Long Hiatus:

Sorry sorry sorry! I officially cannot blog for the following reasons: A) Internet, as noted previously, is sketchy at best. B) I have a desire to NOT embarrass other people so editing of events is required unless I want my parents and their friends to know exactly what students do on Friday nights (it’s nothing bad I promise! We play Scrabble) C) I have no idea if this is boring or not.

Life in London continues as before and I have yet another list of things that are really quite insane about this Communist country (that’s right, I said it-you’re all Communist!)

TV License-So you buy a used TV; you buy a FreeView box, which is a one time 40 quid purchase that gives access to 40 channels of British and American shows. THEN a bill for 130 quid (that almost $260 USD) shows up in the mail. You must pay this is you plan to use a telly (seriously, they use that word) to receive cable satellite or to use any DVD, video or stereo equipment. If you do not comply they have special license police that come to your home and issue a big fine. WTF?! It’s like a car tax. When T and I mentioned this to our dozen or so Brit friends and asked why the hell they hadn’t mentioned it in the “Moving to London” guidebooks they all acted shocked: “What, I thought that was common everywhere?” Only if you believe in Stalin, people.
Bank Accounts-Yes, still without terra firma UK bank account. I have all of the paper work, the correct number of photocopies, cash, blood sample, family lineage chart and proof of existence. Now it’s just standing in line for two hours. Apparently the ONLY bank that will allow students to set up an account in less than 8 weeks is NatWest and only ONE branch will set up the accounts. The “branch” consists of four people in a basement and a queue that continually goes beyond the door, down the hall and up the stairs. Maybe I can write my dissertation in line
Weather-Whoever once said that “foggy London town” has a pervasive steady drizzle is full of bularky. Picture patchy skies followed by torrential downpour. There is no drizzle-the drizzle doesn’t exist. This is good old fashioned roll-up-the-jeans and splash around rain complete with thunderstorms (ahh, home…). I don’t mind it, just don’t lie to me.
Weather reporters-T and I were watching our soon to be confiscated freeview when the weather report came on the telly. Now all of Ireland except of Belfast is not reported upon and Wales and England get the start treatment. But the kicker was when Perky Sue came on and reported the following: “well we’ve had a run of good luck but the forecast for this weekend is just terrible; Sunday will be just horrible with Saturday in not much better shape; horrible, just horrible rain and wet weather ahead for all of the UK.” She apparently missed the section of the weather girl handbook that suggested that weather plays a large part in the nation’s suicide rate so DON’T ENTICE PEOPLE TO JUMP!!!!!
Open 24 hours/unlimited­-Simply put, this does not exist. There is an enormous sign over Tesco (supermarket) stating “Open 24 hours.” In reality, that is “Open 6-11PM Monday through Saturday and 8-5PM on Sunday.” Maybe that is 24 hors for the whole week. And please educate the Commies on ‘unlimited supply’. I can’t get an annual gym pass because they have given out the allotment for the year. Pinkos! And there are no more annual Tube/Bus passes available for students-What, is everyone wearing RED now????

On the lighter side, AoY has interesting news. I must find a way to help the people of Britain and advance my knowledge of criminology whilst (yes, it’s always whilst here, or rather, heretofore). I almost took a job conducting surveys at Brixton prison. To give those not in the loop (including myself) Brixton is a largely poor area of South London with a huge amount of black Caribbean, Mediterranean, North African, Jamaican and other mostly black and Latino refuges, illegal immigrants or lower-class persons. Fine, okay. There were a series of riots in the 80s and 90s and racial tensions apparently still run very high around the area. Fine, not a problem. I went to school in Durham and lived in DC-nothing new there. My job would be to interview inmates at HMP Brixton and try to get a sense of their needs upon release. The goal would be to unite or reunite families and build a program that would encourage family and community involvement in repatriating/reacquainting (for lack of a better word) the newly released inmate. There are several similar programs in the US with varying degrees of success. Great, good, go community action!
Then it hit me-I’m supposed to relate to these people, find out their needs, counsel the families and devise a strategy on how to make them better citizens. Ummmm, PROBLEM.
1. I’m a white girl. The Brixton prison population (and yes, there is always a significantly higher percentage of minorities in prisons around the world but that’s another topic) is almost completely African or Caribbean. I’ve interviewed with white murderers before and that was creepy enough but they were Catholic church-going, Little League playing murderers (which should tell you something…). I would have to walk over a mile through Brixton to get to the jail unless I want to take the Prison Express (bus that specially runs from the Tube to the Prison)
2. I’m a white drawling Southern girl. Apparently there is no plate glass between interviewer and interviewee to promote a better relationship; give me that distance, please! Also, I’m sure we’ll have loads to talk about. Me: So you’re an illegal immigrant from Jamaica who has never held a steady job, received any education, you have an illegitimate child, a drug addiction, an invalid work visa and anger management issues. Aside from the anger management I’m not so sure of what to tell this guy. Don’t do drugs? Stealing is a no-no and results in a Time Out in federal prison? Go back to the warm sunny beaches of Madagascar?

So prison didn’t work out. So now I think I will be working with person who have mental disorders and present with antisocial tendencies in a hope to identify factors to watch for in therapy sessions that suggests they will commit violent offenses in the future. The idea is that most people who commit violent crime that are diagnosed with a mental disorder almost always have been in counseling or sought treatment prior to their crimes. Our job is to develop tools to spot these potentially violent offenders by establishing a pattern. How cool is my job? It’s billed as unpaid but “the projects are very interesting and the environment stimulating.” Great, I don’t need money; I can live on your pristine city air alone! J



Friends have been made! Well, one “friend” wanted to get a whole lot friendlier but a simple “never going to happen” worked as dissuasion. Back to friends, AoY has discovered that people from different countries will befriend you even if the Brits will not! Our group of MSc students makes up quite the odd bunch: 1 Italian, 1 Russian, 1 Canadian, 1 Irish, 2 Brits (they aren't from London), 1 Pakistani, and a partridge in a pear tree! We went out for “drinks and curry”. AoY was unaware that this meant literally meant DRINK A LOT AND HAVE SOME CURRY. We started off in Tower Hill at a very posh upwardly mobile bar before heading to the famed Brick Lane. I am informed that Jack the Ripper killed people somewhere along the way (we ended up in Whitechapel) but first we had to buy our own beer to bring to the curry restaurant. Now that suited the laid back AoY just fine. 5 quid for four Hoegaardens instead 5 quid each? Now we’re talking! We ended up at some restaurant without a name and ordered something I couldn’t pronounce and drank our beer straight out of a can! Just give me a dock and I’m back home! We then wandered through the Goth crowd in Whitechapel before heading into a reggae club of sorts. Seriously, we were the ONLY ones without dreads. Two Americans had tagged along for the evening, being dorm mates of Irish. I shall call them New Jersey and San Fran because they never offered a name and it took immense teeth-pulling to get that much information about their home towns. I spent the entire night apologizing on behalf of all Americans (I figured that we voted them off the island so they moved to another one). Back to Tower Hill for some late night vodka and I ended up sleeping in Tower Hill. Great times, good people, look forward to Round 2!

A few parting oddities and words of the day I have learned over the past few weeks:

Chav/chavvy-A person of low or working class order that buys excessive amounts of Burberry (with the plaid visible) or Gucci or LV in an attempt to seem high brow and elitist. In America, we would call them posers or tools. (Oh, and often they wear head to tow Burberry to seem extra cool-literally, hat, shirt, boxer, pant, sock, jacket, fanny pack)
Anti-climb paint-Now I have touched this stuff and cannot figure out for the life of me what goes into anti-climb paint. It has a rough texture underneath the black but I have yet to succumb to a fatal malady, turn a funny color or become unable to mount stairs. I guess it’s slippery and there are usually spikes at the top of the railing but I’m mystified.Black cabs-Not all black-you just have to go by the shape. They can be green or pink or zebra striped. I guess it’s like Yellow cab in the States.
Discounts-they price things by the milligram or gram or mL or what have you. This would be fine except when I see “65p for OJ” it never occurs to me that it is 65p for one third of that OJ container. Do I have the option of removing 1/3 and just purchasing that? Why not just tell me that I’ll be paying 1.95 for the damn thing? I understand unit pricing but it’s literally like Want a liter of milk? Well, at 35p (which is a steal Tesco I will have you know, it’s usually 38p) for 200mL you might want to put down that fifth of a package of crisps you were considering and save up!
LiLo=Lindsay Lohan; ahh, Linds, LoLo and Lindsay were too easy
WOBs=Wives and Birds of the Ryder Cup players. Feminists are so proud right now.
WAGs=Wives and girlfriends of the Manchester United football team; and Posh is no longer a member she tells you!
CrissCross=they’ll still make you jump, even at a posh club in 2006. I've heard it ever time I go out. Just throw in some Croakies, keg beer and a dark commons room and it's back to uni days!

Shout out to the brother as it’s his birthday today. I stayed up until 3AM to call him at 5PM on technically the day before his birthday but it WAS his birthday in my country-Sisterly love :)