Rainy, Lazy Days, Day 20

It has been pouring with rain for the last two days.

What to do on rainy days?

Bake some cake, watch DVDs (Wallace and Grommet and the Jungle Book to be precise)and listen to some John Mayer (Maude and I frequently listen to the song Half of My Heart).



Ava woke me up excited for her school trip to see a production of Aladdin saying, “Alexandra! Wake up! It’s time to get up! Come on Alexandra! Get up!” As per her request, I put her hair up in a ponytail and put her bangs into a twist which was fastened with a

lovely handmade clip. She looked beautiful as usual but unfortunately did not want her picture taken.

It is supposed to rain tomorrow and on Wednesday but despite the fact that I STILL do not own a pair of wellies, I have every intention of braving the weather tomorrow; you can only have so many lazy rainy days indoors before you start to get house fever. I’m going to try and find a good photography store that can print some of my photos; I’m thinking of making postcards or something. I really just want to get a project going! Speaking of which, I am now a volunteer photographer for an organization called Climate Change. I was surprised at how easy it was to obtain the position, and think it’s really great that it is as simple as it is because it supplies so many people with such a great opportunity. The organization will send me events or certain things they want me to photograph in my area and they may be used on websites or be put in magazines. I am really excited to get started!

As we were all sitting at the dinner table the other night eating spaghetti bolognaise, Ava suddenly asked, “when animals mate, is the female on the top or the bottom?” How’s that for a conversation starter?

Going to the Dogs, Day 17

After capturing Walthamstow Greyhound Stadium for my blog entry Where I Live Captured on a Slumberous Sunday, I was excited to hear that documentary photographer Katherine Green's show Going to the Dogs was being held at the Vestry House Museum.

Katherine Green's show documents the last three months of the stadium before it was closed in 2008. The stadium had been family run since 1933 and closed due to financial strains. I had no idea what an iconic place the stadium was (or still is I should say) for Walthamstow until looking at her photographs.

I have to admit that I wasn’t too ecstatic about her first few photos. I felt that she could have approached her subjects more creatively. However as I moved around the room, I was very drawn into many of her prints. I felt that I was in Walthamstow stadium and she did an amazing job at capturing the energy that I can only imagine was present during the dog races. I loved the shots of the workers, this one being my favourite:


I also love all the colour in her photos-they all seem to pop and make everything come to life. This one is my second favourite. I love the composition and the red against the white. I have to ask though-did she place that glass against the seat like that? It looks very precisely placed…


This is a photo of the museum (it’s right at the end with the green door!) The light, as I am sure you can see, was beautiful today. The light here on sunny days is so soft and wonderful and makes almost anything look beautiful.


As I was walking home, I went passed the square and saw that a carousel had been set up that day! There is Christmas music blasting out across the square and it’s all very picturesque and lovely.


Katherine Green's website: http://www.katherinegreen.co.uk/

A Bitter Reunion with Starbucks, Day 16

I walked into Starbucks for the first time in sixteen days. Sixteen days. Six-teen-days.

The thing is, they don’t have pumpkin spice lattes on the Starbucks menu in London. And to make matters worse, the Starbucks I went into was depressing and run-down. There is not ONE run-down Starbucks in Toronto; they are all cosy and pleasant and happy places to be. Okay, I haven’t been to ALL of them in Toronto, but enough to feel confident with the bold statement I just made.

I ordered a Gingerbread Latte, thinking it would be the closest thing to a Pumpkin Spice Latte-Christmas in a cup and all that. I will admit, the first few sips were divine. Honestly, it was like my taste buds were cheering as they remembered how freakin good Starbucks coffee was. It went down hill after I got passed the whipped cream though. Like really down hill. Starbucks drinks in London are crap. Now I completely realize that I am being extremely judgemental; how do I know that ALL Starbucks drinks made in London are rubbish? I don’t. But here’s the thing: not once have I consumed a bad Starbucks drink…until today that is. And I’ve consumed A LOT of Starbucks in the last few years. It was watery and gross, two words that would have once been inconceivable to me if talking about Starbucks.

If I was REALLY desperate, I am fully aware that I could search around London until I find a Starbucks that actually makes half-decent drinks but at close to £3.00 a small cup (close to $5.00) I think I’ll pass. Seven months without Starbucks. Is it possible? It’s going to have to be I guess.

My camera has been charged with my new nifty plug converter! I’m excited to start taking photos again.

Here’s some photos of Maude (the two going on twenty two year old) eating lunch a few days ago.

Confessions of Shopaholic in the Making, Day 15

As I walk around London and continue to observe the amazing fashion sense of the British, it is hard not to get overwhelmed. Surrounded by so many stores filled with amazing clothes that cost more money than I have in my dwindling bank account, I realized today that I have to get practical. I love clothes...like really love clothes...and will admit to buying things on the whim. This not only results in a complete waste of money on things that I wear only once, but a feeling that I don't have one consistent style, instead just a bunch of mix-matched pieces that don't fit well together. Being in London makes me want to change this habit pronto.

I feel that part of me has gotten fed up with things not fitting me right, trying on pants that I know will not fit me, finding beautiful clothes that look disastrous once on. It's not fun going out shopping with very, very low expectations of actually finding anything.

Being in London with a small amount of money has made me approach buying clothes in a very different light. Today I walked around Covent Garden looking for places to work and looking at clothes made out of single pieces of fabric that cost more than I will ever dream of having in my wallet. I was disappointed to say the least, having come with high hopes that I'd leave London wearing clothes that I could for once feel confident in.

Walking into TopShop (my last hope at finding anything remotely nice) I realized that, despite how often I shop, I really had no idea what I was doing. How do those girls do it? The ones who always look stylish, the ones who just seem to pick clothes that suite them? As I walked around, I promised myself that I would stay focused, not pick up anything to try on unless I was absolutely sure that I liked it, and of course not buy something just for the hell of it (not having lots of money to throw away makes this easy).

I ended up being successful. I bought a coat that, unlike many previous impulse buys, will work with lots of stuff I already own.


I also left with these shoes, flats that are unique and stand out but are relatively simple.


I learnt today that patience is key with shopping for clothing. As a result, I've found stuff that suits me and that I'm happy with.

Have I really turned into one of those girls who blogs about shopping? (Just for the record, I have absolutely no intention of turning into Rebecca Bloomwood thank-you-very-much).

Feeling Proud to be Canadian, Day 14

I have become quite obsessed with comparing England to Canada and observing the cultural differences between the two. I guess it’s because I feel different from everyone else; I sound different, I dress differently and I don’t fit that in with that “British look”. I feel truly Canadian. The moment I arrived in England, I was astounded that I could tell who was British. And not just by the way they walked or talked, but by how they looked. As I mentioned in my second blog entry, I felt absolutely out of place. I have continued to explore why this is, why I feel so “Canadian” and not just “different”. As I began to think about this more and more, I was reminded of Will Ferguson’s novel Why I Hate Canadians, a part of which I studied in my grade 11 Canadian Literature class. Though I have never been patriotic, or put much thought into what it really means to be a Canadian, I feel like all the stereotypes that define who we are (beavers, Tim Hortons, hockey, etc) are written all over me, as if those are what compose my genetic make-up. Though I can wear the fashionable clothes that are all the rage here and pick up the British lilt, I have come to the realization that I will never actually be able to fit in here completely. The countries we grow up in ultimately define who we are, how we act and what we find socially acceptable. These subconscious social manners and behaviours are what unite countries and citizens together.
In Canada, we pride ourselves to be a very multicultural country made up of all different ethnic races who are all united, who are all “Canadian”. In London there too, are many different people who have come from so many places all over the world. But unlike Canada, all of these groups of people are not united; although they live in the same areas, they shop at shops run by people from their country, they all visit the same places and stay grouped together. Not all people in England consider themselves to be British. I feel that this is different in Canada though. We are all so obsessed (subconsciously I think) with Canadian culture. We are proud to be Canadians, no matter where we originated from. I have to admit, I do feel some of this pride when people comment on my accent; I like feeling different from everyone else, I feel proud to be a Canadian.

It’s strange for me to be thinking about things like this that have never crossed my mind before.

Anyways, there is a sweet shop on the high street that I went into today. The owner was adamant that we were friends, continuing to ask me where I had been until I opened my mouth and told him I was from Canada. Apparently I have a long lost twin that often visits his shop…I don’t think I will be going back there again. After all, you should never accept candy from strange men (okay, I bought the candy obviously but still).

I hope everyone is well! xoxoxo