I apologise, Budapest. I’ve now visited you nearly more times than anywhere else outside of my homeland, but I’ve yet to write anything about you. Before you get the wrong idea, It’s not you, it’s me.
Much more than simply Ljubljana and Lake Bled, there was far more to see in Slovenia that could be checked off in a long weekend. That said, we thoroughly enjoyed our short time there and walked away with a strong desire to return.
Let’s first talk about sea sickness. Thankfully I don’t suffer from such an affliction, yet it would have been an idea to consider such a possibility before booking a kayak trip on the Adriatic sea. Bobbing along in the waves, some as tall as myself, the thought did occur to me. Thankfully I kept this thought to myself, rather than saddle Kat with the idea of a potential liability in the front of her boat.
Then 2018 hit, like a ton of bricks.
Sometimes you see life coming. Sometimes you create a perfect storm of inspiration and experiences. And sometimes life sneaks up, hikes your shirt over your head, and shoves you into open air, leaving you flailing for purchase.
A semi-classy cocktail bar in London’s lush hive of nightlife known as Soho. Hints of nearby jazz drift in through a tentatively opened door, lazily lapping at the heels of an anxious-looking young man. Excited at its surprising change of environs, and curious as to the fresh mix of patrons laid before it, the strings of jazz drift on the cusp of the threshold. The newfound vista, however, will offer only a brief glimpse into a world beyond brass and thrummed bass origins.
One aspect I always overlook when moving is just how quickly everything novel becomes mundane. I’ve heard of theories like “The Blinking Factor”, which makes assumptions based on our brain’s ability to parse familiar data and streamline the ingestion of new information.
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.
14 years ago today I sat down to write a short article about someone who’d inspired me as a writer. If you know about Towel Day, you can guess that I’m referring to Douglas Adams. In 2001, Adams unexpectedly passed away. He may not have been prophetic, but he wrote some fantastic stories. Much like Terry Pratchett, he brought healthy doses of wit and credibility to the realm of satire.
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.