London Under My Skin

London, like New York and Paris gets under your skin.  I am finding it increasingly hard to think about leaving this city.  A few of my friends left on the weekend and it made me think about why I love this vibrant and exciting city…

Why I love London

• It snows in winter.  There is nothing nicer than seeing this loud city look quiet.
• You can go out every night of the week if you want and there is always something to do
• I have an ever expanding group of friends
• The theatres always have something worth seeing on with someone famous treading the boards
• The pubs are pretty much always open and there is good chat to be had there
• There are hidden gems that you can discover on a weekly basis – from chocolate shops to cute cafes
• You can go for weeks without seeing your flatmates
• There are always people visiting
• Concerts are cheap
• You don’t have to drive – the tubes, buses and trains can get you everywhere
• There are many many great songs written about London
• It is bursting with a varied and exciting history
• The camaraderie of being an expat
• It’s close to Europe
• It’s quite easy to travel to other areas of England from here
• The NHS is quite good
• It’s exciting to see and recognise areas of London on television and movies
• There is history on every street, you can practically feel it breathing sometimes
• Leaving and Returning to London both have a feeling of relief attached to them
• You can see famous people on the street
• The Kiss Statue at St Pancras
• Sometimes when you get a view of Chelsea or Albert bridges you have to pinch yourself and remember that its real and you are here

Things I don’t like about London

• Summer seems to be non existent or a very loose term
• Rioters burnt my fav costume shop and it has been forced to close for a few months
• Cobbled streets do not go well with heels
• The snow can close Heathrow – I refuse to be late for my sisters hens do this year!
• It’s very far away from my friends and family in NZ and it can be hard to keep in touch sometimes
• There is always someone in your group of friends planning to go home soon
• You can go for weeks without seeing your flatmates
• You could go broke from all of the social activities
• I find it difficult to save money here
• You have to carry your shopping home either on foot or on the bus and its heavy
• It’s hard to meet men here
• There is a certain smell that wafts sometimes – like raw sewerage in some places
• People don’t really talk to each other

So are there things about London that you love/dislike that I have left off my list?  I would love to hear someone else describe what makes this city for them.

Health, Wealth and Happiness or Health, Happiness and Wealth?

This was the blog I intended to write the other day before I went off on a name tangent…

So, the phrase Health, Wealth and Happiness seems a bit strange to me.  I understand that rhyming part of this so get that to make it rhyme that health and wealth go together, but surely it should be Health, Happiness and Wealth in order of importance.

You see this time a year ago my health was not good.  I had just undergone my second surgery in two years and was feeling pretty rough.  The week before the surgery I was ill and in pain, and was hanging out to be fixed.  To get through it I convinced myself that it was like going in for repairs.

You see two and half years ago I was diagnosed with endometriosis – something that I had heard of and did not want.  Queue two years of absolute hell.  I was in pain, I was throwing up daily for a period of three months at one point, I was a nightmare to be around due to the hormones, I gained and lost weight and I was miserable and very unhappy.  I am one of the lucky ones, because I fought tooth and nail for my health, the endo was caught early and for now it has been stopped.  The way in which it has been stopped is not particularly pleasant but at least there is a chance that I will be able to have children at some point.

So a year on from the surgery that taught me I was allergic to morphine and that I can still throw up numerous times, even after 24 hours without liquid or food, I was not happy to discover that I might be facing another medium term illness.  This week I had to have blood tests for glandular fever, having had it as a teenager, I was not impressed to learn that I could again be ill for a few months.  Thankfully after a botched blood test, which saw blood spurting from one arm,  it has been determined that I don’t have glandular fever, however, I do have an indeterminate virus that will be with me for a while.

Once, I did not have good health, I began to appreciate how important happiness was and how unimportant wealth was.  It’s true that had I had health insurance I would have gotten my surgeries faster, but with the NHS system here there is really no need for it.  But I now put more importance on my happiness.  At the risk of sounding like Charlie Sheen – I tend to have one speed and its go.  I am not good at sitting still and relaxing.  I am not good at staying in for a weekend.  This weekend has been the first for a while where I have spent Saturday night in.  And I am in again tonight.  And will be in again tomorrow.  In fact for the first time in a long time I have a clear week.  I have given up alcohol for a few weeks to try and shake this virus.  But you know what? I am still happy.  To fill in my Saturday night I watched a movie and caught up with a good friend who has moved to Aus over instant messaging.  My friends were all out at one of our friends leaving drinks.  Today I stayed in bed till 2pm, reading a book and still catching up with the same friend who was making me smile and giggle.  We are both hoping to catch up when I visit Australia.  He made me happy to be at home for a change.

You see once I recovered from my surgery I decided that I was going to live life to the full.  After two years of being in complete and utter agony I decided that I would be happy come what may.  And I am.  I have wonderful friends who constantly show me how much they loves me.  A year ago in this room I was surrounded by flowers from all over the world.  I have a great extended family the world over who are so very excited that I am going to be at home for Christmas.  Sure I have down days just like everyone else but I try to remember where I was two years ago and remember just how lucky I am. 

You will notice that absolutely none of this has to do with wealth.  You see I learnt a long time ago that money does not necessarily mean happiness.  So I think that money should go at the end of that saying.  I think that this culture could use a bit more happiness and health and a little less wealth.  In fact it could use a lot more happiness.  I try to live by a phrase that Mother Theresa once said –and I am just giving the general gist – Always leave those that you come across a little better than when you met them.  So I always give people a smile.  A smile is all it takes, and I send good thoughts to people as well.

So, are you happy?  Do you have to work at it?  Do you like to make others happy?

Nicca?

This is not the blog that I intended to write this week.  But I guess sometimes the blogs find me not the other way round.

I recently had an alcohol fuelled rant.  What!?! I hear you gasp, you drunk?  Yes as far fetched as that may seem, I admit there was a lot of alcohol and a good rant.

The rant was about my name.  I am not a name hater like my sister, (she hates her name Paula.) but I am a bit precious about my name.  It was recently about due to two men, but has been an issue for a wee while.  One who had only ever known me as Nic who just assumed that my name was Nicole, and another who was a tad formal for my liking and insisted on calling me Nicola.  The Nicole man, unfortunately got told in front of a few people that my name was Not Nicole.  The Nicola man was told on no uncertain terms that Nicola was a little formal for the pub.

Then the Nicola man and my friend Cate who was also drunk, were subjected to a rant in a taxi on the way home from the Nicola Mans gig.  It was discerned that there were three choices for my name.  Nicca, Nic or Nicola.  Nicola was reserved for work or a few members of family.  In fact it is best said in a Greek accent a la my boss.  Nicca was name that my family call me due to my nephew not being able to say Nicola as he was learning to speak.  It stuck and you can tell people who knew me around that time or have met my family as they often call me this.  And Nic is what most people in London call me.  But never Nicky and never Nicole.  This has led to a few jokes.  The rant was quite prolific – the poor poor taxi man.   Nicola Man has now learned to call me Nicca.  But not before he called me Not Nicole for a while.  Occasionally I even here, ‘this songs for Nicca’.  Umm did you get that I called you Nicca.  Yep I heard and my wee heart was happy.

Tonight I met up with a friend from home, who had moved to Bahrain and was in London on business.  It was great, like old, good friends do, within two minutes it was like three and half years fell away and we were back to being great mates.  We chatted the night away.  Life has moved on, he has a wife that I have never met and I am well settled in London.  But it’s like we were back in Auckland loosing pub quiz all over again.  But he straight away called me Nicca.  There was no hesitation, that to him is just my name.  And it was at home to a group of friends who met me around this time.  A few years ago, when a lady that had worked for me, came to the UK and stayed with me, she called me Nicca and it nearly brought me to tears, it had been years since anyone had called me that to my face.

As my nephew was learning to speak he could not get his mouth around Nicola, and he said Nicca.  I vividly remember not long before I left NZ to move here, he called me Nicola.  My heart broke.  He was growing up and our special name would be lost to history forever.  But I jokingly told him off and he has stuck with Nicca.  One night I remember he came home from a party, I heard his running footsteps on the deck.  I opened the door and he came running in all excited.  He had been to a friend birthday party, and his friend had an Aunty Nicky, he could not wait to tell me.  They had a Nicky, but he, he had a Nicca.  Or the time, that he was learning about names at school and told me that my name was Nicca, but that my first name was Nicola.  Or when he called Nicca, kicker, slicker, cause he was Sammy, Wammy, Cammy.

I guess that no matter how old he or I get, I kinda like that we have a special name and it stuck.  I am happy to be called Nic or Nicola as well.  In fact it would be wrong professionally to be called Nicca really, it would take away some of the magic of it.  And I guess that is it.  A wee boy who was learning to speak named me.  He is certainly the apple of my eye.  I guess it is said best by this child when they said ‘When you love someone, it’s great when they say your name, cause in their mouth, your name is always safe.’

It could be worse

Every time I open my mouth recently, I have heard my Mum speaking through my lips.  And it scares the hell out of me.  It’s like I have turned into her.  I hear her phrases and intonation, it’s like I have been possessed.

Please don’t get me wrong, I love my mother, she is an amazing woman who has been a fantastic home maker, is successful in her career and is a wonderful and loving grandmother.  The moment when Sam met my mother’s boss at an open day was classic.  He was dumbfounded to find out that there was someone who was the boss of Nana.  She is the boss of everyone else so how could someone be the boss of her?

But the point is that no one wants to be their mother.  As a teenager we do our very bests not to turn into our parents, we rail against them, laugh about them behind their backs and we vow not to do the same things when we are older.  In our 20’s we begin to have an appreciation for them and then all of a sudden you are friends with the people who no longer have to discipline you.

No one can make me feel like a teenager again like my parents though.  I guess that there is no end to their interfering and they can’t help from giving their opinions warranted or not.  And just like when you are a teenager, they can silence you with a look and nothing is more upsetting then hearing or feeling that they are not angry, they are disappointed.

But the upside to all of this though is that they don’t want to be their parents either.  My mother gets very upset when you say that she is beginning to act like my Nana, her mother.  She hates it when she looks like her in photos and I guess that she is thinking in her mind, I will be a different mother and grandmother than my mother.

Then the icing on the cake, is that apparently we look alike.  To those that have not met my sister, I am the spitting image of my mother.  So not only do I sound like her, I now look like her.  The last time I was at home, a friend visited from Sydney with instructions to get a photo of us side by side.  The cringe moment is when we realised that we were dressed in the same colours and clothes.  AGGGGGHHHHH it’s like invasion of the body snatchers.  On their recent trip to the UK, on the day they arrive, I took my parents to my fav pub – The Castle, to meet my best mates.  They were all astounded at how much we looked alike.  In fact one of them told me that they thought they heard me talking and it turned out to be my Mum.  They were a little stunned at the resemblance as well.

But as I have said there are worse things.  I could be turning into someone completely foreign to my family.  I could be turning into a biggotted old woman – which I am definitely not.  I could be turning into a boring old woman – something that if the last few weeks are anything to go by I am definitely not.  There are a few things that I have inherited from my Dad – we both like going up monuments and finding out about stuff.  As much as he drove both me and Mum insane with constant questions about stuff, at least he was interested. (I can imagine what it would be like to have both him and my nephew in the same room asking constant questions.  Maybe my Mum is a saint after all.) We both have a very similar sense of humour and we both enjoy good times with a cold alcoholic drink. 

 

So I guess that the point is, although we all vow that we will not turn into our parents – in some way shape or form we do.  We might just pick the best bits, but we definitely inherit something.  So are you also turning into a clone of the older generation?  How do you feel about that?

Pain in the ear

If you have been anywhere near me this week, both virtually or actually then you would be well aware that I have earache.  I have spent two days in bed, in some pretty interesting pain and then spent the next two days at work fielding compliments such as ‘you look pale’ and ‘how can you still be tired after two days in bed?’.

But what I want to know is this – as a kid earache is kinda common.  Which brings me to – dear god no wonder children cry this really really hurts.  But also how do you catch earache?  My Father reckons that its cause someone is saying really mean things about you.  At which point I begged whoever it was to stop because seriously it must have been bad to cause me physical harm.

So if you catch a cold through coughs and sneezes, possibly from touching the dirty tube rails, and if you can catch glandular fever from kissing, or hepatitis from needles or poo, how do you get an earache?  Do you get it from pillows?  Given that is where some of your ear germs must end up?  I slept in a few different places last week due to the riot, did I catch it there?  Do you get it from sharing those earbud headphones?  I don’t really like sharing those as there are ear germs on them so don’t do that if I can avoid it.  Don’t think that I did that last week.  Could you get it from hugging?  If you have a particularly squishy hug you can get your ears in there.  But then I hug relatively often with my London family and have not earache before?

I guess it’s just one of those things.  When I was teeny tiny I seem to remember cotton wool being put in my ear to stop the wind getting in it?  Really?  Does wind cause earache?  And wearing a hat with ear flaps.  And the dizziness, that has been interesting.  I don’t remember this as a child, but then when you are learning to walk you are always falling over so maybe you just don’t notice it.

 

I googled what caused earache – swimmers ear was a popular one.  Also over vigorous cleaning of your ear with an ear bud.  I clean my ears but would not say that I was over vigorous.  Or if you have an abnormal head?  Many people may immediately be nodding, yes Nicca that is what has caused your earache, you have an abnormal head.

But in all seriousness, I have a very sore ear and throat, I am having issues swallowing and hearing.  I have been to the doctor and they have prescribed me going to Sainsbury’s and buying lots of pain killers.  I had to show ID to buy paracetamol, but interestingly enough not ibuprofen?  Strange.  And as I dose up on painkillers and throat spray each day, I have more and more interesting conversations.  My lucky workmates.

Anyhoo that is my ramble about earache.  Hope that you are all well and happy and not suffering from a summer illness.