Discoveries of a year

The first year of my time in London has been and gone. It was a big milestone, marked with a small celebration. With so many people marking anniversaries like that all over London at any one time, it barely rated a blip on the social calendar and so was consigned to the scrap heap when a work mate returned from her government enforced holiday with a shiny new work permit on the same day that marked my year away from the place I refer to as home - although now it is more generally known as home-home, since this little postage stamp of a flat is my home-away-from-home-home, or, simply put, home.

It came as a bit of a shock to realise that I now think of London as home too. I never thought that would happen, that I would be glad to get home to my plumbing-challenged flat, but there you have it. I have become a true Londoner without even noticing it, I guess. And I now know the secret of surviving in London, which is both handy and ironic given that I have yet to book any escapes for February yet, and I don't ski, ruling out pretty much every European holiday destination for that time. See, the secret to maintaining sanity in the hustle and bustle, the grit and grime that is London is to escape it regularly. I've been doing that since March, with at least one escape per month, and sometimes more. But the question now looms; how am I going to survive February, the coldest vilest month in the year for a land that is, at best, affectionately desribed as mucky or 'Blighty'? The truth is, that in order to survive London, residents have to escape it regularly. And just how on earth does anyone go from a whirlwind that has included Stockholm, Prague, Warsaw, Krakow, Cornwall, the Lake District, Edinburgh, Dublin, and various Uk cities to sitting in the freezing cold trying not to get frostbite, knowing all the while that their real home is having a glorious warm summer at that very moment, that in the depths of the night it's still warmer in Melbourne than the heat of the balmiest London day in february?

That, you see, is the other secret. It's called the West End, a place I have been indulging in freely since arriving here. There is no better way to blow a pay cheque than to go a glory in the skills and talents - or, sometimes, lack thereof - that can be found on a west end stage. Anything and everything is on offer at any one time, with something to suit all budgets and tastes, from the toilet humour and inane wisecracks of Spamalot to the cheesy Americana of Grease, the childhood memories tapped by Mary Poppins, or the twist on an old favourite offered by Wicked. So, what do you do when your plane gets snowed in in London? That's an easy one; you head for Leicester Square and see what Half Tix has to offer!

So, Ralphie, does this paint an interesting enough portrait of life over here? Amazingly enough, it is actually fairly accurate, and offers at least some explanation for the lack of emails recently. What with one thing and another, it is hard to find the time and energy to put it all down in print! Ah, the busy life of a social butterfly...and lord knows I've never been in the contention for a title like that before...