Swings and Roundabouts

Well it’s me again. (Don’t worry, Gina still features early on.)

I’m so into that last photo on the last post that I thought I’d indulge you with a couple more.

Cool colours, huh?

All persons walking in Petersfield in groups of more than one will be shot

And also, just to set the record straight, here is my beardy beard. It’s not Chopper. It’s not Ivan Milat. It’s not Major General from Pirates of Penzance. It’s 18th Century Russian aristocrat (obviously).

The shot is taken in my new apartment, which warrants some explanation. I arrived in London and went to a nasty, but cheap hostel. There, I chatted to a few people (also cheap and nasty) who, like me, intended to find apartments and jobs in London. They had, to a one, found it very difficult. One of them had been trying on both fronts for two and a bit weeks without any success at all. I was a bit put out by the conversation, but it was nothing compared to waking up the next morning to find that my wallet was gone. I sleep with it in the front right pocket of my jeans on me when in hostels, so I must have been pick-pocketed while sleeping. Rough.

As is standard when I am annoyed, I bought some cigarettes and went to a cafe. Barely had I sat down, but a kindly looking woman smiled at me. Hoping for someone to commiserate with, I offered her a seat and a cigarette. She gave me a quizzical look, explained that she owned the place and then sat down anyway and took out her own cigarettes. I explained my predicament and after talking for about fifteen minutes she volunteered the idea that, seeing as I was a good sort, I meet a good friend of hers, who might like to have me as a housemate. Fifteen minutes after that she drove me there and introduced me to Mark, a fifty-something-year-old conductor. And then she left.

Mark, as it turned out, was also on the way out, so he gave me a set of keys and then he left. I sat down on my bed in the silent house, not really knowing what to do next. However, four days later I’m still not dead, so I am (as I so often am) more than a bit indebted to a kind and trusting person instead.

People won't get pick-pocketed while sleeping when I run this place

Rent is 75 pounds a week and the apartment is on Shirland Rd, pretty much bang in the middle of London. This is ludicrously cheap as the apartment is lovely.

The next step is getting a job. I have a trial shift at a cafe on Portabello Rd (10 minutes walk from home) next Tuesday, so fingers crossed.

However, my bank card is gone. Could you all please give my dad a call and ask him to check his email asap so as to cancel the card? I can’t work out a way to do it on the net. Seriously, everyone call him. (I’m looking your way, whoever keeps reading me in China.) Also, does anyone know how I can access my money now?

Best,

Michael