i've done a terrible job with my blog. abandoned it for living, which i think is a fair trade. now i find myself with only 3 weeks left in england. my parents and holide get here in 5 days and i'm ready for christmas and if my stomach can handle it -- christmas pudding.

please feel free to follow my adventures when i get back to the states on my (christmas pudding free) blog, hadleigh-on-sea. my new years resolution is to update frequently with inspiration, photos, and musings. i'd love to have you follow me as a way to keep in touch.

xoxox to you all and happy holidays.

ZOO

I am a really bad blogger. I try really hard, and then I just forget, and I get too busy living life to write about life. I'm sorry, I promise I'll do better, but know that when I'm not writing, I'm having the absolute time of my life.
I've started my job at Rokeby Gallery. It is my absolute dream job. I work a ton, but I'm totally would not have it any other way. The gallery is a small commercial space that represents around 10 artists. My first week of work I was at the ZOO Art Fair, a satellite fair of Frieze. When I wasn't at ZOO I was opening and closing the gallery. (On my own!!) Now that the fairs are over, I'm back to more "normal" days. Whatever that means. It is all such a rush, and I really feel like I've found the place where I just fit.
So. Stoked. Love.My.Job.

oslo, norway

I have been struggling about writing about my trip to Oslo. There is a mentality to not say anything about someone if you don't like them, but my comic life goddess, Kathy Griffin, urges you to talk about people behind their back.

I'm going to talk about Oslo behind its back.

A lot of Oslo is really beautiful.

But, a lot of Oslo is also really scary. (I didn't take pictures of the scary bits--too busy running in the opposite direction.)

We had an interesting couple of days, full of quite a few "cultural" experiences.

Would I recommend that you go to Oslo? No, but if you're absolutely dying to go, and refuse to heed my warning (which includes gang fights, drug deals, and jonesing crack addicts) then stay on the outskirts -- near the kooky sculpture garden and steer clear of the overly touristy water front area and darkness. Trust me.

stockholm, sweden

Stockholm could not have been any more beautiful. It was full of little windy backstreets off the canals. The light just always seemed perfect, and I spent most of the time there drinking coffee and then heading out in awe of how picturesque life can sometimes be.

We were all so excited to be there. So many laughs. I don't know if my sides had hurt that much in such a long time. Cheers to old and new friends making discoveries together.

See what I mean? Words do no justice.

It's a city made up of 14 individual islands surrounded by canals. The architecture, for the most part, is classical in nature, but with Ikea interiors. The best discovery was the Cultural Center. The basement is dedicated to a store selling interior collections of unsigned designers. UNREAL. I was in heaven, and didn't leave for well over an hour. The genius of people continues to blow my mind. I'm ready to go back, no joke. Take me back rightnowplease.

SCANDINAVIA.

I'm currently in the midst of my mid-term exams. They are killing me. Not because they are difficult, they really aren't, but when a semester has been more about exploring and less about studying, that blue book can come as a real shock to you. (Though, interesting fact, here in London, they are RED books. Who would have thought?) Oh well, one down, and one more tomorrow with an 6 page essay getting finished somewhere in between there. The day is young...relatively, and Work Forest has prepared me well in the art of procrastination. Potentially all I've learned in two years. Kidding. Sortofnotreallyatall.
However, after I've wrapped up those tests -- I'm off to Scandinavia. Yes, you read that correctly. I'm off the to the land of the blondes. We're leaving bright and early on Wednesday morning, and by bright and early I mean in the complete dead of night -- read 3am, and get back on Sunday afternoon.
We're planning on living spontaneously, but I'm hoping to get a good look at the fjords just as much as the original Absolut Ice Bar. It will be such an adventure, and my first abroad travel since I landed over a month ago. I absolutely cannot believe I have been here this long, I still feel like I have so much more I want to do.
Never fear, I'm making a London Bucket List and will be updating you as I go. First up after I get back from Sweden and Norway -- services at Westminster Abbey. Life is so sweet.

bronchitis sucks.

I'm sorry for my absence. I've been on "bed rest" with a case of bronchitis. Now, I know that you would think, "Oh, bed rest. Why didn't she blog the entire time?" That would have been asking a lot considering I've been sleeping for approximately 20 hours a day, for the past 5 days. However, in those 4 hours I've been awake each day, I've spent thinking and creating a mental list of all the things I love about England.

1. Ready-Made Food.
The British love their ready-mades. A trip to the Tesco Express is a trip to ready-made world. The sandwiches (my personal favorite being the chicken and honey cured bacon -- obviously), the salads, the curries, the Sweedish meatballs, etc. It's like, no one in this country cooks, they just eat ready-made sandwiches out of little cardboard boxes. Considering my domestic failures (see below) this is for the best.

2. The BBC
Two nights ago I ended up watching the strangest collection of TV -- mind you, with no commercials. It started with Strictly Come Dancing. It was out of control cheese factor. The Brits love nothing more than cheese. The sparkles, the jokes, let me repeat, the sparkles, it was like So You Think You Can Dance on crack. Preceeding Strictly Come Dancing was a comedy show that involved a lot of wine drinking and crude jokes, and was immediately followed by a two hour documentary on the Hidden Nazis. I guess when you only have 5 TV channels in the entire country, it's got to be a bit varied. It's just, wow, that is a lot of different directions in a 4 hour period.

3. Ribena
This is more a take on Britain's obsession with the past. When my granny had bronchitis, her NHS doctor recommended Ribena. When I got bronchitis my NHS doctor recommended Ribena. You'd think in 50 years, there would be a breakthrough. Not the case. You are still recommended to boil your Ribena like a "cup o'tea" and drink it up.

4. The preciousness of School Uniforms
London school uniforms are the most amazing things I've ever seen -- blazers, high socks, oxfords, hats, matching backpacks. The whole bit. I demand we bring this back to the US. When you see them all walking in a row at the National Gallery it's heartbreakingly cute.

5. Yellow Vests
Richard, Holden, and Phil love their yellow vests. All manual laborers, police officers, basically any one and everyone in England wear these NEON yellow vests when at work. The last time my brothers were here, they each bought one, and wear them when working on group projects back home. I thought they were overdoing it. In fact, they are underdoing it. These vests are everywhere. When I was at the London Transport Museum, all the little school children were wearing neon yellow vests to differentiate them from the other children running harrycarry around old buses. Richard loved it.

There are so many things I can't get enough of. This list will be ever growing, but for now, I'm off to watch a documentary on Homophobic Crime in the East End on the BBC while I enjoy a piping hot cup of Ribena.

walking to my death

St. Paul's cathedral is beautiful. I'll give you that Sir Christopher Wren. However, I do have a bone to pick with you, called it is WAY TOO TALL TO CLIMB.
Now, for those of you who are unaware, I do not do heights. Of any sort. Whatsoever.
My last experience with heights was four years ago in the London Eye. It was, how do you say, a living nightmare. I was stuck in a bubble -- made of glass -- for an hour -- dangling over the Themes -- sobbing hysterically, while a 14 year old Holden giggled at my misery. I still hold a grudge, but seriously, NOT COOL HOLDEN, NOT COOL.
So, you can imagine my reaction when my assignment today for my history class was to climb to the top of the dome. Yes, it was my participation grade for the day, I had to do this.
White-faced and sick to my stomach, I did it, not happily mind you. All 530 steps to the narrow outside ledge with only a stone barrier keeping me from plunging to my death.
I didn't, obviously. I got an A for the day, but I wasn't happy about that Dr. Thornhill. Never again.

chris.

Greatest moment of my ENTIRE life. I know, I know, I'm prone to exaggeration, but this is not a joke. I repeat NOT. A. JOKE. I was four feet from Chris Martin. He sang four feet from my FACE.
We got to Wembley before the gates opened -- so worth it -- and ended up pressed against the barriers with a group of soccer hooligans. The legitimate kind, the sort of round ones with no hair and scars. The kind that say "OI!" and call every girl in their vicinity "chickey."
The hooligans kept us safe. When one boy tried to push her way through one of the hooligans said, direct quote, "Oi, I'm watching you. Don't push my American girl who has been here since 3. You step back and there will be no trouble. I don't want no trouble, but there might be some trouble if you don't watch out."
Richard called it, "Another day in paradise." Right on Daddy.

second time the charm

I worship the ground Chris Martin walks on. Dramatic? Potentially. True? Obviously.
If I were to meet him, I would literally, not a joke, pee myself. Sorry, that is probably inappropriate to write on here. Regardless, could not be more true.
So, when Phil visited this past Sunday and realized I wasn't going to Coldplay this weekend when they play at Wembley he properly shamed me into buying a ticket. Good work older brother.
Ticket now purchased and counting down the hours until I am reunited with my beloved for the second time in two months.
Only 2 more days and some odd hours. So. Soon. Chris. So. Soon.

raindance.

I'm ready for an epic downpour. I hope it rains today.

tate britain

Eva Rothschild's new piece at the Tate Britain, Cold Corners, is really stunning. It was commissioned by Sotheby's and sits in the Duveens Gallery.
I loved standing in the middle and viewing it from all directions. The way such a graphic and hard structure has so easily become part of such neoclassical architecture is incredibly poignant.
I really enjoyed the Tate Britain. It was much different than the Gallery I had imagined. Home of the Tuner Prize, I expected something far more majestic than the small building off of Themes. It was nice though -- almost the anti-National Gallery which I'd been to just the day before.
Comfort in closeness. Perhaps that was the point Rothschild was trying to make.

best.night.ever.

Thursday night, the girls and I headed out in our finest to celebrate Anna Wintour's vision. A celebration of, get this, shopping. That is not a joke. Thirteen of the biggest fashion cities of the world bonded together to celebrate clothes -- to celebrate fashion and the potential it has to cheer people during dreary economic times. Or, at least that was the vision. I saw it more as a chance to dance with the gays.
We walked up and down Bond Street -- hopped into Jimmy Choo to have our make up professionally done. (My smokey eyes were out of control.) Headed over to Burberry for a dance party on the top floor, before heading over to Michael Kors which we essentially had to ourselves, (technically, it was already closed), to have a private consultation with individual sales associates. Apparently, orange is my color. Who knew? All I know is that the champagne never stopped flowing. Literally they were topping off my glass as I stuffed my face with more and more mini quiches.
It was like a dream night. Throw in some discussion of modern art and it literally would have been my heaven. Then again, it was really close enough.

family

Today is my daddy's 60th birthday, or, yesterday was, it's midnight here. I'm not sure if he would like me telling the whole world that he's 60, but oops. Happy Birthday Daddy.
I went out to Romford on Sunday. I met up with three of my cousins, Laura, Sarah, and Katie, and we went out to Burnham to visit my Great Uncle Derek. When he walks into a room, I would swear it was my granddad. I mean, really, I would swear. Derek's older now than my granddad was when he passed away, but I imagine that they would have aged the same. White shock of hair that is slightly windblown and an affinity for cakes and walks along the shore to look at the boats.
Being in England is bringing me much closer to my dad, and in turn, to my grandparents. I hope that they'd be happy I'm here, adjusting and fitting in. I'm really enjoying the little things I've started to do on my own. Even just reading a book on the Tube by myself is nice. It's nice to feel close to them. I miss them more than I say, or I think, more than I realize.
I'm in a class, "Roots of the British Genius," that focuses on how England has come to be where it is now -- a past Empire adjusting in the new Millennium. I wonder what my Granny and Grandad would think of England now. I wish I could ask them.

7

I'm off to spend the day in Notting Hill. It's Saturday so the Portobello Market is expected to be in full swing. So excited to see the vintage fashions -- an entire stall dedicated to nothing but vintage lace! I'm also looking forward to the potential of finding the blue door from the movie staring my one true love, Hugh Grant. I'll be on the look out, and if found, will take creepy tourist pictures until someone has to (politely but forcefully) tell me to stop.

classes

My first day of classes was yesterday. I only have one a day, and then no class on Friday. Once I start my internship I will have to work full time -- so the three day weekend feels like such a luxery.
My art class is out of this world. Every lecture is at a musuem. I feel so absolutely, amazingly, fortunate. Our first class was spent discussing the Arts and Crafts movement of the late nineteenth century -- specifically the works of William Morris. Instead of looking at slides, we were looking at the art itself as it sits in the British Galleries at the V & A. It's a level of studies that I've never had before.
After class I headed over to The British Museum to look at the Elgin Marbles. The fact that all the museums in London are free allows you to pop in and pop out to see a specific thing, especially when you're as close to the heart of the city as I am. You don't feel like you have to fit a million things in. Though, Rick Steves, my life hero, is giving me some great advice and information about the highlights.
God knows where I'll end up today. That's the most exciting part about this all. Very little plans, loads of spontenaity. We went out last night -- hard -- so things are moving pretty slowly this morning around The ol' Crofton.

domesticity

This is the story of my life.
My first attempt at cooking on my own, in my first kitchen, resulted in this disaster.
Caroline smiling at our "handiwork" in the background, and by handiwork I mean that we set off the smoke alarm and were frantically fanning away the fumes.
Carol, you should be so proud.

what an introduction.

Easy ladies.
Don't worry about it, I'd only been in London for four hours when Dennis Quiad physically ran his twin's stroller into my lunch table. A quick, "Oh so sorry," and an even faster skuttle off with his beautiful twins and way too skinny wife. It was an epic moment. Especially the part where I didn't realize it was Dennis Quiad until the lovely British man sitting next to us said, direct quote, "Oh my God, that's Quaid, the biggest actor in America."
Granted, I didn't know he'd been in any other movie since the Parent Trap, back when LaLo was still a red head, but I mean, that was the film of my childhood. Or, at least a good few months of it.
The rest of the day was spent in a jetlagged haze that involved a four hour nap and then a round of pub cider. After an a 12 hour night's sleep we were up to tour the Thames, and then we got lost walking around Buckingham Palace. Though, we did find The Dorchester hotel which had a lovely collection of Rolls Royce's in the front parking lot and a man in the lobby that looked suspiciously like Georgia Armani.
Back to the room now for a quick lie down before a night of pubbing and clubbing.
Love. London.

0

I'm at my gate.
Currently sitting across from a 12 year old want to be British rapper. He is listening to really loud music and mouthing the words straight to my face -- really crude lyrics mind you. His mom and dad are straight "snogging" right next to him. Interesting home life I'd imagine.
Welcome to the adventure.

-1

Tomorrow is my last day in the States until January 1. I wonder what I'll miss?
Cheeseburgers. Carol Ann. Millie. NPR. Holdie. Richard. Target.
All in all, this experience is hardly real. It's the definition of surreal. I'm leaving to live in another country, and I feel nothing. I'm not scared, but I'm not excited, because it still hasn't hit me I'm leaving.
I've spent the last week feeling like I should be incredibly busy, and instead napping, playing with Al the Cat, and eating ice cream.
Maybe tomorrow it will all sink in. Maybe not.
Maybe when I get on the airplane it will all sink in.
Then again, maybe not.
I wonder when it will hit me. Perhaps my first day there, when I almost electrocute myself plugging in my laptop, or when I take my first run through Hyde Park. Maybe when I meet Laura and Sarah for a drink. Maybe when it's my first day of class and my professors say, "Cheers."
Maybe it won't hit me at all because I've been preparing for this day my entire life. I've always known I'd live in England, it was always just a question of when.
Guess the answer is now.

typical.

Richard: You're going to England soon. Snipe me while you're there?
Me: Dad, don't you mean skype?
Richard: Right, right. That too.

beatlemania

If anyone knows anything about my family, than they know that Richard has a thing for The Beatles. That is, if thing, translates to life obsession. I've grown up to the tunes of the Fab Four.
Tonight, in my post packing haze, I'm snuggled up with chocolate ice cream and watching The Beatles Anthology on VH1. It's shocking how at home I feel listen to the wit of John, Paul, George, and Ringo.
They just told the Queen to jingle her jewels.
I think when I'm mopey in London, missing home, I'll just convince the girls to head up to Liverpool. We'll do The Beatles tour, get a pint at The Cavern, and sing "All You Need Is Love" at the top of our lungs.

-2

I'm 98.7% almost done packing.
I know, I'm in shock too.
God only knows how I did it. Both of my suitcases are 10 lbs lighter than limit. Seriously. I know. Everyone is in shock. Richard and I did all the packing, while Carol delegated from her chair. If only Holdie has been jerrymandering something in the corner it would have been a true BG moment.
Tomorrow I have some last minute errands, but that's it. I repeat, that's it. I can't beleive it. I figured I'd be frantically running around Top City begging Target to stay open for just five more minutes on Friday night. Instead I'm drinking wine and helping Carol Ann with a cross word.
Life is pretty lame at the moment.
I guess that's what I want. A few lame days before I don't see one for four months. I mean, I guess there is a potential for a lame day here or there in London, but in Middle America, almost everyday is a lame day. I mean, I love the blue sky prairie, but let's be real. It's all pretty lame.
I'm ready for the thrill of big city living. Bring it on London.
Bring. It. On.