andrea in london
Here I am. Finally.I know that I have a lot to explain, and I know that endless excuses won't make up for my absence. But enough preamble; here are the bits you’ve been waiting for:
I moved. Oh yes, I did.
Long story short: during my last week in Oxford before travelling to Paris, I wasn't able to sleep till 4 am each night due to loud noises in the ceiling above my bed. This just about spelt disaster for everything else I was up against for the remainder of the summer – by the fourth night, I felt like I had gone insane (ask my boyfriend: he’d probably agree). A few maintenance people, phone calls, drilling, evaluations, and harassments later, it was established that the noises were a result of woodworms chewing away in the attic directly above my room, which would then require extensive fumigation to eliminate – and I wouldn’t even be allowed to live in my room whilst this work was being done. By this time I had had enough of Oxford anyway. Got in touch with last year's landlady, who had a baby flat in Chelsea that she kept aside for me. My mum had come back to the UK with me following our trip to Paris (although not for that reason, but it worked out perfectly), and good thing she did: six bus rides to and from London, seven heavy suitcases, bucketloads of sweat, and some very late nights later, I was finally settled in.
I will never have to live in that house in Oxford again!
I love my flat. Sure, the foyer of the building resembles a seedy hotel at best, but once I'm in the comfort of my room, I love knowing that this space is all mine till September. It is beautiful, with a funky vibe, and a little balcony with tealights, bamboo trees, a water fountain, and a mini bench. But what I love most is the circularity of it all: these are my last couple of months in the UK for a few years, and this is where it all began. I started out in London, was never fond of Oxford, and am back in London again. I am much happier as a consequence.
A different bit of London to serve as a distraction.
Chelsea is posh - perhaps a bit too posh at times, but hey. Where else can I dress up to go grocery shopping? Where else would it be unacceptable to step into a restaurant with hair not perfectly coiffed? This is where all of London's best cars are parked, and this is where women's (enviable) wardrobes all seem to scream money! All of the latest it-bags you will see being carried here in a mere, unbelievable one-kilometre stretch: YSL. Balenciaga. Gucci. Marc Jacobs. Chanel. Hermes. Astounding – if not the least bit excessive.
Paris in the summertime.
It was as beautiful as I’d remembered it, reminding me of what an impossible dream I have of being able to live there someday– minus the French people, that is. My parents and I ate well, rested (after a week of not being able to sleep till 4 am each night, the only thing I wanted to do was sleep. Not even shop. That’s a first), went to Giverny and Versailles, and did a month’s worth of walking in four days. But I can’t wait to go back. Charles de Gaulle is as otherworldly as I remembered it – and as chaotic and disorganised as you’d expect any European airport to be. C’est la vie.
Dublin. In six hours.
This is old news, but I don’t think I wrote about it yet: after a sleepless night at Gatwick airport, you’re put on a company flight to a city you’ve never been to before, driven six endless miles into the downtown core in a company car, and dumped in the middle of the city having no idea where you actually are. Sound like fun? Not entirely. It gets better: one near-trampling in the park by a horde of hungry Dubliners, one video conference interview, seven (seven!!) interviewers, 142 questions being fired at you from every direction, and six hours later, I was driven back to the airport, and put on the flight, where I proceeded to sleep like a baby. I don’t even remember how I made it back into my room that night, I was so breathless and knackered. The upshots: in the following next 24 hours, my boyfriend had arrived in the UK, we had flown to Spain, and I had gotten the job. I still think that seven interviewers is a bit much; for a tiny company of only 20-odd people, they might as well have sent the entire company to conduct the interview.
I’m working/trying/sort of.
I’ve got a lot on my plate, and being distracted by what London has to offer isn’t helping at all. My dissertation is due in less than two months and I’ve been beavering away at it very slowly – although I feel like I need a crash course in how to use Microsoft Excel again. I couldn’t even add a bloody row together – so shockingly inept. Never mind. I blame it on the heat – it does things to the mind. I can add rows now, and more importantly, I have actually managed to clean up my 8000-row database so that it can be used for extensive analysis. Hurrah!
Living in a fashion capital means that you attempt to dress like one – from a different fashion capital, of course.
My style has changed since returning from Paris. It has become, well, a lot more French. (I still wholeheartedly maintain that French women are the best dressed out of all European ladies, and my visit to Paris this time cemented the fact again.) To obtain French clothes in England is impossible, but the next best thing is English clothes that resemble French clothes. Fair enough. I’ve bought so many fabulous pieces in the summer sales (all of them amazing bargains, and rather French) which I am thrilled about – perfect for work, perfect for island living, perfect for romantic dates (Daniel: hint).
Island life.
Speaking of which, it still hasn’t hit me yet that I’ll actually be living and working in Bermuda by the end of the calendar year – truly scary, contingent on my work permit being approved of course (and let’s hope that it is). I’ve just settled back into London – to contemplate having to deal with a completely new living style is unfathomable at the moment. But enough of things I can’t control at the moment – Daniel is visiting next week! Much to look forward to – and a new stomping ground in London to explore.
So that concludes things for now –
Signing off,
Andrea in London
L'Esthete @ 18:39
