6 July

JULY

“All life is an experiment.” Ralph Waldo Emerson 

This month Carey and I are going to take a coach tour to Leeds Castle, Canterburyand the White Cliffs of Dover. We discussed it before our Salsa Dance class and have settled on Saturday the 18^th. I’m finally going to see where the Canterbury Tales hail from!

Wednesday, 1 July – (surviving this heat wave is like being back in Africa! Loving it!)

            Today I booked and paid for my flights to Hong Kong: 13 to 19 September 2009. Exciting times. £440.00! (Choke on the ‘extravagant’ dream!) Bring it on!

Thursday, 2 July

            Today is the 30^th anniversary of the original Sony Walkman! According to the Metro Paper the Walkman was: “As revolutionary in its time as the iPod is now, 50 million of the portable cassette players were sold in its first decade.” For any post 1990 babies: The Walkman was about 10cm x 15cm and played one side of a cassette at a time; that’s about 8 – 12 songs and then you had to manually turn the cassette around. After a few hours of play time you would have to change the batteries. For any pre 1950 babies: Today a 4cm x 3cm iPod Shuffle continually plays hundreds of songs in the order you save them in (or it shuffles them around for you); and if the battery is low you recharge it through your computer. All that change in only 30 years.

            If you are interested, like I am, Jack Bacon has written a book called The Parallel Bang (2006), in it he has a diagram showing the statistics of human progression: Man has been on earth for a million years; fire, tools and language have been around for 60, 000 years; civilization, cities, agriculture and writing: 5000 – 10, 000 years; and Modern Science? Only 200 years! I must admit I find the exponentially crazy growth of mankind’s ‘extra stuff’ (that’s my terminology’s not Mr Bacon’s) mind-blowingly scary. Happy 30^th anniversary to the now obsolete Sony Walkman. Hopefully I won’t be obsolete with my 30^th birthday in a few months! 

Friday, 3 July

            The ‘good news’ for today came via a text message from my Mom telling me that my certificate from the University of South Africa, (issued in absentia) for my 3 years of part time studying, had finally arrived (more than 6 months after receiving my results!). I officially have a big certificate to say that I have a Post Graduate Certificate in Education. I’m officially a teacher…and I wasn’t there to see it or celebrate it. Maybe one day I’ll actually get to wear a cap and gown at a graduation ceremony and have a party. One day…                                                                                                              

            Instead of a big celebration I settled for taking myself to Covent Gardenand treating myself to a cuppa. I sat alone at a table on the cobbled stones looking towards the curio / memorabilia Jubilee Market next to London’s TransportMuseum. I ordered a cappuccino and sipped it slowly, watching all the people with their busy lives rush by, wishing that at least my family were there with me to mark the moment. I sent a text to each of them to let them know I was thinking of them and I wished they were with me…My Dad’s reply was: “I am… enjoy luv dad.” I saw very little through the mist in my eyes. The warm drink softly soothed my sorrow; with each sip I steadied and strengthened a little more. Slowly sipping, slowly strengthening. I have no idea how long I sat there, but it was dark when I took myself ‘home’. (Love you too Dad)

Sunday, 5 July – Wimbledon Tennis Finals

            Sadly I never managed to get to the Wimbledon Tennis Courts themselves, so I settled for watching it on the telly at a house in Wimbledon. The Wimbledon Tennis Tournament is an age old part of British tradition, unbefittingly I dressed in what ‘tennis gear’ (baggies and T-shirt!) I could find hidden in my cupboard. From there I went to a University friend’s place to squash on the couch with other would-be-attendees, and attempted to watch the longest tennis match final ever! Thankfully Lauren is an outstanding hostess and there were loads of people to chat to, meat to braai and ‘tennis’ to be played in the small back garden. I don’t think anyone actually managed to stay in front of the TV for the whole match. The 123^rd Wimbledon Men’s Final was won by Roger Federer; who beat Andy Roddick in a 16-14 tie-break at the end of one very long duel (much to the immense disappointment of the British)!

Monday, 6 July

            For work today I went out to observe an In-School Presentation at a PRU school. PRU stand for: Pupil Referral Unit. These schools are for the pupils who, due to various behavioural challenges and uncontrollable circumstances, cannot attend mainstream schools any more. The children are basically the toughest of the tough, and are sitting at the last stop in the education system that wants to monitor them and keep them in a safer environment than their alternative options. I felt overly cautious in the classroom, but was blessed to have Francis (another SLO) sitting next to me, a big teddy bear of a man who bears a remarkable resemblance to Richard Gere. The world is an easier place to handle when I’m next to calmly intelligent people. Francis was literally cool, calm and collected, it was great. The SLO taking the class was not as confident as Francis; she came from aNew Zealand primary teaching background and I think the daunting nature of the situation was too much for her systematic style of presenting. In their classroom these learners dictate how the presentation goes, and you can’t do anything about it because that would disrupt their routine and they are more than aware of their rights if you step out of line. The learners were doing their own things at their desks; and their life experiences with regards to graffiti and Officers of the law were far more extensive than ours; I understood why they wouldn’t really care about paying for bus tickets and / or wearing reflective clothing. Unfortunately if that’s what you are supposed to be teaching them, and you can’t, it gets very frustrating and de-motivating. She ended up having to close off long before the hour was up. I could see more efficient ways to handled the group, but it’s always easier to comment from the outside looking in and constructive criticism is always a difficult topic, so I kept my opinions to myself: “They were a tough group, well done!” I said, as I tried to be encouraging. She gave me a sad half-smile and said very little for the rest of the morning.

            I was actually irritated, because those kinds of situations don’t have to happen if your trainers are trained to be trainers. I have yet to find any course that teaches people the dynamics, skills and tools that you have to know, understand and utilise when you train, teach and / or work with such a vast expanse of varied individuals. I reckon the world needs more practical training on how to deal with different people so that we can get the best out of everybody; such a pity the world promotes learning about maths and modern science (only 200 years in existence!), and not how to cope with, and balance, being part of the human race (thousands of years in existence!).      

Tuesday, 7 July – Michael Jackson’s Memorial Service (1958 – 2009)

            Actual diary entry:

I feel weird about the whole thing. To be honest the photos of him really scared me in the last decade. I thought he was brilliant back in the days of Black & White, Heal the World, Thriller (are you humming them too?) and his moon walking. I loved dancing and singing to his songs. It’s sad that the media took him from the ‘King of Pop’ to ‘Wacko Jacko’. Only recently did I find out that he was in the Guinness Book of World Records for the most funds donated by a Pop Star to charities. What an awesome legacy. Why wasn’t that ever big in the press?

            I was fascinated by the thoughts of one of my colleagues from the TC. She believes that Michael Jackson always remained a child deep inside himself. He was taken into the adult world too soon and missed out on his youth thus missing out on all his stages of ‘growing up’. Maybe that’s why he did things in the manner and enthusiasm of an excited child: have sleep-overs, have a huge Neverland playground and of course show off your child to the world, without the adult thought that you don’t hold a child over a balcony. Every child wants to show off their fabulous belongings, that’s what children do, no hidden agenda or indecency, just “Look Mom!”

            It doesn’t really matter what anyone thinks now, or whatever theories people have, because in truth: his music, the lyrics he sang, their beauty, honesty, truth and love spoke for themselves and resounded through the hearts of people around the world. He was a phenomenal blessing to the world of music and opened a door for people to smile, dance and find a touch of happiness. His suggestion for people to look at themselves in the mirror and change themselves to heal the world, to make the world a better place by uniting black and white, by making a difference, by making it right, by asking the man in the mirror to change his ways: “No message could have been any clearer, if you want to make the world a better place take a look at yourself and make a change”. For me that is fundamental truth; poetic, non-judgmental and most importantly open, honest and applicable to every human being. How you live your life is your choice.

            Amongst the rat race and craziness of the world, and especially the music industry, Michael Jackson managed to see beauty in the world, he knew that the world was lacking love, he knew what people were taking for granted and he spoke out against materialism and lack of faith, that takes guts and passion. I can only imagine that seeing such beauty combined with such wastefulness must be torture for any sensitive and observant soul. I reckon it’s the minority of humans who don’t sleepwalk through life. There are only a handful of people who go out and live their purpose and passion, and Mr Jackson was one of those few.

            I’m certainly not anyone who would have fainted at his concerts or gone mental at the sight of him; I find all that rather bizarre and inexplicable, he was a man, a human being like everyone else. I do, however, have a deep respect and admiration for a phenomenally talented man who was stuck in a sleepwalking world where he managed to create a bit of magic. I pray that his soul may rest knowing the awesomeness it achieved.

            When I was editing this entry (to save you from my bad grammar and sentence structure), it struck me how sad it is that it takes death to be able to bring out honest contemplation and thoughts on subjects that should be a priority every day. Like what will I achieve today? How will I be the best I can be? I find it disheartening that it usually ends up being a tragedy that changes the paths of people’s lives. Someone dies, so now I’m going to do this for them, or I don’t want to end up like them, so I’m going to change. Wouldn’t it be great if people wanted to be better and choose better everyday, purely because they can? I think that would be awesome. I think Mr Jackson would have liked that too. On the flip side of the coin, it’s wonderful that someone’s life can so dramatically inspire and improve another’s. If only we paid more attention a little sooner.

Friday, 10 July

            Office work is taking its toll as the days start to blend into each other. I’m finding myself in a bit of a strange situation, because I know I’m on contract and I have a lot to do before the end of September, but everyone else in the office has loads of time to chat and have all sorts of discussions. If I chat, I won’t get through the work; if I work, then I’m not participating in ‘the chat’ and I appear anti-social; after much contemplation I settled on getting the work done. Today was my first staff meeting and I reported back on the work I was doing on revamping the role plays for the Schemes. I asked everyone to send me an email on what role plays worked for them, and what they would suggest I include. Following on from my request, I sent out an email for everyone to reply to…no-one replied; and I was glad I had decided to get on with the work.

            The happy note for the day was confirming a trip to Oxfordto go and stay with an old high school friend, Bron, on her boyfriend’s houseboat! Rock-on the 25^th of July!

Saturday, 11 July – Anna’s Farewell, Temple Road Walkabout Pub

“Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.”

Mark Twain 

            Saying: “Good-bye and farewell,” seem to be a part ofLondon life. I haven’t come across anyone who reckons they would be happy to live inLondon for the rest of their life. Everyone seems to be aspiring for more. The thought that few people are here for very long makes me realise that my stay is going to be temporary too; I’m not the sort of person who will be able to wander indefinitely, or continually say goodbye to friends. Still, I surprised myself at being upset that Anna was leaving. She is one of those people who have an enthusiastic magical energy about them; the ones who, even if you only meet them briefly, will never fail to leave some of their magic in your memory, and inspiration for the tougher times ahead.

            This wasn’t Anna’s first time inLondon; she had been here about 10 years ago when she first qualified as a teacher. She said that she would love to keep travelling, but it wasn’t viable anymore. The last time she was here she managed to live and travel and save off her supply teaching income. This time round she said that living expenses had increased by a large percent and the supply wages had hardly increased at all, so she had hardly managed to save anything. She was going back to supply in Australia and then hopefully she could get a long term teaching post settle down. She was going to be staying with her brother and I seemed happy to be going back to family. I know many people say that home is ‘where you make it’, or ‘where you hang your hat’, but I’m learning with each encounter that I think I believe that home is where family is…

            Being Anna’s event, the evening was full of laughter and drinking and dancing. Natt had a brilliant time as she attracted so much male attention that we had to fend them off! Infuriatingly, as my luck would have it, my shoe broke and the heel and sole half-disconnected themselves from my left shoe. I was devastated as we had been waxing that dance floor with all the celebratory-last-chance-to-do-this energy we could find, and the band was playing brilliant tunes, including a great tribute mix to Michael Jackson. I hobbled up the stairs to all the coats and umbrellas at our table; feeling sorry for myself, yet not able to stop shaking my rear, I hovered over the balcony longingly, not really paying attention to much amidst the bustle of people gyrating to loud music. Then this voice pulls me from my reverie,

“So why aren’t you on the dance floor with your great moves?” It was one of Anna’s really cute touch rugby friends. A New Zealander, if I got the accent right.

I’m sure my face looked forlorn and miserable; I looked at my heel as I raised it to my bum: “Broken my heel.” I didn’t want to talk about it so I moved back and sat in the booth amongst the coats. He looked at me, laughed and shook his head. Then he came forward to look at my shoe: “That won’t do,” He said.

I’m thinking: What is this guy up to? As he proceeded to take off his shoes and hand them to me!

“You can’t be serious,” I said looking into his laughing eyes, completely taken off sides. He appeared to be very serious as he bent down to take my shoes off. I recoiled, partly fascinated and amused, and partly weirded out. What do you do in this situation?

He looks at me: “Ok, you do it then.” He held out his shoes out to me.

“No way!” I look at him aghast, “I can’t wear your shoes.”

“Why not? You want to dance and you need shoes. I’m not dancing, so I don’t need shoes.” He said in a very sensible, straight forward manner.

That seemed logical enough, but his feet were bigger than mine and never mind the hygiene. Gross. It was ludicrous. Then an awesome song came on, ah man!

“Go on,” He winked at me. Done deal! I put his shoes on, left mine near the coats, gave him a huge hug and ran down the stairs to join an exuberant Natt and contentedly happy Anna as I learnt about the challenges of dancing in someone else’s shoes.

            The clock, always the clock, struck late. My last train was a few minutes away. I gave Anna a big hug and best wishes as she was trailing after Natt, who was trailing after another hottie. I went back up the stairs to get my stuff. Back in my broken heels, I went to the touch rugby player and stood next to him to return his shoes. I wanted to kiss him thank-you, I wanted to take his number, I wanted to learn about what made those eyes sparkle, but the clock was ticking and I needed to make sure I got ‘home’ safely. He looked at me and smiled: “Did you enjoy your dancing?”

“Absolutely! Thank-you so much!” I could’ve kissed him then, I could’ve, but he’d put on his shoes and was facing the banister overlooking the dance floor with his head tilted in my direction. “I have to catch my train now, otherwise I won’t get home.”

“Oh, right,” he smiled, “Will you be ok with that shoe?”

“Yes,” I laughed, “I’ll have to manage.” I took a deep breath, best let sleeping dogs lie, he wasn’t really facing me anyway. “Thank-you so much.” I said honestly

He was still smiling as I hobbled away in resignation.

Sunday, 12 July

            Actual diary entry:

Right, so I have found some time to write: I’m sitting at an outside table in the National Trust Café in Morden Park after wandering around the sites in the park. There’s a rose garden, where I took lots of cool photos; a nursery, where I bought a stained glass sign that says: “SMILE” and a zip-up picnic blanket. Thankfully their “Aquarium”/Fish shop hosts quite an impressive display of sea life, which outdid the Leyton High Street one without a doubt, I wonder if Chris ever came to this one… The sun is currently trying to shine through some looming dark grey clouds, which ominously look like they are trying to burst once again. A typical Sunday in London I guess…

            In front of me I have a slice of coconut cake and a mug of hot chocolate; neither of which offer much to write about, but both are flavourful and enjoyable. I’m glad I’ve taken some ‘me time’ today, even if it was an hour tube ride to get here. Public transport is still not my favourite part of London. I don’t like the morning SQUEEZE, sit, or stand like a member of a herd of cattle squashed into the meat market’s delivery van. Neither do I like the exiting when it’s a rush through tunnels like rats in a laboratory, or cattle to the slaughter. You really could look at us all as pounds of cattle earning Pounds of currency, for pounds of flesh! What I thought; I do amuse myself. Admittedly though, the Pounds I will earn will pay for transport to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival (Fortunately I’m staying with a friend when I get there), and I’ve paid for flights to Hong Kong and my accommodation when I am there. My income has managed to stabilize in a blessing-filled way with my experience at the TC.  Assisting with the planning and training phase of some new role plays and delivery methods is something I’m enjoying. My drama experience and new perspectives are apparently what they need right now.

            The August summer holidays are around the corner, and I’m thinking I could learn the script for the next Pinner Players audition or get down to doing some writing on a new laptop (that I would have to buy…I’m doing the wishful thinking thing here), or I could get fit and get down to some more dancing. Economically God really has provided for me amazingly and I’m sure He will continue to do so… I wonder if I could order a laptop too…

            I’m still battling to get close to people and ‘make friends’; but then I am following a decidedly recluse pattern of ways at the moment. Bizarrely I seem to be able to justify my behaviour. For example: The house I’m staying in. My housemates are just a different sort of people to me. They are decent people, but looking at the goings on and the company they keep I don’t want to get involved. One of their friends decided to tell me about her virginity and Christianity, then after yet another big, drunken party: Wham Bam, thank-you Ma’am! Admittedly she was devastated, and he thought he was all that, and I was blown away! For me it was one of those: ‘Did that really happen?’ moments. Seriously? Just not my style.

            I know I’m the most complex person I’ve ever had to deal with, but there are moments when other members of the human race baffle me too, absolutely, speechlessly baffle me. I know from my experiences if my thoughts, words and actions are contradictory to each other, then I experience a lot of stress and unhappiness. I far prefer believing what I say, saying what I mean, and practicing what I preach; I find it a much more peaceful way to live than thinking one thing, saying a second and doing a contradictory third! I.e. 1) Her: You got drunk; you went ahead and made your choice, why are you upset? 2) Him: You made someone really unhappy, so why do you think you are all that and why are you surprised that no-one else agrees with what you did? I just don’t get it at all I’m afraid. What are people really motivated by? From the little attention I paid thereafter, but it never seemed like either of them were happy again. Why would anyone do that to themselves? To be honest, I’m happy sticking to my reclusive, different type of space thank-you.

            Their one other ‘friend’ is possibly the rudest character I have ever encountered in my life, talk about thinking you are the most important person on the planet; AND he always puts the word ‘fokking’ (that’s how it sounds with the Afrikaans accent) in every sentence: “I’m fokking going to the toilet.” Or “That’s how you fokking do it.”

 It drives me ‘fokking’ mental! So unnecessary and never mind the semantics, grammar and logic of using it. Infuriating! I’m sorry, but I just can’t bring myself to pretend and hypocritically ‘be friends’ with people who are so fundamentally different to me in thought, word and action. Sure I’ll be respectfully polite, and I know that it’s just who they are, and who they want to be; but I’m not about to sit and have a beer with them.

        Moving on from one not so pretty picture to another: Swine Flu. It’s huge news in London at the moment as it’s apparently claiming lives and the government are trying to prevent panic. It seems to me that the majority of the public are just getting on with their lives and letting what will be, be.

            As for other London news: of course Michael Jackson is still in there and they are playing his songs on most radio stations. One DJ played an awesome medley mix and I turned it right up and danced my heart out in the kitchen (that’s where the radio is), I also went out and bought one of his CDs myself for the sake of the moment. Then there’s the Post Office strike, and, of course we had the tube strikes too. The recession is still going on along with loads of job cuts. Yet, amongst all this, life carries on and time keeps ticking away. At the moment my trip to London literally feels exactly like that: Like I’m only filling time…something I never expected to feel five months ago, that’s for sure.

            I often find myself welling up with tears as I miss someone back home, it makes me grateful for the experiences I have had and it makes me appreciate moments that other people seem to miss as they rush past. When I’m missing someone or something I try and think of the positive around it: like the fact that someone has had such a positive effect on my life that I am brought to tears when I think of them. That’s really special, and I’m grateful that they left some of their love with me. If I don’t think of good things, then I know that I’ll probably go into depression and that wouldn’t achieve anything, help anyone or be respectful to the wonderful people I have met during my life so far; so I’m choosing to find the good, I’m much happier that way.

            Oh dear, the waiter just told me the park gates are closing in a few minutes. Just as the grey clouds have won the battle and it started drizzling. I’m literally going to have to run; so very quickly:

• I’m spending too much money on clothes and trinkets and little things that I don’t have the cupboard space for, I need to stop that.
• I still haven’t decided if I’m going to take a permanent post for the upcoming year, or carry on with supply, I need to make some decisions.
• The housemates are chatting about all moving out of the house, so I have to consider that, but nothing seems set in stone yet. As I don’t really talk to them much, I’ll have to keep an ear to the walls!
• I’m still wanting to do more writing, dancing and performing, but that’s not quite happening, I must work on sorting that out.

            I think that’s it, Lord please bless me with the focus You know I need to get and please send me some solutions to the situations I am in. Thanks Lord J

            I didn’t get locked into the park and I did end up going home in the rain without an umbrella. Eish! London.

Monday, 13 July

            Today was quite exciting for me, I did my first In-School Presentation (ISP) whilst being observed; and the feedback was brilliant. Even though the learners were difficult and there were a couple of technical hitches, everything went off well and I happily ended off the day having a quick hot chocolate with Jonn and a brilliant Spanish and Hip Hop Dance class. Loving it!

Tuesday, 14 July

            Looking at the schedule on the chaotic TC office wall, there were clashes with presenters and times. My desk was next to the wall and my boss looked at me: “Shannan, how many ISPs have you observed?” she asked.

“I’ve observed 3 normal ones and 2 PRU ones, and then I did one yesterday.”

“That’s plenty! Would you be interested in going out on your own?” she said as she worked her eraser and pencil around the schedules.

Would I? “Absolutely! That would be great.” I could feel the enthusiasm welling up in me, but logistically I feared it might be a problem: “The only thing is I don’t have a pack with the projector and equipment in it.”

She scrutinized the wall, chewing the inside of her cheek and pointing her pencil at various points on the wall.

“Ok, we need you tomorrow and Thursday, and you can take my pack. Are you ok with that?”

“Definitely. Where am I going?” I couldn’t wait!

She started scribbling next to my name whilst thinking and talking at the same time: “Get the details from the booking file. You can take my pack before you leave tonight, and then you’ll need to bring it back on Thursday afternoon so I can have it for Friday. Yes?” She looked at me expectantly with her pencil frozen in mid-thought, mid-scribble.

“Yes. Got it.” I was over the moon, they trusted me to go out with their equipment, represent them and do an ISP. Awesome! I was trying not to get my hopes up that they would extend my contract further, but you never know. I did know that I was going to thoroughly enjoy the next two days. Things were looking good.

Wednesday, 15 July

            I was a little nervous to start as I arrived at the school and began setting up in their hall. Then the butterflies all broke out of their cocoons at once inside my stomach and fluttered everywhere as the children walked into the hall. With years of training behind me I turned the flutters into adrenalin, put all my thoughts in order and went for gold. It was brilliant! I managed to get through all I needed to, show the movie clip without getting choked up and I answered all the learners’ questions. Perfect.

            The high I was on carried me to the next school, where I had a quiet lunch outside on a park bench, before the same ISP process repeated itself. Their was a minor glitch with the technical side of things, but as children are so switched on with computers and projectors and the like, they sorted it out for me and we had bonded before I even began. The teacher watching the presentation rated me with the best possible option of: “Excellent” on the feedback form. Perfect.

            When things are good the world is a happier place; and Carey and I had even more fun than last time at Salsa class. It seemed like things were finally coming together for me; if I received an “Excellent” tomorrow as well, then maybe, just maybe, the TC would take me on for a little bit longer.

Thursday, 16 July

            I couldn’t believe it; the school today was inShakespeare Road! When I saw that I knew it was going to be a great presentation. The Englishman who was in charge of the Year Sixes greeted me and took me through to the Year Six Hall. He was really chatty and all excited because he had just accepted a teaching post in the countryside. He had had enough ofLondon and wanted to move out and settle down in a calmer, more chilled out place in the world; even though he had apparently taken a salary drop to do so. It was a lifestyle choice for him, and looking at how energized he was, I reckon he had definitely made the right one. He was on the ball and filled me in on who the difficult learners may be, he said there could be a couple of learners who may react to the movie clip, but he’d keep an eye on them, and some who would be great in the interactive role plays, he would send them to me at the appropriate time. Lovely.

            I set up the equipment on the stage and waited. The learners all filed in from their registration classes as they were marshaled by their teachers. The one teacher in the back right classroom caught my eye; something about him was really attractive; I had to dismiss the moment as I turned my attention back to the job at hand and went for gold. Of the three presentations, this one was my favourite. The learners were participative, interested and keen to join in. There was a vibrancy that was great for my cause, but also made me glad I wasn’t in the classroom having to discipline and teach them. We were on such a roll together that I barely managed to finish in time and we went slightly into their break. I closed off and said my goodbyes; but this time I wasn’t left to pack up on my own, instead I was accompanied by two girls and a boy who were rattling off lots of questions which I answered as objectively as I could. For reasons I can’t quite put my finger on, the questions evolved from graffiti to knife crime and alcohol. I said to them to be careful because alcohol was a form of poison and people can get into lots of trouble when they are drunk and have knives in hand. I was on unsure ground and was hoping I wouldn’t sound patronising or stop them from being open in their discussions, but I didn’t want to be the one fielding this discussion because I knew nothing about these children or their backgrounds. The 11 year old boy clearly had a lot on his mind:

“But I have friends who drink because it makes the party more fun, and they haven’t been in trouble with their knives. So why do you think it’s trouble?” Was he challenging me, or discussing this with me?

I looked up from my equipment to see what his body language was saying, he seemed unsure: “That worries me.” I said honestly.

“Huh?” he said confused. He looked like he was thinking: Why is that a reason to worry?

“You are in Year Six, why do you have friends who drink and have knives? If they are caught with those knives they’ll go to prison.” He wasn’t sure what to say, but he was listening. I carried on slowly and factually, without judgement, “If you think about it, do you think it’s a good idea to be hanging around with people like that?”

He thought, and gave me a sheepish: “No.”

“I think you are right. Do you want to have awesome things in the future? Do you want to be the best you can be?”

Another thought-provoked answer: “Yes.”

“Well, if you want to be the best you can be will those kinds of people help you to do that?”

“No.”

“Well, then maybe that’s something you need to think about. You know in your heart what’s right for you and what’s not, so maybe you need to start thinking about making the right choices for you.” I had just finished packing everything away and I zipped the last zip closed. “Thanks for helping me pack up, but I have to get going now.”

The awesome teacher stepped up from behind me, “Off you go to break now, Shannan has to go.” The two girls gave me a quick hug and the three of them ran off. I exhaled.

I looked at the teacher, “Where did that question come from?”

“He is the youngest and has older brothers; I think that’s who he has been hanging around with lately.” He handed me my evaluation form and I thanked him.

“What is your background?” he asked with curiosity in his eyes.

“Oh, I was a high school teacher back home inSouth Africaand I came toLondonto try supply teaching, and then I ended up with the TC doing this.” I grinned, no need to go into all the hopes and dreams here.

“Well, you are very good at doing this, but I think you are an excellent teacher and the teaching profession is sorely missing you.”

Wow! I was dumbstruck, what a kind thing to say, upon recovering from the overwhelming compliment I said: “Thank-you! I think that this school is going to miss you a lot too.” He smiled.

We wished each other the best with the future and I felt like I could fly; he was absolutely right, I did miss teaching and I would definitely go back when I had achieved a dream or two of my own.

Saturday, 18 July

            We saw LeedsCastle, Canterbury Cathedral and the White cliffs of Doverthis weekend. The highlight of the trip was a nutty old historian tour guide – the information in his head was phenomenal! The guide said that according to his knowledge the reason British folk began drinking more beer than water was because back in the day (from about the 1500s if I recall correctly, although I reckon it was probably earlier than that) the water was full of parasites and the like, so they drank beer because it was the healthier option! From theLondon pub culture I have seen thus far: I reckon the centuries old habit has stuck.

            It was great to go on the tour, but the traipsing around and the time spent sitting on the coach was exhausting; and everything did seem really rushed as we dashed around according to coach leaving times. Perhaps hiring a car and traveling around like we did for Stonehengeis a better option, but then you don’t get the entertainment and knowledge of the tour guide. Another interesting fact was that if a pub has ‘bells’ in its name, then it’s located near a church (nothing to do with a brand of whiskey at all); and the number of bells in the name of the pub is the equivalent of the number of bells in the church tower nearby; according to our tour guide anyway.

            Leeds Castle – undoubtedly the coolest castle I have been to yet. The one Queen was held hostage there, with a genuine moat and gorgeous lands and gardens – shame, what a hard life! Not. I would be held captive there any day. I would sit on the stone window seat for hours staring out of the medieval arched window and write to my hearts content. Yes, if you forget about the wars, prisoners and deaths, it is quite a romantic castle, even if the staircase was constructed to resemble a snake.

            From Leedswe went to Canterbury; gobbled down a mini-picnic lunch and wandered around the Cathedral (which was really impressive), but I must admit I find it more humbling and reverent to visit cathedrals when they aren’t inundated with weekend tourists. The interesting ala-tour-guide tale in this place: apparently the guy (Stephen Langton) who wrote the Magna Carta was buried in the Cathedral, but when one of the Queens was designing and decorating her space in the Cathedral his body was in the way, so they shoved him out of the way and now his feet are outside and his head is inside the Cathedral (I couldn’t tell if the tour guide was serious or not on this one, nor did I see his head or feet for ducking the tourists). After whizzing through the Cathedral we wandered Canterbury’s maze of lanes, and I bought a copy of some of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales in a little hidden bookstore to mark the moment.

            The guide was genuinely the major highlight of the tour for me – so much knowledge delivered in the driest humour I’ve ever heard. He seemed to be in his 60s and had these long conversations with himself over the microphone. Highly amusing; like: “Yes … we are passing some cows on your left, lovely grazing cows on the left.” in a languid voice, as if nodding off into all the intricately woven stories in his mind. “Yes, there was great mystery around that king, a great mystery.” I found him exceptionally funny, but I was often the only one laughing. “Yes, the Saxons arrived and when they built up areas they would end them with sex, likeWessexandSussex; that would make the east, hmm, yes:Essex.”

            The last stop presented me with the best ice cream I believe I have ever had, and that was on a cobbled beach near the White Cliffs of Dover. Due to time constraints theDoverstop was only about half an hour, and then we had to trudge back to the city. At least the day had been interesting, entertaining and informative; but it was cold, dark and raining when the coach arrived back at Victoria Station. Carey and I decided to go to the upperFood Courtin the train station for a delicious meat, potato and veg dinner to ease ourselves back intoLondonlife.

Sunday, 19 July

            Housemates: it appears the barrier between them and myself is growing, so I do my stuff and they do their stuff; so much so that this weekend I couldn’t figure out why the house was empty. It was strange not to hear people and be surrounded by silence. I found out upon the return of two housemates at 01h20 that they had all gone camping for the weekend. How nice for them.

Monday, 20 July

            This was another of those days when the glaringly obvious differences between South Africaand Londonappeared so blatant to me. Even though I had a ‘wicked’ (that’s British slang for ‘really awesome’, no I don’t understand how ‘wicked’ ended up ‘good’, but apparently it is; and ‘sick’ is ‘good’ too. Eish!) session of dancing this evening: Spanish, Street Dancing and a bit of Street Jazz. I was exhausted; but I still wrote this diary entry:

            I’m the only South African in the TC office as the other members of staff are predominantly British, and otherwise Kiwi or Australian. The discussion this afternoon was around the inefficiency of CRB’s (the one I had to get when I had only been in the country for a day), and how the checks do not stop pedophiles from working with children. (Since I have been in England there has been a lot of press on child pornography rings and nursery school teachers doing things that are too disgusting to write about. The government has been trying to introduce more advanced security checks than their CRB for adults who work with children.) One of the managers was saying that the inefficiency extends towards bus drivers too; that the checks aren’t what he believes they should be and some individuals who are driving buses shouldn’t be. Obviously this whole topic is a huge bag of worms that everyone has a strong opinion about. Everyone in the office had something to say and a story to share at the appalling system and how the children are at risk. Then the conversation veered towards the rules of bus drivers allowing people on to buses without tickets and should the driver be responsible for the person who doesn’t have a ticket? A girl left on her own at a bus stop at night is left in a very risky situation. One lady in the office was up in arms that a driver could even think of refusing a child entry on to a bus. I sat and watched, I didn’t say a word as the comments and opinions on the system and potential circumstances as a whole went back and forth.

            I sat there and realised what a different background I come from. Instead of thinking of the shocking possibility of a bus driver with a bad past, I was thinking about the shortage of buses in South Africa and how people pile on to the really old buses that are in use, or they have to use unsafe ‘taxis’ (16 seater mini-buses) to get to where they need to go. Instead of thinking about the poor girl at the bus stop, I was thinking about the driver who has to do his job and her being irresponsible and losing her free travel card. I was thinking of the hundreds of children back home who walk barefoot to get wherever they need to go, where they have nothing for free.

            As absolutely, undeniably horrific as rape is, back home it’s way worse than here and it doesn’t just happen because someone is left at a bus stop. I was thinking of how blessed the children in London are to have social services that can get to them and the freedom of public transport to go wherever they need to go, and if they use the buses, for free! The total amounts that children pay to travel back home are extortionate, and the taxi drivers are often way worse than London’s bus drivers will ever be. I sat there and realised how much people take for granted. I sat there wishing that the children back home had what the children here have, without picking up their attitudes with it. It would be so fantastic if South Africa had a transport system for children that they could appreciate and not take for granted. I guess if one doesn’t know any different, then one can’t know that things could be seriously so much worse than they are.

            I sat there and realised that first world priorities are very different to third world priorities. I realised that being in a first world country allows people to argue from a looked after, ‘safe’ perspective whereas in a third world country many are so busy trying to get by that survival is the priority. Not that either is right or wrong; the perspectives are just completely different. Obviously I’m generalizing on an incredibly broad canvas here; but I did smile when I thought about how my experiences as a stranger on African soil have been so much more pleasant and welcoming than my experiences as a stranger on British soil. Would that be a third world approach of empathy? Or is it a higher understanding of being blessed with what you do have?

Tuesday, 21 July

            The tension in my back, and my need to see a chiropractor was getting so bad I went for a Chinese Massage in the hope of easing the pain. £25 and it helped briefly, until I got ‘home’; where Martha decided to confront me for no good reason at all. Earlier in the month the two of us had a bit of an ‘altercation’. Seeing as I was now in a ‘first world’ country I had decided to take the moral high ground and I’ve been giving her the polite cold shoulder since; until she forced conversation this evening.     

            She arrived home from work all ticked off because she had to wait for the shower this morning because she got up earlier than usual (previously she had told me she only has to be at work at 10h00, and I have to be in by 08h30 at the latest!). So she confronts me in the kitchen as I’m cooking my dinner. She arrives home all red in the face and starts in an angry, holier than thou tone, without even a ‘hello’, telling me: “What time do you have to shower in the morning?”

            You do not approach me like that, ever! It gets my blood boiling! I felt my temperature rising. I stopped what I was doing, turned to face her, and with an unbelievably icy, calm, straight look into her eyes I replied in a cool, cold tone: “My times change every morning, but if you want to wash you hair, you’ll have to let us know the night before.” I was referring to the last time she made a fuss about washing her hair and needing the shower earlier.

She looked at me, slightly less confident now, “No, not my hair. I have to shower by 07h10; I need 20 minutes, Ara takes 20 minutes too.”

“Actually,” I said, I hadn’t moved or stopped staring at her, “Ara takes 30 minutes; as she did this morning.”

She commented, “Ara uses both bathrooms.”

If you were there, you could’ve sliced the air between us with the kitchen knife next to me.

“If you like we can put a schedule on the door and we can fill it in every night.” I say calmly and objectively, with only an inkling possibility of patronising sarcasm. Thinking: Don’t mess with me girl; I can make this a really big deal for everyone to see if you like.

She changed her stance. “No, I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be like that. In my last house we all took 20 minutes each morning, and we had our times. Ara also needs to know when she can shower and how the times work.”

I: “Well a schedule would help do that for everyone and solve the problem. Wouldn’t it?”

Her: “I don’t want to go to that.”

I: “Then I’m afraid I can’t help you, my schedule is different every morning; I’m not a routine person.” I was not going to budge whilst looking at her and thinking: What do you want here exactly? There have been hardly any problems in three months. “I don’t have set routines and times; every day is different for me, depending on whether I’m at a school, a Scheme or in the office.” I still hadn’t moved a muscle, “What time do you want the shower?”

She: “I need to be in the shower at quarter past 7.”

I: “Fine, then I’ll make sure I’m not in the shower atquarter past seven.”

She: “Fine… thanks.” She had now simmered down to civilised conversation. I felt my blood pressure returning to normal. I hate confrontations, but I’m not about to stand down if I feel the circumstances and way I’m treated are unjust. At least she wasn’t irrationally angry anymore.

Me: “I’m not sure why you are so angry about this; as far as I know there have only been 3 times in three months where there has been a morning shower clash.”

Her: “I’m not angry, I’m just missioning today. Even everyone at the office said I am missioning today.” She didn’t know quite what to do with herself.

Me: “Yes, well this has only happened a few times in the last 3 months. I don’t see it as a big problem.” I returned to preparing my dinner.

Hesitantly she changed her story, “No there haven’t been any problems. It isn’t a problem.” She’s fumbling, “I just want to make sure there is no problem in the future.”

The future? What on earth was she on about? We are all supposed to be moving out soon. All I knew was that I was not going to give her the benefit of an argument with me to release whatever had gone on at work when she hadn’t been adult enough to speak to me in a respectful fashion! And in the mood she had put me in I was buggered if I was going to be nice!

I said: “Alright then, in the future you can have the shower in the morning atquarter past seven.”

She tried to patch up the situation: “Ok, then I’ll tell Ara about the shower time.”

I said: “I’ll speak to Ara. The time before you shower is between us and I haven’t noticed a problem. Sometimes she’s early or late, sometimes I’m early or late, sometimes we meet at exactly the same time and then I head downstairs and have breakfast, or she has a bath instead. There is no need for you to be a go-between. Ara and I will discuss it, as it concerns only the two of us.” I made sure my tone was one that said: Finished and klaar (completely finished) as I methodically used the knife to cut carrots.

She then tried not to look like she was completely unbalanced within herself and tried to make chit chat. I offered polite one word answers to her attempts. She needed to sort something out within herself and I wasn’t in the mood to help. Thankfully she got my vibes and left shortly after her chit chat efforts.

            I spoke to Ara that night saying: “Martha said that you aren’t happy with the showering story in the morning and you want specific times.”

Ara looked at me and shrugged. She’s always been really chilled out with this type of thing; and I think she was sizing up what I was getting to.

I continued: “Do you want to change the shower times? Or are you happy with things the way things are?”

Ara answered: “I usually need the shower around 06h30, but it doesn’t really matter to me.”

I reply: “Great, then there’s no trouble at all.” See, simple. I hope Martha sorts out whatever her ‘mission’ is about. (Note: When living in a house with other people, choose your battles very carefully.)

          As Ara wasn’t too busy I asked her about the chiropractor she had mentioned previously, because I was battling so badly that the time had come to do something about it. She was really helpful and explained the process she had gone through with her chiropractors inFinchley Road. She gave me all their details and the costs involved. I gratefully took them and was happy that she had been to them and they hadn’t done any damage. I knew I had to be careful who I chose as they would be fiddling with my bones!

           Positive news for the day: I’m all booked for the Edinburgh Fringe Festival! I’m going to be in my element, 2000 shows in 400 venues. It’s going to be incredible!

Wednesday, 22 July

            When I voted at the South African Embassy in April and they were handing out The South African newspapers, and I signed up for their online paper (Note – you can get a copy outside Charing Cross station each week for free if you want one – unless they have stopped paper publishing when you read this). I received a weekly email, which was great for up to date information like:

The South African Rand traded between 12.90 and 13.33 to the Pound during the week of the 17th to the 21st of July

            It was useful because I had to make an international transfer to my South African bank account; it was quite a mission to fill in the transfer details:

– The Beneficiary Bank’s details

– All Bank Account’s details (The actual Bank’s name, address and the account numbers)

– The Beneficiary’s details (which was me so that was easy!)

– Details of the transaction (I had to have something sensible there that didn’t make it look like I was laundering money.)

The amount debited: £500.00,

The transaction fee: £9.00,

The exchange rate: 12.54, (Yay! Bonus rate from the bank!)

The amount that arrived to be held by my bank in SA was R6, 270.35.

            My bank inSouth Africaemailed me to say that an international transfer had been made into my account and I had to email or call them with the details of why I was getting the money before they would release it. I emailed them and gave them my Mom’s number to call, as I gave her power of attorney before I left. Fortunately it all worked out fine and they released the funds. Banking has always been a very serious affair inSouth Africa, which is why London Banks have surprised me with their open and relaxed setup.

Thursday, 23 July

            As the Schemes were now all complete for the summer holidays the TC hosted an end of year event where some of the Officers who volunteered on the Schemes came along, listened to a talk, had some snacks and mingled. I was on door duty and managed to see quite a few of the Officers I had met during the term. I almost felt like a real part of the team. It was a good feeling, and the event was very successful too.

Friday, 24^th July

            Actual diary entry 19h00:

I’m eating in a restaurant alongside the Thames called CHOPSTIX. It’s a £7.00 ‘eat-as-much-as-you-like’ Chinese Noodle Bar. Yes, once again I’m writing in a restaurant. This time I’m scribbling on a TC branded mini-notepad with a London Fire Brigade pen. I can only fit about 50 words on a page! Dinner thus far: Fried rice, caramalised sesame chicken, BBQ ribs, sweet & sour chicken and battered fish. Typical that my first battered fish in London would be at a Chinese restaurant; only me. Another interesting thing is that the Sweet & Sour chicken is battered before it’s fried up in the sauce with the veggies. I must admit I find it a bit odd on the taste buds: flavour fried batter.

            I came down to the Thames River to finally get on the London Eye, but the queue was so long that I wandered to the ladies instead as I’m battling with embarrassing bladder and flatulence problems. It sucks! As I often have random thoughts in random places, today was no exception. In the London Eye Ladies Facilities the thought that crossed my mind was: “What are you doing here Shannan?” Obviously I didn’t mean in the actual loo, but in London in general, and I didn’t have an answer. Originally I wanted to perform at the Globe Theatre, but I now knew that wasn’t really an option. Amateur theatre would have to be my new performance goal: Perform in London.

            Am I here for dancing? It has become clear to me that the answer is: “Not with my back and spine challenges.” Never mind my age and lack of certificates. Professional dancing doesn’t seem like an option for me. After my sessions with choreographers and teachers, it has become apparent that my attitude is not one where I listen to them, and I don’t want to ‘fit in’ with their visions and moves. I’ve also never managed to find a partner to dance with… At this point in my thought pattern the song on my iPod was Natasha Benningfield’s “Unwritten”. My loo-ponderings and unanswered questions gave me a desire to sit and write about what is going on in my brain and with my stay here. At the top of the exit stairs I found CHOPSTIX, a good enough spot to sit down and try and get some food and perspective on things.

            Yes, another restaurant on my own. Lord, when will the ‘on my own’ part of my life end? Another question I can’t answer. Back on track: “Unwritten”… Maybe that’s what it is. Maybe that’s why I’m here, to write. To give writing a good go… So I need a laptop and time to write whilst feeding myself and accommodating my survival with an income. Maybe ‘nannying’ would work after all; it wouldn’t be a bad option right now. Once again being stuck in an office has made me remember that I don’t like offices and team building and compulsory friendships. I’ve realised I’m still very much a loner and still very different to all these so-called: “Normal” people. Directing! Now that’s something I’d be good at! That’s something I’d enjoy. How did I get to directing from writing and offices? I do confuse myself. Time for more food…more BBQ chicken I reckon. I’ll be back.

            Yes, I’m battling in a corporate environment. They are all such happy team players and Francis gets so upset with me because I don’t join in and get involved with the excitement and office discussions they all have. I’d rather get my work done and head home earlier. I’ve even moved myself out of the general office and into a smaller one where a desk became available (hence why I was near the FBI board for those ISPs) and I could get some quiet from their continuous conversation. Does that make me anti-social? Maybe, but at least I’m producing some good work. I had a bit of a tense moment though because I was on Yahoo! When the ‘big boss’ walked by my desk, and being on Yahoo! is ‘illegal’, but You Tube is fine. How does that make sense? It’s also ok to be on the internet setting up all your holidays and travel plans and not doing much work at all, but don’t you dare Yahoo! Mail. Apparently, to make matters worse, my internet account is continually audited to make sure I’m behaving. So not cool. So not my scene. Worst of all I feel guilty for my little bit of time on Yahoo! And no-one else feels guilty about You Tube or organising their holidays. Why do I have such a ridiculous conscience? So not cool. It may end up that they terminate my contract for not being a ‘team player’ and using too much Yahoo! Seeing as I’m clearly not a fun person to work with and I enjoy my solitary time, maybe an unsociable writer really would be the perfect career for me…

           Back to the loo-question: I’m definitely travelling and seeing lots of new things. I’m also making the money I need to see it all. Unfortunately I’m not saving anything. I have no idea how I’m going to start again in South Africa without some start up capital. Still, this is a ‘once-in-a-lifetime opportunity’, I can’t let money get in the way. So I’m not saving money, good thing that wasn’t one of my priorities when I left home!

            If I am going to write, then I need a laptop, not just these little mini-notebooks. I need to start getting it all down. I’ve been writing for over an hour and it looks like they are going to throw me out, or roll me out, after my 3 servings! They must close at 20h00. So the answer to my loo-question: I’m here to learn about myself for sure, explore all the options available to me and observe and listen to the outcomes. Lord please lead and guide me in this process, it’s a tough one! Thanks Lord.

            Oh dear, my tummy is seriously too full. I feel nauseous. Blah!

 Saturday, 25 July – (Off to a houseboat in Oxford)

            Jonn, Jane and I headed up toOxford fairly early to meet Bron and her boyfriend Owen. We met at one of the rowing clubs on the riverThames, where we hired the equipment to go punting along the river with all our picnic gear. It was a beautiful blue-sky sunny day with the odd tuft of white cloud bobbing by. Each of us had a go punting, but it was obvious Owen was the most experienced. I’d rank myself as not bad at all, which surprised me. Such a pity my arm muscles are not the fittest in the world! It gets flipping tiring putting that heavy pole into the water and using it as the lever of power to move a boat full of people. I navigated around passersby, successfully turned the boat around to change direction and punted in relaxation for a while, and then I was done. Punting on the river Thames – √ Tick. Then Jonn took over, we nearly toppled over, then he got the hang of it and did well too. Jane wasn’t too keen, but joined in for her quick go; and then Bron, who is one of those people who finds humour in anything and everything, raised the noise bar to much louder with great laughter as she struck poses for Vogue with the pole. The passersby were row, row, rowing their boats passed us in great amusement that they were politely trying to hide.

             If you are looking for a place along side a river for a picnic, good luck finding one the birds haven’t got to first. We moored the boat alongside the river and cleaned the bird droppings as best we could, then laid down the blanket for our picnic. It was an ordinary picnic made extra ordinary by the people and conversation as we all reminisced and caught up on what was going on in our lives. There’s a lot to be said for love and laughter: it’s all good; but I’m sure you know that already.

            Tummy’s full, eyes closed, we had a wonderfully peaceful drift back down the river to return our boat in time. From there we moseyed through a gorgeous park as the sun was starting to set. The photographer in me was in heaven. We were surrounded by the most elegantly exquisite exotic red flowers that were radiating heat from the flames of their petals, while bees were trying to settle on them and tap into their radiance. They lasted only seconds on the captivatingly magnificent feast, before levitating away from the flame to soothe their burning feet, only to be drawn back to another flame attempting to feed on the riches emanating from the delicious beauty of the fire. I lost time as I savoured the moment that beckoned the end of the day as an unbelievable electric light summonsed dusk to fall around us.

            From the park Jane headed off to see her Mom in Warwick and Jonn and I made a move to follow Bron and Owen to their houseboat. Houseboats: Yes, well, that’s an experience! No toilet on board, a hand pump to shower with and no hot water; whilst you are surrounded by spiders the size of my palm. Yes, well, some people love the lifestyle and some people don’t. You can choose. Nevertheless, sitting on that deck surrounded by birds, watching the end of the day echo in hues of magical magnificence on softly whispering water was one of the most soulfully soothing moments I’ve ever experienced. Sitting quietly, peacefully, tea in hand, a delicately cloudy sky above me, watching the sun taking it’s time to set; happened slowly and was over all too quickly, as so many special moments are.

Sunday, 26 July

“You will find as you look back upon your life that the moments when you have truly lived, are the moments when you have done things in the spirit of love.”

Henry Drummond

Monday, 27July

            I feel HORRIBLE! I went into the TC offices with a sore throat and a headache touching crazy levels of pain, my manager sent me home saying she would sort out my timesheet. I remember thinking that supply is no work no pay; would she give me sick leave pay? I got home and crashed into sleep from 13h00 to 18h30. Ate and went back to sleep after taking South Africa’s wonder drug: Myprodol.

Tuesday, 28 July

            I woke up finished. I tried to make an appointment with the GP I registered with to get some medication, but they refused to let me make an appointment. They said that I had to phone the Swine Flu hotline, because doctors weren’t seeing anyone with my symptoms. This left me horribly sick without a prescription. I called the hotline that the receptionist said I should. Tired and barely able to communicate properly I answered all the questions the consultant on the other end of the phone was asking me. He said that as far as they were concerned I had Swine Flu and he gave me a reference number to collect a prescription of Tamiflu from somewhere in the east of Zone One. I went back to bed.

Wednesday, 29 July

            Today I had to eat humble pie. After my being decidedly unimpressed with the behaviour of some of my housemates and deciding that they weren’t the kind of people I could form a long term friendship with; today I needed their help. Martha became my “Swine Flu Buddy”, the government told everyone not to leave their homes if they had Swine Flu. Martha was fantastic and woke up early to head to the pharmacy for me, she came back with some fruit juice and apples and the box of Tamiflu; and Ara offered to get any groceries I needed. I was very grateful for their help and had to stop being passive aggressive with regards to their loud parties and different ways of doing things. I had to remind myself not to be hypocritical and listen to my own words that we are all human and all need each other; tough lesson for me. I’m grateful that their hearts were in a good place, and I learnt that that is what is important.

            What’s the worst part about being sick (other than worrying about whether or not you are losing pay)? The fact that because my body is sick the balance of the rest of me falls out of order and the pattern becomes: Sleep sleep sleep, think think think. Sleep and think. I’ve lived through the pattern more times than I care to remember. I was sick when I was inTaiwan, far away from home. I was sick when I was inJohannesburg, away from home and this state always makes me remember that I am not home. Being sick in a foreign country is one of the worst experiences ever. Being sick here inEngland, in this house, once again reminds me that I am not home. The leather couch is uncomfortable, the housemates go to bed later than I do and the dog is chaos incarnate. Ever since NT & Marie moved out the dog has had free reign and it’s driving me mad! The number of smokers has now gone from 1 often smoking outside the kitchen to 3 plus one Loser Dude who is around all the time. That leaves me as the only non-smoker living in her smaller than six square meter room. This is not home. These thoughts have made me realise thatLondon,  isn’t somewhere that could become a permanent home for me. I can’t see myself settling here even though everyone is unsure where South Africa is going (hopefully the World Cup will be a positive experience for everyone concerned), I still see myself settling there, finding myself a beautiful house where I have the space and land to create an extra area for a drama school and accommodation for international guests. That would be fantastic. I would have to be smart about it though and put together all the foundational things that would be essential. The cash funding, the necessary people and skills… Lots to think about. Of course, while I’m here in theUK, writing a book is still something I would like to tick off of my list of things to do: Something topical and non-romantic, something honest and real. That would be great, whether anyone would actually read it is another story, but a girl should always dream…Yes, when I’m sick there’s lots of thinking that goes on… lots of thinking…

Thursday, 30 July

            I managed to make my way to the TV room and spent the day dozing between movies and TV shows. I hate being sick.

Friday, 31 July

            I was supposed to go out dancing at a club with Jane tonight, my first dance at a club inLondon, and I had to cancel. I was so bleak. I hate being sick. I seriously had to find something to be happy about so:

I booked an air ticket to Amsterdam: £68.93. Leaving Gatwick Thursday 1^st Oct, returning on the 5^th; exactly what the doctor I’m not allowed to see ordered (even if the bank account didn’t). I’m going to stay in Den Haag with one of my dearest friends in the world; we met each other in a little town called Eshowe in 1981. Then I’m going to go and stay in Amersfoort with Monique, a friend from high school to help her celebrate her 30^th birthday. Awesome, I felt much happier after that.