The Mystery Moleskine

Yesterday Lauren and I were crossing the road infront of Stazione Termini in Rome, when on the ground in the pouring rain I spotted a moleskine notebook (well, diary in this case). Being the moleskine collector I am, I knew that it had a space for the person's name and address etc, to return it. Except this person didn't put his details in, so we (and the Aussie in my hostel room) developed some theories:

1. He's been on an internet dating site (judging by the many names of women through it)
2. He sees a psychiatrist named Claudia the last Monday of each month (based on the fact that 18:00 Claudia has been on the last MOnday of Jan and Feb
3. He travels a lot for work (Venice, Paris and a few other places)
4. He drives a moped (taking his Viper to the mechanic was on his to-do list)
5. He was seeing a girl named Andrea and it didn't work out (she had three entries in two weeks, and then they stopped)
6. He's disorganized (he doesn't have any entries at all beyond March 8th and he didn't put his details in the front)

They went on, but I don't remember what else we came up with.

We had some light shed on this guy by some Italians we met on the train today, but that will have to wait. It's time to go eat some Florentine pasta and drink some authentic Chianti...

Ciao!

The Politics of Snoring

Last night I reentered the world of mixed-sex hostel room sharing. I'm not entirely sure I knew I was going to enter it when I registered, but there I was, so I thought it best to make the most of the experience. I shared the room with a lovely Aussie (who might meet up with us for a bit in Florence), a dutch guy and a highly illegal couple (everybody knows that 5 people in a 4 person room is soo not cool!) So, getting over having them both strip to their underwear and hop into bed, we had to deal with the guy's outrageous snoring all night. It was unbelievable. I honestly don't think I've heard anything like it in my life! The Dutch guy and Aussie girl were outraged all night (I slept through most of it), until 6:00 am when I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. The Aussie who's staying another couple of nights said that she wouldn't have minded so much...if he didn't snore. So she reported them, and they got booted out (or so it seems since when I returned from breakfast they were gone). So, if you ever decide to smuggle another person into your bed in a hostel, make sure neither of you snores!

Italia!

For some reason blogger.com is Italian in Italy, but hey, ho, it makes it an adventure!

I'm just having a bit of a "down" afternoon to recharge my batteries. My dad left this morning (boo hoo) and I'm meeting up with Lauren this evening. I thought it would be a good time to do a few postcards (my favourite is the one of Pope Jean Paul II arising Spirit-like above the Vatican. It reminded me of the part in Ghostbusters when you first see the Staypuff Marshmellow Man descending upon New York City. I'm currently in the internet room at the hostel. It's a sure step back to Steerage Class from where I have been staying. All things considered though, this is still a pretty good place.

My first few days in Italy have been fantastic. I have decided that Rome probably has the most relaxed security ever. I was waved through customs...literally...I didn't even stop walking as I waved my passport in the general direction of the man sitting behind the desk (I fart in your general direction - ha ha!) and it was so un-customs like that I didn't even realize it was customs until I was out at the luggage area. Who knew?! Annoyingly, I didn't even get a stamp. Don't the Roman authorities know that half the purpose of travelling is to get a stamp? I'll have to make my own! BYOPS Bring your own passport stamp!

My time with dad was absolutely wonderful. We roamed the streets of Rome, ate Gelato, and poor dad was "Mamma Mia!!!!"ed at by a lady in her restaurant after he failed to shut a door properly. I didn't know Italians actually said that! We wandered through the forum where dad very obligingly pretended to be dead at the place where Julius Ceasre was killed, and we wandered up and down several little streets and alleys in Centico Storico.

Gosh, I don't want this to become long and drawn out, so I'll just finish by saying that today Anna and I climbed the stairs (well, we had to take the lift part way because of my bad knee) to the dome of St Peter's and on our way out there was a loo on the roof (a true God send) and we're very excited to be able to tell our friends that we've used the loo on the roof of the biggest church in the world. And for all of you "My Fair Lady" fans, we realized that "The throne in Rome stays mainly on the dome".

More when I have pictures to go along with the commentary! Oh yes, you're excited. I can tell already!

Aeroporta!

On my way to Italy... killing five mins at Stansted and have always thought this seems a very fun thing to do...

Really expensive though...good thing I type fast!

Next report...from Roma!

The Closeness of British Ice Hockey

I realized that I haven't put up more shots from the hockey game last week, and since our workplace is doing a massive computer cleanup, I thought I should do that today, before I have to delete them. So, without further ado...

For those of you who are accustomed to going to hockey games and sitting a full kilometre from the ice, you will note with envy just how close to the players and ice we are in such games. It's all very exciting, and I've converted my friends who went with me to the sport!


The players...

The Converts: Drew, David (the Londoners), Sandy (the Aussie) and Ashley (Ashley's Canadian, so was already a believer!)

Some Hopeful News?

This was on cbc.ca this morning about the hostages in Iraq...

http://www.cbc.ca/story/canada/national/2006/02/20/hostages060220.html

Please continue to hope and pray for Jim and company's safe return and for his (their) family and friends in Canada (and worldwide) who are always awaiting more news.

Career Change

I was having lunch with another Canadian-raised person on Sunday, and we were examining a bit of packaging with that mysterious "by appointment of her Majesty the Queen" symbols on it, and were wondering just how that comes about, and how the products to put that stamp on are approved. I reached the conclusion that surely the Queen can't test all of these products herself (otherwise she would become very tubby, and besides, how then would she find the time to do important Queeny things like cut ribbons at ceremonies and the like?) so she must have a panel of people who do these things for her, and if so, I would like to be on that panel!

I've decided that it's not good enough to sit and speculate, so I did a quick google search and this is what I've found. It's called a Royal Warrant. It looks like I'll have to cozy up to Lord Chamberlain if I want to award these things, and that it will be a short-lived career as I can only appoint one. Well, it was a nice thought, anyways.

Want to poo? You'll need a 12 month contract

So, The Flatmate brought her computer back from Germany and now we want to get Broadband. We called a couple providers and we, being honest people, told them we're only going to be there until August, and were told that a 12 month contract is required. How annoying. England is such an anal country. I'm surprised that they don't make people sign 12 month contracts to poo.

Perhaps getting a laptop that can do wireless and stealing our neighbours signal (as we discovered is possible when Natalie was visiting) is the best route to go. *argh*

(Please note, I don't think we'd actually do that...)

Mystery Workaholic Man

When I first moved here, my cousin Trevor gave me a very valuable solution for when I felt slightly lonely/homesick**; and that was to do something productive (at least I think he told me that....or did I figure it out myself?) at any rate, having missed my brother's phone call this morning and it being a rainy day today, I spent a lot of time cleaning up my files and (as Katrin once put it) "moving bits of paper around". I also wanted to take a picture of the view out of the window at my desk (especially as the tube goes by, because that's my favourite bit about it) and after trying various settings on my camera, decided that a night view of the tube out my window wouldn't work (short of hanging myself out of it...the window I mean...not the tube...) After several attempts though, I realised that the Mysterious Workaholic Man who sits at his desk in the window directly across from mine was watching. I suppose the many flashes caught his attention. I wonder if he now thinks I'm a stalker! This man, with the flat-screen monitor, has long intrigued us. We used to think he was an author, but one day as I was passing by I noticed his screen didn't seem to be filled with words (perhaps he's a bad author). We started wondering if he's one of those guys who makes a living selling things on ebay. Or maybe the girl thinks he's at work all day each day when he's really gambling online. He lives there with a girl, and possibly a lodger (not entirely sure though). What we do know is that he's about 30-35 and spends about 15 hours/day at his computer, it seems. He and the girl had a significant day a few weeks ago, because we noticed he had got a haircut, and that evening they were eating their dinner by candlelight (their kitchen is three windows left of the hallway where he has his computer, and one to the left of where the bedroom is. We're stumped on where the bathroom is. It must be facing the other side of the flat).

I wonder what he thinks of us. I wonder if he's made up stories about the two girls who don't always close all three of their front blinds at night (which we would, if it weren't for the lovely view of the Tube going past). I wonder if he thinks we're writers too, and wishes we could help him with his writer's block (The Flatmate and I once discussed putting a note through their mailslot inviting them for tea so we could find out what he actually does). It amazes me that we live 40 feet from each other, but apart from a common recycling and rubbish collection day, we might as well live in parallel universes. If I opened my window,I could probably yell "Oi! Mystery Workaholic Man!" and he would hear me (I wonder if he would open his window and yell back. I don't think so, somehow. He looks too distinguised for that!) Maybe he has never noticed us at all! At any rate, I doubt he'd ever suspect I've just spent the past 20 minutes writing about him...all because I feel slightly lonely and wanted to do something productive tonight. I wonder if he had known that, if he would have popped around for a drink (hopefully with the girl, as I don't want to be accused of doing anything untoward!) and what we would chat about.

Well, he has left, and I think I'll get back to my sorting. I'll be very glad to have it done.

And I don't feel lonely anymore. Thanks Trevor, for that little bit of advice that's helped me through many evenings of being three feet from a rat.

**Don't worry, Parental Unit. I don't feel lonely often, and when I do, it's just in passing. Nothing to worry about! But you can always put an apple fritter in the post if you think it will help. I'll heat it up so that it doesn't taste too stale!

Quotes from "Puck-Mouth", the aggressive Hockey Granny

I made hockey fans out of Drew and David (and Sandra and Mich, for that matter) on Saturday night. By far though, the most amusing part of the game was watching the lady sitting infront of Drew, who, by the end we had named "Puck-mouth, the Aggressive Hockey Granny" This was an elderly lady who, in addition to pounding her stressball and fists on the plexi-glass infront of her had quite the vocal additions to the proceedings of the Basingstoke Bisons game (which they lost) as well. By the end we started a list of our favourites:

"Why can't you play the bl**dy game?"
"All you have to do is nick it in - useless...."
"Pass the puck, you tart!"
"Boot it in the bl**dy middle!"
"Get it in then! Get it in then! Awww...F**ck!"
"Come on! Just get on wi' it then! Bl**dy idiots!"
"F**ck, F**ck, F**ck!"
(one that I won't type here because I really don't approve of the use of the word used in this context)
"Oh! You rotten sods!"
"Idiots!"
"You're total rubbish!"

And then, after Basingstoke lost the game and the crowd was leaving "Well, it's been a bit of a s**t week, hasnt it?"

And this was all in addition to a lady behind us we named "Anger Management Lady" who could yell above the crowd of hundreds watching the game. We think that people who are so passionate about the game should play...or at least be the team's Enforcers. I have no doubt these two could have taken on the entire Nottingham lineup!



The lady herself (I scribbled out the neighbour's face as best I could to try to be as ethical as possible about this...)

On Being Friends with A Fundraiser and An Accountant

Lisa and Alan, apart from being wonderful singers and terrific friends, are also very good at their
chosen professions (being a fundraiser and accountant, respectively). Upon lamenting about how it costs £335.00 to stay in this country, Lisa's response was that I should set up an account on Justgiving to help raise the funds, while my conversation with Alan (the accountant) went something like this:

Joanna (that's me): I can't believe it costs £335.oo to stay in this country!
Alan (my accountant friend): Yes, but that's the same as a TV license for three years would cost
Joanna: Yes, but I'd get hours more enjoyment out of watching a TV than staring at a Indefinite Leave to Remain Document
Alan: Yes, but we'd get hours more fun out of you.
Joanna: Hengh.
Alan: Besides, £335.00 for 5 years is £67.00 per year, which is £5 per month, which is only about £1 per week. So, if you just give up one pint a month, you'll have it paid for.

I feel a bit like a politician in that I've learned that one doesn't have to necessarily be bright, as long as one surrounds oneself with smart people.

Left to right: Lisa and Alan who take good care of me

Reader Poll: Sophisticated or Cop?

Yesterday, I was walking from Ladbroke Grove to South Kensington, and within 2 minutes of turning onto High Street Kensington, two people stopped me to ask directions (within about 30 seconds of each other) One to Laura Ashley, and the other to...I don't remember the store, actually.

I couldn't figure out if I looked incredibly sophisticated (in my winter coat and jeans) such that people thought I belonged there, or if I looked like a cop. High Street Diva or cop?


Hmmm...you decide!

Arise My Love

I've just come back from a wonderful weekend away of singing with my choir, The North London Chorus ("our next concert is April 8th", she added subtly). We have an amazing programme lined up for our next concert. But the bit I am really excited about is the piece we have commissioned for our June concert. I finally get to sing one of my favourite bits of texts:

My lover spoke and said to me,
"Arise, my darling,
My beautiful one, and come with me.
See! The winter is past;
the rains are over and gone.
Flowers appear on the earth;
the season of singing has come.
The cooing of doves
is heard in our land.
The fig tree forms its early fruit;
the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.
Arise, come my darling;
my beautiful one, come with me."

I'd previously been in love with Healey Willan's arrangement of it, but I daresay I love this one even more, because it's an incredible arrangement (it's the fifth movement of a larger piece) and because it will be ours!

The Keep Joanna British Campaign

Having just sent off my Work Permit application, I decided to start reading the Limited Leave to Remain form, and have discovered that the (choke) privilege of staying in this country will cost me £335.00!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Is it worth it? I suddenly really hate the UK!

Donations to the Keep Joanna British Campaign can be sent to...

Sent with Love

I sent off my Work Permit Application today. I have such butterflies!

I will await (for 5-10 days) and see.

There's nothing I can do now but sit, wait and pray. And start making backup plans just in case.

The time limit on these work permits is 5 years, and typing in 2011 as the length of time I'm needed seemed veeery long. I might as well stay one more year and go to the Olympics!

Something to look forward to

I forgot to mention; yesterday I was walking down the street with Katrin and as we passed a hair salon, I mentioned to Katrin that I need a haircut. She told me that she had had her hair cut at the salon we were indeed passing, and it had been the best one of her life. So, I dashed in and I've made an appointment to see the flamboyant, rather dreamy and wonderfully accented (as in he has a great Northern accent) Steven to get my hair cut tomorrow. I've never been so excited for a hair cut in my life (although I'll probably come out looking just the same!)

Yes Rich, this is where you put it into your mobile reminders, so that the next time you see me a little alarm will beep, and you can say "Hey, nice hair" Men. Honestly!

Happy Groundhog Day!

Today is Groundhog day! For those of you who are unfamiliar with this grand custom, the origins of Groundhog Day come from the pagan tradition of watching the weather on the day half-way between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox. Later, in Europe, people watched the hedgehog as a predictor of the weather for the rest of the winter. For American settlers, there were no hedgehogs, so the groundhog was named the new weather forecaster. **

In only a few short hours, Wiarton Willy will be telling Canada how many more weeks of winter we'll be having.

In other news, The Flatmate (who is also a colleague) was on the phone with somebody who finished their conversation by saying (in a lovely Irish accent) "You sound like a real professional lady" which, in Germany where she comes from, means a prostitute.