I'll Get There Yet

Nearly a month into Southern Ontario, and amidst daily promises that “I’m going home” I have yet to get back into my car and start driving.
I don’t wanna go…maybe I wanna go…errrr…tomorrow…
Have you ever woken up, not sure who you are, where you are, realize that something has to change, but not sure what? You realize you aren’t happy, but you don’t know why – you can’t pinpoint that exact “thing” that is driving you to despair.
Rejection letters are becoming an abundantly regular occurrence. They strike the ego. My most recent rejection was bittersweet; my education was the problem…they wanted someone with a one or two year college diploma, as opposed to someone with eight years of university education. I am not naïve enough to believe that university is better than college. In fact, I think a college education is far better for practical applications and employability.

Unfortunately I went to university.

Do I want to go to college? No.

Why? Because I spent a long time kicking my butt in university, at considerable time and expense, and going back to college seems like defeat. I’m not ready to admit defeat.

As I attempt to adapt to this whole move (and let’s face it – if history has shown me anything, I tend to hit considerable homesickness around week five), I find myself pondering the future more and more. I didn’t think it would be easier if I left Thunder Bay – really I didn’t…but I did think it would mean something…if only I knew what…

It has taken me nearly the entire four weeks to reacquire my stride. Living in a new home has meant the absolute dissolution of healthy lifestyle habits.....

“Pass the donut, chug the beer *cough cough* I’m out of smokes…”

Oops.

It has been nearly a year since I was accepted into the London School of Economics for studies in International Relations. For six months, I held my breath as I fought for funding through the Ontario student loan program. Continued rejection was based on the fact that the London School of Economics’ External System (distance education) was not recognized as a legitimate school by Ontario standards. The LSE, one of the world’s prestigious schools, was not recognized by ONTARIO standards of education.

And here's why:
The LSE’s distance education office has a separate address than the LSE’s on-campus studies office, and the Ontario student loan program did not like that. Apparently Russell Square is inferior. Sneaky LSE!

Disheartened, I quit my fight with OSAP, but held firm to the idea that somehow I would find the funding to be able to take this program. Even if I could only take a course a year, I would somehow get there. The LSE also offers a summer school program, featuring on-campus special topics for six weeks each summer. And somehow I would get there (2010s topics are making me drool, and I’m desperate to return to London)

Last night, I decided to check the OSAP website to see if any changes had been made to their previous policies. And there it was…under the recognized institutions (with recognized addresses)…a glimmer of hope renewed, and a new fight begins…

Winding Down into Monotony

There is this sudden realization that summer is on the verge of winding down. Not so long ago, I loved this time of year. September brought change, and some sort of new hope, rejuvenation, etc. There were new experiences to be had. Oh the perks to being a student.

As I watch August fading away, I realize that (again) this year, September is just September. I am tempted to return to school, even for just one class, just to relive some of the former glory. To be apart of that buzz and excitement of learning, and having a fresh text book to crack open – it’s hard to ignore the call. Unfortunately, returning to school for another year is merely an act of escapism, and I probably shouldn’t fall in to that trap. Really, it sets a fairly bad pattern.
Yet it is more than wanting to be apart of the change of September. I am bored. Incredibly so! I think my mind is actually stagnating. Next week brings me fear, merely because next week will be this week, again. And so will the week after. And the one after that. The monotony is overwhelming – so much so, that it doesn’t even make sense. It is necessary that I find a new job and soon – but I really hate starting new jobs; so that’s not really the change I am looking for. Maybe monotony equals adulthood….seriously, is that what it means to be an adult?
Last night, during one of those rare nights out, I had the chance to swap travel stories with a couple of girls who are full of wanderlust. It made me crave a life that I once had – sorry, that seems melodramatic, but adulthood leads to the realization that you can’t just drop everything and go backpacking across Southeast Asia (my visa card is also concurs). I still crave it though…the knowledge of firsthand experiences…learning cultural awareness…appreciating differences…and I miss it more and more.

My “boyfriend” (I have always shunned the use of that title, but I’m not sure what else to say…) has decided that we are moving to London, England together in October. I am the type of person who would move to London on a whim (wait, I did do that…). I am the type of person who would move BACK to London on a whim. Oh yes, I think about it. If he would go, I would too – everyday I look up London “stuff” on the internet. I am still addicted to the Premiership. I get a little sniffly every time I tune into BBC Radio. Today I actually spent time browsing through my iPod London Tube App – my “boyfriend” called me homesick. London isn’t my home, but I miss it…

So I won't bank on this whole London idea. I really do want to go back, but I won't go alone. While I will venture off without a safety net, he is a little more studious about responsibilities. Who needs money to travel?? Apparently he has a different philosophy, which might be a good thing (it avoids 3am calls to my Mother from unexplained random locales throughout the world; that means less worry). Though his studiousness makes things a little frustrating - where I would head to the travel agent on Monday and say "BOOK IT"...he needs to "weigh things out first". I live in the moment - which isn't always a good thing...

I think the moral of the story is that when September rolls around, I begin to get antsy. Then I make impulse decisions. Last year, I woke up on September 2 and decided that I would book a ticket to London…it appears that this could become an annual event…are there any other countries that I could get a visa for??? Let’s face it, returning to London will eventually become monotonous.

Thunder Bay Stagnate

Guess where I am? HA! Ya, Starbucks. Guess what I should be doing? Yup…my thesis. I have this amazing mental block when it comes to my thesis. I see the end result, but I have trouble focussing on it. I know what needs to get done, but for some reason I look at it like a prison term. Or like the flu. You know when you are sick, and can’t leave the house? That is what my thesis makes me feel like; like I am sick and cannot leave house. It is some sort of punishment. The worst part about this punishment is that I inflicted myself with it.

I have started the inevitable job hunt. In typical fashion, I have remembered that I hate customer service. No – not customer service, per se; I hate having to deal with a**holes (Leanne has a fight or flight mentality and unfortunately fight is the usual response). When challenged by students, I tend not to care, and can slough it off. When confronted with b*tching customers (adults) it is another story. Yet, I like to work in adult worlds; unfortunately those worlds are within academia, and research – logical places, where I can deal with people in some logical fashion. In customer service the individuals who are the craziest have absolutely no logic. Or at least, no developed sense of rationalization.

When I came home I realized that I needed to remember what drove me into education. And little by little I am having those glimmers of insight. Aside from the financial and vacation incentives, there was something more that brought me into teaching. Ok, teaching still isn’t one of those long term aspirations. But here it is – I think the reason that I have trouble committing to teaching is because of the homework. University killed the desire to bring work home with me at the end of the day. And here is the thing – I push myself (believe me I do, even if the past few months haven’t been a reflection of that!). A job that should take an hour ends up taking three. I am also fearful of screwing up students. What if I teach the information wrong? What if I don’t have the answer? Yes and I realize that most teachers don’t really have the answers.

Every day, as I am confronted by the reality of being back here, I can’t wait to get back to England. I want to go back to teaching, and want to try different schools. And take a contract. Of my available career options, teaching is the best one going. And maybe that is how people arrive at their careers – they evaluate what they have open to them, and decide which option is the least of the perceived evils. Of my available options, teaching is the least of the evils.
Oh and as for the title of this blog – if you are wondering why it is still London Lost, when I’m not longer in London…I am still London Lost – and the day I change it is the day that I give up on going back. Right now, I am not giving up because when I do, I will be reaffirming my complacency.

London Polite

Periodically, what strikes me about London, and maybe all British people, is their politeness. No – wait – let me rephrase. The average person isn’t outwardly polite; maybe because the average person doesn’t talk. What strikes me though is the apologetic way in which signs are written. For instance, in case of smoking:

“Due to laws, you are unable to smoke in this area. We apologize and ask that you not smoke. Sorry for the inconvenience this may cause.”

In North America this is what you would see:

“No smoking”. Period. Nothing else.

At the laundrette that I go to, a sign hangs above the washers:
“We politely ask you to refrain from consuming alcohol in the laundrette. Sorry for any inconvenience this may cause.”

A comparable North American sign would read:
“Alcohol not allowed.” Simple. End of story.

In terms of litter, London has asked that:

“You please not litter, and please put your rubbish into a properly marked bin.” Polite.

In North America the equivalent would read:

“$500 fine for littering” Not polite, and with a threat.

When it comes to construction, particularly street construction, you see carefully placed signs that ensure the safety of the average pedestrian. Case in point, directly outside of my hostel, the sidewalk (footpath) has been excavated. And I do mean excavated – what remains is a rather substantial bottomless hole. Surrounding that hole is a carefully placed barricade (which is about 3 feet tall). Next to that barricade is a sign that shows pedestrians the proper place in which to walk. This is just in case a careless, or rather stupid individual should accidently climb the four foot barricade, whereby falling into the hole, causing severe injury to themselves. With the sign, all doubt is cast aside; you know that climbing the barricade will result in pain or death. That is polite.

In North America – there would be pylons…maybe a barricade…but still potential to fall into the hole. And any idiot who misses the pylons and barricades deserves to.

So really, all I am saying is that at the heart of it all, the British are careful about inconveniencing people. Even with all of my complaints about London, I kind of like that.

London Continually Lost

It is October 31, and normally I would be excited. I love Halloween! If I were home right now, I would likely be going out for my friend’s pre-birthday celebration. She is amazing when it comes to making costumes; most people slap together a costume in the last week. My friend on the other hand, knows months in advance what she is going to “be” for Halloween. And her costumes reflect her careful attention to detail. Today I would be perfectly happy to be someone else.

I’m actually a bit relieved to be in a city that celebrates the occasion. Since I arrived in London, I have seen people dressed up in costumes – or else they were just outwardly eccentric. I still appreciate the man, dressed in a white suit, covered in black arrows; he was “Northwest”. (yes, as in the direction.). Clever. Several years ago my friends and I purposely headed to Amsterdam for Halloween, thinking that it would be a hotbed of entertainment. Unfortunately, as it turned out, Halloween in Amsterdam was relatively dull. After spending an evening in a local “coffeehouse”, we continued our celebration to a square in the center of town. We were disappointed, but we somehow managed to numb our pain. Maybe I need to go back to Amsterdam?

Today it occurred to me that I am dangerously close to my first month in London. Six days away, in fact. I decided to go to Carshalton and find the school that I will be teaching at next week. It was a 50 minute round trip venture, but I have to admit, that I was pretty impressed with the town/suburb/whatever. It was quiet (and I was there in the middle of the afternoon), and had…wait for it….TREES!! I had lunch, and I didn’t spend a fortune. It was overwhelming, life changing, earth shattering (I have tapped into my sarcasm). If I didn’t think that I would go stir crazy, I would actually move there. This is not the point though.

On my commute, I was forced to reflect on the past near-month. That’s what us teachers do, right? Reflect, reflect, reflect. We reflect on the good and bad, and see where we can improve. We write about our reflections, modify our styles, re-reflect, modify, and eventually find something that works for us; once it works we reflect again and find out that it needs more modification . Here is my reflection:

In the past 3.5 weeks, I have successfully:
1. Learned to cross a street with traffic coming at me from the wrong direction; related to this I have also learned to dodge traffic, jaywalk, and dash across busy intersections.
2. Only had one bus/coach honk at me for maybe waiting too long to cross…
3. Gotten the nerve up to cross the Vauxhaul Bridge, venture into an unknown area, and find London’s greatest sights; all within spitting distance of my hotel. That’s a big accomplishment for a girl from a small town.
4. Gotten the nerve to venture into the unknown after dark.
5. Gotten hired & fired all within 3 hours (and I’m still bitter about that).
6. Learned how to use an Oyster Card.
7. Ventured out of London, because I can recognize I need to find my sanity.
8. Made it through a full day without crying – that was yesterday.
9. Made through 2 full days without calling home.
10. Learned to be demanding when the situation calls for it; and to scowl at the a**hole who cuts me off on the sidewalk.
11. Gotten hives, and finally identified the source of the hives.
12. Come to terms with that fact that I have to let go of the comforts that I appreciate; doesn’t mean I like it, just means I have to accept it.
13. Found my addiction to the X Factor; Go Diana! (oh and Simon is less popular here than in America)
14. Learned the importance and necessity of having someone who can take some of the pain away. Whether it is 6000 miles or 10 miles, there is a difference between being independent and being reclusive.
15. Learned to ignore the daily reports of shootings and robberies. It’s life.
16. Accepted that I need to let go of what I know because I know absolutely nothing here.
17. Accepted that I periodically screw up so badly that it can’t be fixed overnight. Apparently problems can’t be fixed in half an hour, like on television?
18. Traded in terms like soccer, bus, silly, check mark and parking lot for words like football, coach, daft, tick, and car park. When in Rome (errrrr…London)….
19. Discovered London shopping…risky!
20. Slept for 12 straight hours (granted that was in Leeds, and now that I’m back in London, I’m back to not sleeping!)
21. Learned to interpret the tariffs on my mobile phone.

And what I still need to do:
1. Learn what a tariff actually is.
2. Accept that I need to move into more affordable accommodations.
3. Accept that I can’t always control the outcome.
4. Let go of more, and stop looking for the parallels.
5. Get through a second day without crying.
6. Stop second guessing, over analyzing, and thinking.
7. Learn how to sleep.
8. Stop praying that this will be over soon, and learn to love it.
9. Classroom management – London students aren’t the same as Ontario students.
9.5 Behaviour management – ya, the same as above.
10. Learn to take it one day at a time, not one year at a time.
11. Learn to keep the stiff upper lip of the Brits.

12. Learn that if I leave my umbrella at home, it will definitely rain.
13. Find all of the answers to the questions that are driving me up the bloody wall.

I’ve already outlasted Banbury. And to be honest – for as horrible as I have felt in London, I still feel better than I did when I was in Banbury. Maybe I can make this work? One day at a time…

London Education

Today came and it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Or maybe it was. Prior to leaving for the UK, I debated the decision on a daily basis – should I, shouldn’t I? Again, I now find I’m debating myself daily – should I go home or shouldn’t I? And like then, I find I go in spurts throughout the day. At certain times I feel that I can deal with this; being here, continuing to make a go. It can’t be that bad, can it? Then enters that plaguing thought: can I afford to stay? (no) can I picture myself getting up everyday to confront classroom life? (sometimes yes, sometimes no).

After a lengthy meeting with my recruiting agency, I have discovered that I need to tap into my inner b*tch. I have no doubt in my mind that I can do that – I can be that person at the best of times. Heck – London does an excellent job of dragging that aspect of my personality out. When I get cut off the sidewalk now, I resist the temptation to tell the other individual to J off. Another week and I’ll be a full blown nutcase (along with many other dispondent Londoners). Because I am still new to London, I still look at other individuals, and often wonder why so many people look so sad. Even so, with all of the temptation to return home, I find that when I go for a my nightly stroll, I suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to try and make this work. Tonight I walked down to the Parliament buildings/Big Ben and Westminster Abby – and at that moment, I couldn’t help thinking – I have to make this work. And then my stomach started growling, and I can’t help remembering the financial situation I am currently in. Financial implying that I have money, whereas in reality I am so far broke that I don’t know how I will ever surface again. Then I start to think “well I’m this far invested, I need to make a go of it”. And so the arguments continue.

The hardest decision I faced today was the impending flat. I have opted not to rent, and continue to live out of a hotel. In the long run this is more expensive option, but right now, given that I really can’t afford to outfit a flat, the hotel seems like the cheaper option. It also provides me with an easy-out mind game: if things get too difficult, I won’t have to “get out” of having a flat. If I can make a go of teaching in the UK, and if I do opt to take a northern contract (which my agency guaranteed me they were looking for), living out of the hotel is really the best option. As I watch money going down the drain, I will just have to keep reminding myself of that.

Again I am caught in that moment where I need to figure out how to mesh London Leanne with Canada Leanne. I want to hang on to my old life – what happens when it no longer needs me? My friends, mom, dogs – what happens when I’m eliminated from all of that? Maybe that is the hardest part of being here – realizing that my life can go on without me. Part of me has been reluctant to find new friends here, or get involved in new activities. Yet I realize, if ever I want to achieve any of my goals, I need to let it go. Even my agency told me today: “You need to let your Canadian classroom experience go. Forget it. It doesn’t apply here.” And they are right. Shaping a new life isn’t as easy as it seems. UK Leanne needs to let go. I’ve never been good with letting go though.

Now for the bigger pain in my *ss. I spent well over $40,000 to go to school Actually…wait…my mom spent a good chunk of that – OSAP covered the rest (yes, I will pay it back! F*king student loans). My teacher education YEAR (single) was by far the most expensive of those years. Basically, all of those wonderful, idealized classes that I took while in teacher’s education, need to be forgotten. That would be $8, 000 out the window. Does that p*ss me off? Yup, you bet. Unbelievably so. We would joke in the program, that the program was useless. In truth, it really was. Everything you learn about teaching, you learn in the classroom. The curriculum classes deal almost exclusively with the Ontario curriculum. So really, when it comes to teaching in England, teacher’s college really was fairly unnecessary. Bitter, bitter, bitter.

While it might be my personal motto – I just don’t know anymore. Ultimately though, London is about my own education - not the education of the students.

London (WIDE) Awake

Transitioning from a small community in Northern Ontario, to large metropolitan megalopolis (is that the correct term?) is a challenge. I was told that the first six weeks would be the hardest. I'm only at the two week mark and it is insanely difficult. I don't know if the 6 week time period is for a couple, or for an individual - maybe it is 12 weeks for an individual. All I know is that my nerves are fried. The traffic is unbelievable and the noise is overwhelming - I don't know where people can think here - they certainly can't go to the Thames Walk or Hyde Park or what have you - there is traffic surrounding both places. Maybe they have just adapted...

Leanne doesn't know if she can adapt in London. I have found that if I stay awake for 2 nights, usually on the 3rd I can actually get some sleep. Unfortunately, this method poses somewhat problematic in terms of energy. I have also found that I can sleep between the hours of 8:30am and 10:30am...this is problematic for work. I don't entirely understand why I sleep better during daylight hours. In actuality the noise is far greater, but for some reason I can block it out. I have tried a sundry of methods to help myself sleep. These methods are generally related to tiring myself out - brisk powerwalks, not eating, crying (you know, emotional upheavel is usually exhausting). But no. I don't sleep. For the record, while I used to drink execessive quantities of coffee and tea, I've basically stopped.

While in Sheffield I made the mistake of drinking coffee at midnight. I have never had such a negative impact from caffiene - at 4am I was still wide awake. Luckily I did fall asleep by 6am, only to wake up at 8am still on a caffinated rush. Needless to say I spent the rest of the day fairly groggy, pursuing the next the next coffee-rush. Do you think that ment that I needed to go to bed early??? No. not at all. Still wide awake.

London isn't only impacting my sleep patterns. I may have already mentioned that London is creating a fair amount of stress in my life. My body's response?? Hives. I am excessively allergic to my London stress. Last week I was prescribed medication, which was successful for a short time. As soon as I returned to London from Sheffield, so did the hives. What's a girl to do?? And therein lies the true question - what do I do? By this point in Banbury I was headed home. This time I am struggling to stay - but without work, and nearly out of money, what exactly am I suppoesd to do? Will it get better?? I just don't know.

London Lost

A weekend escape from London was exactly what I needed - to help me realize just how unhappy I am in this whole situation. As I sit in Starbucks on a Monday afternoon (not working), I am worried about employment, my recruitment agency, forging a new life here, etc. I came back to England to figure out if I made the right decision in leaving Banbury. I think I am realizing, that yes, in fact I did.

Upon my return to London, I found myself in tears as we turned into Victoria Station. This underlying feeling of not wanting to be here, had finally set in (yet again). Is it England? Is it London? Is it teaching? I don't know. Could I ever be happy here? I just don't know. Maybe in a different profession (let's face it, I am not excited about teaching). I want to make this work, but how much sadness is too much sadness?

I can recognize the potential within myself, to be able to change the world, and make some sort of positive contribution to society. Unfortunately, Thunder Bay is not really the prime location to undertake such an endeveaour. More unfortunate, is the fact that Leanne is fairly certain that she belongs in Thunder Bay. Most likely, I should have left ten years ago, when I was younger and more rebellious, and ready to seize the world by the horns. Now I'm ready to come home to familiarity every day - I don't want the challenges of learning to adapt to a new environment. Maybe some of us were just meant to be travellers.

Sometimes I start to become moderately comfortable in this environment. I can't put my finger on what the exact problem is. I don't know if it is the teachers lifestyle. The commitment to the profession. The commitment to a new environment. I really hate commitment. I want a job that I can go to at 9am and leave at 5pm and just be done with it. Supply teaching can sort of give me that. I'm not particularly fond of getting up at 5:45am and going to bed by 10:30 though...that's the lifestyle. I'm also not fond of disruption..and this has brought immense disruption to my life.

Now I'm in a pickle (because I can't spell conundrum??). Do I rent the flat and force myself to stay until at least the end of January? Or do I return home? Is two weeks really a fair trial? It is sooo easy to go home - maybe too easy. Maybe I need to force myself to stay out of my comfort zone. I don't know. Sheffield reminded me so much of Thunder Bay - maybe that should have been my transition zone. Or am I afraid to let myself like it here? What if I do start to enjoy it? Perhaps that is the scarier unknown.

Sheffield Lost & the Croydon Facelift

Eventually you will find the need to leave London - it took me less than two weeks to recognize this. I can respect that many individuals will find London to be the hotbed of culture, entertainment, culinary desires, fashion, etc, etc, etc. And it is. I, on the other hand, view London as the epicenter of congestion, noise and stress. After 10 nights of moderate sleep, weeks of stress, and an underlying desire to go home, I bought a ticket to Sheffield.

Located in Yorkshire, it was basically the furthest point that I could escape to...and after my first day in the classroom I definitely needed the escape (btw - everything you hear about teaching in UK classrooms is apparently accurate!!). I arrived late fairly into the evening, but was cheerfully greeted by an overly happy taxi driver.

"You are from Ireland, yes??" (said in a delightful Yorkshire accent).

"Huh?"

"Ireland, yes?"

"Canada?"

"Oh, I'm bad at accents!"

"Very bad indeed."

My cab driver then rambled on for the next 15 minutes, almost nonstop. At the end of the trip, he shaved a bit of the fare, so I didn't have to break a 5 pound note.

Hang on? A friendly, talkative person? Willingness to loose money?? Am I still in England? Must be an anomoly!

Tenatively I checked into my hotel. I know what I am paying in London for a rat trap - paying around the same price here, I am fairly skeptical.

Wait...the Sheffield Park Hotel has a beautiful foyer. No. Can't be right....just for show...

I go up to my room, via an elevator...surely they have put me in the room under the stairs...or maybe in a back shed...

I step into my room, and instant glee sets in - A huge bed...a real bed, not just a mattress on the floor. Four pillows (not stained) all for me! Lights...tv...bathroom (with a real shower/bathtub!)...coffee. I have arrived :)

Forty minutes later I venture to the Indian restaurant down the road. Here I am initially greeted by waiters a little bit more in line with London. Or are they? Within half an hour they are asking me to show them how to rub my belly and tap my head. Questions...tons and tons of questions - about America (apparently I was the expert; one or two about Canada). They want to know if the America from film and cinema is the real America?? Do they really do magic on the streets? What about McCain and Obama?? What about the cost of living? For forty minutes they bombarded me with questions (oh ya, and I did get dinner too). We part like old friends. I am so confused.

Hang on...two encounters with Sheffielders (did I mention the delightful Yorkshire accent?) and both times I had people who wanted to talk?? I'm more than confused. During my first night in Sheffield I actually talked more than I've talked in the last 2 weeks (minus shouting my way through the day in the classroom).

Morning comes. No. Early afternoon comes. I take a bus to downtown Sheffield. Its sort of like Thunder Bay, but on a larger scale (I'm kind of comfortable here). I wander the busy pedestrian market, and am not banged into once. Where is my human contact? I have become accustomed to jostling. No, on second thought, I might actually like this. Wow..I could move here today.

I take a closer look at the people, and lo and behold - there are fat people here! Where is London Anorexic???

The dresscode? Somewhat along the lines of Thunder Bay - worn jeans, sweaters (comfort over style????). I think I'll just leave my bags in London and let the hotel dispose of my things. Material possessions are irrelevant. I'm not going back.

I stop for lunch in Pizza Hut (glamorous and foreign, I realize) and the couple at the next table strike up random convesations with me - what is going on here??? I had heard rumours that Yorkshire was nicer, but you know how rumours are....

Yes, I know what you are thinking - its a bad decision to judge a city on first impressions. Regardless, my first impression of London was sheer hatred, and that has never changed. My first impression on New Orleans was a bit of disgust, and that is something that continually confronted me during my years there. Truthfully it is a tough call, but I recognize potential here - and maybe the rebirth of my sanity.

Yesterday was the first time that I have had someone actually initiate a random conversation with me in London. While waiting for the bus in Croydon, I met a man who engaged me in conversation straight up until we parted ways at Victoria Station (he even revamped his route to continue along my journey). It was educational and informative (e.g. the Croydon Facelift is a hair style that results in skin being pulled straight back), and he was quick to point out that Londoners don't talk. I had not noticed!

The only hard part about being in Sheffield is returning to London. I am dreading my return to the city :(

London Overtaken

Its Friday evening, and I am bored in London. The idea of staggering back into an area overrun with tourists, is highly unappealing (aren’t I just the local??). I’d love to go and shop on Oxford Street, but the idea of dodging despondent Londoners and tourists alike, requires more energy then I feel like expending. I have made no secret of my dislike for London. The locals are cold and full of self importance – if an individual dropped dead on the street in front a Londoner, the Londoner would merely step over the body and continue on their journey. How to best illustrate an example of this mentality? Let me recount a conversation from two days ago…

A Englishman walks into a business, and apologizes for his tardiness; he then follows his apology with his excuse: “Oh yes, I was at the Tube Station, and further up the line someone decided to jump in front of an oncoming train. Delayed the whole system…made a mess of transit.”

Concern for the mental health of the individual that felt the need to take his own life in front of charging train? Zero. Disdain for the interruption to travel?? Well that’s the whole point! (*insert a Mastercard slogan here*..hmmm…Prescription for mood stabilizers 45 pounds. Formal psychological help 250 pounds an hour. Jumping in front of a train during rush hour traffic, whereby disturbing London commuters…priceless.) Truly I am being sarcastic here, and do sympathize for the individual driven to such final means.

Concerned about the reality of living in this city, I said to a friend… “I could see becoming lost in this city…not lost, in terms of search & rescue…but lost in the grand scheme of things. I could see becoming this, and I don’t want to.” His response? “Then don’t.” But really, is that possible…

I rarely hear English being spoken in this city. In fact, I hear everything but English – I’m sure upon closer examination you would likely find languages previously thought to be extinct, quite alive and well here. London is now comprised of a larger than large number of immigrants, visa holders (such as myself), refugees, etc. Every street corner seems to have an English school on it (which still doesn’t seem to change the fact that no one here seems to speak English). Many of these individuals have come from humbling circumstances in Third World countries – and even so – they have become London. Can you live here without letting it overtake you? My friend’s advice to me: “You will get used to it.” Yet I can’t help but wonder, when you get used to it, does it become you?

Talking on the phone (errr…mobile) has become a challenge. London is so loud that it is nearly impossible to hear the ring of a phone. If by chance you do hear your phone, good luck trying to talk. Shouting matches ensue as people cram the streets, each one on a mobile phone, all vying to be heard over one another and over the passing cars. I have attempted to find a quiet location to talk – which has been largely unsuccessful, minus the back alleys. First rule of travel: don’t venture down the back alley alone. Thank goodness rules were meant to be broken.

If you read my blog during my last sojourn into English living, you will know that I have already complained about personal space in London. I just need to reiterate – my personal space has been largely violated. Instead of getting my 20 feet of Canadian personal space, I get -5 feet…and as enjoyable as an elbow in the ribs is (human contact, how touching), I’d prefer not having that experience at all. I am getting to be fairly good at dodging people though (and let me tell you, it’s an awesome workout – forget the gym – head to Oxford Circus…or…better yet…go to a tube station during rush hour – also a good idea if you are trying to learn to deal with your temper and/or stress).

Yet when all is said and done – it’s London. London can be what London likes, and do as London pleases. And right now London in wearing a sombrero, is dressed in a multicoloured poncho, and is advertising a salsa club…

London Daily

I ache. That's really all I have to say. lol...I can barely move my neck or shoulders - soooo...being lazy, instead of going to look for a new hotel in a better location for tomorrow night (and face having to haul my luggage), I am moving two doors down from my existing place. Call it pattern behaviour...I can't face having to be a pack animal again tomorrow. My body is not conditioned for such activity.

On Day 2, I have accomplished little. I did get dressed up and visit my agency (note: the look of relief on the hotel manager's face was fairly evident when I went out this morning - you could literally read his mind: "oh thank goodness! she isn't always a filthy Canadian backpacker! she can clean up!"). As I am running out of time on my internet connection, let me summarize:
I am becoming my own company.
I cannot cross the street without nearly getting hit by vehicles (see a former Banbury post for more info)
I have decided to avoid jay walking until I can properly cross a street
I am looking for a flat in London, but because I am lazy I am considering living in Westminster (again, to avoid moving my luggage!).


Needless to say, on Day 2 I am still surviving- though with moderately more pain than I like :)

London Beaten

Well as my first day in London draws to a close, I'm pleased to say that I am still standing. Barely. I am being overcome by jet lag. No...correction - I am being overcome by the 4 hours of sleep I've had in the past 60-odd hours. I am fighting desperately to make it past 5pm GMT!
So...I am pleased to say that while flying into London on this attempt at UK-living, I did not experience the sheer regret that I did previously. I did not have that "wtf I am doing-moment" - mainly because I was having a get-this-f*cking-plane-on-the-ground-before-we-all-die-moment. I'm not saying that the few bouts of turburlance were terrible...I'm just saying that I'm not usually inspired to throw-up during turbalance (and last night I definitely fought such desire!). Possibly my nauseated stomach could have been related to our preboarding call

"Ladies and gentlemen we are sorry for the delay. The maintenance crew is on the aircraft fixing it. We don't know what is broken, we just know that they are there. So the plane is being fixed and we will be boarding as soon as it is. Again we are sorry for the delay."

Leanne didn't need to know that the plane was broken just prior to her getting on it. I can handle broken toys, broken plates, etc...I even handled a Guatemalan chicken bus ride during which the floor beneath my seat was apparently missing....but the machine that is carrying me 30,000 feet above a black abyss is not supposed to be broken. That's all I'm saying.

So that crisis everted, I then spent the next 8 hours stressing over the possibility of deportation at immigration . Immigration wasn't too bad...except for that little issue that my passport photo-Leanne and real-life Leanne don't really resemble each other anymore. Immigration did catch that. I have two options - either put all the weight back on...or go to the Canadian embassy for some consultation. (eating does sound like fun though!).

Immigration cleared...next crisis...money. If you will remember from Banbury, the UK has been a stronghold of chip & pin technology. Fortunately in April, they still understood my archaic American credit cards. Fast forward 6 months - my credit cards are no longer archaic - they are completely null and void. This has left me scrambling to figure out how I'm going to live until I start getting paid. That crisis has not been averted. Oh ya...and throw in the fact that I have misplaced my debit card password for my UK bank account - I would say that the financial aspects of my day have not gone so well. (that could be the sleep deprived jet lag talking).

My success on the day? I got a mobile phone. I don't know how to use it. I don't know how to call anyone - but I do have a lifeline to the outside (its a small glimmer of hope). Unfortunately my laptop is now rejecting my internet connection....one step forward, 2 steps back...and so it goes :)
Oh ya...and its raining. Welcome to London :)) Luckily the men who run the hotel that I am staying in seem to think I'm an idiot and are more than willing to help me. Not necessarily as a coincidence they have also put me in the room closest to the office...lol...you know what I'm saying (this room is actually bigger than the one I requested - which is somewhat scary cuz I'm staying in a closet.)

Ok so that's my story for today. Oh yes..and in reference to the title - my bags really have battered me - heavy luggage + shoulder straps = terrible bruising and injury across my collar bones, shoulders and arm. its tempting just to move into the hotel to avoid moving again (and keep in mind...I actually have about 60 pounds LESS luggage than I did when I went to Banbury).

Cheers!

Sirens, Horns & People

Sirens...horns...people...welcome to London. I'm in an internet cafe (?) room (?)...I'm not really sure what it is. All I know is that my laptop is refusing to read my European modem, and internet prices vary from 10p a minute, to 50p for 30 minutes - you do the math! So...since I've been in London I have found myself overwhelmed by my reintroduction to mass numbers of people everywhere! It has only been 4 years since I was last here, but I swear, London's population has skyrocketed. My arms are baring the bruises of having been slammed by bags and bodies (don't worry, they are living bodies!). Us Canadians love our 10 feet of personal space - you just can't get that here! If I were to move here I wonder how long it would take me to become a dispondant Londoner? Presently I try to sidestep collisions - yet the average Londoner does not. They are more than willing to run straight into you and keep on going...of course, as a Canadian I am hardwired to apologize profusely, regardless of whether or not the collision was my fault. I'm not a fan :)

I am also shocked by the noise. It's no secret that I am a country girl - could I trade in the peace and quiet of the country for metropolitan living? Even in New Orleans, I was not exposed to this amount of noise. Through the night there are horns and sirens - which apparently are still a novelty here? The other night I went for a drink with an Aussie who had just completed a tour of Africa - both of us laughed and mused at the noise factor, as we sat in mutual shock and awe - Sub Sahara Africa does not offer this experience! For a couple of days, I can deal with it - but after a couple of months I could see having a catacylismic breakdown.

All complaints about London aside, there are things that I do like about this city. It is a hotbed of entertainment. Whether it be a musical or a concert, or just watching random people do stupid things, it is entertaining here (I can't judge....I'm sure if someone had a subscription into my recent life, they would have been highly entertained). I could sit and people watch by the hour. And the food...what can I say about the food? Cheap ethnic food, that is actually tasty. I know that the Brits have a horrible reputation when it comes to culinary integrity BUT luckily, the infiltration of other cultures has given London a unique selection. I have been enjoying Moroccan and Lebanese food, and may stake out a Chinese food restaurant today. For the record, North American Chinese food is a bastardized rendition of the authentic cuisine. Oh..and shopping..how can I forget shopping? Granted an afternoon of shopping can set you back...there is a great selection of retailers here. Yesterday I finally got a chance to go to the Portobello Rd/Notting Hill Market - TONS of stuff to buy...TONS of people...could be a fun experience for the hardcore shopper (I'm not that hardcore). I am a personal fan of Harrods, but not on a weekend...

Hold on a sec...I need to discuss Harrods. I am on a mission right now - apparently looking for some chocolate that we can't get back in North America. I decided to take a second trip to Harrods. While there, I opted to have a guilty little ice cream splurge at Morellis - recent weeks have been leading to the ice cream crash. So...Morelli's...awesome ice cream that costs a small fortune. A sundae ranges from approximately $15-30! I bought the cheapest item on the menu, but still skipped dinner to make up for the financial and caloric drain. Oh ya. I didn't find the chocolate...but at least I had the ice cream :)

So aside from this little foray into London, what is my purpose for being here? I don't know. I am contemplating whether or not I could actually live in this city...I have been offered work in Clapham Junction in SW London. Could I do it? I don't know. I am slowly starting to realize that as you get older there is a need for stability. I don't know if I could find stability here. Luckily the job comes with quite a bit more money than the one in Banbury did. Maybe financial stability could replace my need for physical and emotional stability. Hmmm...there's a start...

I made so many bad decisions in going to Banbury, and there were so many things that I did not know or realize. Fortunately I needed to make those bad decisions - they are helping me find my place in the future.