What Makes a City

Arriving into Charing Cross on the South Eastern, lingering on Trafalgar Square, watching performance artists in Covent Garden, standing in St. Paul’s Cathedral, catching a double decker on Frant, or simply going for a picnic in Hyde Park, one can’t help but think that this is truly one of the gratest cities in the world.

What makes a city more than just a place with many people is the way it moves throughout the day, the constant flow of energy through its arteries, the pulse of life that never stops.

At its best it is a finely tuned machinery where anyone can go anywhere at anytime and enjoy any space. Whether traveling below or above the ground, walking or roller blading, in a riksha or on foot, whether catching an early show in the West End or resurfacing from a club in Soho, tea at the Ritz or dinner at Royal Albert Hall, whether walking on the Mall, through Chelsea or Belgravia, this is a city that grips you 24/7.

Unlike Paris, London never sleeps. Unlike New York, London is bright, open and green. Unlike Chicago, London ends and the fields begin.

Over the last four years, London has become my favorite city in the world. It’s followed fairly closely by Lisbon and I love Rome. Also, I don’t mind a weekend in New York, but for me this is a ten out of ten. What’s yours?

To you all...

...a very merry Christmas! May you have been spared troubles of travel, the terror of tantrums and the torment of trickle tart!!!
Loads of love and good wishes to you all and all the best for what lies ahead...

Winter Solstice Greetings

December has been good.

There has been a lot of happy anticipation, christmassy stuff going on around the house, music, paper stars and chocolate calendars. The cookies are baked, the cranberries are cooked and the duck is ready to be picked up tomorrow . The house and garden are covered in twinkling yellow lights and lanterns dot the way up to the house.

Matt is mildly bewildered at all the activity around him. He is still in his London routine, but he does like to settle down at night with a shot of Porto and the open tin of biscuits on the table while listening to Zoe’s very own rendition of “Noel” and take it all in.

This is good and it is these little sentimental niches that get us through the winter of life.
Junko’s memorial service is tomorrow.

The Ladies...

Right as you walked into the “All Must Go Christmas Sale”, you knew that rummaging through tables laden with best deals would be a mistake, because really what you should be looking for was the ladies’ room.

But then, it was simply too good to pass up on and coming back later would be such a waste of time and anyway it was just going to be a quick browse, ten minutes tops.

NOT. You know it.

And as you urgently stagger out of the store an hour and a half later, mowing down unsuspecting bystanders left and right with super-sized shopping bags (because, and you knew that as well, there are no restrooms other than the grungy employee ones, with the unmistakable off-coloured rim and three sheets of toilet paper sadly dangling from a cracked dispenser), you will curse yourself.

The closest facilities at this point are at the museum cafeteria across the street, where the coffee sucks, but really, you don’t really have a choice anymore. So, dodging mad cabs and double-decker buses, you cross the street in the fading light of a rainy December afternoon and, while avoiding uncomfortable shocks to the system, you daintily leap up the steps to the museum cafeteria. You get your coffee in record time, plop your bags down at a table near the loo and...

...get in line.

Because there is a line. There always is. And you know that too.

Whether we like it or not, we ladies end up spending considerable time at airports, the movies, rest stops, and other public places in line to pee. Right next door the gents buzz in and out of their hive with little ado.

I have often been tempted and a few times driven to sneak into the adjacent door... And really why should we be put through this tedious wait time after time? Really, it boils down to this: We gals have a lot of business to deal with once we get into the stall. Apart from hitching up layers and layers of fancy attire, peeling off delicate pantyhose and frilly undies, there are such things as feminine hygene products that can produce a significant logistical challenge!!

In addition, each stall requires an individual approach, depending on the presence of a hook to use for coats and purses, the mechanism operating the disposal bin lid, the cleanliness of the seat and availabilty and kind (sheets of roles) of toilet paper available.

What comes first, where and how to dispose of unwanted items in a discreet way while also clinging on to the afore mentioned layers of fabric that should not come in contact with any potentially soiled surrounding surfaces. All of this while not dropping either hand bag or hygene products on the floor.

In some cases a blatant oversight on our part might require back tracking a few steps in order to retrieve urgent items, in other circumstances there may be a risk of spilling purse contents onto the highly suspicious bathroom stall floor. Under these aggravated circumstances, where strategy is of utmost importance, time is of no consequence.

Seriously, hasn’t the word gone around? Are all inerior architects male? Or is this but another one of the curses of womanhood?

Like I was saying...

"The social progress of a society can be measured by the social position of the female sex."
Marx

Oh Say Can You See

Did you know that until 1978 a woman in the US could be fired from her job if she was found pregnant? Only in the nineties was there a law past that entitles a mother to up to three months of maternity leave - unpaid, of course. As of 1999, still a majority (30) of the U.S. states treat marital rape as a minor crime. Makes the New World look pretty old, doesn’t it?

God Bless the Hillbilly...please!?

It’s a curious thing that there is a tendency among people, and the groups they form, to cast a most favourable light on themselves. The cohesive “we are the good ones,” which in U.S. jargon translates into “God Bless America,” is the cradle of a pervasive double standard. It leads to all sorts of ill-guided approaches in dealing with “the other” and can go as far as causing acts of violence on both sides. Terrorism, persecution, sabbotage, boycots, and ultimately war are all outcrops of double standards.

While admittedly simplistic, “God Bless America” has become a powerful slogan that sanctifies virtually anything, America stands for. Under the great mantra of “we are the chosen ones” only few Americans ever question the underlying tenents of the blessed U.S. of A.

As should be obvious to anyone, this fateful arrogance has over the past decade caused a great deal of misery for Americans. Gone crazy consumerism combined with a testosterone driven everything-is-possible attitude has knocked US credit rating down to a most embarrassing AA rating and families bereft of their adored plywood Mac Mansions have taken to camping in inclement conditions.

It’s a good thing Wall Street is under attack these days, but the clean up should go deeper than that. Surely, it’s uncomfortable and will be the cause of much anxiety but it would be a worthy exercise and, who knows, maybe God may bless America again...some day!