London, my familiar love

Back in the Big Smoke.
I effing love London. No matter where I have been or what I have seen, it is still always a pleasure to go back to London. The pleasure-factor ups in ante of course when it is summer. Summer in London is its own strange but beautiful phenomena.


Summer in London comes as something of a shock to all residents as we have to re-teach ourselves how to smile. This process usually begins sometime in May (or occasionally April if we're lucky and climate change has had its way.) Londoners have usually spent the last eight months feeling a bit cold, pasty and bitter and scowling. Scowling at the weather, scowling at the grey days, scowling at their unsatisfying desk jobs, scowling at late buses, scowling at each other, scowling at their own reflections, scowling at their mothers... So all of a sudden when the forgotten sun makes an appearance and there is no reason to scowl anymore, Londoners immediately adopt unnerving full-chops smiles and a wave of bizarre euphoria rushes over the city turning London into an excitable but uncontrollable toddler that just wants to frenetically shake his rattle, freely shit his diaper and ferociously play with his toys and friends... whilst donning flipflops and shades.


I knew I would come back to this and I did and it was GREAT!

At scamp's flat

I landed in London, my head swimming with 6 months of new ideas, new people and new experiences. I thought London wouldn't be enough. However as it turned out, I couldn't get enough of London. With only TWO WEEKS there I had no time to process everything I had learnt and seen. Of course when you are travelling there is no time for that either. I did not have the opportunity really to share what I believe I now know (my cynical friends would have only called me a patronising gap-yah cunt anyway if I had), instead I just got to enjoy further layers of new experience as I revelled in the sunshine with my friends and free events. It was all so fast.


Those two weeks I spent my time doing exactly what I had looked forward to doing whenever I felt homesick. I got a quick cash-in-hand waitressing job in a dodgy but delicious Syrian restaurant down Brick Lane... 5squids an hour for 4 hours a day of work, yes mam. I now know what 'budgeting' means. Oh, and the difference between a Shish and a Shawarma. Whilst I have no intention of using this job as some kind of leg-up in to the world of Middle-eastern catering (although I was remarkably skilled at picking up the intricacies of cash register technique) I have to say that this job was - in a word - superfun. Mainly rendered so by the main chef/food preparer Mohammed from Algeria who gave me valuable insights in to his world (e.g. his fear of beautiful women because they're likely to be AIDS-ridden) and invaluable advice, "Why you drink, Anetta? What for? You drink, you get drunk, you go to sleep... Next day wake up - No Money!" Likewise I am a big fan of Mune who owns the Bangladeshi suit shop opposite, who kept asking to take me out on a date to Whitechapel. True gentleman.

Hen Party in Oxford

In my plethora of free-time I managed to catch up with several of my lovely friends... I lived in perfectly-placed Bethnal Green around my darling scampface Maria's flat with her boyfriend Wataru (see photo; his face is being delicately cradled by good friend, flamboyantly French Thomas.) I spent my days in parks drinking cheap cider (Oh strongbow my sweet nectar, how I missed you!), I went to a dubstep party and raved like I'm in sixth form, I went to my bestfriend Charlotte's birthday - a delightful evening of the Philharmonic Orchestra performing in Shoreditch park... and I even fit in a cheesy, tacky, crude Hen Weekend for my scarily enthusiastic but gorgeous big sister in Oxford complete with cheerleading and 80s music.


All in all, an absolutely glorious but fleeting visit home in London with my friends and the English summer before being whisked to my other home... Kuala Lumpur.
And still no mind-processing of my travels.