It feels somewhat unsettling to be writing about X-mas from the comfort of a sunny day in May … while enjoying a glass of wine … on a balcony in London … But hell, I didn’t start this blog with any adherence to chronology and it would be a shame to start worrying about that now.
That’s it, when I’m done with this blog, I’m devoting my time to writing a wry adult-themed graphic novel following the adventures of a Aix: a time travelling tour guide from the 24th century, now trapped in the past. Everything he’s learned is a lie; the past isn’t some candy-coated funland with a dash of Errol Flynn, but a quagmire of savagery, greed, rock music, and ass-kicking vigilantes fighting against encroaching hordes of invaders from another dimension. Hilarity ensues.
I’ve flown over oceans and seen nautical vistas from the comfort of the sofa, but I’ve never laid eyes on an actual azure coast. As the plane banked on our final approach, I couldn’t stop grinning. Stretching out beyond the clichéd framing of our plane’s wing was the glistening expanse of the Mediterranean Sea. Forgive my prose, but fuck does that look incredible! Had I the option of wiping my memory every time I saw the sea, just to experience it fresh once again … I’d consider it. Dangers of memory alteration be damned! I couldn’t turn away and stared near-dumbfoundedly until the spectacle disappeared from view.
I know that the internet has sat rapt in anticipation for the conclusion of my travels in the lands of Cardiff. Suffice to say, despite my best efforts and intentions, I allowed delays and procrastination to get the better of me. It’s now been over a year since my trip to the Welsh capital and I feel somewhat disinclined to conclude the story. In detail at least.
Despite a veritable trove of piss being taken out of the Welsh by Brits, Wales is a beautiful place. From everything we experienced, it’s safe to say that Wales is to the UK as Newfoundland is to Canada. It’s oft used as a comedic punching bag, yet you’d be hard-pressed to find people who’d turn down a trip there. Also like the most East-Coasternly of Canadians, the Welsh are amoung the friendliest folks in the world.
In the months since we’ve arrived, I’ve discovered that many things piss Londoners off. They’re a diverse lot and, as such, can boast a rather diverse selection of peeves. There are very few things a person can do in Londontown that won’t piss off at least one passerby.
How many pairs of jeans can you survive with? How about jumpers: how many are too many? Do you really need to bring shampoo? You also have to consider shoes, coats, hats, books, laptops, phones, cables, office supplies, rain gear, medication, kitsch and whatnot … The simple truth is, no matter what you want to bring with you, it will likely end up being too much.
Well this is it, the beginning of my account of moving to the UK with little more than the clothes on my back. Hello 2003, I’m a blogger! I’ll also soon have a short-run ‘zine, which I’m hoping will capture an Edwardian-inspired-new-age take on the froyo invasion. Prepare for classist undertones and enough snaps of damask wallpaper to cover a small, yet sensible, flat.