29 September, 2007 | 2 Comments

This morning I logged onto the website of my American bank, only to discover that the U.S. federal government shut it down yesterday. Talk about panic! Netbank is an internet bank, so there can be no “run” on the bank as we saw with Northern Rock here in the UK a few weeks ago. From the AP: “NetBank Inc., an online bank with $2.5 billion in assets, was shut down by the government on Friday because of an excessive level of mortgage defaults. It was the largest savings and loan failure since the tail end of the industry’s crisis more than 14 years ago.”

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29 September, 2007 | Comments

I had a good evening at the theatre. Here’s a hint:

More on that tomorrow.

In other news, I’m quite irritated. Earlier this week they removed all the shower heads in the building where I live. They’re going to replace them, but no one knows when. It’s really tough not having a shower. Then today, the water in the area was shut off for 13 hours! Those of you who live in London will have seen the signs all over from Thames Water stating that London’s ancient Victorian water mains are being replaced little by little. Well, this seems like a swell project until they show up on your street. This is the second time they’ve cut the water supply. Thirteen hours without H2O is a bit extreme, don’tcha think? Showers are already impossible where I live, but today there was no bathing, hand-washing, water drinking or toilet-going either. Since all good things come in threes, here’s something else: It’s freeeeeeezing in London now and there’s no heat in this building at all.

Am I living in a Charles Dickens novel?

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27 September, 2007 | 4 Comments

A day of beauty and literary stimulation for me. Right now I’m eating chocolate. Decadent.

With school starting and all, I figured it was time for a new hair color. My roots were showing, which always makes me feel like a slut. My new hair color is actually my real color, but it’s funny how strange it looks to me. Over the past couple years I’ve flirted with red and then a lighter shade of brown with lots of highlights. The colors just kept piling on and it damaged my hair. Last month I had to get a few inches chopped off. Now I’ve gone back to dark brown, the color the gods intend for me to have (after all, it’s what comes out of my head naturally):

I fear I look like quite the goth chick. I want to go out and buy some kohl to ring my eyes with. I just went down to reception and one of my co-workers saw me and did a double-take. I do look much different, but she thinks I look better. Well, that’s something.

On my way home from the salon, the Circle Line was basically shut down. As always. I have two questions: 1) does the Circle Line ever run properly? 2) why isn’t the Circle Line just demolished?

Moving on to the evening…

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26 September, 2007 | 7 Comments

All of my boxes from Paris arrived last week in perfect condition. Fancy that. I wrote that I wasn’t sure if the guy I hired was legit or not, but he was. I also wrote that I didn’t care if he stole all of my stuff. I really did feel that way at the time. Most of what was in those boxes has been shipped from the US to Britain to France and now back to Britain. I’ve packed and unpacked them numerous times, paid movers to cart them around, stored them by greatly imposing on people, lifted them until my back ached, etc. I was just plain tired of the hassle. I could have probably replaced everything inside of those boxes for half the price of what it cost to move them so many times. [Here are the legendary boxes when I first packed them up last summer. They're much more tattered now.]

I had more stuff stored here in London too and tonight I got my five boxes back from Nicole, who had kept them for more than a year! Not only that, but she had to endure countless e-mails from me over the past few weeks changing the day I was coming to pick them up at least 10,000 times until finally tonight I just (practically) found some guy off the street to drive to her place and get them for me. [I have single-handedly kept the "man with a van" industry in London and Paris afloat.] I still can’t believe someone in London and someone in Paris was kind enough to come to my rescue and store these damn boxes. See, not everyone I meet is evil.

Now I have all my things back under one roof for the first time in more than a year. Even though I was dreading getting all of these boxes back, the good news is that now that I have them, I am thrilled to bits! This was unexpected, but as I unpacked them I discovered all my favorite books, my iPod speakers, pairs of shoes I forgot I had, my slow cooker, dishes and teacups, my wooden Virginia Woolf sculpture (oh be quiet) and all sorts of other fun stuff. You’ll be pleased to know that my beloved pig mugs survived their journey from Paris, as did my statue of the Virgin Mary. I’ve got my jewelry back and my picture frames and my aromatherapy burner. Bliss.

After literally nine months of living out of a suitcase, I am finally home.

Does anyone have a spare bookshelf?

24 September, 2007 | 4 Comments

Yesterday I wrote about the heartwarming sight of parents moving their children into the hall of residence where I live and work. Turns out that while I was writing that post — literally — the neighborhood thieves were hard at work too, smashing windows in the parents’ aforementioned Mercedes, Range Rovers et al. and swiping laptops.

What’s moving day without a few tears, shards of glass and a visit from the police? All I can say is, Welcome to the neighborhood, kiddies!

In happier news, this morning I was passing by a used bookshop and saw on their display table outside a sparkling Virago edition of Elizabeth von Arnim’s novel The Enchanted April for only £1.95. Score!

23 September, 2007 | Comments

Happy first day of autumn! I love how the British always say autumn. Americans tend to say fall, which is just wrong. Autumn is such a beautiful word.

[For readers in the Southern Hemisphere, happy spring!]

The students are moving into the hall today! Right now out my window I can see a string of parental cars double and triple parked. [At least half of these cars are of the Mercedes/Beamer/Range Rover/Jaguar variety. Do you have to be rich to attend a London uni and live in hall? I have no idea. Thank goodness I don't have to pay rent on this place.]

Most London colleges start this week, including mine. Forget January — this is when the new year starts. This time of year is always very exciting for me. Autumn. School supplies. Beginnings.

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20 September, 2007 | 10 Comments

I finally went to see Mary Poppins! It was a fantastic show. I very rarely go to musicals — unless I know the songs and like them, I just find musicals to be excruciating. But seeing such an elaborate spectacle on the stage, with special effects and so much glitz, was a real treat to behold. At the end, Mary Poppins — her trademark black umbrella open — flies over the audience. I may be a dork for admitting this, but I loved that. Maybe I should give musicals more of a chance. I love going to the theatre and now that I have a bit of money, I plan to go regularly. There’ll be no harm in seeing a few musicals in between the dramas about death and depression I normally prefer.

What I like about Mary Poppins the character is that she’s all sweetness and light on the outside, but deep down inside you know she’s a bitch. This subtext is blindingly obvious. In the musical at least, there’s actually something slightly sinister about Mary Poppins. I quite liked the musical number (added just for the play) in which Mary gets pissed at the kids, leaves the nursery and then their toys come to life and terrorize them (including tying them up). Because of this scene, children under 3 are not allowed to see the show.

Mary, I like your style.

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19 September, 2007 | 1 Comment

Last week my summer job teaching at the university ended and I already lined up another job! I feel special. I don’t know why people in London are always clamoring for my services, but I’m not complaining. I feel sad the university job is finished (they only need extra part-time staff during the peak summer period), but I found a job at a little college run by a major language school, teaching essay writing and other academic skills to international students. I think it’ll be fun.

Another reason I’m sad the university job is over is because being a part-time instructor (or what Americans call an adjunct) at a British university pays a motherload. The job I had teaching for the university here pays more than any job I’ve ever hard before in my life. Not only that, but get this. Because of an EU directive, part-timers get one hour of holiday pay for every twelve hours of teaching. So I’ve just raked in several hundred pounds in holiday pay for what was a two-month job.

Contrast this with my American job. I’ve been working part-time for this company for nearly three years; earlier this year I got a promotion, so that shows I do good work. What benefits have I gotten during these three years of hard work? Not one single solitary cent. Zilch. Nothing. And if I complained about this (as people have), they’d tell me that if I don’t like it, they’ll just replace me with someone else. This is really just a reflection of the American employment situation in general, particularly for those working part-time, which is really a way for employers to avoid providing health insurance. In every field I’ve ever worked in, I’ve been paid peanuts and worked to death.

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17 September, 2007 | 10 Comments

Anglofille turns two years old today! For the record, it’s pronounced: anglo-FEE. Or at least, that’s how I intend for it to be pronounced. If you say it differently, I’m not going to sue you.

Today on Anglofille’s big day, I decided I’d read through the archives from start to finish. It was quite fun at first to read my old ramblings [though the writing was pretty bad]. Damn, I was really feisty when I started, even more than now I think. After Samuel Alito was confirmed to the Supreme Court, I posted something long and rabid titled Welcome to the Christianist Republic of Ameristan.

Anyway, I was having a merry old time, reading along. Then I got to Paris. I read through September 2006 and had to stop because it was upsetting me too much. It wasn’t just what I wrote, but that I immediately remembered how I was feeling when I wrote it. So my trip through the archives came to a halt. Some other time, I guess.

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16 September, 2007 | 5 Comments

A friend from Boston is passing through London tonight and staying at my place. On the phone, she told her husband back home that with my hair pulled back, I look like a Pre-Raphaelite painting.

Awww. PhD students in the humanities give the best compliments.

15 September, 2007 | 4 Comments

Two years ago today my Continental flight from Newark, New Jersey touched down in London. It’s been two whole years since I arrived on these shores. It’s easy for me to go into sentimental overdrive at times like these, so let me just say this:

I think London is the most amazing city in the world. I know I haven’t visited every city in the world, but I’ve traveled a bit. I’ve also been lucky enough to call a few world-class cities home: New York, Boston, Paris. In my opinion, those cities combined do not hold a candle to the wonder that is London. It’s not even close. There’s no question about that in my mind.

This is the only place I’ve ever lived that I truly love. Something about London speaks to me, makes me feel at home, inspires me. I’m not entirely sure why this is — no place in my own country has ever made me feel this way. This city, in a country not my own, gives me a sense of home like no other place has. I don’t question it, I just savor the feelings it evokes. I romanticize this city, to be sure, but I’ve also had my share of difficult times here and it hasn’t changed my view of what this place means to me. I romanticized Paris and that wore off rather quickly once I moved there. Not so with London.

I couldn’t possibly explain why I love London so much in this short space, but I try to convey my passion in my blog posts and photos. One of the best things about having a blog is that sometimes Londoners tell me that seeing their city through my eyes makes them realize just how special it is. This is one advantage the outsider has — the ability to see a place in a way the natives cannot. This perspective is a gift and I’ll always treasure it. I had a conversation recently with an Englishman who lived in Los Angeles for a few years and he spoke of it as a miraculous, amazing place. As a native of Southern California, I laughed at his assessment, which was mean, because I should have realized that it was impossible for me to see LA in the way that he does.

I’ve been reading a lot of Virginia Woolf lately and she writes so eloquently about her intense, passionate love of London. This city was her whole world. In Mrs. Dalloway, Clarissa thinks about how much she loves London and how it will continue to be here long after she is gone. After reading this I realized that even life-long residents of London are only temporary residents. London is never truly ours; no matter how long any of us live here it’ll never belong to us. It’ll go on without us, which is sad and wonderful at the same time. One of the things to love about this place is the way it lives and breathes and perseveres; the way the ghosts of its past inhabitants dwell amongst us, the living. All we can do is appreciate our time here, the now, the London that exists in these early days of the 21st-century. If we’re wise, we’ll view our days here as a gift. We’ll call London ours and we’ll believe that it is.

13 September, 2007 | 9 Comments

My lawsuit against my French landlady is finally taking off. It’s taken a while to get going, not because my lawyer was dragging her feet but because I was. I just didn’t want to deal with this. I didn’t want any more drama. I also fear the French courts will rule against me because I’m American or because of some ridiculous French legal technicality. I still think this could happen, but I’m moving ahead with the lawsuit anyway. Did I mention that the weasel who runs the apartment rental agency forwarded my lawyer a whole list of people this landlady has previously screwed over?

My lawyer just sent me a draft copy of the complaint for my approval. It’s all in French, but I understood it. [I've noticed recently how much my French has improved!] I was literally stunned to read the complaint she drafted, particularly this:

Le préjudice subi par la demanderesse, directement imputable à la mauvaise foi de la propriétaire qui a apparemment voulu profiter de la situation d’infériorité dans laquelle se trouvait Mademoiselle [Anglofille], étudiante étrangère, doit être réparé à hauteur de 5.000€.

This essentially states that I suffered damage at the hands of the apartment owner, who acted in bad faith because she wanted to take advantage of my inferior status as a foreign student. The apartment owner must make up for this…in the amount of 5,000 euros! This is equal to $7,000/£3,500.

Throughout the complaint, my lawyer refers to the abusive treatment I suffered and explains that this directly contributed to my having to leave Paris earlier than expected. In addition to the 5,000€ and the return of my deposit and guarantie, she is also asking for more money in accordance with some French civil code. I have no idea what this means, but the upshot is that I am suing this witch for nearly $13,000/£6,500. When I read this, I was filled with glee. I know I’ll be lucky just to get the deposit and guarantie back, but on principle I really appreciate what my lawyer is doing. And I bet the landlady will have a heart attack when she reads this. Good. Maybe she’ll die!

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11 September, 2007 | 4 Comments

Happy Birthday to my dearest Maman!

Over the years, I’ve become quite partial to the French term maman [pronounced more like mama but with a French twist. I use it all the time.]

So what do I want to write about maman on her birthday? Lately I’ve been thinking about how lucky I am to have a mom who is not one of those mothers. I’ve been hearing so many women complain about their mothers, both people I know and funnily enough, just by eavesdropping on conversations on the train recently. There are so many horror stories about how mothers criticize their daughters’ appearance (their weight, their clothes, their hair); how they criticize their daughters’ lifestyles (Why aren’t you married yet? Why don’t you have kids?). These are all familiar complaints from women about their mothers, but I realized recently that my mom has never criticized me about these things.  Never.  Not once.  I realize just how lucky I am and how this has changed my life and shaped who I am.

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9 September, 2007 | 2 Comments

I remember when I was a little girl, many shops wouldn’t allow children to buy glue. Apparently, the wicked allure of sniffing good ol’ Elmer’s was too irresistible for some youngsters.

How quaint.

Today at my local supermarket (part of a huge UK supermarket chain), I saw a notice stating that the store will no longer sell knives to anyone under the age of 18. Customers are warned that if they look under 21, they’ll be carded when trying to buy a knife and that they shouldn’t be offended if this happens. Ah, what a wonderful world we live in.

According to the Times, the UK is “one of the knife crime blackspots of the developed world.” Perhaps the chains will start selling stab-proof vests just in time for back-to-school shopping.

Not to be left out, American parents can buy all sorts of bullet-proof baby gear. [No, this website isn't real -- or at least, I pray it's not -- but it's damn funny.]

8 September, 2007 | 3 Comments

The pleasures of my new home [part two]…

Proximity to cupcakes.

7 September, 2007 | 3 Comments

The pleasures of my new home [part one]…

Toast.

I’ve not had toast in ages. I can’t order proper toast in restaurants because I need dairy-free “butter,” so I must make it at home. And I haven’t been able to do that in the various one-room quarters I’ve called home for the past nine months or so. But now I can make toast. What a marvel! What a wonder! Toast is divine. Those of you regular toast-eaters just take it for granted. Shame on you.

I’ve used my favorite bread — Paul’s French Style Sourdough Bread purchased from Planet Organics. The first item in the list of ingredients? “Unbleached Wheat Flour From Nigel Moon’s Windmill.”

Sometimes I like toast that is almost burned, that is black. That’s the best kind of toast. I come from a long line of people who like burnt toast. And for me, it’s even better with honey, especially that thick, creamy honey you can buy in English grocery stores.

That’s really been the highlight of my week: Toast. I’ve been working like a madwoman, so I haven’t had time to enjoy my new home. I’ve not been here much, but I’ve had a few moments of staring out the window at the trees in the soft light while eating my toast with honey. A small pleasure, but I’ll take it.

3 September, 2007 | 5 Comments

At last.

I’ve ended up where I began. In my new home, it is rarely quiet.

Mostly I hear:

Church bells and police sirens.

Nothing, nothing beats city life.

I sit at my desk now. Outside my window there are trees that I’m already in love with, trees that cast shadows on Georgian buildings. There are street lamps outside my window, bright at night like stars in the blackness.

This feels like a dream sometimes, this life that I have. Here. I fear that someone will take it away from me, realize I’m not worthy, send me away. It’s a real fear, but for now I tell myself that I live here

amongst these fabled leafy squares where two years ago there were bombs, where two years ago there was blood in the streets.

There are ghosts, here, of murdered people, of famous dead writers. There are ghosts here of my former selves, from ten years ago, from two years ago. I keep ending up here, walking these same streets, seeing this same self reflected in shop windows, this girl-woman, older now, better now, happier now, capable of understanding what happiness is, now,

but still searching. For something.