Max's Rainy Garden Party

It rained all day on Saturday, just lots and lots of miserable pouring rain. I cleaned my flat and offered to the Tall South African that he could come down for dinner, but he decided he didn't want to go out in the rain. I didn't blame him, as the weather was really rubbish. I went and did some shopping, but otherwise it was a slow day.

The rain continued on Sunday, but today I'd promised Max, a friend I know through the club, that I would go to his garden party for his birthday up in Cambridge. I got a bit of a slow start, but managed to race to the card store and grab a birthday card, and then get to King's Cross to catch the 14:15 train.

I hadn't been to King's Cross in a while, and I kept thinking I'd somehow wandered into the wrong station, as I was so disoriented when I walked in. Bizarrely, it looked somewhat like Gare du Nord, and so I was baffled. Had I somehow come out of the Tube and popped up in Paris?

Yet, apparently they'd been doing some construction work at King's Cross for ages and had finally finished, and so now I was experiencing the disorienting results. I ran across a footbridge platform that took me into an unexpected part of the station, so I had to run back, find a ticket machine, buy my ticket, and finally find my way to the correct train platform. I suppose I will eventually get used to it, but I was definitely turned around for quite a bit there!

I made it up to Cambridge and found my way to Max's flat.  Turns out Max lives in a really lovely one-bedroom flat right around the corner from the train station, which explains why it is so easy for him to get down to London so frequently. The flat was really nice as well, not like your standard student flat at all, which made me a bit envious of it when I think of the places I lived as a student! In fact my own place now is nowhere near as nice, which makes me realise there are advantages to living outside of London!

Due to the rain, it was more of a "living room party" than a garden party, but we all made do.  It was a really good time, about 15-20 people in attendance, and a real mix of people from all aspects of Max's life: Food and Wine Soc people, people from his program, people who he'd lived at a fraternity in Tubingen with, and me, his friend from the club.

Max was the consummate host, putting on a fine spread of strawberries, cheeses, bread and pate, and punch bowls of Pimms, G&Ts, and some whiskey-and-ginger-ale concoction. In fact it was all so well organised, and his flat so clean and tastefully decorated, I was surprised to realise I was in the home of a bachelor, until I remembered that he's a bachelor with a lot of German influence. So I guess order and organisation are to be expected!

Good times as well hearing stories about living in a fraternity in Tubingen and reciting drunken German poetry to large groups of men, the trials of learning to understand Nietzsche, and how much Max enjoys the TV series Mad Men. I didn't leave until about 8 PM, it was such an entertaining afternoon on the whole. When I left, Max was asking me for updates on the Wild Welshman, and I realised I didn't have any.  So I spent the whole train ride home tapping out an e-mail update to the Wild Welshman on my iPhone. Given that I'd missed the fast train, it turned out to be quite the epic update!  He replied to me a few days later telling me how lovely it had been to hear from me, which makes me think I should do things like that more often.

Finally made it home a bit sleepy but glad to have made it a day out, it was such a good time to be back in Cambridge once again.

One Last Call

Today was another day of non-stop rain, and so I spent it mostly indoors working.  I had physio in the afternoon, where luckily my lack of work this past week didn't get too much notice.  However, I do think it's important that I get on that.

I texted a bit with the Tall South African during the day (and reminded him that it's Freedom Day in South Africa tomorrow), and then gave him a call later in the evening.  Missed him, he called me back, missed me, and we finally connected around 10 PM.

He sounded absolutely exhausted however, yawning and dealing with interruptions from work, saying that he was finding talking to friends tiring, as everybody had something going wrong that needed his sympathy.  He even seemed to think I was mad at him for not calling, which absolutely surprised me because nothing could be further from the truth.  When had I ever given that impression?  In truth, I'd been feeling guilty for not calling, imagining him at home with nobody to talk to, calling me while I was out painting the town.

Oh well, once again a reminder of how young he is.  Other girls are mad at him, so I must be grouped in with them.  He sees things a bit too much from his own perspective, so the reality of what is true won't change things.  But I did assure him that all was well with me, and then signed off telling him, "If you don't hear from me for a while, it's not because I don't care, but because I know you're busy."  I felt like I was saying good-bye for a little while, which I feel I need.

I was just struck how when we talk, it's not like the conversation I was having last night, or the conversations I have with the Young Dutchman.  It's just not interesting.  They say absence makes the heart grow fonder?  Maybe time to be absent from the Tall South African for a while until he gets more interesting.

Night at the Museum

In the morning, I had my follow-up appointment with my surgeon, to get some x-rays done and to find out the results from my MRI.  Alas, the news was that my MRI had confirmed my ACL tear, so it was time to schedule surgery. I want to go attend my cousin's university graduation in the US in May, and the surgeon wants me to do a bit more "pre-hab" before surgery, so we agreed on a May 28 surgery date.  It was a surprisingly quick appointment, where he took me through my MRI scan, looked at my knee again, and also showed me that my knee cap is kind of off-centre. Weird.

Interestingly, I would SWEAR that Samantha Cameron was sitting across from me in the waiting room. And then of course I was probably stupidly awkward and kept staring at her, because I was obviously stunned that Samantha Cameron was sitting right across from me. Although I suppose it makes sense that she's an ordinary person who might have knee trouble as well....

Then in the evening, it was Will Salter's birthday, as well as a party at Home House. It was a busy night for everyone, as there seemed to be parties going on all over London, as there were at least two additional birthday parties going on in London this same evening. I don't know what it is about April 20th that made everyone want to have a party tonight, but I don't think a single person tonight wasn't at least double or triple-booked. (We also did debate why so many people have birthdays at the end of April. What happens to people's parents at the end of August?)

My own triple booking happened when the Young Dutchman let me know that he was meeting some mutual friends of ours for drinks, and suggested I join. But he had a dinner first and they couldn't join until later. And other friends I was supposed to meet at the first party said that they were running late. And then Lotte texted to ask if I was out tonight. Screw it. When nobody else can get their plans in order, you've just got to follow along with your own. So I went to Will's birthday party at the East India Club.

The East India is not a place where I often spend time, but I was pleasantly surprised at how friendly the staff were. I arrived and was instantly greeted by my old friend Ali and his wife Nicola, who I had last seen the day I injured my knee when I'd gone to dinner at their house. Given that Ali is one of my nearest and dearest, and I see him far too little, I spent nearly all of my time chatting with them, catching up on various bits of news from here, there, and all of our friends.

The party turned into quite a crush, I had a good time chatting with Sophie and a few other friends, although I was constantly dealing with my phone buzzing, mostly with missed texts and calls from the Young Dutchman. Unsure of what the rules were at the East India for phones, I kept trying to surreptitiously send quick texts back, although then when he called, there was really no hope for it. Then on top of that, was getting texts from the mutual friends who were at the Lansdowne, as well as those who were at the party at Home House. And where on earth was Lotte?  Plus, on top of all of this, I'd almost never been able to make it to the bar to get a drink, even a glass of water, as I kept getting held up in conversation.

Finally Lotte did appear, although right before I realised along with a few others that we really needed to go.  The Young Dutchman had been saying to me for hours that he was 20 minutes away, so although a part of me wanted to wait around for him, I realised that I could no longer plan my evening around him.  I'd agreed to go to a party at Home House that evening which also started at 8 PM, although it was around 11:30 before two other guys from Will's party and I walked up to join the everyone at Home House.  After checking that I would be okay in my heels, the boys decided to walk the distance to Home House (not far, to be fair), and I had a fun time the entire way telling them bits and pieces of strategies of pick-up artists, from a relatively famous book on the subject.  The guys I was with are both two of the nicest guys I know, but I sometimes think a bit clueless when it comes to women.  So perhaps they need to know a a few pick-up artist strategies, if only to recognise when a girl is interested in them, more than anything else!  

The theme of the party was "A Night at the Museum", and it was all done up like the Natural History Museum in New York, with an amazing amount of attention to detail.  People everywhere were dressed up like Egyptians or cowboys or all sorts of things, and each room of the club was fantastically done up, with drag queens singing, giant dinosaurs, NASA space exhibits, or almost anything else you could think of.  The vibe was very much what I imagine a frat party would be like if they had unlimited amounts of money to do anything they wanted.

I really was struck by how different Home House is from your standard London club. I somewhat agreed with the assessment of others, that it seemed a bit "too cool" for us, with all the designer jeans and people talking on their mobiles. But at least that was handy when the Young Dutchman called me at 2 AM and the Young Scotsman assured me, "Go ahead an answer. It's not like it's a *real* club...." Made me laugh.  I got to chat with him for a bit while he told me that he was in a hotel room somewhere near Regents Park, which I found to be tremendously confusing.  Later I learned that he'd gone to an interview session for the Dutch arm of BCG, and they'd put him up in a hotel overnight.  But the dinner had run over terribly, which is why he'd been constantly texting me to tell me that he was 20 minutes away!  He sounded tired and I couldn't understand him that well (I was in the middle of a raging party, after all), so once the Young Scotsman had remarked a few times, "That guy has amazing hair!" I bid him a goodnight and hung up.

Finally at 3 AM, they played "New York, New York" (why is that a 'closing down a party' song in this part of the world?) and shut down half of the club, shuttling us all into the other half.  I was pretty sober and exhausted, and so I expressed my desire to go home.  I then had to absolutely physically drag myself out of the place despite the protests from the (Former) Head of Inter-Club and the others.  A nice night, but I desperately needed to go home and go to sleep!

Meeting with the Chairman

I woke in the morning to more texts from the Tall South African. He was tired, and so was I. How on earth are we supposed to survive our work days?

Still, made it through to the end of the day, where I'd agreed to meet the club chairman to have a talk about the Younger Member's Committee, the General Committee, and the upcoming year.  And I will admit, I'd agreed to meet him on this day because Doro had suggested that the "Oxford Mafia" would be there that evening, and it might be a good opportunity to "run into" the Magnetic Man.

I met the Chairman in the Committee Room, which was somewhere I'd never been before, and we had some tea and a very nice meeting where he spent most of the time trying to convince me that I needed to join the General Committee.  I'd really been meeting him to ask a bit about transitioning the Younger Member's Committee for the next year, but so you have it, there was the word on the General Committee too.

After I'd wrapped things up with the Chairman, I poked my head into the bar, where I spotted Magnetic Man and one other from the Oxford Maifa, and they graciously invited me to join them for drinks (as I rather knew they would). We were joined by 4 others, including JP, a chap I had once known from Magdalene.  Of course, the boys had some other funny nickname for him, and mocked me for calling him JP.  I think that might have been the first time I've seen him since Cambridge, but he still recognised me, which I thought was nice, and even bought me champagne.

Lot of talk about golf, although fun to hang out with the boys.  Magnetic Man continues to show no interest whatsoever, but I still like hanging out with the gang anyway. Even if he's not interested, he's still a nice guy, and so are his friends.  I did have a really fun time getting to know a married guy named Piers, who seemed to continue the general trend of the boys of that group (if not that of Magnetic Man himself), that I am a fantastic individual and one they'd like to see more of.  Such a pity Magnetic Man isn't more interesting, however!

Finally the boys headed into dinner, and I went downstairs to print out a few forms and chat online a bit with the Young Dutchman.  Once assured that he was well and didn't need me to stop by with any printouts, I made my way home, quite satisfied with my accomplishments for the evening.  

Running All Over To Get Nowhere

I was woken up at 7 AM this morning by a text from the Tall South African. "Hey stranger..." Indeed, we hadn't chatted in a while. I then texted back and forth with him for a bit, and then thought I might as well call him (we normally don't text so much), but he didn't answer, making me realise he was already in the office at work. How on earth do people do that? I have no idea... Hence continued texting until I realised I had to get up and going if I was going to make it to the lawyers on time.

My appointment with the lawyers was quite brief, as the guy came down, handed me my Biometric Residence Permit, and that was pretty much that. Kind of anti-climactic after all the drama leading up to it!

I then waited ages for a train back to the office, and as I left the station and was walking outside, I decided to give the Young Dutchman a call, since I'd missed a call from him the night before. Perhaps I should have thought about this before I called, as the whole thing turned into a much longer discussion than I anticipated, with me standing out on a street corner! Still, I do love talking to the Young Dutchman, and it was interesting to chat to him about what he wanted to do after he graduates from Oxford, as opportunities open up before him.

Finally, after nearly a half-hour on the phone with the Young Dutchman, I went into the office to try and find a desk. To discover, to my shock, that there were absolutely none. And not only no desks, but no tables in the common areas, no touchdown space, absolutely nothing. It seemed ridiculous to go all of the way home again after having come into the office, but what else could I do? So I took all my things, and left the office again to go home.

Once at home, I was pleasantly surprised by the Tall South African calling me during his lunch break. How sweet! In fact though, instead of one quick call, it turned into a series of calls, as he kept having to pause for some reason, and then call me back again. Probably talked to me for over an hour in total (not helpful when I had work to get done, but I hadn't talked to him in so long I did want to chat). Finally, only hung up with the promise that he would call me after work. I was a bit puzzled why he was so keen to chat with me today, but hey, I like talking to him. Not quite as engaging as chatting with the Young Dutchman, but still...

Survived the most endless conference call of all time (the Tall South African took to texting me halfway through, which was a welcome distraction, although he obviously wanted to call me while I was still stuck on this call), and finally once I was off the call, he texted, I revealed I was done, and he called me to talk some more.

This time the conversation somehow got onto politics, which was much more interesting than anything we've talked about lately. Told him that if I could vote for mayor, I would vote for Boris, and then talked a bit about the next general election and Conservative politics. I finally felt like we were talking about something real, for once.

Although I just about died when he talked to me about shopping for a suit, and realised that he had to go buy a suit because he didn't already own one, the classic mark of a young man just recently out of university. I must remember how young he is, even as I often forget.

Still, overall at least everything got done at the end of the day, and the Tall South African signed off with a promise to call me (again!) later, although I figured that was probably a bit ambitious and he wouldn't have time. (Missed a final text from him at midnight, checking if I were still up, I guess he would have called then too!)  He is awfully sweet to call multiple times a day, even if I have no idea why he does...

Mark de Rond Lecture

First thing in the morning, it was time for my first physio appointment, to get going on my "pre-hab" before my upcoming surgery.  I went to the office in Hammersmith to meet the physio, and she said I haven't lost any strength in my knee (but I had pretty strong legs to begin with), and she said that my range of motion is actually better than I think it is. She gave me a ton of exercises to do, and I'm determined to be a model patient (even though I'm not normally the best exerciser!) Apparently I should go to the gym and sit on a stationary bike for hours. I'm thinking I should get some books or load some movies on my iPad and just go crank away.

In the afternoon, realising that I need to learn more about ACL surgery if I am to have it myself, I made plans to meet Roofie's brother for lunch.  I hadn't seen him in ages (the downsides of of both of us being injured!), so it was a great opportunity to catch up, as well as learn a bit more about knee surgery.

We met at the Paternoster pub, which is right near where we both work, and also a good place to go as there's always places to sit and the food is quite good.  Roofie's brother was really informative about both his own surgery, and that of his brother (Roofie himself), as they both had ACL surgery done recently.

For both of them, it was their second surgery, as there had been complications with their first.  It was a bit scary to hear about the pain and how things can go wrong, and how he'd eventually had to have an allograph, where the ACL of a cadaver was put into his knee, instead of a piece of his own tendon.  Apparently the recovery has been much better this time around however, which was interesting, as I'd never even considered the idea of a graft from a cadaver.

Since he and his brother live together, they've even been rehabbing together, and he reaffirmed to me what the physio had been saying in the morning, that the stationary bike was a good idea.  At least now I've got some exercise I can do, as sitting around has been driving me nuts.

After work, I dashed out early to meet Doro at the club, as we hadn't had a chance to catch up in a while.  We spent a quick half-hour exchanging news, which from her was mostly about how she was planning on going back to school to become an orthodontist.  I found this a bit surprising, as I had never known about her latent passion for orthodontia, but apparently it was more of a financial decision than anything else.  Still it was an interesting discussion about how pay and lifestyle are factors in what we decide to do with our lives, and also how much her relationship is progressing towards a serious outcome, as she and her boyfriend discuss how they will handle her going back to school in Germany, and how they will make their lives going forwards, together.

Unfortunately the conversation couldn't go on for too long, as I'd agreed to meet my friend Sara upstairs for a lecture by my former strategy professor at Cambridge.  His speciality is "high performing teams",  and this lecture was about surgeons in Camp Bastion, Afghanistan, which is apparently "the world's bloodiest war hospital".  He showed us some video which was totally amazing, as a soldier was brought in with his leg blown off, and much of his face as well, and the surgeons just reacted totally normally and calmly, talking to him and reassuring him, as they set about piecing him back together.  Quite a high-stress environment to work in, and quite impressive how much they could do there.  

After the lecture, Sara had suggested that we meet another girl for dinner, so I'd booked us all in, and we had quite a nice evening's conversation, although nothing tremendously interesting.  Still, a nice enough evening, and after dinner bit them all farewell, having had quite an eventful day!  

Melissa's Birthday

This evening was my friend Melissa's birthday drinks, which were being held at a champagne bar in Soho.

When I arrived, on the street I ran into my friend Gerald and his friend Mike, who were already pretty drunk, having been out at another party with some work mates earlier on in the evening.  We wandered around on the street a bit, trying to find the front door to the place, while Mike took quite a liking to me, and kept asking me questions while being all a bit touchy-feely.  Not a bad-looking guy, so I didn't mind too much, but we were obviously in very different states in our level of consumed libations!

We found our way in, greeted the birthday girl, grabbed seats, and then Mike introduced himself to me again as though we hadn't previously met.  That cracked me up, and he explained that it was me taking off my coat which had done it, but I concluded that as cute as he was, Mike wasn't going to be much use for the rest of the evening...

I made random bits of conversation with people here and there, but was relieved when Tory Lawyer Boy arrived, as he's one of my favourite people and so much fun to talk to.

He had me quite bemused when he related the story of how a mutual acquaintance of ours had recently broken up with her boyfriend, and then had been treating her male friends (including Tory Lawyer Boy) like boyfriends, people who she could make demands of.  This included when he recently couldn't make it to an event she was organising, telling him how "disappointed she was in him", not realising that you can't expect the same level of devotion from your male friends as from your boyfriend.  I know she broke up with the boyfriend, but there is a part of me that is still amazed that she managed to hang onto him for so long.

Finally I left right before midnight, trying to make it out to a local burrito place before it closed, but it turned out it actually closed at 11 PM and I was too late anyway.  Still, I was glad I'd used the excuse of rushing to get there to force my way out, and hence just went the rest of the way home to get food, as I was starving!

Dinner with Oxford Boy

I got an e-mail from Oxford Boy, who I hadn't heard from in a while, saying, "Why don't we go for dinner on Friday?"  Given that I hadn't caught up with him in a while, I thought this sounded fun, so we made plans to meet.


Given that he was a bit late getting out of work, I agreed to meet him at the club, where we grabbed drinks and went up to the terrace for a bit.  It was a somewhat chilly day, but still nice to hang out and enjoy the sunshine that has been a bit too reluctant to hang around these days.  


When we were getting too cold to stay out much longer, we went inside and I showed him around a bit (he's been before, but is now realising he really needs to know the ins and outs of the club), and then he suggested that we get dinner.  


He's a big wine guy, so we ended up ordering a £50 bottle of wine, which I'm not sure I totally appreciated, but he seemed to take particular delight in it. When they brought out the bottle and the label was all yellow and peeling, I made him check it again and told the story of an evening where Doro and I had ordered a bottle of port, but didn't check the label.  Turns out that instead of ordering a reasonably-priced £20 bottle of port, we'd just ordered an £80 one!  He got a good laugh out of the story, and assured me that he knew the wine very well, and it would easily retail for much more at a regular restaurant, but here we were getting a 2001, with its crumbling label, at a bargain price.


He did make me try the wine when it was first poured, and then again a bit later as it had a chance to "breathe" a bit, and I had to admit I did notice a difference.  Not enough to start drinking £50 bottles of wine regularly, but it was a nice treat.  


Mostly though, it was one of those great dinners where you catch up with an old friend, talking about anything and everything.  Things are apparently still going strong with his girlfriend, who he calls every day and spends most of his time with.  Indeed, the only reason I got a dinner invite was because she was out-of-town this evening, and I was the next-best substitute company!  


So we talked and laughed and were practically the last people to leave the dining room at past 11 PM, having had a great dinner and a fantastic catch-up.  I love evenings like that...

Chelsea Concerts

In talking with both Lotte and the Young Dutchman, apparently everyone was going to this "Chelsea Concerts" event that evening, which given that the theme was "Best of British", I figured would be a good time.  It was apparently some charity concert in aid of blind Indian children or something like that.  So many of the things I go to are for charity, which is how we justify inflated ticket prices for donated wine and performances by our friends.  I hadn't bought tickets in advance however, so I made sure to arrive at the church early.  When I did, I realised that I could have left it much later (there were plenty of tickets available), reminding me not to believe the hype too much when people say there are only limited tickets left.

I ended up waiting around for ages for people I knew to show up, but finally did manage to chat for a bit with Lotte and her fiancee.  Right before the concert started, I managed to join the Young Dutchman, Super-Shy Guy and Will.  I'd already put my coat down somewhere else when they went to grab another group of seats, but as the concert was starting there was no time for me to go back for it, so I just left it where it was, sitting on a pew a few rows away from us.  At least in a church I didn't worry about anybody stealing it!

The concert turned out to be lovely, and I was particularly amazed to learn that the original pianist had taken ill, and the replacement pianist had learned the whole programme in 24 hours.  If they had not announced this as the start however, I never would have known, as she was absolutely amazing.

As the final song, they sang "Land of Hope and Glory", which in the US I know as "Pomp and Circumstance", a song traditionally played at graduation and commencement events.  However here it's apparently a British national song, complete with words, which they encouraged us to sing along.  I was amazed that the Young Dutchman seemed to know all of the words, although I had not even known that there were words!  Definitely something to look up and learn when I get home!

After the concert finished, they served everyone a glass of champagne at the back, and put out baskets of giant strawberries that were really delicious.  I ended up chatting to a girl named Suraya.  It turned out that we knew a lot of people in common, and she was just really funny and interesting, so I enjoyed talking to her for most the rest of the evening.

When it was finally getting near time to leave, I looked around for the Young Dutchman, but couldn't spot him, so I gave him a call.  Missed him, but as I was walking out with Suraya, he called me back, as it turned out that he'd already left and gone on to another party.  Our back-and-forth banter seemed to make my new friend laugh, as I assured the Young Dutchman that even when he left me on my own, I was perfectly capable of making new friends!  Indeed, I think I'd made a really nice new friend, not bad work for an evening out.

Dinner at Lotte's

Fresh off my success from yesterday, I got a random message on my Facebook wall from my friend Lotte:  "Do you have plans tonight? If not, would you like to come round for a glass of wine to celebrate? I also heard that there's a jazz / blues event in town if you'd like to go.."


So I said sure, grabbed a bottle of wine, and headed on over there.


When I arrived, there was only Lotte and her fiancee present, and so we sat around having pre-dinner drinks and olives, while her fiancee tried to talk me through a currency exchange scheme for people who have recently been travelling and have extra currency leftover.  Quite honestly I didn't think it was a very good idea, as it didn't seem workable at all, but I tried to ask intelligent questions without revealling how lame I thought the scheme was.  


Super-Shy Guy then arrived, and joined us for drinks as well.  We were then sitting around with Super-Shy Guy, Lotte and her fiancee, when  Lotte's phone buzzed:  It was our favourite person, Drunk Girl texting Lotte to ask, "So what are you up to tonight?"  And Lotte just looked at us all in a panic to ask, "Are we up for dealing with her tonight?"  

And Super-Shy Guy and I both looked at each other, but didn't want to be the first to say anything, which made Lotte say, "Yeah, I think I know what you're thinking..."  (Lotte, bless her, is just too nice to really cut people off, particularly when they obviously have no other friends.  And I feel for her, because I understand the compulsion to be that nice, but even I'm amazed that she's still so friendly to Drunk Girl after what happened on New Year's).

And so this got us on to sharing our favourite Drunk Girl stories.  Which at one point was when Lotte said, "I know, I just can't believe she slept with..." and then Super-Shy Guy, Lotte, Lotte's fiancee and I all blurted out DIFFERENT names.  Which then cracked us up as we all realised, "Oh my God, him TOO?"  Seriously, that girl gets AROUND.  (The new one I learned about was a rather successful trader who has no dating life due to his limited free time.  Apparently that one happened in the back seat of a car.  During a party.  It seems like a new one every week...)

And it was strange, because she does seem to sleep around so much, but we all expressed surprise as to what men found attractive about her.  I guess there really is something about sex on a platter that almost no man can resist.  

We then had dinner, which was some lovely fish and salad, although small portions and I was starving.  After dinner, Lotte's flatmates Tish and the Blonde Dutchman (who had joined us for dinner), decided to stay there, while we were all going to head out to some blues bar that was having a "jam session" that night.  For this we were joined by a Tall American who I've met at some of Lotte's parties before.  Kind of an idiot, but a good-looking one.  Fine enough company for the evening, I suppose...

We then walked to the blues bar, and on the way the Tall American told me the story of how he'd been hit by a bus the previous week and ended up in hospital.  He had no idea how he was not dead, but had even come out of the accident relatively unscathed, despite his concussion.  He kept going on about how he had a new lease on life, although I wondered about that if he was still chain-smoking cigarettes.  Plus, the accident sounded like it was caused by him drinking too much and running out into the street without warning.  

The blues club had some decent music, and we found chairs at the back, as we listened to people "jam".  Apparently bands would just sign up for a slot to do one or two songs, and once they finished, the next group would get up there.  Saw lots of people waiting around with guitars for their chance to get on stage.  Kind of weird, as you realise there is this whole culture of people out there who are all about this scene, waiting for their chance to play music for the crowds.

We had a few beers, and then realising that it was after midnight and the last Tube would be going soon, we finished up and headed home while we could still catch the train.  I gave everyone hurried good-byes as they dashed for the Northern Line while I went Central, and laughed as we ran our separate ways.  

What a great evening.  Tonight was one of those nights that made me love London. Totally unplanned, and totally marvellous.  I love how in London, you can just do that. Quite a different night than I had anticipated from when I woke up this morning!

Cardiff and ILR

Finally, the day of judgement had arrived.  I don't think I've ever been more nervous in my life.  What would I do if my application were rejected?  How could I pack up and move my entire life, everything I've ever known, back to the US?


The Young Dutchman called me the night before, both to talk about his CV, to reassure me as I was in a stressed-out mess, and to just pass the time as he was on the train back to London.  I'd been lying in bed just staring at the ceiling when he called, and it was amazing what an hour on the phone with him did for me. I laughed, I giggled, and when I finally hung up with him, I was at last able to get some sleep.  It's amazing what he does for me.

My alarm went off only a few hours later, as I was up at 5 AM to leave at 6 AM to catch a 7 AM train from Paddington to Cardiff.  I had enough time to buy some breakfast at the station, and then read and dozed throughout the two hour train journey to Cardiff.


As the train approached Cardiff, it began to rain, but as the sun was still peeking through the clouds, this led to the most extraordinary appearance of a giant, bright, clear rainbow in the sky over Cardiff.  At first I could only see a portion of it, but then came to realise that it was a giant half-bow, arching in the sky above me.

Was this an omen?  I had to think it was, and it made me hopeful.  I snapped a picture of it and uploaded it to Facebook, where my phone had been buzzing all morning with good luck wishes from friends.  I was grateful for their support, and it did buoy my spirits, to know that so many people were thinking of me this day.


I arrived at the station, and realising it was still a full two hours before my appointment, decided to walk to the Public Enquiry Office.  When I got there, I realised they hadn't been kidding about it being small, and we had to be called in one-by-one to go through security.  

When my turn came (it was now about 9:30 AM for an 11 AM appointment), the guy asked me if I had an appointment, I told him I did for 11 AM, and then he said, "I can't seem to find you here on the list.  Are you sure it's today, love?"   I just about died.  Can you imagine after all that effort, they'd lost the booking for my appointment?  Luckily, turns out that he was just overlooking it, and so he told me to go over and talk to the lady at window number 6 (it was just like at the DMV or at a bank, the way they used to be).  


The woman then had me hand over all my paperwork, asked a few perfunctory questions (like what my name was and if I had my mobile phone on me), and then told me to go take a seat, and somebody would call me to go take my fingerprints and take my picture.  About 5 minutes later, somebody came and did that, and I was pleasantly surprised when she was actually really nice and friendly, and the technology all worked!  (As this had been causing huge problems in Croyden recently, I'd been reading, so I was relieved when everything went smoothly, according to plan).  She then showed be back out to the reception area where I was told, "We're going to take a few hours to look over your paperwork, so why don't you go for a walk around Cardiff, but keep your phone on.  We'll call you when we need you to come back."

Okay, so what now?  In the morning there had been some lingering rain, but now the skies had cleared up, so I figured I should tour Cardiff, but what to see?  Luckily, on the train there had been a free "train magazine" (just like those in-flight magazines on airplanes) and I'd stolen it and brought it with me, because it had a "24-hours in Cardiff" article.  One of the things it suggested was going to see Cardiff Castle, so I looked it up on my iPhone, and off I went.  I walked along the battlements, read about the history of the Castle from Roman times all of the way through to WWII (when it was used as an air-raid shelter), and just tried not to freak out too much.  Although I have to admit, it was really an interesting history lesson, and I learned quite a bit about the Roman occupation of Britain, making a few notes to ask a friend of mine who has a PhD in ancient history a bit more about it.  Climbed to the top of the central tower, enjoyed a spectacular view of Cardiff, and imagined what it must have been like to live there back in the days when it was a cold, windy, leaky tower.  

Finally, about four hours later, my phone rang:  "Can you come back to the office please?"

So I went back to the office, and was told to go see the man at Window 1.  The guy there started handing over my passports and my bank statements, and I was like, "Ummm, so what did you decide?  Do you have any questions for me?"  And the guy seemed taken aback and said, "Nobody told you?  Your application has been approved!"  Hurrah!!

Inside the walls of the castle set up as when they were WWII bomb shelters

I called the Young Dutchman straight away (he was undoubtedly the first person I wanted to tell), and then sent a few e-mails to my cousins, who had been cheering me along all day long.  Reading their e-mails while I was touring the castle was definitely one of the things that kept me from losing my mind all day.  I then went and found a cafe to go answer a million work e-mails, and halt the process of applying for an extension to my work permit.  Seriously, the lawyers had been so panicked I would be rejected, the application process was in full swing.  I was just so relieved, it felt so wonderful to have the stress of being deported lifted from my shoulders! 

I sat in the cafe for a bit waiting for my boss to tell me how to get in touch with her, but finally she said she was short on time, and I should just go home and call her once I got there.  So I quickly grabbed some postcards for my brother, even stopped and got some stamps, and then went to the train station to see if I could change my train ticket for later in the day to one leaving sooner.  For only a £20 charge, the guy was happy to do it, and it turned out there was a train leaving in 5 minutes.  Raced up to the platform, and made it on just as the train pulled into the platform!


On my journey home, CBDG called, which came as a pleasant surprise.  Had he remembered that today was my big day?  I had to laugh, because he had not, and was just calling to ask if he would see me at the run that evening.  Still, when told the news, he whooped with delight, and insisted I had to come, so he could buy me a drink to congratulate me.  So I assured him I would see him after the run, although he was going to try to head home somewhat early, so asked me to get there as quick as I could.

Yet when I got back to my flat, first there was the issue of talking to my boss.  Gave her a call, and survived a reasonably long chat with her about a presentation I needed to walk her through, before at last I was released to go see my friends and celebrate my good news.  


When I hung up with my boss, I quickly grabbed my things and texted CBDG to tell him I was on my way.  I was in such a rush, that although I'd taken off my knee brace when I'd gotten home, I just threw the wrap in my bag, figuring I'd put it back on later if I needed to.  



Then, as I raced across the street, jaywalking as usual across from the Tube station, that weak, unprotected knee just gave way.  I was amazed at how fast it happened, where one minute I was running, and the next minute I was tumbling head over heels (literally, I did a complete somersault), and  bit the pavement quite hard.  


When I got up, people near me rushed to ask if I was okay, although I was more embarrassed than anything.  Mortified that I'd just done a face-plant in the middle of a London street.  Although also realising that if a bus had been coming, the whole accident would have been much worse.  I would have been road pizza, in no time flat.  This knee definitely needs to be fixed.  


As I got on the Tube however, I realised my fall had been much worse than I'd originally imagined, as I was literally dropping blood from the palms of my hands, where the pavement had really taken a deep gouge out of them.  (I would later find out from my MRI that I even managed to give myself some "bone bruising" with that accident, which is sort of like a fracture without a proper bone break.  So it was quite the spectacular fall!)


Alas I no tissues or anything in my purse, so I grabbed a newspaper to try and sop up some of the blood, which was now really going everywhere.  When I changed trains, a girl across from me looked horrified and offered to give me some tissues, but I assured her I was just about to get off and go to a Boots.  

When I arrived at Baker Street however, this plan was for naught, as the Boots was already shut!  In a panic about what to do, I suddenly remembered that the Weatherspoons right by the station had bathrooms you could get to without going into the main pub (advantages of having an excessive familiarity with pubs all over London!)  I dashed in, although then noted with frustration that it had only hand dryers, and no paper towels.  So grabbed a roll of toilet paper out of the loo, and then cleaned my hands and knees up the best I could.  My left knee was still bleeding badly, so I wrapped it with toilet paper as a temporary bandage, and then wrapped my knee brace around it.  Thank goodness I'd brought it, at least!  


Finally figuring I didn't at least look like a bleeding mess, I then went over to the pub where the hash was, and found them all outside having their end-of-run circle.  I caught CBDG's eye, but I never even got to go over and say hello, for once I was spotted, I was pulled into the middle of the circle while the entire group sang a rousing chorus of "God Save the Queen".  Made me feel happy and loved.  


Once at the bar, CBDG insisted on buying me a drink to celebrate, and so I stood chatting to him, using the cool pint of Guinness to try and soothe the raging wound on my hand.  


We normally trade off rounds, but at the next round he once again insisted on buying (still celebrating my good news), and as he went off to the bar, another woman congratulated me and said, "Well now you don't have to marry your admirer to stay here!"  I laughed it off, as I wonder how much people notice the two of us, but I suppose people are bound to notice that the two of us spend way too much time together...  I wonder if he heard it too however, as after that point he left me to chat with others for a bit while he circulated a bit more.  In truth, I think he's not quite sure what he wants from me, but it doesn't really worry me all that much, to be honest.

Finally, it was time to head home, so a group of us all headed home and caught the Tube, kisses all around, and I went home, happy, a bit tipsy, with a hurting knee but a very happy heart!

Happy Easter!

At yesterday's boat race, my lawyer friend had suggested that instead of going to St. Paul's like I normally do, that I might join her and her brother for Easter services at their church, a Church of Scotland Church in Kensington.

In the morning, after my late night out with the Young Dutchman the night before, I actually remembered this, and so got dressed and got myself out to the church.  I took a bus a bit of the way, but actually walked a good portion of the distance, because the bus didn't go where I wanted it to go.  I was nervous about how my knee would handle this, but on the whole I was really fine.

I got to the church just before the start of service, found my friend, and we went up and found our places in the pews.  Her brother was late (he arrived a good 10-20 minutes later), but eventually did join us in our pew.

The service was pretty bog standard, and I knew most all of the hymns, and had to keep assuring my helpful friend that I knew everything already.  I guess what people forget is that I'm already pretty well "churched" from my upbringing, and although I don't go perhaps as regularly as I should, I still know my way around a service pretty well.

The one odd bit was communion, where instead of everyone filing up to receive communion, they brought it down to the aisles, and much like the offering, everyone passed it to each other.  Particularly strange was the bread, which instead of wafers, was much like a regular loaf of white bread with the crusts cut off.  And I have to admit, I wasn't a fan of how many hands had been on it before it got to me.  I could see why a lot of people passed on it.

My lawyer friend is very involved in this church with the flower arranging committee, and once the service had finished, her brother and I made sure to properly admire the "Easter Garden" she'd put together.  I thought he made an overly big deal about recounting the compliment of a guy who had been standing there and asked who had done such a good job (she hadn't been there to hear it), but after seeing how pleased she was to hear that her work was recognised, I realised that he was a very good brother to build up his sister's ego like that.  After all, it was a job well done!

After the service, my friend noted that she'd made a reservation for her and her brother to have lunch at the Lansdowne, and asked if I'd like to join.  After confirming that I wouldn't be intruding on their family lunch, I did indeed join them.

It was a really lovely lunch (I forget at times how good the food at the Lansdowne is!) and I enjoyed chatting with my friends.  I found it amusing how the brother called my lawyer friend "sis" all of the time, instead of by her name.  It's funny, as I think we all have our terms of endearment for our siblings, but I don't think my brother has ever called me "sis" in my life!

After lunch, I left them (my knee was starting to bother me a bit from all the being out and about), and called my Friend from Kindergarten (we'd mentioned that we should get together over the Easter Holiday), but there was no response from him.

I did however manage to catch both my niece and my parents on Skype (separate calls), and had a lovely time wishing them a Happy Easter.  And the best part?  I got to have a Diet Coke!  Finally, after 47 days without, it was time for some bubbly caffeine again.  Hurrah!

The Boat Race

Today was the fateful day of the annual clash of titans, the day that determines glory and victory for the rest of the year: The Boat Race. Officially I suppose one should call it the "Oxford vs. Cambridge Boat Race", but generally no other qualifier is needed, as there is only one Boat Race.

The Young Dutchman woke me up in the morning with a phone call to discuss plans. He wasn't sure if he wanted to join me or go to a friend's house in Barnes. Apparently this friend was somebody he hadn't seen in a while, so I told him to go join the friend, as I would surely see him later on in the day. And so at around 1 PM, I headed down to the river.

I kept calling and texting back and forth with the Young Dutchman during the Isis vs. Goldie race (the reserve boats), and was happy to be able to report that when they passed Hammersmith, Isis was leading. I most always cheer for Oxford when it comes to rowing, given that I only rowed when I was at Oxford, never at Cambridge.

I then got a call from the American friend I'd been set up with by another mutual friend, who had come down to the river to join me. During the start of the race, we managed to find each other, and so were able to cheer together as the boats came flying past Hammersmith, absolutely racing neck-and-neck. Continued to text back and forth with the Young Dutchman about how tense the race was, and how nerve-wracking it was to watch.

Then, tragedy struck. On the jumbo screens, we could see that there was someone in the water! Had one of the guys fallen out of the boat? The blades narrowly missed his head as the boat raced by, and both boats stopped rowing. Later it would turn out that a total JACK@SS protester had decided to "protest elitism" by swimming in front of the boats and stopping the race.

Why on earth someone would be such a ASSH*LE as to ruin 6 months of these guys absolutely torturing themselves, to destroy that one moment, on that one day. It was the Oxford crew that nearly took his head off, and in retrospect they should have just gone ahead and done it.

But now that the race had been stopped, it had to be restarted. So it took about a half-hour for the crews to row back to the 2 mile mark and fight to line up evenly in the choppy waters. The crowds standing around at Hammersmith were tense and restless, as we waited.

Then the restart happened, but the two crews had barely begun rowing when they clashed into each other! Blades went flying everywhere, and when everything was sorted out, the Oxford crew had one blade that had snapped. The crews set out rowing again, but now Oxford effectively had only 7 rowers competing against the eight from Cambridge.

Oxford struggled mightily, but from that point on, they really had no chance. Seven against eight, in addition to unbalancing the boat, at that level there was just no way the seven Oxford men could make up the power of the eight from Cambridge.

Not like Oxford didn't try, and they held on impressively. Yet disaster struck again at the end of the race, when the Oxford bowman had obviously collapsed, and people started racing to get him to the hospital. Everyone was screaming. It was all a disaster. As I later read:

"Oxford’s bow man Alex Woods ended the race flat on his back, unconscious. His life was put in jeopardy. He is a lightweight rower, just muscle and bone, with a BMI of only 19. With less resilience than his bigger crewmates and opponents, Woods had used up most of his muscle glycogen store in the first 10 minutes of the race. Forced to stop suddenly by the protester, he was flip-flopping between aerobic and anaerobic respiration in the half-hour before the race resumed, getting cold, his adrenalin levels pumping. During the restart, his body was running on empty, trying to burn fat that he did not have, his system in metabolic chaos. He remembers nothing after the collision, since his fuel-starved brain had stopped working."

My anger at this protester is just overwhelming. I can't remember the last time I felt such incredible rage. Afterwards, i found myself trying not to read too much about him, because I don't want to give any credit to whatever the hell he thought he was protesting. ("Elitism", apparently).

In the end, they scrapped the awards ceremony, because of the Oxford bowman being in hospital and everyone just being so upset. I feel bad for Oxford, but I also kind of feel bad for Cambridge. That wasn't how their Boat Race should have been. That guy destroyed everything.

Reading some articles later, most of the comments from people writing in were hugely supportive and realising how this jerk had ruined everything. Yet some of the comments were from truly idiotic people saying, "Oh those silly toffs got their little boat race ruined."

In all of these debates about the "class divide" in British society, I honestly think it's not those who might be considered "upper class" who are perpetuating it. It's these bigots who can't see the hard work and dedication, but instead focus on perpetuating this "us vs. them" mentality. The Young Dutchman later showed me a comment on his phone (can't find which article it went with now) where someone commented something to the effect of, "It's comments like these that discourage working-class students from ever applying to Oxbridge, and hence perpetuate the sense of a class divide."

My American friend decided to go home at this point, and I got on the train to Richmond, stopping at a few points to get on the phone with the Young Dutchman to just rant for a little bit. He assured me that he would join me shortly, and so I went on to the pub, where friends were gathering for the twins' birthday drinks.

I got a drink at the bar and joined the rest of the crowd, and wasn't there too long before the Young Dutchman arrived as well. As soon as he walked in, I went up to him and just demanded, "I need a hug", and was gratefully wrapped up in his arms for a little while until I felt better.

We spent much of the rest of the afternoon discussing the Boat Race and other things, and even when I wasn't talking to the Young Dutchman directly, I always found myself leading back up against him, with our legs pressed together or just somehow keeping in contact with each other. It was a tight space, and everybody was squeezed in, and so I suppose it just made more sense for us to be pressed up against each other than anybody else. But also, just after how low I've been feeling lately, it just made me feel better to be close to him, to feel the reassuring warmth of him as I leaned up against him.

I bought us two rounds, probably not the best idea in retrospect, given that we were drinking all of these craft brews that had quite a high alcohol content. So needless to say, we got a bit tipsy as we ate Easter candy and talked to people.

Then, after we were in quite a state, the Young Dutchman announced that he wanted to leave and go to the Hurlingham, and meet Kellogg Boy on the way. I protested that I was in jeans (I'd really thought I was going to go home before going out for the evening), but he seemed to think it would work. So we got on the train, got to Putney, met Kellogg Boy, and walked to the Hurlingham.

It turned out that everything was closed due to it being a slow evening, so then we went to the Eight Bells, a pub that I know about. Ran into some Dutch guy who was annoyed at us "toffs" but then the Young Dutchman calmed him down by speaking Dutch to him. We had more drinks (oh, what a not great idea), and then decided to go grab some dinner in Chinatown.

At dinner, I still can't even explain why, the Young Dutchman and I got into an argument. Basically he accused me of embarrassing him by making some comment about how many girls he's slept with, which 1) I swear I never made, and 2) he HAS slept with half the world, so how can he be embarrassed about it? You want people to stop casting aspersions on your reputation? Stop sleeping with so many people!

Nonetheless, I HATE fighting with the Young Dutchman. It never lasts for more than 30 seconds (I think because we both can't stand it so much), but I still hate even those 30 seconds of disagreement. And I didn't want to apologise for something I hadn't done, but I also hated having him angry with me.

Luckily, we dropped it pretty quickly, and then Kellogg Boy for some reason wanted to go to a casino. Neither the Young Dutchman nor I were fans of the idea, but we got turned down pretty quickly when the Young Dutchman didn't have ID on him, and the casino bouncers thought he looked under 18.

So at that point we decided to head home, Kellogg Boy gave me a kiss and wandered off, and then the Young Dutchman walked me to the bus stop before heading home. Made me promise to text him when I got home, but didn't wait for my bus with me...maybe he was still mad.

Finally I got home and texted the Young Dutchman that I was home safely, trying to be extra sweet and gracious as my subtle way of begging us not to fight. I hate it when we fight. He texted me back straight away thanking me for a lovely day, so hopefully all is forgiven...

Bad News from the Doctor

This morning I finally had my appointment with the specialist, where I was hoping for some good news about my knee. After all, I'd had a pretty successful morning. I'd gone and gotten the referral from my GP, and at HSBC found they had all of my bank statements waiting for me. So when I got to the doctor, I was a bit blind-sided when he pulled on my leg and didn't take long to say, "Your ACL is completely gone."

He did a lot of pushing and pulling my leg in various directions, and nothing hurt, but apparently it was more about the movement of the bone in relation to the joint, regardless of whether it hurt or not. (As if the ligament were gone, it wouldn't be holding the joint in place properly). The key one was apparently when he was trying to pull my tibia forward from my knee (I think). The forward movement that he was feeling was really subtle, but once he felt it he was instantaneous in his diagnosis.

Apparently now I've got to go for an MRI and an x-ray to check for secondary injuries (something about a meniscal tear?), but he seemed quite confident that there was no hope on the ACL. MRI is scheduled for next Weds, and then I'm back to the specialist on the 20th.

But of course, this brings up the one thing I was really hoping to avoid: Surgery.

He said if I don't have any secondary injuries, apparently I'd be on crutches as few as 3-4 days, but if I've got other problems as well, we're talking 3-4 weeks, and then a full 6-9 months until full recovery. My head is still spinning about this (particularly on top of the immigration stuff), so at the moment I'm just shell-shocked and trying to take it all in. Of course, if the immigration stuff doesn't go well, trying to schedule surgery on top of deportation is just what I need, right?

Interestingly, the range of motion (why I can't bend my knee) is unrelated (unless it's a secondary injury). Apparently the specialist thinks I've just done that to myself by favouring my knee, and so that's why I need to go to physio before I can have surgery. The idea is that my knee should be strong with a full range of motion, and in pretty good shape before we even go in to surgery. So that's another thing...

Of course, it wasn't enough to then go home and process all of this, as I had to make it over to my lawyers office for an appointment to pick up all of my paperwork. I met with the paralegal, who surprised me when he said that I'd made his job easy, that he'd never met anyone so organised. Wait, what? Seriously?

He was also impressed when I handed over my final HSBC statements, asking how on earth I'd gotten ahold of them so quickly. "Good customer service at HSBC", I replied, as he told me that he'd never had a client who had been able to procure their final bank statements so readily. Seriously? Although good on HSBC, I'll definitely be banking with them for the forseeable future, as they were a major help in this whole process.

He went through all of my papers, and noted dryly at one point, "You're a US citizen, which helps." I really wanted to ask him what he meant by that, but I got the distinct impression that it was a slightly inappropriately racist comment, i.e. that things would be more difficult for me if I were Pakistani.

At least all of this panic about business travel was explained when my lawyer revealled that recently they'd had a rejection come through the office that they totally hadn't seen coming. He shared with me the not-very-reassuring news that, "It was an application just like yours, we hadn't seen any risk factors with it at all, and suddenly this rejection came out of left field, entirely unanticipated. So while I'd like to tell you that your application is perfectly water-tight, we never saw that rejection coming, so how can we have any idea what will happen to you?"

I realise the guy was just being honest, but I'm already losing a ton of sleep over this. His words did nothing to reassure me.

I then went back to the office (as now I'd done absolutely NO work so far all day!) to make photocopies and try and deal with a few issues. Found a random desk in the legal department where nobody seemed to want to make trouble for me, and sat down to try and tackle a few things and make a few photocopies of all the stuff from my application. (Oh, and as an extra bonus, the UK government was releasing completely new application forms the next day, so the lawyer had suggested that I might want to stay late in the office to see if they released them early so I could print them out. Great. So in addition to all this other drama, now I've got to deal with new forms too?)

As I was stuck late in the office, once there was nobody else around, I sent the Tall South African a text, and was rewarded with one back, so I called him. Ended up just chatting for over an hour until my phone ran out, hence had to recharge and call him back, where we continued talking until we realised it was almost 9 PM, and he had to go shopping in preparation for his trip to Scotland in the morning. I never even told him about my horrible day, but I just wanted to talk to him, knowing that he'd cheer me up.

And I have to say, he did just that. What a guy.

The Immigration Nightmare

When I got into work, I was surprised when my boss informed me, "I talked to the Senior Executive of our team about the e-mail you sent last night, and she said I can't sign off on your travel, since I wasn't your manager when you did most of it." Okay, but both of the individuals who were my bosses when I did all of that travel are no longer with the company. So who on earth can sign off on the travel?

Even worse was when she said, "The Senior Executive then asked how bad it would be if you got deported, really?" Oh dear God. Seriously? Are we even contemplating this?

Apparently the Senior Exec also thinks I'm on an ex-pat package (I'm not, I'm a local UK employee), and then started ranting about ex-pats, totally ignoring the reality of the situation: I'm a local UK employee who needs someone to sign off that my business travel (which I did on behalf of my company!) was indeed business travel. It kills me, that five years of sacrificing for the company and going where they said to go, and now I've got an idiot Senior Executive who thinks that me getting deported wouldn't be a big deal.

Finally though, I just wrote up something and printed it out without showing it to my boss, and my HR Rep agreed to sign it. It all wasn't worded quite as strongly as I would have liked, but the whole thing seemed to pass muster, on the whole. I'm just so nervous that this is all going to go pear-shaped, because of something I have absolutely no control over, and people from my company not wanting to stand behind me.

In the afternoon I took a quick field trip over to my lawyers' office to drop off the last signed payslips and my new letter, and then made my way back to the office to get more work done. This of course took more time out of my day than I had anticipated, and since I'd really accomplished nothing all day other than dealing with immigration stuff, I ended up staying later in the office than I normally do, trying to get some actual work done.

This had the delightful and unexpected consequence of when I finally did leave the office to go catch my train home, I ran into a guy who had been on my course at Oxford years before. He'd rowed on the Blue Boat, against his brother, and then they'd written a book about the experience called "Blood Over Water". I hadn't really seen him since my Oxford days, and so was surprised when he remembered me instantly.

I got talking to him a bit about what he'd been up to in the years since Oxford, and he now worked for a bank and lived in Notting Hill. Lots of talking about rowing (the Boat Race is this weekend!), running marathons, and just bits here and there, but all a great catch-up. He'd always been a super-nice guy, and here once again this impression was confirmed. Totally random, but a great way to end an otherwise nightmare day. Who knows what fateful occurences the universe might still have in store for me?

Dinner with Michelle and David

When he texted me at lunchtime, I gave the Tall South African a call to chat. It was just good to catch up with him, as I always like talking to him. He was coming down to London this evening to meet a friend he hadn't seen in a while for a catch-up dinner, so we talked a bit about that...

But of course then, I was caught by surprise when he called me again after work, wanting to chat again. Twice in one day? I always love to talk to him, but I was due to meet a couple of friends I know through the Young Dutchman for dinner. (The Young Dutchman had been teasing us all about how we didn't get together on our own now that he's in Oxford, so we were attempting to prove that we could organise our own social lives without him).

Still, I'm just never quite able to say no to that boy, and so I kept chatting to him, even as I was also simultaneously trying to answer a request from my lawyers. Out of the blue, they'd asked me to write up a justification for every single business trip I'd taken in the past five years, and what the financial impact to the company would have been had I not gone. Ummm...are you kidding? What company knows that?

So I desperately was trying to scramble something together for my boss to review before heading out to dinner, and now the Tall South African was calling, and I soooooo wanted to talk to him (it's so much more fun than work!) and now I was late for dinner too.

Finally he hung up in his own time (although perhaps he did get the sense that I was desperate to get off the phone), I quickly sent the e-mail, and then raced down the street, where by some miracle there happened to be an available cab coming along. Sometimes the universe does seem to have your back...

When I arrived, the female half of the couple was already there, and I'd arrived at just the same time as the male half. Perfect timing!

Overall it was a great dinner, just one of those great evenings with fantastic food (I actually asked for a doggie bag), and good company, where we chatted about everything from immigration to start-up cloud companies. I also learned a bit about how they'd gotten together, although as it's apparently still a somewhat contentious issue, I rather wished I hadn't!

The girl then asked about the Tall South African, saying that when we'd been at the club last Friday, she'd not realised there was anything between us until right at the very end of the evening, when he'd placed a subtle hand on my back and announced that "we" were leaving. I laughed at how observant she was.

And then, almost on cue, the Tall South African texted. "Home time. **yawn**" To which the girl grabbed my phone and replied to him, "You're a wimp, it's early. Love, [the couple], (friends of hers)."

This then led to quite a sequence of back-and-forth texting between the girl and the Tall South African, until he finally concluded with, "Haha well next time we head out I expect them to join us :p"

Kind of funny, as it really made us sound like much more of a couple than we are. But then again, half the time I don't really know what's going on with us anyway.

Finally, we reached the end of our amazing meal, and it was time to head home. It had started raining and I'd forgotten my umbrella in my mad dash out of the house, but I figured I would make it home soon anyway. Kind of funny though, as we stood outside the restaurant, we'd had such a great time, that we kept standing there in the rain, chatting, not quite wanting it all to end.

Finally we did have to go our separate ways however, so I sent the Tall South African one last text, caught just the right bus that goes all of the way up near my flat, and headed home, with a reminder to bring my umbrella next time!

April Fools Day

Today was April Fool's Day, which is a day that I normally like to use to play pranks on people. I've come up with some epic pranks in years past, like where I sealed off my flatmate's doorway with cling film and filled the gap with balloons. Made for quite a surprise when she woke up in the morning!

I think it's easier to play pranks on people when you live with them, so pranking people from a distance is trickier. I've hacked websites before, although usually when it wouldn't cause too much concern (i.e. I hacked our MCR website whilst I was at Magdalene), and so this morning I was having trouble thinking of a good joke to play from a distance.

I settled on getting a spare phone (so he wouldn't recognise my phone number), and texting out random facts about the London Underground to the Tall South African. Now, since this was a cheap spare phone, it took me ages to tap out everything using predictive text (oh how quickly I've gotten used to the keyboard on my iPhone!)

Now after sending quite a few of these without a response (okay, so it was a Sunday, and perhaps I should have gotten up earlier to play my jokes), I decided to make use of all my efforts and sent them on to the Young Dutchman as well. Perhaps he would respond? Alas, no response there either!

I was due to meet up with my friends Zhan and Andy for brunch, so I walked over to Andy's flat, still sending a few more texts, and getting no response. Damn, and I'd thought my texts were pretty funny, filled with interesting facts about the London Underground. (Ten days later, in conversation the Young Dutchman finally figured out that I'd been the one sending the texts. As of a month later, the Tall South African still seemed not to have noticed).

I chatted with Andy for a bit, and after not too long, Zhan and his girlfriend Brianna arrived. We then decided to go for brunch at a cafe with a long line, but as it turned out the long line just gave us a chance to talk and catch up, so that was really fine. I talked to Zhan a lot about my nervousness about my upcoming immigration application, and although he assured me that he thought it would be fine, it was nice to just be able to vent a bit and hear a sympathetic voice to all of my concerns.

Lunch was good, Andy and I split a salad in addition to our main dishes because we were so hungry, and then we went back to Andy's flat, where ever the medical student, Andy asked if he could give me a knee exam to see if he could feel what was wrong with my knee. It was a bit disconcerting when he had to get out his textbook to flip through what tests he should do on me, but I was still eager to learn something, anything, about what might be wrong with my knee. He did some things where he pulled on my knee and kept prodding it in weird ways, but he couldn't pull it out of alignment, which suggests my ligaments are fine. Admittedly, he's only a medical student, so he said we'll have to see what the specialist says when I see him on Thursday. If I could get through this with only physical therapy and no surgery, I will be ecstatic. (The question of course remains, "So if the ligaments are fine, why doesn't it bend?" As it's very obvious that there is something wrong there). I think he was a bit disappointed that I passed the exam and my knee seemed relatively fine, although I of course thought this was more great news.

As it was a beautiful sunny day, we hung out on Andy's balcony for a while, just enjoying the sunshine. Then Andy had some medical students coming over to practice patient interviews, so we all made our departures, and I walked home.

I didn't have much time though, as I needed to quickly change and go out, as I'd promised to meet Caroline and a few others at the RAC for dinner. It was supposed to be a bigger crowd, but in the end it was just myself, Caroline, a nice guy from the RAC, and a Scottish lawyer friend of mine. Although I was late, I arrived just as the RAC Guy arrived as well, we had some time to chat, and then we were joined by Scottish Lawyer Friend and Caroline (who was late, as always is her pattern).

We had a nice enough dinner, although Scottish Lawyer friend really needs to learn when to stop harping on a topic. She'd been doing this recently a lot when talking about a guy she'd broken up with for ages (past what was an appropriate amount of time to be still talking about an ex), and it continued where she just kept harping on how she and RAC Guy had gone golfing recently, but it was a platonic thing. She just seems to get nervous when talking, and so re-treads old ground repeatedly over the same topics, even as much as you want to shake her and say, "Let it go..." Apparently she'd run into RAC Guy's ex-girlfriend and had gone to great pains to assure her that one afternoon of golf had not been anything romantic, but the way she kept hammering it in at dinner...I was really feeling bad for RAC Guy at the end of it all! Seriously, that girl needs to just learn to stop talking sometimes.

Finally we finished dinner, and RAC Guy offered to give me and Caroline a ride home. I had to stop in at the Club to sign a form, so I declined, and it was only later that Scottish Lawyer Friend pointed out that RAC Guy had been drinking quite a bit with dinner, and then climbed behind the wheel of a car. I'm so used to people not driving here in London, that I hadn't even thought about it, but that really is quite no good.

I rang the bell at the Club, was let in by the Night Porter, signed my forms, and then headed home. When I got there, Caroline texted me to let me know that RAC Guy had asked her out in the car on the way home. OMG! She'd kindly turned him down, as although he's a great guy, he's still obviously quite hung up on his ex. Although must be nice to be Caroline sometimes, tall, blonde, and constantly being asked out by guys. I had to laugh though, as it really is par for the course with her! What a funny way to end the day...