Shutting the suitcase

Obi-1-konobi

My fairy lights add a warm glow to the old white walls of my new bedroom; a light pink rose garland is strewn across my desk and Marilyn Munroe winks seductively at me with her scarlet red lips next to Einstein's multicoloured 'imagination' poster.. To the left Bob & The Rolling Stones exhale a sexy breath of smoke that finds its way around the crystals on my (broken) fireplace, add a hippie sarong or two a touch and a delicacy is born. I've just moved into my first house! Built in the 1800’s, 5 bedrooms, a little garden and a shed soon-to-be converted, I’ve found my home for the next year. The characteristics of the house are what make it cozy; a lovely stained glass window welcomes you at the entrance and little detailed carvings on the edges of the doors catch your eye as you walk through. It’s the first time I’m not living out of a suitcase in a long while and although travelling gives you a sense of liberation from order and routine, having structure return is invigorating. One room-mate N has already moved in and we get along like a house on fire, the rest of the girls are to come gradually over the next few weeks, allowing the family to grow and the house to become a home – though the process wasn't easy, the product was worth it.

N & I had our first night out in Briz on Saturday with old friends from KL and their house mates.

Getting lost - Pre’s – underground raves – deep house – new friends – Bristonian accents – steep hills – chilly nights – warm onesies. On our way home before we the 'lost' part happened, we somehow bagged ourselves a free taxi ride with a sweet lady going in our direction and a frantic 19 year old that was on the run from a gang of boisterous youth. We got a mouthful of the town and its music in one night and fell asleep under warm duvet’s with smiles on our faces. Getting lost in this City is something I anticipated but the hilly roads, was not. If you have time to explore, getting lost is no burden, it gives you a chance to take in the multi-coloured houses, quaint cafes, scattered posters advertising gigs, vintage/ charity shops, restaurants – it never ends. Take London, shrink it, add an influx of rastas, hippies, wind and posters, raise some of the roads and add a farmers twang to the accent… and you've got Bristol. I feel really lucky to have moved from London to Bristol and not the other way around, as from what I've heard it can be a rather overwhelming experience.

First night in the hoouse

A shit picture but the clearest rainbow I've ever seen

London was great while it lasted, once you've got a knack of where to go, who to go with and how to get there it’s a wicked city. I changed charities due to ethical reasons and ended up working as a fundraiser for ‘Care International’ - it was an enlightening experience indeed. Every day you were posted in a different part of London/ England with different members of the amazing campaign group P2P. We’d meet, travel, change and disperse for the next few hours, trying to get as many sign-ups as possible and reach our target (10 a week). If you got over, you’d get a bonus, if you got consistently under, you’d most likely be fired. Fundraising involved thick skin, a big & enthusiastic personality and a strong sense of willpower; hence most fundraisers ended up being boys for one reason or another (I think it’s because they had more of an upper hand when dealing with abuse). The abuse was not something I expected; racist, ignorant, screwed up and untrusting people – you’re interacting with every member of the public so you see and respond to it all.
Fundraising in poor areas was never fun, if people couldn’t even afford to pay their rent or buy their kids cereal for the day. Those were the people I felt most inclined to talk to, as giving a bit of your energy to someone who just wants to be listened to, feels far more beneficial than getting their bank details because they like… your legs? I guess that’s a plus too. It was interesting watching the guys on my team sign up girl after girl who fell into their flirtatious traps, and realizing, that’s what a lot of sales is about – attracting someone to the product, yes. But you have to get their attention first right? So girls usually sign up boys and vice versa.

M and I <3

There were a few interesting experiences, watching the mentally ill man rock back and forth on a wooden park bench nearby. His eyebrows would rise up and down in an anxious fashion, almost in time to the light pattering of the pigeons feet that held up the fragile grey bird frantically pecking for crumbs in front of him. We continued with our day and at the very end while we were packing up, he made his entrance. Standing in front of us he took his position and shouted ‘You all make me sick! I’m part of the council and we all agree you should f**k your mothers and go to hell etc etc etc’. Woah! What a long order. We looked at him and smiled with compassion, the boys put their hats to their chest ‘have a good day sir J’.

10 years on

As you walk past another person do you ever get that uncomfortable feeling of ‘what do I do?’ Are they far enough away for me to smile at them, do I say something or make eye contact? Watching children go through this thought process is really interesting. Mums and dads rush past me as their kids are the ones that want to talk and interact. ‘Come on!’ Sorry we don’t have time’ she brushes past me with 3 kids on tow, they look back at me and smile, not fazed by the rush but caught in the daze of the grown-ups busy afternoon. ‘I want to give to charity!’ The little girl turns and shouts to me. I love that pure compassionate intention that’s so common in children; of course, kids are shielded from half of what charity’s become, and what money means now but that’s not the point..

So charity work was good hours with good people and good pay. Inbetween was social time. A weekend in South London at a beautifully modern 7 bedroom house that belonged to M’s godmother. M and I had grown up together in Sri Lanka and hadn’t seen each other in years. It’s funny looking into someone’s eyes when you’ve known them for so long. Seeing stories rush back at you that had been tucked away in the back of a room and taken over by spi

ders and cobwebs. So we spent a luxurious weekend opening pandora’s box of memories with the scent of flowers wafting through the air. Another glass of nostalgia was enjoyed in Gordons Wine Bar with B. over a platter of French cheese. As though catapulted through time, my last night had arrived – I invited over those 5 special friends and we sat on the trampoline and chatted, laughed and drank, with a duvet to keep us warm. Leaving that morning did not go as smoothly as anticipated, I got my train times wrong and proceeded to run around London with the heaviest bags I have ever carried and no right hand man to help me out. I felt less sorry for myself when I arrived huffing and puffing into my carriage on the train to Tisbury. A man in a wheelchair rolled over my feet as he tried patiently to maneuver himself into a good position, an 80+ year old sat next to me uttering dry complaints about the weather and then to top it off a pregnant woman with her 2 year old ran in flustered about having just left her whole handbag in the coffee shop. What a funny bunch of people we were.

Living in the clouds

 A yummy lunch at Aunty M’s, a speedy drive into Bristol and a manic Ikea shop. I stood still and just took in where I was, this had been a long time coming. Fairy lights up, music on, friends over – a good first night in Bristol and my own bed to snuggle into, I can feel a good year coming on.

Recipe: Vegetable curry

http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/3084674/pea-and-new-potato-curry