It's a rainy day in Pizzaville

For some reason I cannot get that godforsaken jingle out of my head every morning when I wake up and it's dreary and overcast.

So much to tell you all. Where to begin.

Thursday I woke up early and met Franca in Clapham, which is the area we were thinking of living in. It's a gentrified area that's supposed to be so hip it hurts, filled with ex-pats, tons of pubs and restaurants, a general awesomeness that hipsters in Toronto would drool over. However, like so many things in life that promise to be beyond radical, it was anything but. We didn't spend too much time there but we did find what we looking at a little north in an area called Battersea on a street called Lavendar Hill (right next to Strawberry Fields. Just kidding, but that would be pretty awesome).

Anyway Lavendar Hill was all those things previously mentioned and more. Then we went to a some real estate agencies in London and I realized this is where the snake oil salesman dwell.

So this is what you need in London to get a flat:

- A job (or proof that you won't try and pay your landlord in stickers)

- First six weeks of your rent for deposit (we're looking at £1800)

- One month's rent up front (£1,200)

- If you're going through a schiesty estate agent, £300 so they can afford their fey pink shirt and painfully reflective patent leather boots

So yeah, fuck that noise. I'm not paying some douchebag a week's rent so he can drive me around in his box car and tell me how awesome 'Souf' London is. We're gonna get this guy to show us what's up and then drop him like a bad habit.

After almost getting swindled by some greasy salesman at Foxtons (god, even the name sounds pompous), I went to Franca's godfather/cousin's place (her family tree is hilarious, she explained it to me this morning and my brain almost exploded). They were absolutely wonderful. They have a gorgeous Irish terrier named Oscar who I fell in love with, not to mention a super baller house in Chiswick (that's British speak for Yorkville). Great garden, beautiful kitchen, delicious dinner, free flowing wine (ohmigod they let me smoke. Can I keep you?) and great conversation! I was so happy not to have to take a train all the way back to hell's kitchen (my own Cockney rhyming slang for Hitchin, where Martin lives). It was beautiful and fantastic and I am very jealous of Franca but glad to have stayed there made some new friends (they said I was lovely. Sigh).

Friday we got up super early as Franca had a job interview in Soho. Soho is where all the media professionals work and it's painfully cool. I really hope if I get a job, it's there. Then we walked around Oxford Street where there is SO much good shopping, had lunch, grabbed a pint of course and Francs headed off to Reading for the weekend and I headed back into Soho for my interview with MSN.

So although this office is in Soho, the office I would be working in is in Victoria which is not so far away but probably not as cool. The interview went alright but the woman was sort of distant and hard to read and not nearly as affable as the dude from Amazon. I actually brought up my interview at Amazon and lo and behold, she had worked there for two years. She said it was a rigid work environment that was very challenging but it would be great for my resume. The interview was about half an hour long and then she said to me, 'feel free to pick my brain about Amazon if this doesn't work out.' Which I thought was a weird thing to say considering SHE is the one who decides whether this works out. Anyway, whatever, fingers crossed and all that stuff.

Anyway I guess that's enough for today. I took some pictures on Oxford Street (while chain smoking) when Franca was at her interview so I will try and put them up soon.

To end this post, I have a new Martin-ism.

Last night, we watched some indie German movie (is there a more thrilling genre?) which obviously I had never seen, and 3/4 of the way through, he says, 'you know how it ends? They all commit suicide at the same time.' I laughed because I thought he was joking. Then half an hour later, they all do commit suicide together. What kind of person DOES that? I mean, it's one thing to accidentally give away the ending if you're telling someone about a movie you just saw, but to do it DURING THE MOVIE. This is what happens when you live alone your whole life. I swear to god, if I am single when I'm 40, I'm marrying the first thing I see that's breathing.

Alright friends, I'm off to an adult pantomime tonight. I have no idea what that is but I'm sure it will be an experience worth blogging about. I miss you all.

Cheers,

Patsy