London for Londoners

I asked one of the ladies at work: Would you call yourself a Londoner?

Seems innocent enough, while we were deciding whether or not to pick up an extra tuna sandwhich for the house meeting that day. After all, she has been living here for over 12 years. Not only that, but she's had kids born here too. Oh Gosh, No. Came the reply. Funny, that. I never thought about it that way. She continued. I've been here long enough. But they're different, 'Londoners'. That's funny too.. I called them 'they'.

Its not so hard to think that in a city of 8.5 Million (in the Greater London Urban Area), where 31% of foreign born residents/users might not consider this their home. After all, you could argue that London isn't for Londoners at all really. In that it doesn't appear to lend itself wholly to its 69% of home growns. But that is a story for another day.

Back to the tuna sandwhiches. So, I found it funny that she referred to all other people around her as Londoners. Like everyone else was a Londoner and that she was the only one that wasn't..? I told her I understood, and for a moment there I too, referred to everyone around us as Londoners. I'm just as foreign as the next guy. Literally.

I got home that day thinking about the things that she had said and her reasons for why she could not think of herself as a Londoner. I decided to ask Kyle his opinion. He's been in London for just as long as I have, I suppose the only difference being in that he's part of the 69%.

Nope. No luck. He wasn't a Londoner either. Okay, Lincolnshire Boy? What? with tractors and flat caps? Hell no. Spaldinger? Spaldingite? Spaldingian? Yeah, I guess... but not really. I'd call myself British. Hm. Thanks for the concise answer, love! Mind you we had an afternoon deliberating what was 'remarkable' architecture, so a man of concise answers he is not. So I asked him a better one: out of all the places we've been, where did you find yourself the most 'at home'? And before its asked, it wasn't one of those roundabout questions that really mean 'Honey, where shall we settle down and own a farm and a goat?' I'm far too grown up for such sillyness.

So on with my quest..

But after going round in circles again I decided to answer my own question. Brunei, of course couldn't count, because of obvious reasons. Singapore, where we lived for almost a year felt very much like home. Despite our desperate lack of home cooking, our flat had a bit of old school charm to it, especially after our painting antics. Still, perhaps because most of our friends weren't Singaporean.. while we were really pretending to live the glamourous life of Singaporean expats on interns wages, fitting into the community never really registered. I guess the only place I began to feel well and truely at home in a place that wasn't home, was in Hikkadua, Sri Lanka. Sounds strange, considering how different the place is to Bandar/Brunei. The streets were crowded, I couldn't speak the language, I was working on a construction site - something I hadn't dreamt of doing in Brunei and of course the fact that we were living in a hotel. In fact, perhaps the only similarities to Brunei on the surface were the scorching heat, the good use of the English language and the lovely stretches of empty beach. On the surface, they both have huge differences. However, I guess the things that make me feel at home have little to do with surface, like how things look, smell, feel and taste. I can probably pinpoint the time when I felt most at home, because it was during the walk to work.

We pass the girl's school who are waving and hello-ing to K as I allow him to walk ahead of me just so I can see the smiles on their faces. Stop at the shop to buy cigarettes and water, greeted with the usual good morning from the shop owner in his white vest and sarong. I wipe my grubby work boots off at the door but he tells me not to worry - we'll be back with dirtier feet at lunchtime. We get a smile hello from the ladies in the tailoring shop next door as we turn into the shortcut lane next to the police station. The railway tracks are old and the sun is already beating off them while I watch my feet stepping over the sleepers. We past the small-green-bungalow and the lady of the house is (as usual) sweeping just outside her door- she flashes me a smile and a nod. A few meters down we pass Ravi's house just before the bridge. He's on his balcony and shouts good morning! to us - we'll probably see him after work anyway..

You can't get much more a feeling of being at home than that I would say. Not to say I'm going to start calling myself a SriLankan now, but it certainly felt like I was one.

aha! K says. YOU make me feel at home. He excalaims as though he'd solved the mystery of it all. That doesn't count, I say. Although the thought is rather sweet. Having said that, since he's gone home for the weekend, I've barely ventured out of my flat, let alone my street. I guess a part of being at home is also being with the people/person there to help you mind that farm and that pesky goat. xxw

Laura Critchley - Sometimes I

This single should carry a warning! I've woken up with it in my head. Its full of lovely summer stuff like flowers and sunshine.

I finally met Laura since bring in London despite us both being good friends with Victoria (dance partner, studio buddy and all round great mate). She's just been touring with the Sugababes and if I'm not mistaken is working on the rest of the album. She's got fantastic talent and no doubt this song is going to be one of my summer choons. So throw on those frocks, toss that salad and grab the closest bit of sunshine you can the summer is just around the corner, folks! xxw p.s grab the single from itunes - its well worth it :)

National Gallery

Now that our major hand-ins are over we've been taking the chance to catch up on things we've fallen behind on. Writing emails, bills, you know the stuff you can't really be doing with when there's something else pressing to do. So yesterday, decided it was time we'd go over to Chinatown to stock up on instant noodles and other stuff from home.

On the way we thought we'd go and watch a film although never quite made it to the box office since we saw signs going towards the National Gallery. Soo having not been for years, we spent a quick hour going around the permanent exhibition.

Oh! and Trafalgar Square is going to be turfed soon. should be quite interesting to see what happens..


Got so excited seeing this lady from behind in front of her piece. I haven't seen a pavement artist in London for years and figured they had died out.. although this lady turned out to be painting (although it did look quite chalky from afar) on a large sheet of paper.

Last week wandered into Lincolns Inn near Holborn on the way to the John Soane Museum.. but didn't have my camera but hopefully will be going again some time this week! xxw

Because who the hell is that fabulous anyway?!

Its portfolio hand in this week. Which means I've been glued to my computer screen and at the mercy of what memory it has. So, having recieved a phone call where KN goes, 'okay I'm on my way to Selfridges! Join me when you're done' the temptation was too great.

Took the afternoon off on Saturday to hang out with KN and KL, speed shopping and sushi. Although by 6 the guilt was too great and off I skulked back to face AutoSAD. It was just my luck then that my computer decided it was going to take the WEEKEND off. Now, as I am writing this on K's laptop (lucky sod handed his in today and is out celebrating!) my computer is taking its jolly sweet time rendering and scanning. pfft!

Trying to prettify my drawings by adding the usual trees and people-age I go back to my usual references - AA projects review, RCA's annual publication etc etc.. Reminding myself that my Central London choices for doing my Part II are now down to two. With a little twinge of regret/sadness/contempt/hatred - I can't tell my emotions apart these days, but you get the idea - I thumb through my copy of the RCA's Architecture Annual 06. I was so meant for the school and they knew it! *sob sob cry cry*

Then I begin to think about what would happen if I were to go back to Nottingham *gasp!*

I think the first thing I'd do would be to log into facebook and message all my old Uni mates. (After all, that's what its there for, no?) and find out who is going back to good old Notts. Then find someone to live with! All this comes of course, with having to pack my things, sobbing, dividing our books, sob sob, and giving back the keys to our lovely wee flat! sob sob sob! That of course not including deciding with K whether Molly was going to stay in Nottingham or London, and whether he'd come and visit every other weekend. Who would have him for Christmas? and Raya? .....

Oh the details !

Not that there is anything wrong with Nottingham. Or the school for that matter. But what can I say? London is where it is at. As Murray mentioned the other day during my interview, being the capital the architecture students just seem to gravitate towards it especially post Part I. Oh! and just heard on the radio that Tarrant has been accused of assaulting some fellar in MemSaab, an Indian restaurant in Nottingham. See? It makes us all do funny things.

I guess with this final portfolio hand in for the year- before I begin my thesis September begins to feel terribly close. If anyone knows any admissions officers from the central london schools - give them a slap (a real good one!) for attempting to seperate my London family. All I have to do now is impress the socks off my next interview. And of course tell them I'm not leaving until they give me a place. Hear that? I'M. NOT. LEAVING. WITHOUT. A. PLACE. lots of love, xxwidarchitect

The problem with being lucky.

Yesterday was yet another interview day to get into one of the central London architecture schools. This time should have been stress-free, seeing as it was at my own school. So, being true to my stressy bessy self the day started with #001 in my catalogue of disasters.

#001 - wake up too late Molly wedged firmly between my ankles. As feet touch floor, feet do not feel floor as blood circulation has stopped to that area of body due to large obese cat's awkward sleeping habits.

#002 - start printing latest drawings off new project regardless of being unfinished. Scale is too small and elevations appear to have been occupied by ants.

#003 - Aimed to leave for school by 10, dressed in serious casual architecture student garb in the one permitted shade of black along with some very serious, plain shoes so as not to distract from serious, highly studious face and self promoting pitch. Instead leave half an hour late with half dry hair that appears slightly matted due to frantic hairspraying incident. Clothes in check however realise that traces of cat fur on jeans gives better impression of smelly lonely cat lady as opposed to highly intellectual architecture student with little time for overly large moulting domesticated animals.

#004 - sit on bus next to luggage space guarding portfolio and extra bags (see #018) with life silently preparing to Hai-yah anyone who tries to place anything within 500mm radius.

#005 - great, smelly lonely cat lady has just sat next to me. (in head: hai-yaa)

#006 - arrive at Uni and luckily find computer to print from. However realise that have drastic shortage of fancy A3 paper to print fancy drawings on. Find some less fancy paper to print not quite as fancy drawings as I had hoped on.

#007 - re-read email from Uni about where to go at 2pm and realise that email specifically asks for written work to be shown as well. Panic and call Kyle. Ramble on phone about not having essay to print then hang up.

#008 - finally get prints sorted although shortage of sleeves to present them in forces me to leave sheets au naturel. Dash off to print shop to print and bind old essay found on thumb drive (woohoo!) then have to hand over £15 for all binding/printing (gahh!)

#009 - make another pit stop at nearby art supply shop for extra portfolio case as au naturel sheets started to look out of place in portfolio with sleeves (yes, these things do matter!) (they do!) and reluctantly hand over £32 for extra portfolios.

#010 - realise have bought nothing for thank you and presentation for tutor later on in the evening so detour to Tesco. which is shut.

#011 - arrive back at uni with slightly larger slightly more unruly hair so spend 10 minutes attempting to tame the beast in girls loo. But alas, with no success decide that hair could give impression that 'one is far too busy with Lacan, Lefebvre and Ed Said to give a toss about one's appearance'. hurumph. great, lets hope they buy that one.

#012 - Go downstairs and find old uni mates are here for interview day as well! hurrah! however nervousness is contagious and self confidence is reduced to squinting, whimpering, mole shaped entity in corner of room. Attempts at covering mole result in verbal diahorrea.

#013 - Find out that interviewer supposed to interview me has not shown up but am assured that he will be along any minute. Remain in waiting room with the others..

#014 - The number of people in waiting room decrease slowly while the time passes so run accross hall to studios to tell tutor situation. He looks pissed and not impressed at my attempt to be interviewed.

#015 - Finally! Richard from next door has agreed to see me. However, Richard tells me that he is in fact not supposed to be interviewing today and am seeing me in between meetings. Pressure to deliver quickly knocks mole off his feet into a ditch as Richard gets distracted by people waiting to see him at the door.

#016 - Run from interview to tutorial with a quick bye bye to the girls until CRACK! goes the whip and I scamper off for my second grilling of the day.

#017 - 'I've drawn these details down to the noodle's she's eating!' I cry, though my words fall on deaf ears as tutor bulldozes through my drawings that have been so obviously done by a 7 year old with a box of blunt crayons.

#018 - hope and pray the others manage to pull together surprise presentation and have managed to find my bag with the rug and food in. Its just the only bag in the room quite obviously with a huge rug spilling out of it.

#019 - get saved by surprise presentation although awkward standing around forces me to attempt at playing hostess. Instead, decide that plying tutor and head of department with wine is better idea. Disappointed in a number of ways I would rather not say, although would have rather not have had 'big' thank you done in slightly half arsed way.

#020 - text and ring Victoria who is supposed to be having gallery opening of her work tonight. However, mole has come back and reminded me that it has been 24 hours since I last ate. So hunger pangs and lost boyfriend finally meet and have food.

So, there you have it #001 all the way to #020 of my catalogue of disasters for the day. I hope you enjoyed the trip because I sure as hell didn't! xxw

Iran

Weeks prior to leaving my London comforts - freedom, my own space, being able to use public transport, the pub - I was unsure that we were ever going to go to Iran. Timetables had been juggled and deadlines shifted to make way for the snails pace our visas and flights were being sorted out. It didn't help that the only thing we heard in the news was the detention of some sailors fuelling multiple phone calls from worried parents, partners and friends.

Four days since being back on olde English soil I've readjusted back to London life again having only really been out to have a girly chat with Sha over a cuppa. I've quite easily lulled back into the rhythm of being in control of what I do, what I see and whom I do it with. Especially since the prior ten days were spent being confused, stressed, amazed, overwhelmed, scared, surprised.. all the emotions of displacement.

I suppose I should really clarify what the purpose of my visit was, seeing as quite often the first question that arises from 'hey, I'm going to Iran.' is 'why?!' So here it is: Every year the students from my course go on a field trip, this year it was to Iran. Simple, no? Then before it is asked, and I have been asked quite a number of times, is that Iran is simply put a country with a rich cultural and historical heritage. Architecturally, perhaps not on the forefront of design and innovation but a place nonetheless littered with countless instances of breathtaking, curious, human space.

We arrived in Tehran after our 6 hour flight from London only to be whisked away on the party van to Hamedan for another 6 hour journey. On-board entertainment of course being the never ending and ear bleeding Iranian pop music that the driver insisted on playing louder than his home made speakers could handle. Little did we know, but those 12 hours of travel/rest were the last hours any peaceful sleep could have been made. Because of course, the following 5 days were spent being volleyed around the city to various sites, horrible sites, full of traffic, pedestrian chaos, dust and generally insensetive architecture. The point being that we were there by invitation from the Hamedan Municipality, who, unlike in England, are the actual guys with the money to spend and build. And build they do. Our role to them, or at least the role we thought we were taking on, was to come up with a few concept ideas (they already had a few other people come in to do the same) in handling these nasty sites.

On the third day, Mr. Zarabian, one of the guys who spoke English fluently said at breakfast:
Z: So, what do you guys think of Hamedan?
Us: -silence- um.
then my tutor steps in with : well, they haven't really seen Hamedan. We've just taken them to the worst places in town.

So... the first few days were spent being completely overwhelmed by the task and time limit on being able to design something half legible, and thinking, MY GOD THIS PLACE SUCKS. While of course, remaining entirely calm, collected and on the whole rather diplomatic if I say so myself. -ahem-

Then they took us site seeing. hurrah!


The gang up in the mountains that surround Hamedan. It was quite surreal seeing the snow on top of the mountains while being down in the city being kebab-ed by the sun. The guy on the right of me is Mr.Ghane, one of the main architects for the municipality. He is young, like the others, yet rebuilding how the entire city is being read. In fact, the architects we met were all around the 30 year old mark and younger. And successful too. There was none of this oh you haven't hit 40 yet, so anything you say is just rubbish, rubbish. As students, we were taken seriously, and our designs actually heard out. Which is such a rarity since when you present here its not so unusual for someone on the crit panel be on his phone, eating her lunch, swigging whisky (okay, I wasn't actually there for that one), changing the batteries to their hearing aid (I was there for this one).. and generally not interested in anything you have to say.

Okay, so Iranian cuisine perhaps isn't my choice of food most nights of the week, but when you begin working around going for lunch and dinner at 10pm, it becomes unavoidable. The choice remained limited while we were out there - generally either kebab or fried fish - so mealtimes weren't really about the food. Still, from the photo, looks good eh?

Some random shot in a bazaar in Hamedan I took while on site visit. The lighting in the bazaars was beautiful, if even to light up some old sacks and polystyrene strips.

The view from Bidan Imam or Imam Square along Bu-Ali Sina Road into the mountains.
My tutor presenting our designs to the mayor, governor general, their deputies and the municipality. We would have done the presenting ourselves only I think the translator would have had a hard time, and we would have been there until 3am instead of 12!
Okay, so the shot isn't great, but we went to a sea cave in the mountains and the boat was rocky!
Another shot from inside the bazaar in Hamedan.

Almost everyone I met asked me what I thought of Iran. I wasn't going to lie, so I said that it wasn't how I expected it to be. Having been to Saudi with my parents a few times, I thought I was quite prepared in going to a strict Islamic state. However, I don't think things couldn't have been more different. The interaction between men and women for instance. While in Saudi the men are usually the ones to move around first, with us women trailing in the back or sitting in completely different places however in Iran this wasn't the case. The men we were with always allowed the women to go first, sit down first, held open doors for us and in a few cases served us as well. And those were the small things.

On the flip side, it seemed that the common view of 'the west' was as distorted if not more than the common view of Iran. It seemed that London was 'a jungle' with men and women frolicking in the streets being bad bad people. It also seemed that the problems in England and the US were due to alchohol which induced mental illness. These of course, were isolated instances and I seriously doubt everyone could be tainted with the same brush.

I doubt the ten days I spent allowed me to soak up the real Iran but this was as far as I got. Having bypassed the trips to Masouleh and Esfahan due to time constraints also has given me the perfect excuse to go back. xxw

Ahhh breathe that London air!

Its been two days since I've been back in the good old capital from my adventures in Iran. Already up to here in work and kicking my duck legs as hard as I possibly can while maintaining a calm perhaps slightly frosty facade.

I spent most of my time there feeling very dislocated and uncomfortable, with mounting stress and pressure that took yet more energy to supress. Feelings usually avoided by going to a place with no expectations whatsoever. However, going to a place that has been in the news time and time again for reasons I have difficulty with, suffice to say, its difficult not to.

Still, it wasn't all doom and gloom. Travelling in a group obviously has its downfalls, case in point here being the inability of some to have any sense of haste. Its ups though, that spending 10 days waiting and bitching with friends forms some special bonds.

ok, thats all for now, pictures tomorrow! xxw p.s its good to see the internet again too! :)