Riding the emotional roller-coaster

I hate this emotional see-saw.

One moment, I'm feeling lovey-dovey, glowing with positivity..."the world's fantastic", I'm healthy, blessed, la-di-da-di-da....

Then someone reminds me of something....and...

SMACK

I feel like I slammed into the ground while skydiving without a parachute.

I'm probably the most negative person to ever walk this planet. Everyone I meet have the same reaction when we end up in a deep conversation: "You're so negative!" or "Gosh, you're quite cynical huh?"

Yes, I am. And I learn to be positive. But people who have known me long enough would know that I'm always clouded by negativity. No matter how I try to remain positive or think optimistically, my glass is always half empty.

Positive energy just seems to bounce off me like light or like a submarine's radar bouncing off the seabed.

How? I need enlightenment.

My fate was sealed on the night of the Jellico Ball

Cats was ok, but not fantastically fantastic. Pretty much of a hodge-podge of music, dance and design. But what I really enjoyed was the way the actors portrayed themselves as they sniffed, yawned, pawed, purred, moved and scratched like cats. I wish I could bring one home.

One of them appeared at my balcony area and touched me lightly before it ran away. So adorable. It's quite obvious that each of them had their own personality, which made the musical quite interesting because you would be watching the behaviour of a cat and then get distracted by another one.

Jellico cats..I want one too. But my mom hates cats, so I got myself a plush toy instead. :( Some Japanese designed plush toy which I HAD to have (when I don't even like plush toys) when I first set eyes on it. I wanted the handphone cover, the pencil case, the mouse pad, the mug, etc. Useless stuff, yes.

The night was an enjoyable one, although I was feeling pretty much beat from a friend's KTV session the night before - got home at 7am.

###

But my night was only complete when I finally reconciled my thoughts with my emotions. When I held on with all my strength and whispered private thoughts transmitted across one phone call made many hours ago, containing only one sentenced uttered, for once, without pride.

And in seconds, I knew I made the right choice.

POMO-ed out

In 2003, Ihab Hassam said: "I know less about postmodernism today than I did 30 years ago."

I say: "The more I write about postmodernism, the less I know."

One obstacle down. Another to go - one that calls for double the effort.

I think of it and my neck hurts.

I destroy everything I touch

"You are like destroying me in the first place, and now you're watching me lick the wound that you made on me."

Gosh. How many times have I heard this in my life? Numerous, countless, infinite times. It is so goddamn familiar, I'm disgusted with myself.

It never struck me how destructive I can be until I heard this oh-so-familiar remark.

I literally destroy everything I touch. It's like plasticine - I toy with it, I knead it, I mould it, I sculpt it into something I want, mix some colours into it, treasure it with tender loving care - and then I destroy it to smitherins with a smash of the fist.

I hate this. I hate my fickleness and indecisiveness. I know what I want but what I want varies on my mood...I guess this is how it is when my Moon is in the First House.

There I go again, on the verge of breaking another person's heart while causing irreversible damage to my own affections and considerably reducing the possibility of giving wholeheartedly anymore.

The night I got tipsy, that fateful night, was the night when I said (and cursed, and grumbled, and whined) too much and revealed how heavy my load, my heart and my world is. I need to feel light, like a parachute, a bird, a thread, a feather...but my heart is heavy because by hurting people, I have undoubtedly hurt myself too. By constantly pushing and pulling, I have perhaps lost something that might have been (Hang on, didn't I do this with R as well?).

Over the years, over many, many years, this self-defensive mechanism has grown so bloody strong; like an impenetrable fortress, it is my facade for the wreck that I am, one who is extremely, extremely prone to falling deep into an endless pit and never climbing up again. So I have to protect myself and by doing so, I destroy everything around me.

And I reckon I'm not the only person around who's like that.

Live and let live, some say. Are you sure though? Are you really, really sure that the weak species that we are, can live and let live despite everything that might crumble upon you every so often? Are we, or rather, am I really THAT indifferent? Well, according to her, yes. I am so indifferent that if I ever started caring, pigs would fly. No joke. I need to shed this mask but I just don't have the guts to - it's almost as if it's become a part of me. My alter ego perhaps? I should give it a name then.

I do care. Sometimes I'm bursting with so much emotions but I contain and conceal them well enough for people to think I don't give a fuck..and when it's too late, I crawl out from hibernation and say: "Hey, I DO give a fuck! I give a big bloody fuck! Listen to me, will someone listen...and understand where I'm coming from... for fuck's sake, please?!" I hear myself screaming in my head. I really do; it's no joke and it gives my heart palpitations.

Man, have I got issues. What a coward.

I...

...just don't want to, don't wish to, don't have to and don't need to...

be answerable,
be responsible,
be responsive,
be kind,
be serious,
be playful,
be loving,
be accommodating,
be thankful,
be adoring....

I am just me: Nothingness

The Importance of Being Earnest (and happy)

It's been awhile since I truly and genuinely laughed from the heart; and I finally experienced immense joy after catching The Importance of Being Earnest with my colleagues last Tuesday.

I walked out of the theatre feeling extremely jovial and tickled! I must say that the actors had delivered their roles so well and with such gust too. We were extremely glad to have booked seats for the first row, so that we could stretch our legs and watch the spit coming out from their mouths while they E-NUN-CIAT-ED their words.

Despite it being an all-male cast, with men acting very effeminately when portraying female roles, by the end of the play, we realised that we were, in fact, not laughing at how "gay" they were being but actually at Oscar Wilde's witty lines being delivered so wonderfully by Hossan, Gavin, Ivan and the rest of the boys.

What I truly loved as well was the T'ang Quartet who performed during the changing of each act, oh and especially the cello. :)

I was actually feeling light and elated after the play.

And for once, it felt good.

On another note, my colleagues and I are feeling very 'cultured' these days. Ha! Jac has caught 2-3 plays, Simi has caught 3 and I'm catching another one this Friday plus Cats at the end of the month.

Not bad eh?

CE says...

I'm really enjoying tonight...

Doing my work, listening to Goldfrapp (why is it always Goldfrapp at night?), listening to the crickets and the sound of stillness.

I can even hear a tap dripping in the background and my own heart beating.

I made a snack and continued to do my work while surfing the Net at the same time. Not very productive but at least I managed to complete some stuff.

Oh and I just saw a lizard scurry around before it went to hide behind the clock on the wall. Hello, you!

CE's right. I need to remember to be happy. So I shouldn't care too much about everything and pursue whatever makes me happy...whatever makes me feel alive. She said I'm too practical, too rigid. Sometimes I think so too but it's the best way to protect oneself, well, that's what I thought.

CE's a real encouragement - telling me to go forth with whatever I want to do and to stop being too level-headed; that my happiness comes first and she'll come whack whoever bullies me (but she never does).

She reckons I spoil my partners (judging from experience, she says), that I sincerely care for someone with all my heart when I want to make things work. Yes, I know that for a fact so now I'm gonna be sitting on my ass and be pampered for once.

But CE said I'm rigid (thank goodness not frigid)! I wanna slap her now. Hahaha! Gosh, I wish she'd just appear in front of me now so that I can buy her coffee....and THEN give her a tight hug smack on the head.

The Winter's Tale

It's been awhile since I last caught a Shakespeare play; some 13 years back I reckon? Ok, so it's not been awhile but AGES! So when everyone started raving about The Bridge's Project's "The Winter Tales", since I could get 1-for-1 tickets through a friendm since the play consisted of a formidable cast, since I had two colleagues who were going, I decided to attend it at the very last minute.

Regret, I did not. Except for the fact of having to listen to the cast attentively all the time because Shakespearean language can be quite hard to grapple especially when they start mumbling. Rebbecca Hall's (one might remember her from The Prestige and Vicky Cristina Barcelona) voice projection wasn't that clear and I remember having to really peel my ears whenever she spoke.

Simon Russell Beale, who was the lead and played King of Bohemia, I reckon, did the best because his role was so emotionally demanding. And of course, Ethan Hawke was fantastic at playing the rogue, something we won't be able to catch on the silver screen.

The act which almost moved me to tears was when there was an outburst of emotions from Rebbecca as she proclaimed her innocence at the trial. I think she did a good job at expressing her angst and helplessness. I remember thinking: "You bastard! She's innocent!"

I loved the lighting they used and the backdrops. Even the slight music and sound effects were executed tastefully, which gave the play this aura which perhaps only Sam Mendes could give.

Shakespeare somehow ended the play quite haphazardly but Sam gave it a powerful ending just before the lights dimmed - a lingering feeling of not being able to forgive and yearning to be forgiven - something visually powerful which perhaps the script wasn't able to portray.

I'm now looking forward to my next play - The Importance of Being Earnest.

I love my colleagues.

Old photos

I broke my vow and went through some old photos...

...and then I wondered whether I'll be truly and genuinely happy again. I was smiling from my heart, beaming with joy and bursting with happiness, contentment and just pure bliss.

Now it's just condescending smiles, indifferent remarks and a feeling like the world is dead to me.

Does this mean that I'm experiencing withdrawal symptoms? Does this mean anything at all, honestly? Perhaps not.

With so much going on and with so much on my plate, I don't really have the time to reflect and reminisce, which is a good thing but it's probably superficial and temporal.

It's only fair to her. But deep down within my heart, it holds a yearning to want to experience that happiness, that level of comfort and that feeling of totally letting my guard down once again and succumbing to that familiar feeling.

"But it's not gonna happen again, Karen," said her alter-ego.

"You're who you are. Accept it and go on with life till you learn to give your entire soul unconditionally, then you'll learn what love really is."

Something which I'll not be able to find, not in the near future, not with any current "flowers" or "bees".

Just memories that are learning to fade unless triggered by old photos which rob me of my much desired sleep.

My first voiceover attempt

I can't believe I did my first ever voiceover for a video production my boss was handling.

Listen to the "so-not-Karen" voice here.

I think I sound nasal and boring. I definitely need more practice. But I tried to be as cheerful as I could! Damn. :(

Not too happy....

Lost the last love

I can't quite remember the feeling of emptiness till I was reminded how empty I actually am; how weary and how I've struggled to come to terms with the truth - that I no longer feel.

It's impossible to tell how important someone was till tears prove you wrong, till you breakdown and yearn for the beautiful past which can no longer be mended - a jigsaw out of its place. So why is it that I have not broken down and reduced to tears with all that was said, all that we've gone through and all that might have been?

So do I love? Probably. But always with one foot on the ground and never losing my mind for the sake of the heart.

I tiptoe, I give it my best shot, I tread lightly, I suss out the possible angles of hurt I might have to endure, I interrogate, I psycho-analyse, I probe and probe and probe...and then I leave.

I handle them with care. Not caring for them but caring for my heart. It's almost like I'm handling a fragile piece of glass but the only thing is, they're not the ones made of glass - I am.

I do everything with caution, always aloof. So aloof that it has become my nature. I've learnt to be indifferent and this indifference causes pain to others. They said that I don't care, that I don't give a shit. That I am cold-blooded. They say that I do whatever I want and never think of the consequences.

I'd like to say that it's not because I don't care - it's because I choose not to. But if you look me in the eyes long enough, you'll know there's always something in the depths of my heart - a longing, sentimental romantic who's a wreck. And I do think of the consequences but I'm not someone who likes to be bogged down by things that have yet to occur.

So how can I tell if it's love, especially when the end is near?

Do I feel that I have to give my all to this person? Do I unwittingly give up all in the world to make it work? Is it still love when you become so used to having her with you, being with you, understanding your every need and knowing you through and through?

Is it still love when all you remember were happier times, trips to nowhere, meaningless private conversations which only you two could decipher?

Is it still love when what you love is the person you become when you're with her and not because of the person she is?

Is it still love when you want to reach out to her because you're concerned over her wellbeing, whether she's doing ok, whether she wants to satisfy some of her food cravings or whether she rested well?

Is it still love or is it empathy? How do you differentiate?

How can I ever utter "I love you" to anyone when I can never grasp the meaning behind those three words that have been the bane of everyone's existence? How can I even tell her that I'm sorry, two words which I understand so well?

I know that there is always a secret place in everyone's heart, a place they conceal yet dying to reveal. All I can say is that I'm honoured to have journeyed to her secret place...

Maybe I'm just acting tough and maybe I'm just not man enough. Always the cowardly me who never admits how wrong I can be.

No apologies and no regrets...right?

Late Night Alumni - Empty Streets

The city feels clean this time of night just empty streets
And me walking home to clear my head
I know it came as no surprise
I'm affected more than I had guessed on what was said

If the smile's not meant to be, if the heart's not ready to open
If we make it I won't see it's broken

It's the quiet time before the dawn and I'm half past making sense of it, was i wrong? Should I claim to give it all in a world where not much ever seems to last long

No comfort in the hotel room

It's late. 3.27am to be exact. And I'm not asleep because I had slept so much over the past few days; literally konked out from the numerous types of medication which I have been popping relentlessly, so that I would recover in time...

In time for what?

Being sick on a getaway is the most bizarre thing. You're away, but you're not away... Your mind is finally detached from the daily grind but then you're confined to the hotel room, smelling the sea breeze from the balcony. So in a certain way...I wasn't away.

All I knew was that I couldn't think, I couldn't eat, I couldn't even sleep properly. It felt like I had....I don't know....fallen out of love? I lost the ability to feel, to process, to digest and to express.

I was basically rendered helpless but she became my pair of hands and legs, and looked after me with such tender loving care when I was in no position whatsoever to process things logically.

Being away from home isn't such a bad thing after all. We finally get to spend some time together...considering how rare it is these days.

Being on medication for so many days is seriously tripping me out. I need to stop some of the pills.

All this aside, I just want to find a hole, curl up in it and seek some solace...alone.

I'm an iPhone user now

Lo-and-behold! I am now an iPhone user.

Yes, I now belong to that group of poseurs who whip out their sleek and shiny looking phones and start swiping their screens with their fingers, while flipping their phones horizontally then vertically, and then horizontally again.

It's great fun, the iPhone is. I never realised how much I actually like it when I didn't even pay much attention to it in the first place when it was the talk of the town.

Well, I guess the disadvantage of owning a cool gadget (cool = an Apple product) is that people will think that you're rich. Yup! A passing comment from a colleague one day jolted me to my senses and made me think: "So this is what you actually think!"

But no, I did not get it at a full price of $800+ and neither did I get it with a contract. It's actually a secondhand phone and I paid around $400+ to get it and that's quite a large sum of money to me, considering how my bonus is pro-rated. Boo.

Yet I really cannot resist the temptation of the iPhone! So I succumbed and forked out the money to buy it from the seller, when I really should be keeping the cash instead.

Damn I feel guilty!

My only consolation will be to keep reminding myself that it'll be really useful especially for Internet addicts like Bunny and me.

No, Santa is NOT overrated

As one grows with age, one tends to reminisce the times when you were a just a child - a one metre tall human being who knew naught of this world and only believed in another dimension that is probably parallel to ours - one that is laden with mythical beings and happy endings.

During the first 8 years (or probably 9, I can't quite recall) of my life, I truly and genuinely believed in Santa Claus (gasp!).

I believed that there was this fat and fatherly figure (aren't all fatherly figures fat?) who would visit my house, bearing gifts. I used to wonder how he would squeeze into the thin chimney of my home. We did not have a fireplace, hence that metal pipe on top of my roof just HAD to be the chimney. I also grumbled about not having a fireplace to dangle stockings over so that Santa could put our presents inside them.

I would fantasize and try to figure out how Santa was going "break" into my house since I had a chimney that could not even fit a possum (God help those pests).

I would even stay awake on Christmas Eve, in order to detect any sound or movement which could prove that there was a sentinel being in my house. Reindeer bells, a loud thump on the roof perhaps? I probably heard it one year, but it's just a child's wild imagination I guess.

I left cookies and a glass of milk on the kitchen bench, which wasn't too far from the (real) Christmas tree, as according to tradition.

And on Christmas Day itself, I remember waking up abruptly, rushing to the tree.....and...

TA-DAH!!!! I found presents! But the milk and cookies were left untouched. Boo!

Come to think of it, I have my parents to thank for keeping the "Christmas spirit" alive...for making me believe that there really was a Santa Claus. For allowing me to dream...

I don't know when and I don't know how...I soon forgot about Father Santa. I forgot that I had to leave some milk and cookies for him. I literally forgot about him and soon he morphed into some useless and boring Christmas tree ornament, worse yet, 2D Christmas card art.


I guess that's how it is, living in "angmohland". You truly believe in certain traditions and the people around you try to keep the "spirit" alive.

From the age of 10 or so onwards, Christmas became just another day in a year. During my teens, it then quickly transformed into ad-hoc get-together sessions between friends, booze-infused and without the gift exchanges, although a small number of Christmas gatherings have been meaningful and well-planned.

Right now, at the grand old age of 27, I wish I could believe in Santa Claus again...that jolly, fatherly figure in red and white, squeezing through my HDB window grills and dumping presents into my room...

I want to believe so...simply because it makes Christmas more bearable...it makes Christmas truly Christmas.

I suppose only kids have a ball of a time during the festive season. Good on 'em.

Last but not least, a truly Merry Christmas to all of you out there, where ever you may be.

And may the New Year bring good joy and cheer. :)

First thoughts of my journo career

Shall take a hiatus from my Europe trip log since there's simply just too much to upload and blab about, and dedicate one entry to "life as an online journo" so far.

It's been about two months now and the experience so far has been rather eventful and challenging nonetheless.

In two months, I've learnt how to be the "duty person" (person who's in charge of breaking news and managing the homepage) from what I reckon is intensive training.

I've been on regular, night and morning shifts - morning shifts starting at 530am was quite an experience for such a late night person like me. All I can say is that it's quite a terrible shift.

I've been to a few events - I won't say I've gotten the hang of it because I haven't. And there's an event tomorrow which I'll have to play by ear because no information was given to me at all. This is really what I call "on-the-job training". Requires you to work your EQ more than anything else!

I've translated, re-written and written a number of stories. Initially, I found it quite baffling. I didn't know what was it that they wanted - fanciful, descriptive, straight-reporting, or...? Took me a few re-writes, write-ups and translations to get the hang of it but sometimes I still find myself quite challenged by the story in front of me.

Therefore, I now time myself. Yes. A strange way to gauge my progress but it allows me to understand the way I work better. Recently, I realise I don't take as long as I used to when it came to translating a Chinese story. I spend less time pondering on how to re-write and I've found it easier to write a story especially when the interview or event is fresh in your mind.

Of course, small errors and grammatical mistakes tend to occur when one is "speed-writing".

I have a few bylines now - ones which I always send to my dad to read so that he knows what's going on in Asia and how I'm doing at work. Plus he's such a current affairs person, so he loves to read anything that has got to do with news.

I watched the entire Mumbai and Bangkok incidents unfold concurrently and it was during that fateful week for so many people in India and Thailand, that I realised how grateful I am to be an amateur journo who's work is fully and purely online based. For if I were to be at the front line covering such stories, I would probably die from a wretched heart and a jaded soul.

Perhaps what affected me was that I interviewed a friend of my ex-boss who happened to land on the day the attacks began in Mumbai, and to actually know someone stuck there in such a tumultuous situation, really made me sit up and pay attention to the wires, ensuring the situation didn't worsen. And it did.

I've produced a few videos - a very time consuming task due to shortage of manpower on both ends and probably underlying politics.

I'm beginning to grow fond of my team mates - those smart, friendly, learned and helpful journos. They seem to be a bunch of nice and hardworking people, although initially I felt that the environment was quite cold and sterile. I soon learnt that they take quite a lot of time warming up to newcomers.

There's just so much to say about my new career path and I guess one sentence sums it up: I'm loving it despite the random odd hours, despite the lack of "Journalism 101" skills, and despite not possessing the basic training and foundation most of my Literature and Arts teammates have. I must admit I did feel a bit out of place when everyone assumed I was a local grad. Nevertheless, I think I can learn a lot from them, work related or not.

Everyday is a different work day for me and I'm glad to finally heave a sigh of relief and say, "I think I've found what I enjoy doing."

Day 2 - Stonehenge + Bath

We woke up during the wee hours of the morning and made our way by bus and tube to Victoria Station.

And while doing so, we encountered one of the persistent problems in London - tube delays during peak hours.

Thank goodness we managed to arrive at our pick-up point way before the coach arrived.

Standing in the cold without a jacket results in a runny nose.

Our first pit-stop was Stonehenge.

For those who DON'T know what Stonehenge is (and may you be forgiven for your ignorance), it is a prehistoric monument located 13km from Salisbury.


What's so amazing about this monument is that no one knows how it was constructed, why it was there and what was its purpose. Archaeologists can only theorize and the generally accepted theory of Stonehenge is that it was probably erected around 2500 BC. However, the surrounding circular ditch, which was the earliest phase of the monument, actually dates as far back as 3100 BC!

New archaeological evidence indicates that Stonehenge served as a burial ground from its earliest beginnings.
We weren't allowed to go up to the stones but from what I read online, some tour groups do offer tours that allow you to go right up to the stones, and only during certain occasions. I can't quite remember but all I can remember about Stonehenge was that it was bloody cold, windy and exposed!

One would have thought that the site where Stonehenge sits is somewhere remote, in the middle of nowhere with nothing surrounding it, but no, I was wrong. In fact, two highways cross at the side of the hill where Stonehenge is situated, thus causing it to lose its mystical quality, because you see cars and trucks whizzing past. And those drivers will most probably be thinking that we tourists are such suckers.


Apparently, the day we chose to visit Stonehenge coincided with the winter equinox or something like that. We saw some news vans there - BBC and the likes - but I didn't quite catch what my guide said when she explained why it was such a special day to visit Stonehenge. I thought I heard her mention druids who were already there at dawn? I can't recall but I do remember seeing plenty of caravans. I wonder why they were there though since their annual druidic rituals at Stonehenge only happens during the Summer Solstice in July.




After a 40-minute stop at Stonehenge, we boarded the bus which brought us to Bath.

Ahhh, Bath...

Bath, an extremely enigmatic and charming town with so much history behind it - even the pig statues we saw around the town was related to the beginnings of Bath.

Most tourists (us included) usually visit Bath to see the Roman Baths but what we didn't expect from this visit was that the town itself had captivated us in every aspect.

From yellow sandstone houses to the swelling river that cuts through the town, it's understandable why Bath was frequented by poets, authors, actors, and the likes. Bath was the leading centre of fashionable life in England during the 18th century. Anyone who was anybody came to Bath - the rich and famous, the rich and not-so-famous, and the aristocrats, of course - all flocked to Bath. Authors such as Jane Austen spent a significant part of her life in Bath (and in London as well), as well as artists such as Gainsborough, and inventors such as John Oliver.

Perhaps they drew inspiration from the quiet and sleepy town, away from the hustle and bustle of London; or perhaps there is a certain magical quality about this place that one falls in love with upon first sight. But whatever it is, no one leaves Bath without feeling that one was propelled back into time and watching the world go by ever so slowly.

It's also no wonder that Bath was chosen as one of the World Heritage cities. What's amazing was that it escaped the bombings of the WWII due to its reputed beauty (the Nazis had mercy on it).

It's a pity we didn't and couldn't get a shot of the magnificent terrain that Bath is built upon. We managed to see it on our ride to Bath, but we weren't able to get a shot of the entire area. I guess it looks very different when you see it with your own eyes and pictures wouldn't do it any justice at all.

We were dropped off at the town central:

Bath Abbey - the "knock knock" and "why did the chicken cross the road?" jokes originated from this abbey.

And after the guide explained to us a little bit about Bath Abbey, we proceeded to the Roman Baths which was located in the town square (what's with Europeans, squares and pigeons):

Entrance to the Roman Baths

It's quite self-explanatory - the Roman Baths were public bathing houses built over hot springs during the Roman occupation of Britain. The Celts had known of this site and had built a shrine dedicating it to the goddess Sulis, hence the town's Roman name Aquae Sulis - "the waters of Sulis".

Great Bath

The water is undrinkable. I wouldn't suggest you dip in it either as there are tons of bacteria and infectious diseases in it. Well, you could try to swallow a mouthful and see if you mutate.

The Sacred Spring - if you looked closely, you will be able to see some bubbles coming from beneath.

One of the many artifacts from the museum.


Some remains of the historic site.

Caladrium - The floor has been removed to reveal the empty space which the hot air used to flow through to heat the floor. These areas used to be rooms.


Frigidarium (cold pool) - heat enlarges your pores so the cold pool is for you to close them. We threw a coin inside instead.

The museum and archaeological remains were quite extensive but we didn't have time to go through everything as we were starving by then and really wanted to explore the town as well.

A busker using some ancient machine he built himself.

Searching for food!


Lunch was at a pub nearby (forgot its name - must be something like "The Goat and the Pig" or "The Hog's Pie"...or some pub-sounding name).

Another great love of ours - pub food. Not too expensive, delicious and very filling. I had the steak ale pie with peas and Bunny had lasagne with garlic bread and salad. Absolutely fantastic. We love pub food! But the bad thing is, you don't get decent pub food for decent prices in London city.

After downing my steak ale pie with root beer, while Bunny downed her meal with a beer, we continued our exploration of Bath town. Thank goodness the town wasn't huge so we managed to go everywhere (well, almost) by foot.




River Avon with Pulteney Bridge in the background. Pulteney Bridge is one of the four bridges in the world with shops across the full span on both sides:

Local Bath legend has it that the bridge was designed with an old woman in mind - one who washed her face but forgotten to wipe her arse as the front side of it looks pristine but the backside looks shabby.

The Circus:

Houses along this stretch cost millions of dollars - our guide told us that Nicholas Cage had recently bought a unit here and it was estimated to be around 8 million pounds!

The houses around this "circle" (or roundabout in modern terms), was built in the 18th century, Georgian architectural style. I think Dickens had a house here too but I can't quite remember.

Here are one of the reasons why I love London and the UK in general: there's a story behind every building and the story (or rather, symbolism) of the Circle goes like this.
Divided into three segments of equal length, the Circus is a circular space surrounded by large townhouses. Each of the curved segments faces one of the three entrances, ensuring that whichever way a visitor enters there is a classical facade straight ahead.

Three classical Orders are built on above the other - Greek Doric, Roman/Composite and Corinthian." Ok it's quite hard to explain this without actually seeing it for yourself, but in layman's terms, it's referring to the pillar-like structures we see often see on the exterior of a building. The ground level of the houses in the Circus have a Greek Doric pillar, second levels had Roman pillars and the last level had Corinthian pillars.

The frieze (above) was decorated with 525 pictorial emblems, including serpents, nautical symbols, devices representing the arts and science, as well as masonic symbols.

The parapet is adorned with acorns. AH-HA! Why acorns? Because they're related to the pigs. Pigs again? What has Bath got to do with pigs?? Well, you'll have to go there to find out.

Oh, and this is really quite interesting:

When viewed from the air the Circus along with Queens Square and the adjoining Gay Street form a key shape which is a masonic symbol.

Apparently, the architect of the Circus - John Wood the Elder - and his son, John Wood the Younger, were very much interested in the occult and masonic symbolism, hence the symbols and architectural layouts of the Circus and the Royal Crescent.

You see, so much history and detail in one Circus. Imagine what else is out there in the UK!


Our adventure in Bath was about to come to an end as we strolled back to the town centre.

We boarded the coach and as we drove through Royal Victoria Park towards the Royal Crescent, our guide was telling us some local history of the place and one of them was that all buildings built in Bath had to comply to the "colour scheme" of the town. The entire town was built of yellow sandstone, so new buildings had to have that colour and Georgian architecture.

Also, some windows were sealed with cement because if you had glass, it meant you were wealthy and had to pay more taxes, so a lot of them went without windows at the side of the houses.

We arrived at the Royal Crescent about ten minutes later:

The Royal Crescent is a residential road of 30 houses. This is the rear, a private area that faces the park. The front of the houses is where the road is and for years, the residents had to put up with tour buses and coaches driving past their house and peering into their living area. So the road has now been closed and we can only view the Royal Crescent from the back.

It is really quite magnificent.

As we made our 2-hour journey back to London, our guide told us the history behind pigs and Bath, as well as the acorns we had seen on the top of the houses along the Circus.

We also went through the tiniest town in the UK and the only town that does not have a church - Pennsylvania. It's probably not even listed on the map because it's so tiny. Imagine you're sitting in a bus going at 50 km/h and count to 7. There you go. That's how big Pennsylvania is.

Back at London Victoria station.

Oxford Circus at night:



I suggested shopping but I guess we were too beat to stay out so we dragged our feet back to Emm's.

We bought some dips, crackers, milk and yoghurt from Tesco along the way back, took a shower and huddled in front of the TV watching L Word and eating crackers with dips.

I guess we lacked a fireplace, otherwise it would have been a perfect London night.