First of all, who are the 53 people reading this? My family is not that big. So, whoever you are, thank you very much for staying with me and keeping updated with how I am doing and what with whom.
Secondly, this is going to be quite a report, so you should probably take your time reading this and be prepared for both reports about my experiences in London and notes about British people and their habits. It is going to be divided into two parts (this are remnants from University, always divide your speech into parts - God I wish I could stop hearing their voices...). Part 1: Recounting the past events of the week. Part 2: Some Insights on English Life and how they behave As for my last weekend, I went to see the Eurovision Song Contest at a bar together with some old and new friends. I don't know whether you watched the event, but if you haven't, be assured you haven't missed much. Years and years ago, the Contest circled around embarrassing, but highly entertaining, pieces of music that were given clear distinction to their respective countries. You would watch for the sake of vicarious embarrassment and to see a multi-shaded representation of the music industry. Now, however, the contest has succumbed to the pop industry, each "artist" presenting a same-sounding pop kerfuffle, presented in the English language. Don't get me wrong, I love English and English songs, but this is not what the ESC should be about...but then, Azerbaijan and Australia were contesting, so what are we talking about here anyway... Before we went to the Roxy - the bar in which we watched the ESC - I, N and her boyfriend (henceforth called M) met in Shoreditch, Brick Lane for dinner. Shoreditch is a great place for two things: amazing street art and getting raped. Seriously, I was quite frightened when I wandered about the streets on my own (M and N were late, we can only guess why...) and was wearing my posh heels and coat, and was therefore definitely slightly overdressed for that kind of area. Although, to defend Shoreditch, there were all kinds of cool, street-arty people running around and in hindsight I am pretty sure I could have run around naked and no one would have cared (not even the potential rapist). I killed time by wandering up and down Brick Lane and found some cool stores like the chocolate shop (see pics) or a 50's clothes store which had amazing bags and dresses. You might generally be wondering why we chose Shoreditch to have dinner, but it has a simple reason. We had dinner at the Cereal Killer Café, an establishment dedicated to the many wondrous tastes of every cereal you could find on the planet. It was truly amazing! It was not much bigger than a normal single room, but squashed with shelves overflowing with boxes and boxes of different cereals. Additionally, there were 30 different milk types to choose from (from whole, semi-skimmed and skimmed, to strawberry, chocolate and bubblegum milk). I know, cereals are no proper dinner, but it all looked so good and I am mid-twenties so if I want to make stupid decisions, I should do it now. I had a cereal mixture called "The Luckiest Charm", which consisted of the cereals "Lucky Charms" and had added marshmallows in it. It was really nice and wonderfully unhealthy. I can only recommend it, though I guess everything in there is pretty awesome (except from the healthy stuff). After our unlikely dinner, we set off for the Roxy bar where we met some of M's friends. They were funny people and we had fun watching the ESC in front of a big screen. The best part of the ESC, however, and here we come back to my rant, was the song performed by Mans and Petra Mede (the presenters) "Love, Love, Peace, Peace" mocking the traditional ingredients of a ESC song. In case you haven't watched it, here is the youtube link and you should definitely do so, as it was hilarious and certainly the most entertaining song of the evening: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMgW54HBOS0 Apart from that, my week was pretty uneventful, though I couldn't help but noticing a couple of peculiar things about British people. The weather - as English weather should be - was very unpredictable lately and although we had some lovely pre-summerly days during the past weeks, they were nicely mixed up with cold, rainy, soggy days. However, British men couldn't care less - they would still be wearing shorts. I have the feeling, British people (especially men) get their shorts out with the first nice day and then stick with them: "who cares whether it's snowing again. It's spring now, so I am going to wear shorts, suck it up". On the other side, they might be trained for that at school. My protégé changed to her summer uniform after the first nice week of sunshine. Soon after, however, there was a cold episode of weather and all the little girls were freezing in the yard. Would have anyone considered giving them tights or warm jumpers? No, once it is summer, the British stick to their summer clothes - come rain, come shine. The other thing are the sandwiches. I know the British LOVE their sandwiches. If it was possible to eat soup in sandwich form, they would do it. Some of them eat them every lunchtime and although I am a general fan of sandwiches, too, I could never eat them every day for lunch - apparently, the British can. Queuing, is something the British are famous for, I believe. George Mikes once said: "An Englishman, even if he is alone, forms an orderly queue of one", which I have discovered to be true. However, someone else once said (and I couldn't be bothered to look up who) that the British only queue because otherwise they would rip each other apart. A notion which I could also imagine to be true. But this text is not about the British queuing; it is about me disrupting the order of their queuing and getting a strange satisfaction out of it. I was raised in Austria - a country in which you don't queue but shove your way elbow-style to the front. In Austria, when you exit a bus, there is a wall of people standing who want to get inside; at a bar you don't hesitantly wait, but snap your fingers until you have the barkeeper's attention or just shout your order across the bar. I, personally, like queuing inasmuch because I have a very high regard for justice. Being a painstakingly nice person, I wouldn't elbow or jump the queue, so I am relieved if there is some sort of system which guides me through the jungle. Furthermore, I have the bad luck to always queue where the cashier is the slowest sloth on earth and with proper queuing, this injustice is more unlikely to happen. However, the other day I jumped the queue and initially it was actually an accident, but soon became a fun leisure sport. There were people literally queuing at the bus station and I, being preoccupied by my phone, went all the way up to the bus station sign to await the bus. First, they started shifting, then harrumphing, but as soon as I looked up, their faces turned in the other direction or smiled coyly at me. When I realised what was going on, I smirked and remained where I was, just as a social experiment. When the bus came, they looked at me in a kind of begging way not to disrupt their order. I did. I boarded the bus, snatched the best seat and smirked cheekily when the others passed. I know it is wrong, but, hell, there are only so little indulgences in life!
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AuthorIn September 2015 I started a new chapter of my life by moving (temporarily or permanently, not yet decided) to England where I work and socialise now. Archives
December 2017
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