Showing posts with label London. Show all posts
Showing posts with label London. Show all posts

Saturday, July 26, 2014

Tingles of summer

2/07/2014


Reunited 20 years later..
Little train rides :p
During my nightly wanders through this huge airport I’ve caught a glimpse of Dubai’s flashing lights even though I’ve only seen them in the distance through the curved airport glass…  but even though I’m not going to step outside this time round, I can delve into fantasy and peer through the window frame to create the image within… I’m sure it’s more exciting than the reality anyway (or at least that makes me feel better on this 6 hour stop over :s) I’m on my way to Adelaide, South Australia to see lover boy. It’ll be my first time in the land down under, where the toilet flushes backwards and everyone hits a high note at the end of each sentence… I can’t wait.
Godson overtakes godmama 
It is a shame to leave England at its best though, after having to go through cold and rain for most of the year when everyone’s working themselves to the bone and conserving their energy for the seasonal high of summer. And then the clouds clear and the sun comes out (and it’s actually warm!)… Festival season takes off and everyone’s masks melt away as girls strip down to flaunt their stuff with a touch of glitter and a natural tan, while the boys get to actually see what they’ve been imagining beneath all those layers...
Beautiful women & best friends 20 years on...
I’ve been lucky enough to catch two festivals this year so not all is lost… ‘Digital’ for deep house in Amsterdam and ‘Loves Saves the Day’ a bit closer to home in Castle Park, Bristol. For a 3.5 hour shift each day I got the perks of a free ticket and an incentive towards sobriety. My first sober festival was quite an enlightening experience… I never thought standing still as a human barricade for 3 hours could be so entertaining (no sarcasm intended)… Everyone around me was clearly mashed, so I watched the stories of the crowd; to my left, a guy wearing some kind of latex contraption sat ogling at a motionless pineapples on the floor for 10 minutes, his facial expression transitioning from looks of horror to delight. It was so provocative I found myself unconsciously mimicking him as I watched, before realising with a slight blush and turning my attention to the gurners next to him or the fist pumpers behind me.
Congo Natty at Love saves the day

At Ms. Dynamite!
The first day poured down with rain so we danced to DJ EZ, Nina Simone, Annie Mac etc. in welly boots with mascara running down my face and not a care in the world. The second day was all sunshine and sparkles, (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M36OGCfYp3A) my housemates all came along with their friends so the group was huuge and somehow, within the crowded confines of the parks perimeters, most of us managed to stick together for the majority of the time… It was nice having the headspace to pick and choose who I wanted to see without being plagued by the worry of what level I was/ wasn’t on… I waltzed into that sunny afternoon with Gentlemen’s Dub Club getting the vibes flowing on the main stage; later we wandered through the mud (in my incompatible shoes), being herded along like sheep around the ancient castle ruins until we popped out the other end to see Shy FX playing a rather disappointing set (due to a crap MC). Ms. Dynamite took over and dropped the bomb with her set, the words pouring out of her mouth like melting gold with a seamlessly sexy flow. Bumping into Congo Natty and ending with a skank to Jakwob’s heavy dubstep we all walked home with the crowd through the living streets of Bristol. We passed people freestyling in the bearpit, danced passed all the drunks at the bars and made friends with festive strangers, leaving our muddy shoes in a pile outside before our heads hit our pillows after a cup of tea… and a clear head for mee :)
Muma #2

So love saved the day and then Vipassana hit and my world was spun on its axis in every direction before reaching some kind of stability within the movement… Being thrown back into real life after 10 days of silence was a shock to the system… 
The pollution stung my nostrils and the horns hurt my ears… the homeless flowed past me engaged in broken conversation but wearing distant expressions on their faces with Ketty eyes and speedy legs. The suffering surrounding me was so apparent now, after seeing how much is within yourself one begins to recognise it externally in ten fold. This may, I recognise, be a pattern of projection… when you’re scared of facing something or anxious/ feeling any negative emotion, it’s easy to project that onto whatever you’re experiencing. In other moments its the love people are sharing or the happiness on a childs face as they wonder off in thought that captures me. This morning for example, my Grandma, my mother and I all hurried through Clapham Junction train station in South London to send me off to Gatwick Airport. Three Generations, each ascending in height from my pepper pot Chinese Grandma to my half irish muma to me, everyone talking at the same time trying to be in control and no one listening. I looked at them with utmost love and laughed to myself at the repeating patterns.
Sunny
So where was I… after the initial shock, the wheel started turning and I went straight back to work, the imaginary pound signs raining down over my summer holiday that was almost in reach. A lovely last afternoon with N at St. Nicks Market, stripping down to our bikinis in the one patch of sun in our cat shit ridden garden. My last Japanese dinner with the girls in long dresses and high heels as we stumbled along trying to remember how to walk in the impractical inventions that are supposed to look elegant (even though the ‘walking’ was only to and from the taxi…) And before long I was taking the posters off my wall (trying not to rip all the wallpaper along with them) and cramming my life’s belongings into all the possible hidden free space in the house. I stood, one last time, in the empty room that had been my safe-haven to reflect on all the good, bad and ugly that the last year had contained…
On my last morning the fuse had blown (literally) and the women were wailing as N returned from her night shift to realise her months worth of meat had all defrosted, while the rest of us were in slight limbo as to what to do. We still managed a cooked breakfast though and K dropped me off with 5 minutes to spare for my bus to London!
Heaving through the crowds with too many bags and no will to carry them, I broke down in frustration and tears, wondering why it was so hard to ask for help… I gained a bit of sympathy from passers by who kindly offered to carry my bags part of the way. Mum met me with the car in South London and off to Grandmas house we rode. My brother greeted me as I teared up, hugging a completely different boy from 6 months ago who’d since sprouted like a beanstalk, sounds like someone’s cranked up the bass but despite the manliness, still has the same loving tenderness that I hope will never go away.
We all enjoyed an English tea with my godparents, a chinese dinner with family and then out of the city we drove as fast as possible to the lovely vintage cottage that we had the pleasure of staying at for a few days. When we ‘arrived’ I’d proudly navigated us the whole way using my phone and instructed everyone to get out the car when we had ‘reached our destination’… if only it was the right destination :s. We unpacked all our stuff, parked the car and were beginning to walk into the house that we were quite pleased with, when mum paused for a moment and asked what address I’d typed in … it saved us an embarrassing confrontation with whoever actually lived in that big and beautiful house that we were more than ready to move into. So like in some kind of cartoon, we packed our bags back into the car, took more than a few wrong turns and finally arrived at the right quaint and much smaller cottage…  woops :s. Pale flowers were strews around the rooms in glass vases and all the furniture and floorboards were wooden, white and rustic. We added our own little touches of colourful fruit and bowls of chocolate or brightly coloured millions for everyone to munch on. During the days we explored Rye (where Rye bread was created!), rode on little trains, shopped, visited arcades, beaches, fish n chip shops, lighthouses, watched the world cup and spent some quality time with our extended L.A family…
We returned to London after a wonderful few days (with far smoother navigation) and Grandma spent the evening with me in her tiny little kitchen with all her pots and pans out, teaching me how to cook a few Chinese staple vegetarian dishes. It’s the best way love can be passed on through generations really, don’t you think? Especially if some people aren’t as comfortable with lovey-dovey cuddly stuff…
Creative veg meals
Dad was next on the list of people to see, so we picked him up the next morning from aunty K’s, briefly stopping off for a chat to hear about Glastonbury that was coming up and hopping back into the car for what turned into a 9 hour journey to Devon. My sanity went out the window first, I blame it partially on the spider that had left two fang like bite marks on my swollen foot… J very patiently dealt with me flouncing around singing opera of tunas and caves. The big annual food shop meant there wasn’t much breathing space in the car with everyone’s luggage and countless bags of food so we were more than relieved to unload at the top of the hill where a big hunky tractor was blocking our path. Obstacle, obstacle run around the obstacle (my regular mantra) & we finally got to the cottage.
Beach time
The sun was setting, the swans and their fluffy grey signets  were swimming around in the high tide of the evening and we sat down for a delicious dinner, a world cup match and a well deserved rest. I tried to remain equanemous with the passport office as I called daily to check on its progress (as I lost it a few weeks before flying), the date to Australia was looming near and a hefty fee of a new plane flight was at stake. To ease everyone’s worries we went on our long walks through countryside’s, cliffs, beaches and ruins. We kayaked, boated, ate, watched movies, swam in cold English seas and sunbathed to our hearts content. Rejuvenating those worn out cells with fresh countryside air.
Sibling time :)
Family time <3
Old friends came to visit us and we all took pleasure in indulging in cream teas, roasts and champagne. One afternoon as the numbness began to spread through my body after a few minutes of immersing myself in the cold seawater, dad spotted a jellyfish floating around next to us. I observed this magnificent creature for a while as it spun its transparent figure and lengthy tentacles in circles and allowed its frills to just break the surface of the water before gliding below again. I appreciated its simplicity and its symbolic nature of what this holiday represented. As a wise friend quoted in a recent letter ‘absence is the greatest form of presence’ and to some extent I agree – holidays really do bring you back again…
So I got my passport in time :D (after having to make a day trip to Bristol because I wrote the wrong address down :s) and it arrived a few days before my departure as I thanked the universe with open arms because now, I’m here! Sitting in Dubai International Airport, awaiting the call to board the last 12 hour flight of this 24 hour journey before I can see my soon-to-be-not-virtual boyfriend, tehe!





Clip of the day: Jonah and pip 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VAVWBmblVFQ

Saturday, April 5, 2014

A breather in the light

Tribe of Frogz
I pop my head out of the rabbit hole for just a minute to feel the breeze on my face. It gets a bit stuffy down there sometimes, the darkness is infinite and the falling sensation starts to get a little tiring. I can only imagine how it must’ve been for Alice, right after eating that mysterious cake as well! Imagine the indigestion..
I’m on the road again J only a short distance this time, Bristol to London for a weekend away with friends and family. It’s funny playing a different role in the city you’re so used to living in. Walking around with a backpack and a beanie suddenly elicits a cocked head ‘where’s she going’ kind of look while the other backpackers give me a familiar nod. It’s different to the reaction I get when I’m looking slightly hobo-ish in trackies and an oversized jumper keeping my head as low as possible after a night out. That’s when you get the sympathetic look, I once received a pat on the shoulder by a passer by and kind words of ‘you’ll be alright love’ right before a truck swerved an inch from my face. Oh gawd, hide!

Countryside!
The rest of the time I just blend in. It’s great living in such a studenty city, despite the fact that we all look the same with our grey beanies, flannel shirts, black tights and boots – everyone’s of a similar mind-set. Stokes Croft (where I work) has long been known for its outspoken and independent stance. There are lots of gorgeous independent cooperative cafes and I recently learned about the Bristol Pound – I didn’t understand the point of the cartoon-like notes that so few people pulled out of their wallets, but after the barista explained it to me the other day, the light-bulb in my head illuminated. If a currency can only be circulated within one city (only in certain shops/ cafes that give you a discount for using it) and not used outside of it, then the focus on developing Bristol and its independent businesses suddenly grows. A great concept I reckon!
You know I read in the newspaper the other day that the Swiss government was going to start giving everyone an allowance/ free money to allow its civilians to engage in more intrinsic activities and possibly become a happier and more productive population? Sociology on the brainn.
It’s the beautiful season of spring at the moment, we’re inching towards ‘the hottest summer since 1910’ apparently! I’ll be here for a few months of it and then am jetting off to an Australian winter, hmm. I doubt their winter will be much to whine about though ;).
Bus journeys

Bristol is the green capital of the Europe and on all the patches of grass around the city; rich yellow daffodils are sprouting while bluebells sit timidly in clusters close-by. Occasionally, a piece of cherry blossom will get caught in my hair, a pit stop on its journey with the Bristol winds. The clocks went forward on Saturday while we were all spinning around to hard-core psytrance at ‘Tribe of Frog’. Dressed like ‘frogz in space’ we arrived, ciders one hand, fags in the other. One night blends into the next and suddenly we’ve jumped back in time to last week, drummers in white headdresses and glitter galore, hippies sitting around in the tunnel of timbuk2 (the underground club hosting the glitter festival) carving wooden mushrooms and feather hair garments. Mushroom in pocket we skipped along to join the circle of colourful pens and large sheets of paper, I’ll never forget the one boy that spent about two hours writing his name, what was going through his mind during that time I’ll never know. Jump again to the 3-pound electro night at the cavern! Vines spread all over the ceilings, 40 year olds giving passers by drops of trips from a white limo with fluorescent blue lights. Jump. Now we’re at a dub night in attic bar, jamming along to a one-man-band that somehow managed to layer beat boxing, electric guitar, harmonica, rap and live sax in one performance.
Fonthill
The hunt :)
Oooh the feel of music! Doesn’t it just make you squirm? It tingles every part of your body, teasing you, getting your heart racing and then dropping you in mid-air. Leaving you helpless and falling, but it’s there to catch you too! And cradle you and lay you down so that you’re looking above and below and straight ahead all at the same time, breathless and empty but so content. Just yearning to be bathed in the song and let go of physical reality to merge into one with the universe. That’s what a good song does for you anyway and that’s what every weekend has done for us. I remember opening my eyes during one of our jams and peering around the room, not one pair of eyes was focusing on anything else but the music, in a trance of ecstasy and presence everyone was connected together but totally lost at the same time.
Within the last few weeks I’ve turned 20, signed for a house for next year, booked a flight to Aus and almost finished the first year of Uni. Wow, it hits you fast doesn’t it? 
Picnics in St. Andrews :)
J left to Australia a few weeks ago and on our last weekend together (after Paris) we got into our fancy clothes again, somehow managing to get them in and out of the washing machine dry, fairly un-wrinkled and on time; making an effort to play into a more socially acceptable image than scruffy travellers. We stayed at the beautiful Fonthill estate that was once owned by the richest man in England, William Beckford, a highly controversial character due to the fact that he was both traditional, English and gay! His dimes and lavish lifestyle soon slipped through his fingers and everything was sold! Luckily we have the option of going to stay there with family every now and then… so J and I had a lovely weekend together, we sipped (and spilt) wine, ate yummy food, star-fished in big beds and got hot and sweaty… playing squash. We bonded with most of my family members that weekend in a very civilised fashion and both experienced our first British ‘hunt’ with hundreds of hounds, horses and guns. I felt like I’d been transported back to 1920! It was great to watch and so beautifully done; my cousin T wore a GoPro on his head and watching the footage afterwards was a great vicarious moment.
Bathtiime
The most dramatic moment for me at the hunt was attempting to befriend one of the hounds and somehow attracting the whole pack… oh my god, a whole pack of dogs running towards you is not an exciting site…  a man on a big horse had to come galloping over and shoo them all away, not exactly a knight in shining armour but close enough?
André :p.. this guy was drumming
live DnB it was incredible
J and I strolled in the sunshine over the green fields and past the running river to my granny’s ‘vine cottage’. We looked through old photo albums and laughed at all the old hairstyles and flared jeans… It’s quite sad that now photo’s are so abundant to us and we don’t have to go through such a long process of developing them etc. they lose so much of their value. I don’t know how we’re going to choose what photo’s to put in our photo albums when we filter through our Facebook snaps… My granny on the other hand has one photo album for 80+ years! We listened to stories, ate lunch and sipped on coffees before heading back for a cheeky film and a bubble bath. The bus was late leaving my aunties and I made it into uni for my presentation (worth 20% of our final grade) a minute before class started, phew.
We bumped into Panda from
Skins on this night out :)
Hugging trees :)
It’s tough balancing pleasure and work when one always overrides the other, I guess uni’s the one place that you can get away with it right? I savoured the few days that we ate and drank like royals and forgot about student living for a bit. Eating yummy meals at ‘atomic burger’, chai-coffee latte’s at Rojak and drinks at ‘The Social’ after work. Oh work, work, work. Work is… a handful? Being a social carer you have different clients but tend to work with a small handful more closely once you get to know them. I’ve somehow become the primary carer for A.L, a mentally insane woman that has severe autism and amongst many other ‘things’, Münchausen syndrome (a disorder where people pretend to have various illnesses etc.). So some days she’ll be unable to move and other days she’ll be banging her head against the wall and crying/ screaming till she collapses in exhaustion. It’s pretty heavy work but it is rewarding and always different. Despite her madness she does have little moments of being pleasant (little, little, tiny, miniscule moments) but having J waiting outside for a hug after a shift was always the highlight. The day he was supposed to leave he made a spur of the moment decision to delay the flight by a day, ironically a few weeks later when I’s boyfriend was leaving back to Portugal, he happened to delay his trip by a couple days too. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PdxYiCd782c)
Frogz in space :)
I was walking home up 'happy lane' the other day, red and flustered from a run around the park. I turned the corner and a surprising influx of bubbles came floating towards me! Each one acted like a little window, the focus was on them but through the transparent layer I suddenly noticed the tree on the side of the wall, it had such delicate branches they looked like they had been sketched out with a fine artists pencil. The bubbles reflected the dusk in micro-rainbows that drifted over the chimney tops and disappeared with silent pops. I stopped to reflect for a moment with the school kids all running past me; 

Recipe of the day: Burgers with fresh figs, Caramelised onions and goats cheese
http://www.jasonandshawnda.com/foodiebride/archives/16510/





Sunday, October 6, 2013

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


Thursday, September 12, 2013

Carnival


\‘JAMAICA JAMAICAA’ (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WgiFe6LSEeA) rang out of the huge sound systems that lined the streets of the West end. Everyone had emerged from their burrows to grab a slice of London at its best. Notting Hill Carnival, it’s been around since 1965 and ‘was led by the West Indian Migrant community in London. In recent years it has attracted up to 50,000 performers, 38 sound systems and 2.5 million people over the weekend, making it the second largest street carnival in the world after Rio.' (nottinghillcarnival.eu) Today, it’s a time that allows everyone to let loose together and share the one thing that connect all humans – a love for music, food and culture
Above the heads
Old Rasta’s jamming along to Aba shanti with flower fumes waving to the beats, little ones shaking their hips above shoulders and within protected circles to the tunes of Sancho Panza, with their parents keeping half an eye on them with a smile on their face. True Jamaican twerkers bumping and grinding in front of floats that were crawling with people and shaking with sounds. The crowds were a sweaty treat, not recommended for the claustrophobics amongst us as half your time is spent pressed up against strangers, shuffling through police barricades to try to reach the nearest music.
M and I
M and I lived right next to Carnival and that day, much of the public transport staff had conveniently chosen to go on strike; luckily for us, we weren’t effected and relied our legs to get there and back. Shops were shut, bars were teaming with people, the litter was slowly building up and the fabulous once-a-year (£200 - £600) costumes were appearing. We’d gone for glitter and masks, and a whole bottle of sun cream – it was 30®C and I felt like I was in the Mediterranean without the sea (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pBDVarvFqYI) today, a lot of water was going to be needed.
Famalam
The two main days of Carnival are Sunday and bank holiday Monday. Sunday’s usually family day so the vibe’s a bit more lax, we went with the adults of our family, strictly NO kids allowed - this was our day, you can’t be dealing with little manic responsibilities when you’re tryna have fun!
En route to Carnival
So we hit the first pub, ciders, G&T’s and shandy’s it was, the tunes were pumping and the bar was crowded... it was only 12pm. In the heat of the day it didn’t take much for the alcohol to reach our heads, so we downed our last drinks, with the ground becoming progressively more uneven and speech starting to slur (well mine). Shuffle, bounce, grind in time to the beat, using whatever available body parts you could, to move with the rhythm in whatever space was available. So we moved those hands and fingers above the heads of the masses, the ecstatic wave of the day passing through each of us in turn. The best part about being with family that know the scene, is they also know the shortcuts. M and I followed along quite happily, just as we were reaching Aba shanti a Rasta in the crowd held out a hand of green daisies. A 3 minute transaction and I was skipping along happily with my new purchase and being ‘welcome(d) to jam rock’ by the DJ. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xlCmQcRPtRg)
Grind, roll, lick, light the fumes dispersed and merged with the countless others. Police could be seen struggling through crowds looking for trouble, we didn’t really fit that category. The smoke from the jerk chicken wafted up our nostrils. Beans, rice, jerk, salad and gravy mmm. We bopped along in line, getting the extortionate £7 out of our pockets for our meal. Mouth-gasm is the only way to really describe the sensation when you bite into a succulent, sweet, sticky bbq’d piece of chicken with the tang of the salad, the thickness of the rice and the reggae music to top it off. 
Jerk
Mmm
We shuffled on, to Sancho Panza, Norman Jay’s good times, soul, funk, rap, reggae, house – it was all going down. The dancers were wearing their tight little knickers and spangly Brazilian/ Jamaican tops that had obviously been worked on for a long time; most of the men at carnival were having a field day, the hunger in their eyes everywhere they looked almost making them dizzy. Women didn’t do too badly either, tall, black, beautiful, ripped men dancing to good tunes? 
Sunday eve
What more could you want. As the day wound down 6pm struck and the crowds started to disperse, as around that time, is when things start to get rowdy and a lot of the gangs make their appearances. It’s the one deterrent of Carnival for a lot of people, but if you keep your valuables and friends close and your mind alert then you should be fine. The rents left us around 5 and we went to sit on the patchy grass with the other carnival go’ers. It didn’t take us long to get chatting to the group beside us, Charlie said hello and sent us buzzing on our way back home before we headed out for the night. ‘One drink and then we’ll go home’ was the plan… until we met T and J. Bringing a few girls along to a house party always looks good, so we essentially became the accessories of the night (that relationship did deepen once we all got to know each other... and started the discussion of M and I’s significant others.. love pulling that out the bag.) But we followed along quite happily; it was a free night of everything, good company and tunes on the roof of a 5 storey flat, walking distance from home - how great it is to be a girl sometimes. That night went on, and on and on moving from the kitchen to the roof, back to the kitchen for warmth, downstairs for cigs, upstairs for tunes, home for bed and up again for Carnival. The best way to get out of a strop is to do something, surrounding ourselves with music for the second day in a row allowed us to pick up on everyone else’s vibes (& jerk chicken) and just feel, good (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHs98TEYecM)
I spot the police..

Little jammers
Men..
I skyped mum and dad in Malaysia the day afterwards and described my first experience of their old tradition. While I was raving about the DJ’s they laughed – ‘It’s so funny that you guys are all jamming along to our mates old tunes that we saw them create’. M and I’s parents, having dabbled in the music industry were mates with the DJ’s of all the biggest sound systems, and while we were playing their tunes for the first time on Spotify, our parents were sifting through their old vinyl’s & memories of when it all first began.


Lots of love
On Tuesday, work had begun again and London was back to its busy hustle and bustle. The memories of the sounds lingered in the air, clinging to the conker trees that’s leaves were transitioning from green to orange. This weekend had been ‘a whole different gravy’ as J would say, and the spirit of the city that holds so many secrets had been lifted once again.


Jam of the day: Aba Shanti at Notting Hill Carnival