A memory of the lazy man - migration off the continent

Whoa Nelly! So it’s been a wee while since you last heard from me.. About 3 months according to my calculations. If you had been relying on my blog to keep you updated on my whereabouts, you’d be justifiably mistaken in thinking that I was still in France – Lyon to be exact. Well, in fact, I’ve actually spent the last 3 months in London, half of the time being a bum (doing relatively little with the majority of my days in between sporadic bursts of job-hunting) and the other half working in one of the most interesting jobs I’ve ever had. But more on that later.
I left Lyon at 9pm on the 25th of June on a Eurolines bus bound for the Victoria Coach Station in London. 16 hours was the scheduled travel time. In my relaxed state of mind that I had acquired in this city, I casually strolled out of Anouck and Vincent’s house leaving myself very little time to actually get to the bus station and so needed to hop on the underground. Unfortunately, the machine refused to take my euro notes and I was left stranded until a lovely woman, sensing my heightened stress levels, suggested I squeeze through the turnstile behind her. I arrived with about 3 minutes to spare! That evening I watched the sunset (yes, the sun was still up at this time in June; nowadays, in early October – not even winter, mind you - the sky is already nearly pitch black by 1930hr!), the day turn to night, the stars and moon producing arcs amongst the black backdrop, the lights of Paris pass us by in the distance, the late-night attendants serving customers in several 24-hour truck stops, the sunrise the following day, the green fields and vineyards, and this was all before we reached Calais, the French gateway to the Channel Tunnel and the British Isles.
After quite a long wait and a few of the passengers being searched by the French border patrol (including myself, it’s always me – remember those small white tablet shaped expandable wash towels you gave me Rachel? Ecstasy maybe?) the bus rolled on down to a waiting train and proceeded to drive inside one of its yellow-lit carriages. The seamless transit through the 50km underwater tunnel took about 30 minutes and I was again on UK soil ready for Round Two with only a few hours of sleep under my belt.
Nic met me at King’s Cross station on her lunch break and she kindly handed over a spare key to her place. I was to stay at their house for 3 weeks. The initial plan was to get a flat with Jubby for a few months, but due to unforeseen circumstances he had to cut his own working holiday short to go back to Australia mid-August. Ella also had booked her ticket back to Adelaide for about the same time. This changed my plans considerably, in fact I had no plan and took each day as it came, merely pondering the necessary questions. Would I get a job here? When would I get it, before or after those guys left, and where? Would I get a flat? If so, would I decide at some point to up and leave, potentially causing problems with the lease? Not surprisingly, for the next 6 weeks I ended up not working and spending as much time as I could with my Adelaide crew along with hanging out a with few other mates I had met along the way on my travels, past or present. After all, I am over here to enjoy myself right?

Photos:

Sunrise

inside the Channel Tunnel train

a fairly typical suburban London street

punk is still alive and well!! @ the Camden Markets

Nic and I doing some shopping at the markets

looking mighty happy to be standing in Piccadilly Circus, Ella

London underground

meeting on the Thames