allowed to go to sleep. I am clean. I am slightly sticky all over from moisturiser and Sydney humidity (bless it, Switzerland was so dry), I'm not hungry, my hair is somewhere between so wet the cat recoils and nearly dry, everything has been unpacked and most, apologies to the dam levels, chucked into the washing machine to get rid of the scent of other people's houses. I am as at home as I'm ever likely to get on the same day my plane landed, with the requisite fuckings-up of cityrail (terminates at East Hills, fuckit), but it is only two in the afternoon and I am trying to re-program my body clock.

The only problem with this noble idea (of reprogramming so as not to have weird sleep patterns for three weeks) is that, if I am
1. not standing upright and
2. have my eyes closed - like now, typing, which it would appear I can do(ish),
then I fall instantly into a state of very pleasant semi-consciousness through which I can just hear the radio if I make an effort.

This is actually just a very long whine of someone who is likely to, in the next hour or so, nod off in front of the mango boxes in the greengrocer or forget what a bowl is called (I'll just make it in the....whatsit, thing, you know, this *holds up cereal bowl*)

Flight otherwise fairly uneventful. Watched movies, Stardust, which isn't going to make a great deal of sense unless you've read the book but not too recently, so the plot makes sense but the missing details don't aggravate you too much. And a Catherine Zeta-Jones film, No Reservations, which I cried at because it was about mother/daughter things and have I mentioned the being awake for twenty-four hours?

Free films are the one decent perk of long-haul flights. That and lunch in seven separate containers. And realising that there ins't some strange bobbly white city in vaguely the same location as Alice Springs, they're just clouds.

I will admit however to thinking, three hours away from Sydney when we'd just flown over Darwin:

"At least if we crash now it'll be in Australia."

Hello home.
06 January 2008 @ 12:33 pm


v briefly coz to be honest i'm STARVING and if there is anything that will drag me away from the internets it is the need to eat, goddamnit

went to paris, it was cold and damp and full of 1. tourists and 2. parisians and wot was worse i couldn't tell you, but to be honest je preferre londres (london) and not only because i can speak the language, but i went to monmartre and lots of chocolate shops and had crepes, so that was okay. 

flying out tomorrow, not looking forward to it AT ALL not because i don't want to come home (MANGOES) but because spending that long on an aeroplane could only be made worse if i was situated next to a person both corpulent and smelly who had a need to talk to me in a heavy accent. since hopefully i'll be sitting next to my mother none of this will occur, but still. actually i lie, i watched three and a bit films on the was to dubai, i'm sure i could round off seeing everything i missed at the cinema on the way to sydney again. and i have a new book i'm saving for the flight.

d'you know what was really strange? i've been in france/french-speaking cantonales of switzerland for about a month and suddenly finding myself in an english-speaking environment. of course all my family spoke english at home but to be out and ask for a latte, please or two to turnham green instead of une cafe creme, s'il vous plait and hello and thanks and goodbye instead of merci bien et bonjour et au revior....

catching myself saying excusez-moi in crowds (knightsbridge, yesterday afternoon, first weekend of the Harrods sale) and pardon and still speaking to my mother in french. actually what is remarkable is that one of my step-aunts, whose flat above my grandmother's we're staying in, is deaf and can not only lip-read in english but also in french, and when you start thinking about it and mouthing words to yourself in the mirror it's bloody difficult to do in any language.

re:skiing, had what my cousin toby calls your 'epiphany' on the last day and finally i worked out how and why people ski, because it's bloody terrifying in a fun way and doesn't have to be painful, unless you're his friend cyrus who swerved to miss a kid and broke his thumb in three places. i am completely uninjured, except for a couple of bruises, which is fabulous.  and i shall probably do it again (treff, if you're reading: what was skiing with uni like? can i come too?)

SO HUNGRY going to have lunch and then go to the tate and see the turners. lady goddess knows what i'm doing tomorrow morning but heathrow on the tube tomorrow afternoon, and i can SEE minto train station in my mind's eye as i saw it eleven months ago, shimmering slightly in the heat and the promise of home only a few minutes away.


29 December 2007 @ 10:38 am
despite having crashed into all sorts of things since i've started skiing - trees, other people, snowdrifts named gerald* - the only serious injury i'd done to myself so far since being in switzerland is an incredibly plum-like (size, shape, colour) bruise from faling down the stairs. 

this is just to say that, still alive, not a great deal of time for posting, v stiff and knotted today so going to martigny and crans-montana instead of skiing. toby's cambridge friends have descended, my step-family have left, or rather are in the process of leaving today, and on new years day i'm orf to paris. my aunt has decided that since skiing with her is inexplicably aggravting (for me)(i've been skiing since wot, last tuesday? a little patience goes a helluva long way), that i shouldn't waste (her) time skiing and instead should go to paris which i missed a few weeks ago because of the rail strike and the weather.  this is not as nasty as it sounds because - PARIS!, wot? 

it is a remarkable strength and failing of my family - all of it - that everyone is always right, despite the metaphysical conumdrums that occur when two people holding contradictory opinions are both right. i find it easiest to agree with whomever i'm standing next to at the time and then do my own thing, but it does do one's head in after a while. 

lady goddess, looking through photographs of cismas, and a combination of flash, face powder and an unfortunate choice of lipstick shade means my grandmother looks like she wants igor to fetch her some brains. i can never, ever tell her this.
13 December 2007 @ 07:05 pm
Standing in a bookshop (Blackwell's) in Oxford convincing myself I didn't really need a copy of the graphic novel of Gaiman's Neverwhere... Actually, having read that book has made getting lost on the tube a whole lot more un than it ought to have been, that is, not at all. For those of you that have read to book, the only station mentioned that I used with any regularity was Baron's Court (easy change District/Piccadilly lines) but I would stare at the map finding Blackfriars and Knightsbridge (HARRODS) and Angel and all these other places. Trying to explain to gma about visiting places one as read about in books but finding myself unable to explain the glamour lent to these very ordinary tube stations...

Following the invisible paths of another book (alright, Pratchet and Gaiman's Good Omens), went to St James' park to feed the ducks a few days ago. Well, walked through St James', anyway. It was full of huge grey Canadian geese and the odd tourist and oddly enough, looked exactly as I though it would. Whether I remember the park from ten years ago or have just seen very good GO fanart, I have no idea. 

Right now I'm sitting upstair's in my auntie's villa in the south of France. How can I make this sound less pretentious/ I'm sitting on an exquisitely uncomfortable wicker chair in from a laptop which looks alarmingly similar to my own upstairs in my auntie and auncle's house in Antibe. Nop, no matter what I do, there is still 'house' and 'French Riveria' . Oh well, shan't apologise, if only because I am twitchy-eyed with anger at 1. British Airways and 2. Heathrow airport.

BA I'll come to in a sec; Heathrow was as bad as you'd imagine, with the added indignity that going though security I had to take my shoes off. I know, yo're thinking, what is she moaning about? Taking off shoes is perfectly normal for this high-security world we live in, where all the metal-detectors remind me strongly of the doorway in Prince Caspian. But. On plane journeys, especially long haul, although last night was only London-Nice, I like to wear the most comfortable shoes I own, which happen to be Ugg boots. They also happened not to fit in my suitcase this time around, but that is neither here nor there (LONDON SHOPPING, WOT). The thing is - the thing - ugg boots are sheepskin. that's all. that really is entirely all. as un-metal as you can get, with shoes. The worst I could do with them is suffocate someone with foot-odour. They are the least dangerous item of clothing I think in existence, yet they had to go through the scanner machine. Slippers! Slightly more dangerous than mittens! I ask you. 

Let us not speak of the queues, also.

BA is receiving my possibly undeserved ire for having a defunt plane that meant we got into Nice at arse-fuck in the morning instead of ten thirty at night, which also meant that we'd spent more time on the tarmac than actually in the air. Actually I slept, mostly, but still. 

I've more to say (try to get me to shut up; actually, and this will be hard to believe if i've ever talked at you, in my family i find it difficult to get a word in edgeways and if i didn't yell over everyone else occainsionally would probably starve) but i think there's food downstairs and it's been a long time since my brioche. maman, i am eating all your patissiere for you, because I am a kind and thoughtful daughter. considerate, that's the word i want. mmm. baguette.

a bientot, mes amies
10 December 2007 @ 11:09 am
passed , everything, in a rainbow of grades (H3 to H1), which is enough for me. 

i know there's been a scandalous lack of updates but to be honest, it's mostly because i don't get up until nine, lucky to leave the house before elevn and then we go out and do things. speaking of, i have to be at turnham green station in forty minutes, and while it is a ten minute walk away i need to put on things like clothes.

family is bearable, all members being 1. tactile 2. v smart and 3. mad as the proverbial hatters. when you've been hugged by my aunt michelle you know you've been in a fight.

fabulous love and moar later
05 December 2007 @ 04:28 pm

bollocks bollock BOLLOCKS.

IE ate my update.

suffice to say I am well, although I would like the twenty fours hours of my life I have spent in a plane this week back please, I am at my grandmother's in Chiswick, southwest London, W4, and safe and sound. Dubai unnerved me because it had no soul and we are going out to Harrods in a minute so i can look at their foodhall and get lost on the tube coming home.

also rose is coming back to doctor who next series. next year, that is. and I am afraid I will not get to watch the xmas special ON xmas, which I was looking forward to, because we are having a black tie xmas dinner. mostly to annoy one of my step-aunts, apparently.  grandma is great, she wears metal soccer shinpads to protect her shins from inconsiderate people in the street and gets annoyed with her credit card company for using split infinitives in their brochure.

mum, if you're reading this, i am behaving as well as i know how and charming the wee socks right orf (gma's pronounciation) my feet. meeting rachel on sunday probably and i must say it is very soothing spending time without mady and simon. unfortunamontly i smell of gma's house and not YSL eau de toilette but these things cannot be helped.

it is cold in december and that is really weird and now going to drown my irration at the computer inna cup of coffee made in gma's bizzare contraption.

vast amounts of love (and tea, and lunch eaten with silver cutlery),

anna xoxoxox


07 May 2007 @ 11:52 am

HELLO hello hello.....

tis three weeks till about 75% o all my assignmenty things are due. JUST BECAUSE I AM STARTING THEM NOW DOES NOT NEGATE THE STRESS. also just because i have to read a lot about the marquis de sade for one of my essays does not mean that i am having fun oh no.
the two (2) assignment's i've had back so say: anna is doing goodly only she cannot cite for shit. I knew that, I did. 
mum was down for the weekend and, well, bought me things. things i needed like a heater and things i didn't need like uggs. (trademark R and all that, the actual 'UGG' company exists five minutes away from my house and has a factory-outlet shop). I didn't get ones with real soles designed to wear out in public. Have actual boots for that, and it isn't cold enough. YET.
have just read my flist and HOOORAY RISSA!

argh, someone booked this compy so goingnow more later byye

01 February 2007 @ 05:51 pm

still, thing, out of it, sleeping, dead, argh.
but home.
31 January 2007 @ 05:20 pm
never thought i'd be so happy to see singapore airport. gods above, it's clean and shiny and compared to absolutely everywhere in india, empty. well, not everywhere. the airport at four am was pretty empty for india and especially delhi standards. i waltzed straight through customs and immigration, although the security guy at the gate wanted to know where my husband was. occasionally in places it was easier being simon's partner than explaining cousins, but a woman alone! (joke. s'the title of a monologue my friend brig did for her drama ip). 
i looked in the mirror um, call it yesterday (time is malleable)and was absolutely amazed. i haven't looked in anything bigger than simon's tiny hand mirror for about two weeks and i have proven to be one of those odd people who become, when tanned, the same colour all over, skin and hair. and lots more freckles, but the incredible browness did astonish me.

basically last night and the reason why i am ust about ready to keel over and die, our flight from goa to delhi was delayed and i ended up spending the night in the 'visitor's lounge' across the road from the terminal. the seats i was sleeping on were actually more comfortable than our bed in sernabatim but what goa has that the ounge didn't was a complete abscence of light, pa announcements all through the night for arriving and departing flights (apparently the airport has no flight curfew) and screaming children running about. so. it is almst half past five here singapore time and three in the afternoon delhi time and i haven't slept for more than fortyfive minutes at a stretch since the night before last. whenever that was. 

but. changi has coffee (!!!!) and books (!!)(In english!!!) and is clean and toilets that flush and people who take my remaining australian dollars in exchange for books and coffee.

and now i have a minute left on my internet usage so i'll see y'all at home. 
29 January 2007 @ 06:25 pm
i know. the last place you'd expect to find fish, hey? but thi was in the shallows, huge shoals of silver fish tht jumped out of the water and glimmered in the green. and there was a little tasing fish, yellow and blakc striped, that eluded all attempts at capture and attracted what looked like a shark. larger and silver anyway, with fins and black edges.
i don't think i've mentioned just how nice the sea is here; there are crabs and starfish and so many pippis (shellfish) that burrow back into th sand under your feet, and fish in the sea... it's not something you'd see in coogee or at bondi.

my last day and i'm trying not to be sad, even though tomorrow i have to put on actual clothes instead of a bikini and sarong and shoes too and battle indian traffic and indian airports and then delhi, oh god.

tonight we'r going to a beach shack that has the most amusing spelling of them all: muesli is mousse-le and they thank you for 'patronizing' them. as in being a patron, but it's still funny. no more indian beer, no more chindian food (my default has become chicken noodles; simon's is chicken fried rice and a veg spring roll). gods. there'll be bread when i get home. wow.

s'dinner time. will prolly update from changi, if not i'll call y'all when i get in and wake up from my jetlag. don't, by all the gods, call me on thursday morning. there'll be no point because i'll be catatonic, but if by some mischance i am handed th hpone you'll be subjected to torrents of sleepy abuse and then hung up on.

love everyone.