For locals and visitors: a little gem from Time Out London.
Custom walks around the city with themes ranging from Street Art to Victorian pubs. Enjoy!
SFGirl Says Farewell.
2 years ago
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
the hired help
So let's talk about this commute.
Leave the house at 6:30. Catch at 6.45 bus. Arrive in London at 8.45. Land at the London Business School roughly 7 minutes later.
That's 2.5 hours from point A to point B, or just 2 hours on a good day.
The return journey makes at total 4 - 5 hours.
The week makes 20 - 25 hours.
oh crap.
This was the primary topic of conversation with friends and coworkers last week. "Commuting from Oxford?! By bus?!" is the first 'question' i'm asked. In reality, the average Londoner's commute isn't much less, but Oxford seems so rural to these city folk.
And in answer to their next question I explain how the bus IS actually faster than taking the train, and to the next I reply, it's nice to enjoy the peace of a small-ish town after the bustle of Baker St.
So the number one topic on my mind this past weekend: time-saving techniques and maximizing time with hubby... specifically, the sensibility of hiring outside help: a cleaner.
When it was first proposed it seemed a laughable concept, but a full week (and multiple conversations with those in similar situations) in, I realize this could be bliss. Admittedly, it's a big psychological hurdle to leap for a Canadian suburban kid: have someone come in to do your chores. Unthinkable! But when my homemaker-extraordinaire mother, of all people, made this suggestion i took it as permission.
Other time-saving solutions on the table:
- ordering groceries online
- a London date night every fortnight
- working on the bus and delaying my arrival by an hour or so
- M&S readymade meals :)
Leave the house at 6:30. Catch at 6.45 bus. Arrive in London at 8.45. Land at the London Business School roughly 7 minutes later.
That's 2.5 hours from point A to point B, or just 2 hours on a good day.
The return journey makes at total 4 - 5 hours.
The week makes 20 - 25 hours.
oh crap.
This was the primary topic of conversation with friends and coworkers last week. "Commuting from Oxford?! By bus?!" is the first 'question' i'm asked. In reality, the average Londoner's commute isn't much less, but Oxford seems so rural to these city folk.
And in answer to their next question I explain how the bus IS actually faster than taking the train, and to the next I reply, it's nice to enjoy the peace of a small-ish town after the bustle of Baker St.
So the number one topic on my mind this past weekend: time-saving techniques and maximizing time with hubby... specifically, the sensibility of hiring outside help: a cleaner.
When it was first proposed it seemed a laughable concept, but a full week (and multiple conversations with those in similar situations) in, I realize this could be bliss. Admittedly, it's a big psychological hurdle to leap for a Canadian suburban kid: have someone come in to do your chores. Unthinkable! But when my homemaker-extraordinaire mother, of all people, made this suggestion i took it as permission.
Other time-saving solutions on the table:
- ordering groceries online
- a London date night every fortnight
- working on the bus and delaying my arrival by an hour or so
- M&S readymade meals :)
Friday, July 25, 2008
finding my footing
So now that I'm a londoner by weekday, my feet have become a matter of great importance.
In between busses and trains, these tootsies are an essential mode of transport - the implications of which I'm deeply considering.
In every big city there is a contingency of women - yes all women, because men have the luxury of comfort AND style - who think it's accetable to pair bobby socks and trainers with tights and skirts, if not for the whole day, then at least for the walk to the office.
My view on trainers beyond the gym needs no explanation - akin to wearing Lulus to brunch - simply not to be done. But that doesn't mean I haven't looked at alternatives.
Yesterday I donned flipflops for the 15 minute schlep through Oxford, and switched to cute heels on the bus. But the London streets are unkind, and within minutes of my arrival I had lost a heel base. harumf. Thank heavens for Oxford Street. By lunch I had a nice purple shiny new pair of flats, and my heels were in for repairs (third time round).
New shoes cause blisters. I scuttled around in flipflops the remainder of the day hoping none of these posh Londoners took offense.
Today's happy compromise is gladiator sandals.
A question to the city kids out there: Any tricks for handling an on-foot commute in style?
In between busses and trains, these tootsies are an essential mode of transport - the implications of which I'm deeply considering.
In every big city there is a contingency of women - yes all women, because men have the luxury of comfort AND style - who think it's accetable to pair bobby socks and trainers with tights and skirts, if not for the whole day, then at least for the walk to the office.
My view on trainers beyond the gym needs no explanation - akin to wearing Lulus to brunch - simply not to be done. But that doesn't mean I haven't looked at alternatives.
Yesterday I donned flipflops for the 15 minute schlep through Oxford, and switched to cute heels on the bus. But the London streets are unkind, and within minutes of my arrival I had lost a heel base. harumf. Thank heavens for Oxford Street. By lunch I had a nice purple shiny new pair of flats, and my heels were in for repairs (third time round).
New shoes cause blisters. I scuttled around in flipflops the remainder of the day hoping none of these posh Londoners took offense.
Today's happy compromise is gladiator sandals.
A question to the city kids out there: Any tricks for handling an on-foot commute in style?
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
a photo to start
It's bed time to be sure, with my 2-hour morning commute looming ahead, but Dean's off at a LAME conference in BORING Rome for the week, so there is not much incentive to sleep just yet.
We left Aberdeen two weeks ago, which suggests I'm overdue for some thoughts on life in Oxford. Stay tuned for some this weekend. In the meantime, I'll leave you with one of Dean's photos of North Lodge, from our back garden.
We left Aberdeen two weeks ago, which suggests I'm overdue for some thoughts on life in Oxford. Stay tuned for some this weekend. In the meantime, I'll leave you with one of Dean's photos of North Lodge, from our back garden.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
from the Ed.
Since internet is still unreliable at North Lodge, I'm dropping in from Day 2 at the new job to assure everyone that the 2 hour (each way, not including the 10 minute walk through Ox) commute has not deterred me, and the job so far is a gooder.
London was sunny and warm today and I joined in on an outdoor lunch in Regents Park with the Alumni Directors of the top ten business schools in the world. I forgot that I enjoy university gossip!
The first few days have involved lots of listening and soaking - just the way any job should begin.
On an unrelated note, to my friends in the UK, I've dropped my mobile one too many times and it died last weekend taking all your numbers with it. If you think of it, could you please email your mobile numbers to me at thefrontlawn@gmail.com. I have a new phone, but my number remains the same.
London was sunny and warm today and I joined in on an outdoor lunch in Regents Park with the Alumni Directors of the top ten business schools in the world. I forgot that I enjoy university gossip!
The first few days have involved lots of listening and soaking - just the way any job should begin.
On an unrelated note, to my friends in the UK, I've dropped my mobile one too many times and it died last weekend taking all your numbers with it. If you think of it, could you please email your mobile numbers to me at thefrontlawn@gmail.com. I have a new phone, but my number remains the same.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
invasions
In our 2(ish) years in the UK, I’ve come to pity the unfortunate residents of sunny seaside towns in Italy and Spain – every spring, flocks of pasty white Brits descend on their shores, crowd their shops, get drunk in the bars and generally blemish the fashionable landscape (while Brits are, on the whole, trendy, they don’t do beach-wear well).
A week into life in Oxford I’ve discovered how the Continent gets its revenge: come summer these parents cleverly ship their children off in droves… to Oxford. What should be a country haven, is instead a traffic jam of Evisu/ D&G-clad teens, jumping the queue in Sainsbury’s, loitering on the high street, littering in the canals, and snogging in the parks.
As a relative newcomer to Oxford, I know I have little right to complain (or to use words like snogging, for that matter), after all, I’ve only been here as long as they. But when those kids in their purple skinny jeans start trying to open my front door while I’m curled up in front of the TV at night, I think I’m entitled to feel mildly affronted!
This morning, the ruckus of a thousand suitcases rolling their way towards the train station was a far sweeter sound than the wedding bells that later chimed at Magdalen College. The invasion is nearly over.
Here at North Lodge we’re also dealing with a second invasion… ANTS! We’re learning that living in a Victorian cottage comes with more charms than we bargained for: spiders, woodbugs, and a never ending trickle of six-legged friends eager to commit suicide in a lovingly made jug of GoodHost iced-tea.
Either because of the cold, the distance from plants, or just the height of our Aberdeen tenement flat, we've never had to deal with this kind of infestation. Obviously not leaving sugary drinks out overnight is a start, but does anyone have any other suggestions for taming an army of ants?
A week into life in Oxford I’ve discovered how the Continent gets its revenge: come summer these parents cleverly ship their children off in droves… to Oxford. What should be a country haven, is instead a traffic jam of Evisu/ D&G-clad teens, jumping the queue in Sainsbury’s, loitering on the high street, littering in the canals, and snogging in the parks.
As a relative newcomer to Oxford, I know I have little right to complain (or to use words like snogging, for that matter), after all, I’ve only been here as long as they. But when those kids in their purple skinny jeans start trying to open my front door while I’m curled up in front of the TV at night, I think I’m entitled to feel mildly affronted!
This morning, the ruckus of a thousand suitcases rolling their way towards the train station was a far sweeter sound than the wedding bells that later chimed at Magdalen College. The invasion is nearly over.
Here at North Lodge we’re also dealing with a second invasion… ANTS! We’re learning that living in a Victorian cottage comes with more charms than we bargained for: spiders, woodbugs, and a never ending trickle of six-legged friends eager to commit suicide in a lovingly made jug of GoodHost iced-tea.
Either because of the cold, the distance from plants, or just the height of our Aberdeen tenement flat, we've never had to deal with this kind of infestation. Obviously not leaving sugary drinks out overnight is a start, but does anyone have any other suggestions for taming an army of ants?
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