flttr - th nw twttr

nano nano

my temporary city has already gone away for easter vacation

I was one of about 5 people taking breakfast in the normally bustling cafe today. When I grabbed a cab, the driver said he'd been watching a movie for the last 45 minutes and drinking a coffee.

The whole place has already gone on vacation for Easter.

I suspect I am one of a handful still working in this city. Empty streets at what would normally be peak rush-hour. Just bicycles where there would usually be lines of stationary cars.

Something of a contrast from the flurry of people around even the gas-mask stall in London's Portobello Market last Saturday.

breakfast start for a suppertime meeting with a lack of gasoline

I'd arranged to meet two people for supper this evening, but it meant starting the preparations at around breakfast time because of the location. They were both travelling to the rendezvous and all three of us will be in different countries tomorrow.

In my case, I had to leave for the airport at 10am, arrive back at the Temporary Apartment by mid afternoon and then meet in a bar before we headed to the restaurant.

It all went to plan until much later when we needed to refill the Plymouth Voyager with gasoline (its American so you can't fill it with petrol).

First we couldn't find anyone local in the restaurant who knew where the petrol stations were located, but then when we did it was a drive almost out of town, on the remaining 6kms of fuel according to the readout.

The first petrol station was a deserted automat and wouldn't take any of our credit cards.

The second one was also an automat but encouragingly there were others filling their cars. Less luck with us, as we tried three cards (all foreign) and then used my remaining few bills of local currency.

In the process we had to drive the unwieldy vehicle to two different pumps and face a stand-off from a local who tried to jump the queue. And the accompanying sounds of a Winnie the Pooh story booming from the van didn't exactly help.

everything's great down at notting hill gate

Portobello market this afternoon and a movie at the Electric.

It was "The Boat that Rocked" describing the UK 'swinging sixties' Pirate Radio stations.

Something of an ensemble piece, with pop music reminiscences and rather cartoonish portrayals of the disk jockeys as well as the introduction of a surprisingly 2009 emo character for a way of signposting what was happening.

The boat which was supposed to be moored in International Waters just off of the British coastline as a thinly disguised Radio Caroline or Radio London.

I'll describe it as a film with a few smiles rather than any elaborate plot or big message.

Intended as a celebration of the era and with a Notting Hill/Four Weddings type cast, so I suppose I was seeing it in the right cinema.

Of course the Electric is something of an institution itself, with its leather armchairs and footstools so you can really lay down to watch the movie (unless you watch it from one of the leather covered beds, of course).

And I still smile when I watch the reminder about switching off *ahem* electrical gadgets before the film starts and the innovative use of a popcorn holder (don't ask).

man saves world?

It's amazing how the odd Trillion can help change one's fortunes. Take Gordon, once a down at heel politician with an aptitude for making mistakes. His blackened pen had could turn anything from value into something worthless.

But now, by chatting with a few of his big car owning distant acquaintances against a backdrop of highly coloured flags it looks as if he has moved to a lighter side.

Simply adding a Trillion of Wonga to heal the broken global promises of rampant financiers seems to have curbed the speculation of his replacement.

Only a week ago everyone was wondering if Harriett Harmon was about to step forward as a leader in waiting, but now the alleged Anglo-Saxon banking malaise has been cured at a single stroke.

As they scrub the graffitti from the walls of our good Lady of Threadneedle Street and we marvel at the more imaginitive protests, perhaps we are supposed to wonder what all the fuss was about.

...Or maybe I've been away too long?

from our country files - extreme shepherding

In case you've missed these sheep antics.

a series of delays

Some emergency shopping on Tuesday evening because of my unexpected extended stay away this week. My moderately priced return ticket was not changeable on day of travel so I had to buy another single back to the UK.

On Sunday I'd left my car in the plastic denting short stay at Heathrow for this originally short visit.

But then during Thursday the meetings overran again and I found myself being negotiated onto the last seat on another flight with a different carrier. At least the previous single ticket was refundable.

I finally arrived at the airport and headed for the noodle bar before catching the plane.

"Ring Ring" said my phone,"Hi", said a voice. "We are just coming through security...Can we meet for a follow up discussion before we head back to Amsterdam?"

...So ten minutes later I was meeting in the Caviar Bar by Pier C Airside. They enjoyed smoked salmon whilst I sipped an orange juice as we continued business meetings.

Finally to the plane, which would take me back to a different terminal a rail journey across the airport from where my car was parked.

Shame that there had been a circuit failure on the Heathrow Express, so I had to wait rather a long time to get from T3 to T5.

And the car parking was surprisingly expensive.

G20 President Obama's Downing Street turn

I'm viewing the G20 events from a distance at the moment, but smiled when I saw the footage of trying to park President Obama's armored limo outside 10 Downing Street.

I'm already a Fluegelmeister on the Alpine Legend Xbox game

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champion angel as a personal soundtrack

Six of us early evening in a restaurant and then late to a harbourside bar with a guitarist playing 70's songs.
Throw up your voice but not your mind
While them agents of change go monopolize
Their colors and their faces are just shades of the same
All lost in the game
Then icy night deserted streets watched by crescent moon
I promise you this promise we are not alone
But why is it I alone that promise this
Deny the forces that would hurry men
If you still can
Pack to go home before morning city centre session then cross town to where all the pieces were thrown in the air.
We come now to a fracture in the road
Here time has taken her toll
The endless freezing and the thawing of the heart
Would eventually divide us apart
So I'm here for a few more days whilst we figure it all out.
What's that you found in the pocket of your coat
Looks like a small sentiment that she wrote
Don't be my personal savior I would not be saved
I chose to walk alone

Among all you angels is a champion angel
Among all you devils there's a free soul
Up from the disenfranchised the engine cries
Up from the circle there's a hole

impressions from a freetown

Sunday late afternoon, I took a taxi from the airport to drop my bag before grabbing a map and heading for the nearby freetown commune to take a cautious look around.

After about half an hour of walking, I found myself in an area initially reminiscent of the western side of the Glastonbury Festival.

The difference is that there's around 600-700 permanent residents in this area which was first established sometime in the early 1970s, with its axis centred upon 'Pusher Street'.

For me, it was a bustling late afternoon and many people were using the various cafes and bars, some of which had a rather improvised kind of look. In the central area, there were various 'no photography' signs, which I respected. My limited snaps are from the periphery of what is a large area.

The little symbol above the restaurant sign is three yellow circles on a red background, which is the flag for this freetown area.

Many homeless have gravitated to the area and now using some of the brick structures of what I believe had once been a military camp along with other improvised timber buildings.

I could hear a band practicing in one area and the sounds of skateboards from another. There had been a road layout but now there were no cars and revised paths intersected the area. There appeared to be the remnants of an old bus terminal.

It was an area of contrasts. As well as the shop keepers running bars and cafes and some sort of nightclub scene, there were many individual people drinking beer from bottles along the edges of the street and others alone smoking prominent rolled-up cigarettes.

Through it all walked groups of what were clearly well dressed tourist 'outsiders'.

The freetown set its own agenda. They have argued with the politicians in order to be able to exist. They have their own rules although the State police also make regular visits. There's an economy of sorts and I believe they also have a special currency.

I didn't stay long enough to get an idea of what people in the area really think. I believe this model was originally described as a way to build a new society, as a social experiment. Their messaging is certainly filled with hope.

But I was not well prepared for this visit which created for me an impression of something that was balancing right on the edge, barely surviving.

catch a falling star

A somewhat compressed weekend with Saturday's sangria laced tapas excursion but then yesterday evening a darkened Earth Hour viewing of the enchanted Stardust movie.

Co-incidentally, I'd seen this Neil Gaimann movie once before on Spanish hotel television with a foreign soundtrack which didn't help my general comprehension. I don't think it was the sangria the last time.

The movie reminded me that I carry a fallen star in my luggage. It's a small purple glittery ceramic star about the size of a medium size coin.

It must have originally fallen from some wrapping paper, and I found it on the stairs at home and originally slipped it into my pocket. 'Catch a falling star, put it in your pocket, never let it fade away' as the old song goes.

So I havn't; it may not shimmer as much as Clare Danes in the movie, but it is still sparkles as a symbol of happy times.