Now, when I rejoined Facebook, I did so mainly to keep in touch with my old colleagues from Cirencester, which has been nice. But after the first week or so of being in London, I didn’t really use it! I don’t update my profile (I have twitter for that), I don’t post up pictures (because I have this blog and my occasionally-used tumblr for that) and people communicate with me via other means. Last night, Toby also stated that he hasn’t really been using Facebook properly for the past year or so, and we both considered closing our accounts (for me, this would have been the second time). I don’t know if Toby still will, but I was set on it – returning to Facebook only proved to me how much I didn’t really need it. But this time around, it’s hardly been a burden having Facebook because my presence on there is very minimal and completely for the purposes of communicating with friends of mine who use that as their main outlet.

And then, this morning I woke up to find that Victoria – an old friend of mine from Oxford – had messaged me to find out how I was doing. We hadn’t written to each other in a couple of years, and I hadn’t seen her since I graduated from uni. We were very close in our first two years, living in the same corridor and spending a lot of time with one another. She is such a sweet person, so it was really nice to hear from her! I have written her back, and this experience said to me “if having Facebook now is so light on commitment, why bother deleting it? At least every blue moon, somebody will get in touch and revive a friendship.” This approach made sense, and I feel that I have struck the ideal balance – I’m not completely detached from Facebook, but it is something that I use only when I feel like it. There is no compulsion to check it or update it the way that there used to be at university. I feel unburdened by it, and every now and then a nice surprise like Victoria’s message makes me glad I joined it again.

It reminded me of the first time I went to Portobello Road with Toby and Said, and I had a bright idea to go to Golborne Road (which is quite a long walk from Notting Hill Gate!) to see what Little Morocco was like!  This time however, we didn’t venture that far but we did get to see Ladbroke Grove (which has a nice colourful part of the Westway bridge next to it!):

And on the way back, we stopped by Westbourne Park tube station too:

Toby directed me to get a better shot of the station extending up the street, rather than straight on (which omitted some of the building). 5 tube stations in one weekend is certainly not bad going!

Toby recently bought a book about fonts called Just My Type, and he has really been enjoying it (I might be borrowing it from him afterwards, though I have two books queued up to finish first!) and we have been noticing the uses of Century Gothic (our favourite), Helvetica and so on in the public domain and media. We were in Starbucks in Richmond yesterday and Toby observed the use of various fonts on the menu boards, napkins and articles on the walls – it was a little bit random and I think that it is probably down to different things being created at different times. I subsequently remembered that in Year 7, I had an IT lesson where we actually created our own font and we had to engineer the spaces around the letters so that words didn’t look too spaced apart etc. It was interesting, but not really anything in itself to write about. The thing that interested me is that I was 12 years old when this had happened, and yet it felt buried in my past and when remembering it, it was dim and cloudy like I was remembering the life of another person.

I suppose this is proof for the fact that at 12 years old, although we feel like young adults and don’t want to be referred to as ‘children’, we still have a lot of growing up to do and by the time we are fully-formed adults, we have changed a lot. Recently I was working on some lyrics for some new songs, and I remembered that when I was a teenager (12-14 years old), I spent quite a lot of time on the internet writing poems and sharing my poetry on forums. Now, these poems were probably frequently bad, but it didn’t matter – at the time when I was still only allowed on dial-up internet for half an hour each night (remember the days?!), it was the most important way for me to express my innermost thoughts and creativity, and read others’ as well. As I shared things that I had written, I made friends and ended up being invited to another forum where I would contribute regularly, and I also remember most of these people being quite Christian and I believe from the southern USA. At a time when I was still questioning my own beliefs as well as discovering my own sexuality, there were certain things I could talk about and others that I couldn’t, and from a place where I had been granted freedom of expression without judgement, I found myself (even at 15 years old) being careful about what I could and couldn’t say for fear of backlash from people I didn’t know that well and yet knew intimately. I didn’t stay on the forums for much longer after that (although I wrote poetry infrequently and headed up the St Anne’s Creative Writing Society with my friend Daria in my second year of university) because I could tell that I was headed on a different path to the other people on the forum, who were all adults and knew themselves already. I didn’t leave on bad terms, and I think that the forum fizzled out naturally shortly afterwards, but to think that for a substantial period of my teenage years this was one of my main hobbies, and yet now I barely remember it and it feels like I am looking at my adolescence backwards through a telescope. How far I have come is a very good thing, but it’s something that I can only really appreciate when I compare it to where I started from.

Underwhelming, n’est-ce pas? So after fruitlessly searching the station, I decided that this shot would have to do:

After speaking to the barista at Starbucks (and finding out that you have to pay to get into Kew Gardens proper), we decided that the best thing to do would be to walk round Old Deer Park and then along the Thames – which was a two mile walk! We did well! It was very pretty and we took some pictures along the way:

We saw a rainbow!

Toby was pleased by our walk and decided to look stately.

Eventually we got to Kew Bridge, walked through Kew (and decided that living there might be a bit too out of the way, but all in all wouldn’t be too shabby) and made our way to the Kew Gardens tube stop, which was again somewhat underwhelming but at least an improvement on Richmond:

It was a lovely day and we both felt tired but healthy after our walk! We got the bus back and although this is sort of cheating, during the journey I managed to get a good picture of Hammersmith tube station:

Good times! Shame that as I post this blog, I have just come back from the pub and sneaked a couple of profiteroles… A well, every day is a new day! Goodnight folks x

I never realised that the building for Paddington tube station was so grand, having been mainly used to the railway station / hangar.

And then today, I went to the American School in London and I had to reveal this London Underground Photo project that I am doing to my colleagues – I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to get a picture of St. John’s Wood (where I have never been up until today) and I couldn’t just take a picture of it without looking like a total weirdo. So I explained the photo project, and I got my picture!

Another two off the list! Where will I go next?…

I already knew that this questionnaire was going to be difficult because it is going to force me to look at myself as other people see me, while also considering myself from the point of view of the person who knows me best. I guess that therefore, the principal aspect of my personality is passion – my heart loves fiercely, and my brain works constantly.

The quality that I desire in a man.

Just one? Well, in that case, it has to be integrity. Or possibly, to be secure enough in himself to allow himself to be openly vulnerable and not get caught up in machismo bullshit. Perhaps the principal aspect of my personality should have been verbal diarrhoea…

The quality that I desire in a woman.

To be an independent thinker and not follow the crowd – in life just as in fashion.

What I appreciate most about my friends.

Their intelligence, their honesty, and their loyalty.

My main fault.

Overthinking things, second-guessing people and situations until it drives me quite mad.

Faults for which I have the most indulgence.

I can’t resist a mischievous streak.

My favorite occupation.

Singing and all that is music-related. Or otherwise, shopping with friends and sitting in a café, talking openly and honestly about love and life.

My dream of happiness.

To be with my partner forever, in a nice house in the city near the beach, and to have enough money to not have any real worries and to be able to provide for my family. I know it is predictable but I can’t think of anything that would make me happier. Oh, and throw in also having a killer body and a wardrobe that would be the envy of Tom Ford.

What would be my greatest misfortune?

To have not been raised by a mother who gave me her all (even when it was sometimes too much) and taught me important human values far more insightful than what is commonly and unintelligently accepted as “intelligence”.

What I should like to be.

Inspirational, successful on my own terms, genuinely original, and in love for the rest of my life.

The country where I should like to live.

This is quite an impossible question – I can choose 5 or 6 cities I am enamoured with from countries around the world. And I want to live in them all!

My favourite colour.

Red. Or black for clothes. I also like silver for jewellery, because it goes well with my black clothes. But then why choose silver when you could have gold?! So I will stick with red.

The flower that I like.

It’s a cliché, but I like roses – they are romantic and intricate. But when I was young, my favourite flowers were white trumpet lilies, and I still think they are beautiful.

My favorite bird.

The phoenix.

My favorite prose authors.

I am currently enjoying the Nordic crime novel trend (although I did feel somewhat embarrassed when I saw that Waterstones had a special section for this kind of book – I don’t like to feel so easily categorised) so Jo Nesbo and Stieg Larsson are up there. I have also always enjoyed Stephen King’s books, as well as Sapphire and Virginia Euwer Wolff. My favourite author that I studied at university was Faulkner, because the way he manipulated language and made the reader work to decipher and put together his images and plotlines was genius.

My favorite poets.

I don’t like traditional poetry that adheres rigidly to a form or standard verse / rhyme structure, because I feel that this often comes at the expense of true meaning and emotion. I enjoyed Ntozake Shange’s choreopoem for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf. And Herb Ritts was a poet with the camera.

My heroes in fiction.

I thought that Precious from Sapphire’s Push was inspiring and heroic. Other than that, I don’t really have a good memory for any literary heroes I have.

My favorite composers.

Classically, my favourite is Tchaikovsky. Speaking in modern terms, I adore Mariah Carey, and she is an accomplished artist in every sense of the word.

My heroes in real life.

My mother is beyond amazing. Inspirational in the way that she raised me, the ethics and conscience she instilled in me, and also the way that she has stuck by my father through all of his foolishness (I’m being deliberately vague because this is my private life) when most wouldn’t have, and ensured that their marriage lasted nearly 30 years.

My favorite names.

Toby and I discuss the names that we would like for our children. I love the name “Summer” for a girl. It just conjures up carefree beauty to me. For a boy, I really don’t know…

What I hate most of all.

Liars, people who are fundamentally inconsiderate, wasps, budgeting, and the fact that things which are bad for you are so much more enticing and delicious than those which are good for you.

The gift of nature that I would like to have.

I would love to be able to fly. I think that is what this question is aiming for? Either that, or have a body that does not store fat on its midsection.

How I want to die.

Youthful in spirit, if not in body. Part of me still has the childish hope that I may never die – I would like to live forever! But at the age that I am now.

My present state of mind.

Thankful that after so many years of thinking it would never happen to me, I have found happiness and true love.

My motto.

If you don’t feel good, then you might as well look great.

I also managed to tick off three more stations! Embankment:

Charing Cross:

And last but not least, the glamourously-named but disappointing Temple:

I nevertheless have fond memories of the first time I visited this station, because it was last winter, snow was on the ground (and I was trying to keep from slipping over), and Toby and I went to Somerset House (which is just next door to this station) to look at the Skate ice rink (and Tiffany store, which was in a giant aqua Tiffany box) and the Dior / Gruau exhibition. Good times

I have never marinaded chicken, roasted potatoes (although in my last cookery post, I did learn how to boil them, so I am becoming quite potato-adept!) or even sliced a red pepper, so I couldn’t have made this dish without Toby’s help. I discovered that the previous tenants in my flat had left behind loads of really useful kitchen utensils, including big knives and various-sized baking trays and oven tins. One of my new aims for this weekend is to make an inventory of the kitchen cupboards and find out exactly what exciting cooking tools I possess! So first of all:

• The oven was pre-heated to 200° C.
• I took out the four chicken breasts we had bought, and cut 3 diagonal slices halfway down each one. These slits were to ensure that the BBQ sauce would get right inside the meat and imbue it with flavour.
• Then I took the red pepper, sliced the top off, grabbed the white middle structure and pulled that out. I then turned my hollowed-out pepper upside down, put my hand underneath, and banged the top to get most of the seeds out. I then cut my pepper shell into quarters, and sliced it. I found out that this really is quite straightforward!
• In a square baking tray with sides, I laid the sliced peppers to make a bed for the four chicken breasts. I then added about two-thirds of the bottle of BBQ sauce marinade, and worked the sauce into the chicken, ensuring that it got into the slits I had cut earlier. This was frankly quite horrible, as I hate my hands getting sticky and messy. But I did it!
• Then I cut about 8 smallish potatoes into thirds / quarters (depending on size), and put them on a flat baking tray. I seasoned these with salt and black pepper, and drizzled some sunflower oil over them. I then turned all of the potatoes over in the oil to ensure that the surface of each potato fraction was oiled and seasoned.
• I put both baking trays into the oven. After 20 minutes or so, when the potatoes started to brown on top, I took both baking trays out of the oven and using a fork (I tried it with a spatula the first time but things got a bit messy!) I turned all four chicken breasts over in the red pepper and BBQ sauce marinade, followed by turning all the potatoes over. I put everything back in the oven for another 20 minutes.
• After this, the potatoes started to sizzle. I gave them a vigorous shake on the baking tray, and turned some of them over again. I then turned the four chicken breasts over once again. Everything went back in the oven!
• 10 minutes or so after this, the potatoes started to look brown on top and the chicken looked cooked, so everything came out of the oven.
• We then sliced four reasonably thick slices of Toby’s bread and laid them flat on two plates. I put salad leaves on the bread, and drenched these with a good amount of caesar dressing. I then sliced the chicken breasts into thin slices, and arranged these on top of the salad leaves. I covered the chicken with the sliced peppers, added a couple of dollops of the leftover BBQ sauce, and put the final slices of bread on top to make the sandwiches.
• I served the roast potatoes in a bowl as a side dish. (In other words, there wasn’t enough room for the potatoes on the plate, next to the giant sandwiches.)

Et voilà!

Quite honestly, this meal was delicious, and so delicious that I felt almost overwhelmed that I had made it myself. I could not have done it without Toby telling me what to do, but I made it with my own two hands and cooking utensils, and I am really proud. On top of this, it really wasn’t that difficult, and I have learned how to do new things. It’s confirmed to me that this cooking idea that I had at the top of the year really was a good one that I should continue to pursue. I’m not used to taking so long to prepare and cook a meal, but neither am I used to feeling such a sense of pride at the end of it.

Emboldened by my success (and the fact that Parsons Green really isn’t that far away from Toby’s flat), I walked on to Putney. When I got to Putney Bridge station, I found out that Fulham were playing Chelsea in the football today (I am generally oblivious to footballing events and mainly find out about them from the amount of Chelsea or Fulham fans amassed in my vicinity) and was surrounded by lairy individuals wearing football kits and drinking cans of beer. Police were on horseback and guarding the tube stations, but that didn’t stop me from getting my picture!

Again, since I’d come this far, I decided to walk to Putney and have a look at the shops on the High Street. Eventually I got to East Putney station…

…realised I hadn’t brought my house keys with me (so I couldn’t go back to my flat and have lunch, which was my bright idea at the time), so walked back to Putney High Street, picked up some sandwiches for me and Toby to eat for lunch, and then got the bus back to Fulham! A good day with healthy walking and a new-found appreciation for Putney.

I am in the very lucky position of being in a relationship with a fantastic cook. He is in the equally lucky position of being in a relationship with someone who enjoys cleaning and household chores. So why should I even bother learning to cook? Well, I’m an adult now – no longer a student, or living at home; Toby comes round my place nearly as often as I stay at his, and I want to be able to make meals that are tasty, interesting and also occasionally healthy. Eating out is expensive, and eating takeaways can get unhealthy and uninspiring. Perhaps I’ll lose some weight and get healthier along the way? I also want to add to my skill set, and I kind of feel that cooking is something I really ought to learn, as a worthwhile (and sociable) human being.

I’m not a natural chef (see: lack of patience; lack of understanding what foods go together; issues around eating and weight), but I did have some cookery lessons at school. I made things like pasta carbonara, quiche, bread, triple chocolate upside-down cake, and they always turned out well – however, I might attribute some of this to my desire to succeed in a classroom setting, rather than any potential I had as a cook. The only thing I ever did mess up was crème caramel, because I burned the caramel in the oven. (I later found out that I didn’t really like crème caramel anyway.) But for the most part, I had a recipe which I always followed to the letter, and things always turned out fine. However, Toby has discovered that there are some basic things that I didn’t know. For example, don’t lick your fingers when you have been handling raw chicken or raw egg – this is bad for you. He asked me, “didn’t you have food technology lessons at school?!?” To which my reply was “No, we studied Latin instead.” I think I was due to have 6 weeks of cookery lessons in 6th form, but instead I was chosen to be a peer mentor and had 30 hours of training in mentoring and listening skills from a psychologist.

Moving on… Last month, I made a lovely meal of honey and mustard roast chicken breast (courtesy of Waitrose), with chips, salad and croutons with caesar dressing. I was pleased with this meal because I picked the ingredients in the supermarket myself and created the dish in my head as I walked through the aisles. It was delicious. Tonight (and this is not counting towards my dish per month resolution), I had a go at making steak pie (courtesy of Sainsburys) with steamed baby corn, beans and boiled potatoes. This presented some challenges to me as I have never steamed vegetables, and I have never boiled potatoes.

The easy part – I shoved the steak pie in the oven for 35 minutes. This gave me 35 minutes to:

• discover that one of the hob rings on my mini oven doesn’t work when the oven is on;
• boil the potatoes on the other hob;
• realise that supermarket estimates for cooking are not always to be trusted;
• learn how to steam vegetables in the microwave (thank you Google);
• find out that it’s not worth using tablespoons to measure out water.

After accumulating all of this knowledge, dinner was served:

It was yummy! The pie and potatoes (after the initial panic that they weren’t cooking on the hob) turned out very well. If I could do it again, I would have steamed the vegetables for longer in the microwave, as the beans were quite crisp and fresh-tasting; but the vegetables were still perfectly edible. The whole point of this, and my cookery journey, is that I am going to learn skills I didn’t know (however basic they might be) and improve my culinary capabilities. I am not ashamed of being such a novice cook, because I am doing something about it. And if you are reading this and thinking that you can’t cook either, then let’s take this journey together. I will be completely honest about my failures and lack of knowledge, and hopefully the fact that I will be able to make successful dishes in spite of these will be proof that even though we aren’t all born chefs, we can all learn to cook something simple, yet tasty and interesting.