24 Hours Toronto

Photo by Jen Keay


Sunrise - Watch the sunrise over the city skyline from the Humber River bridge, located at the mouth of the Humber River. From here, savour the ice cream colored flavours of the sky as they soon fade to a lovely yellow before turning to a picture perfect blue.

The 139-metre pedestrian-bicycle bridge connects several trails along a scenic waterfront park. The double-arched bridge emphasizes the cultural history of a gateway between Toronto and Etobicoke, and an aboriginal trading route linking Lake Ontario to the north. The design of the Bridge was inspired by motifs and artefacts of the first inhabitants of the site. Interpretive plaques trace the history of the area and compare the engineering of canoes to that of the bridge.
Time for Breakfast! Jump on the street car or the Red Rocket as they call it and make your way to the St Lawrence Market. In 1803, this area was officially designated as the "Market Block." Since 1901, the South St. Lawrence Market has been known primarily for its fruits, vegetables, meat and cheese. Today, there are over 120 vendors on the site.

Open 6 days a week (closed Sundays), there is a consistent hustle and bustle of people trading cash for flavourful treats – to be eaten now or later. A breakfast favourite is a delicious egg, cheese and peameal bacon sandwich on a soft, fresh bun. Carousel Bakery is said to have the best peameal bacon sandwich – line up and judge for yourself. For what it is worth, it is a favourite of Bobby Flay and Emeril Lagasse. The Bakery also offers a tasty selection of sandwiches, breads and pastries. In the summer you can head outside to a picnic table to enjoy your treat or find a bench inside and watch the commerce unfold in front of you eyes.

Eggs not your thing? - For the more adventurous, not needing to inhale eggs at this time of the morning, head down the stairs to Mustachio. Specialties include monstrous sandwiches of veal with fried eggplant, grilled chicken breast; veal parmegiano, all served, in the Italian tradition, with tomato sauce, fried onions and peppers on warm foccacia bread. The portions are just like your Nona would make – the veal parmesan sandwich is enough for two. You won’t leave disappointed or hungry guaranteed!

Shop, shop and shop! - Continue to wander through the market taking in the sights and sounds. Listen to the different languages, accents and take in the smells of cheese, seafood, and other goodies. There are over 120 merchants to check out. Stop by Kozlik’s Mustard it offers over 30 different types of mustard ranging from sweet to out of this world spicy! Interesting fact - 90% of the world’s mustard is grown in Canada and is the second most popular spice in the world next to black pepper.

Canada’s past time - Check out all of the hockey memorabilia and history you can possible fathom! It is both museum and a hall of fame. A beautiful and historic building houses the history and trivia of Canada’s favourite game! You might even get to see and touch the prized Stanley Cup on display in the Great Hall! Its first permanent building opened at Exhibition Place in 1961. In the '90s, the Hall began outgrowing its location and was relocated to a former bank building in downtown Toronto in 1993, where it is presently located.

Look waaaayy up - Much of the Toronto Skyline is filled with headquarters of many of the country’s big banks, law firms, corporate head offices and stock brokerages. Below the skyline’s ground exists an underground world, named the PATH. The PATH weaves underground for approximately 27Km and is filled with more than 1200 shops, restaurants and coffee shops; connects 48 office buidlings; hotels; and includes 5 subway stops.

CN tower – A Toronto and Canadian landmark erected 35 years ago and once known as the “tallest free standing structure on land in the world”, a title held this title held for 31 years until it was surpassed by the Burj Dubai. The CN Tower stands 553.33M tall. The tower’s intent was to serve as a large TV and radio communication platform for the Toronto area, as well as demonstrate the strength of Canadian industry – in particular, the national railway company, CN.

Go TEAM Go! - Right next door is the Rogers Centre, previously known as the SkyDome, home of the baseball team the Toronto Blue Jays, twice World Series winners and Canadian football team, the Toronto Argonauts. On a clear day, the roof opens to bring the outdoors in to sit back, relax and watch a sporting event. It was the first stadium to have a fully retractable motorized roof and hotel attached to it. Take in a game from the 500 hundreds section to feel like you are on top of the world.

Time for lunch! – Head to Chinatown! Regardless of the day of the week, this area of this city is a hub of activity. On the weekend, be prepared to share the sidewalk as it is flooded with vendors and people. You can find inexpensive dim sum, pho and other asian treats. Experience Peking duck served in two courses at the Bright Pearl, or visit the Golden Leaf for dim sum available day long. The red cow on the sign of Pho Hung marks Toronto’s favourite destination for real Vietnamese beef pho. If you go to the Pho Hung on a weekend, be prepared to wait and once you are done, you are not expected to stick around. All of these places can be found on Spadina Ave. Once you have indulged, wander through the shops for unique finds of dishware, home electronics and clothing. Or stay on the sidewalk and taste the wide selection of Asian fruits enveloped in the prickliest of skins.


Step into another land! - Right next door, just to the west of Chinatown is Toronto's most unique neighbourhood, Kensington Market. This area is a maze of narrow streets and alleys, lined with brightly-coloured Victorian houses. The market got its start in the 1920s, when it was a predominantly Jewish neighbourhood. Families would set up stands in front of their homes and sell their goods to one another. This is a charming and diverse area made up of an eclectic mix of vintage clothing stores, grocers, restaurants and cafes. This area is a true reflection of the city’s multicultural mix – shops packed with goods from Europe, the Caribbean, the Middle East, South America and Asia. With every step, there is something unique to feast your eyes upon. This is one area where you will not find a Starbucks!

Need to hug a tree? – Head down to the water to take in picturesque views of Lake Ontario and the Toronto Islands. The Islands are made up of three major islands as well as some smaller islands. On board the ferry, head up to the upper deck and take in the skyline, the meandering sailboats and kayaks. The view of Toronto’s skyline across the water is worth the trip alone. In 10 minutes you will be transported to a peaceful, tree filled area of picnic spots, marinas, volleyball courts, and even a small amusement park for the kiddies. The islands are a pleasant reprieve from the quick pace and noise of the city.

Sundown! – Head uptown to Yorkville, affectionately referred to as the “Mink Mile’. During the Toronto International Film Festival, this is the place to watch for Hollywood stars! Even when TIFF is not on, this is a great place to shop at high end boutiques filled with designers from abroad and from right here in Canada. To watch the sunset over the city take the elevator up to the top floor of the Manulife Centre to Panorama. Enjoy the 360 degree view over drinks and dinner. It is a city favourite for best cocktails, best view and best place for a romantic date.

Downtown – In a cab or on foot, head back down Yonge Street and take in the lights that line the storefronts along this major thoroughfare. Head to Yonge- Dundas Square, Toronto’s take on Picadilly Circus and Times Square. Feast your eyes on the brilliance and non stop movement of lights. It was formerly listed in the Guiness Book of World Records as the longest street in the world at 1896 km. It was also the site of Canada's first subway line and is the dividing line between the east and west parts of Toronto.

Prepared to be entertained! - The Entertainment District is the place to be to dance the night away. With bars, pubs, nightclubs and the theatres, you are sure to find a place to suit your tastes. Or you could head west to the Drake Hotel. The Drake hotel is said to be “….filled with thoughtful contradictions and an intriguing intersection of new and old. A popular sushi bar, busy dining room, live indie music venue, luxe crashpad hotel rooms, neighborhood-friendly corner cafe, urban vegetable garden, general store and year round roof top Sky Yard patio all happily coexist within our ever-changing hotbed for culture”. This is not only is a hotel and a place to eat, it is the place to be whether it is in the Lounge, on the Skyyard, or in the Underground.

By Jen Keay

Thanks, Jen! Now, across the ocean to Bosnia...

24 Hours in Your Neck of the Woods... The Round-Up!

Can I just say... I've loved what everyone's written! Funny, informative, each with its own take on the local area.

In fact, they're so good that I'm going to post each one in their entirety (for those with blog links, I'll post the first half or so, then link to your blog for more). The winner of the draw will be announced in a final post at the end.

So here we go, with a beautifully written 24 Hours Toronto!

24 Hours London - The Oscar Speech

Well, it's launch day and there's a plethora of activities going on -- including my 24 Hours Twitter Marathon (and yes, I have been up since 5 a.m. so please ignore any typos, etc).

Being a travel book and all, I didn't get to do an acknowledgments page. But there are, of course, loads of people I want to thank. So... here they are!

The Man: for encouraging me to try to do my writing thang, seeing through my feeble excuses, poking me in the butt and, in general, motivating me to actually start doing what I want!

Friends and Family: for not telling me I was a complete loon when I dropped my corporate job to start writing.

Blog, Twitter and WAG friends (India, Elle, Nancy, Tim, Deniz, and loads of others I'm sure I'll remember at 3 a.m. tonight): for understanding writer angst and isolation, for helping me to procrastinate, for lifting my spirits and providing a great sense of community. And for writing reviews on short notice!

Prospera Publishing (my publishers): for being so great to work with!

And finally...

Mike Harling and Toni Hargis: for endorsing and promoting the book, and being really really helpful! If they ever decide to retire from writing, they definitely have a career in book promotion!

Coming up later tonight... '24 Hours in Your Neck of the Woods' Round-Up Post and Winner!

Remember, Remember, the Fourth of November

I was going to blog about the Fourth of November, gunpowder, treason and plot and all that. But when I doubled-checked Wikipedia, I was reminded - as all good Brits know - that Guy Fawkes Day is actually the fifth of November.

So. I'll write more about the fifth of November on the actual day (and yes, I know that today is actually the third but I was going to cleverly tie my book launch into it... ah well). And I'll leave you with a little reminder of my own: if you want to enter my contest to win a copy of my book (see sidebar), email me your entry at marshawrites@gmail.com before 5 pm GMT tomorrow.

And please join me at some point tomorrow during my 24 Hour Twitter Marathon!

Have a great Third of November!

Monday Mish-Mash

My brain is still fried from the weekend exertions, so please forgive the scrambled nature of this post! The Man and I hit just over 35 locations for my London book trailer in one day, starting out at Little Venice (one of my favourite parts of the city) and ending - of course - in Soho. We got some great footage, though, and now the arduous task of stringing it all together into a short 90 seconds begins. Thank goodness I'm married to a film-type person who has a clue, because I certainly don't. It may still be a week or so until it's ready, so watch this space.

A few more days to get in '24 Hours in Your Neck of the Woods' (see sidebar for more details). I'll announce the winner on Wednesday, Nov 4, at 5 p.m. GMT and you have until then to send me your entry. We've got some great entries so far, so a giant thank you to all who participated!

Starting at 5 a.m. on Wednesday, I'm going to be doing a 24-Hour Twitter Marathon from my 24 Hour City account, with some re-tweets from Marshawrites. I'll be streaming content through this blog, too, so pop by to see if I'm still awake!

On Wednesday, too, I'll be guest posting at Nicola Morgan's awesome blog Help, I Need a Publisher!, talking about my publishing journey. If you're a writer looking to get published (as most of us are), then you need to check out Nicola's great advice!

And finally, 24 Hours London was reviewed today by the London blog Londonist. Click here to see it!

And I think that's everything. Whew!

This is Why I Love London

It's going to be quiet the next two days here, as The Man and I film a trailer for my book. We're aiming to hit around 40 locations across London and true to form, it's supposed to rain.

No matter. Weather aside, today something reminded me how much I enjoy living here. I was sitting in my study, trying to block out the incessant drilling from the building works next door. In a rare moment of silence, I heard the sound of horses drawing near. Getting up from my chair, I peered through the dust.

There, riding amidst the traffic, were four gorgeous white horses followed by an ornate carriage with five men in top-hats and blazers.

And I thought: this is why I love London.

One More Week!

Woohoo! One more week 'til my book launch (and then I'll shut up about it... sort of!).

Still one more week, too, for you to enter my '24 Hours in Your Neck of the Woods' contest for the chance to win a copy of the book and a very lovely, highly fashionable white T-shirt.

Click here for more details.

Into the Dark

The rare snowstorm last winter.

It's that time of year -- when the dark descends. We changed our clocks last weekend, and now the light does a disappearing act by five.

While I can't say I love the long nights, this is the time of year when London really comes into its own. Everything seems technicolour, recovering from the wash-out of rain or the bleach of the summer sun. Streetlights cast their yellow glow as workers rush home; mornings dawn with a sky so blue it looks like a Microsoft screen-saver.

It's the perfect season to crunch through the massive chesnut leaves in Hyde Park, duck into the warmth of a pub for a quick pint, then curl up on the sofa at home.

Tweet, Tweet!

Twitter is a wonder. Highly addictive, it's not only a great way to tell the world about the cheese sandwich you just ate, it's also an ideal way to network with people across the world.

Since January, I've met some lovely writers through Twitter. Tweeting yesterday, one suggested the idea of a 24-hour Twitter marathon to promote my book. I like a challenge. So, I'm going to do just that!

On November 4, beginning at 5 a.m., I'll tweet London tips from my 24 Hour account, once or twice an hour, every hour until the following morning. Lots of coffee and a fair bit of nervous energy should help me through it! I'll also stream the tweets through my blogs - and retweet it from my personal Twitter account - so those who don't feel like becoming Twitter addicts can follow along.

Make sure to check in on November 4th anyway, when I'll be posting the links of all who participated in my giveaway contest (see sidebar) and announcing the winner!

Mind the Barnet!

Barnet = Cockney for hair

You don't want your barnet to look like this, do you? (Oh wait, I'm not meant to be poking fun at him anymore...)

As anyone who has known me for awhile can attest, I am obsessed by hair (athough in recent weeks it's lucky if it gets brushed!). Over the years, my hair has been long and short; red and black; blond; and back again several times. I'm willing to wear clothes from Primark, to eat rice and pasta for weeks on end, but I'm not willing to skimp on my hair. What can I say, I'm just that shallow -- or I have a medical condition, hairophelia (I made that up, just in case it wasn't obvious).

When I moved to London, one of my biggest concerns was not whether I could find work or not. No, it was this: who would I find to cut my hair? I'd had several bad experiences in Poland, where I couldn't speak enough Polish to accurately express what I wanted. I looked up 'highlights' in my Polish-English dictionary, then crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.

I had one distinct advantage in London: I could speak English. And over the course of several years, I finally found the stylist for me. Here are my top London recommendations:

Hair by Fairy, 8-10 Neal's Yard. Tube: Tottenham Court Road. http://www.hairbyfairy.com/. If you're anxious for a cut and you don't want the fuss of making an appointment, just head over to Neal's Yard. From punk cuts to simple trims, they'll have you in and out in no time... and there's a great organic restaurant across the courtyard in case you get hungry. Cheap and cheerful.

Toni and Guy, Kensington Church Street. Tube: Notting Hill Gate or High Street Kensington. Before I settled down with one man (my stylist, I mean), I'd go here every once in awhile. I was never disappointed. Although they seem to have a high turnover, all the stylists are friendly and competent.


And my favourite...

Gina Conway Aveda, Westbourne Grove. Tube: Bayswater, Queensway or Notting Hill Gate. It ain't cheap, but it's worthy paying when the results are this good (if I do say so myself). Ask for Kenny or Patrice, and relax. You're in the hands of masters.

Um, Hello, I'm a Local Author

I remember, oh-so-long ago (like, May) when I thought that getting published meant *poof!*, your book would magically appear in all the bookstores up and down the country -- around the world, even.

Well, a few short months later, and my illusion has crumbled. Now I know the power lies in the hands of the mighty distributor, who's kind of like a door-to-door salesman for publishers. In my own very simplistic way, I liken the process to that of a vacuum-cleaner salesman. Say he has 100 brands to sell, from Electrolux (which he knows works and is a popular sell) all the way down to a new-fangled, shiny, but completely unknown brand. He mentions the unknown brand once, maybe twice, but the customer keeps going with the Electrolux. In the end, he stops talking about the new-fangled vacuum altogether and sticks with what he knows works.

It's the same thing with books (as far as I know; I must admit I don't have much insight into the process). The distributor meets with bookstore reps to sell the titles in their catalogues. Of course they're going to push the biggies while the little ones fall by the wayside. That's what will help them reach their sales targets, after all.

So smaller publishers (and authors by default) have to rely on their own marketing means to get their bookstores to order their books. For the past few months, I've cringed at tales of authors going into bookstores to plead their case. While I'm generally a friendly person and I can schmooze with the best of them, I have to admit that I don't really enjoy pushing things on people. In fact, one of my worst jobs ever was when I had to stand on the street in my hometown of Halifax, handing out flyers to passersby. Every flyer I forced onto some poor pedestrian was likely ten times as torturous for me as it was for my victim.

But today was the day. I was going to get my book into my local Waterstone's if it killed me. This bookstore has an added emotional pull for me -- it's just down the street, and even before I started seriously pursuing writing I used to go stare at the local author's section (in Notting Hill Gate, there's a whole shelf-full of local writers!) and imagine my name there.

But I needed to brush my hair (a real event before noon), put on some half-decent shoes and look the part of a real author (whatever that looks like -- I figured my black leather motorcycle jacket might help me look tough and artistic, anyway). With a few deep breaths, I gathered my book and a folder I'd put together and walked the short 200 metres to the Notting Hill Gate Waterstone's, practising my pitch in my head. It's a London guide book, it's not like the rest, I'm a local author...

I breezed through the door, trying to look nonchalant but sure I looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Already published -- and stocked -- books leered out at me from the shelves. We're good enough! We're good enough! I clutched my book like a lifeline.

Spotting two employees by the desk, I made my way over and asked to speak to the manager.

'I'm the assistant manager,' one said, eyeing me with slight trepidation.

'Um, hello, I'm a local author,' I began. Why can't I breathe? 'I've written a London guide book...' I tug it out of my bag and hand it over. 'But it's not like other London guide books,' I rush, trying to preempt any objections. 'This one's arranged hour by hour...'

I watch as he and his colleague flip through the book, making approving noises (thank God). The he types the ISBN into his computer as I hold my breath.

'Clever concept,' he says and I can't hide the smile on my face. 'I'll order five, because you're local.'

I thank him and beat a hasty retreat before he changes his mind. Sure, it's only five but... RESULT! Now I really can go into Waterstone's and gaze lovingly at my book on the shelf!

24 Hours in Your Neck of the Woods

A big THANK YOU (again!) to Michael Harling, author of Postcards from Across the Pond: Dispatches from an Accidental Expat, for the hilarious post today (24 Hours Horsham) on his blog in tribute to my book. And for the great idea of writing up a 24 hours in the place where you live!

I know a good idea when I see it (er, I think). So, I'd like to invite you to write up 24 hours in the place where you live. Don't worry about filling in every hour (Lord knows we do need to sleep!) but hit the highlights of what you like to do in your locale. Post it on your blog, then send the link to marshawrites@gmail.com -- or you can post it in the comments section below. If you don't have a blog but you still want to take part, you can send it to me an email.

Then, on my book launch day (two weeks from today, November 4), I'll post all the links of everyone's 24 hour day and a run-down of what everyone's written. If you like, you can post the results on your blog, too -- that way we can share the link love.

And... one lucky person will win a '24 Hours London' T-shirt, direct from the UK (alright, Holland, where it was actually produced. But it'll come through the post from the UK!), along with a copy of the book!

I'm looking forward to learning about where you live!

Contest closes at 5 p.m. GMT Wednesday, 4th November.

Cairo Trip!

How to encapsulate Cairo in a blog post? It was, in short, a land of contrasts. It's clichéd for sure, but it does seem like time has paused there. The Man always says that when he moved to London, he experienced not just culture but also 'generation' shock -- like he'd leapfrogged a generation or two.

Khan al-Khalili Market.

Highlights:

- Meeting The Man's family, of course. They were so welcoming and friendly, even though I couldn't understand (for the most part) what they were on about! We drove to his hometown in the Nile Delta and I met loads of relatives, who all gave us gifts!

Contemplating the pyramids.

- When Ayman's aunt and cousin -- who wear the niqab, the full face covering -- took me aside after meeting them for the 'reveal'. I already knew they were friendly but showing me their faces to assure me they were 'ok' really proved it.

- Watching a mummy in the Egyptian Museum that was being moved back into its coffin after lab tests. We happened to be in the right place at the right time, and to see how the staff treated the mummy with such respect was spectacular. Smelling the mummy (a sweet cloying scent) was overpowering. To be right next to something from so long ago, without all the wrappings and the glass case, was amazing.

- The Pyramids. They actually exceeded my expectations. We took a horse ride into the desert to really see them from afar and you can't help but be impressed. We went inside two of the pyramids and it was hard to fathom we were inside the burial chambers of ancient pharaohs.

- Taking a feluca on the Nile at night. Getting away from the car horns and traffic and listening to the water lap against the sailboat was bliss.

What I didn't like so much:

- The pollution and smog. I could smell it even as we descended. Not cool.

- The disparity between the rich and the poor. We saw people living in tombs in graveyards, battling to survive.

- The 'Randoms'. Brick buildings that sprout up everywhere, without planning permission and proper construction. People move in, then the government can't throw them out. It's scary to see some of the poor construction and you shudder for the safety of the people there.

I'm Number Three! I'm Number Three!

Before I get too excited about being -- ahem -- number three, I suppose I should place it in its rightful context. First of all, it's on Amazon, known for its rises and falls in rankings at the drop of a hat. Secondly, it's in a very specific category: future releases for London guide books. Still, I'm excited. Until I drop back down to 3 million in sales rankings, that is!





(and yes, I'm back from Cairo! Great trip; more to follow...)

My Perfect London Day

Another from the archives...

After reading Londonelicious' description of the perfect London day, I was inspired to write my own. It's good therapy for dealing with the stressful day (see incident below), if nothing else. So... here's my perfect London day!

Weather (since it plays such a major role in London life):18 degrees Celsius, clear blue sky and aeroplane tracks criss-crossing above me.

8 am (I'm not one for sleeping in):
Mammoth croissants and strong coffee with warm milk at Patisserie Valerie, Kensington Church St. It will be crowded as usual, a nice buzz, with waiters dodging between tables. Lovely blackberry and raspberry conserves in their tiny jars dot the table.

8:45 am:
Meander through Kensington Gardens while it's still quiet, down around the Serpentine Lake, and loop back to Kensington Church St.10 am:Check out Kensington Farmer's Market just behind Waterstone's. Drool over the cheeses, meats and fresh veggies.

10:30 am:
Peruse the best sellers and 'Local Authors' sections at Waterstone's. Spot my novel on the shelf. (I can dream!)

10:45 am:
Head to Portobello Market, which for some reason will not be over-run with tourists. Pick up a Red Velvet cupcake at Hummingbird on the way through. Browse the stalls under the Westway and pick up some bargain vintage one-offs.

12 pm:
Lunch at Falafel King just across from the Westway.

1 pm:
Head to the South Bank. Buy a drink (or two) on the terrace of the Royal Festival Hall and watch the buskers on the promenade below, and the boats on the Thames. Walk down to the Tate Modern, attend the Rothko exhibit, then walk across the Millennium Bridge to Blackfriar's and St Paul's. Have an sickly sweet Tarte de Pommes at the French bakery Paul and a cup of tea, then head back across the bridge to the Carpenter's Arms pub, where a crisp glass of white wine awaits (I've just reread this and noticed how much eating and drinking there is -- on a perfect day, I wouldn't get full nor unpleasantly drunk).

4 pm:
Pick up a bottle of champagne and back through the park to the Royal Albert Hall, where we set up camp across from the Hall to drink the champage and pass the time before listening to Yo Yo Ma in the gallery at the Proms.

9 pm:
Down High Street Kensington for the best burger (I am North American, after all) at Byron. Walk back home in dusk through Holland Park, listening to the lingering notes of the outdoor opera float on the air.

Honourable mentions:
Brick Lane, Wigmore Hall, Camden Market, Borough Market, Sadler's Wells, Balans, Liberty, Selfridges, Whole Food Market, Harvey Nichols, Royal Court Theatre, L'Oriel, Black and Blue, Le Pain Quotidienne... I'm going to stop now!

London Rule #1: Don't Smile at Strangers

After five years in London, I still miss the open, friendly nature of my fellow North Americans compared to the relatively more reserved Brits.This was brought home to me last night, over dinner and drinks with an old friend and her new man.

F is originally British, but her new beau is Canadian through and through. It was the first night I'd met him, and his forthright and friendly ways reminded me of many people I know back home. The easy interaction we had made me miss my fellow Maritimers (people from the Atlantic provinces in Canada), who are well known for their social ease.

At home you can go to a party, not knowing anyone, and have a great time. Everyone will mix together (usually in the kitchen) and although you might chat to twenty different people, no-one will ask what you do for a living or even broach the subject of careers or work. Instead they'll hand you a beer and introduce you to ten of their friends. You leave feeling like you have a whole new circle to hang out with. They promise to keep in touch, and they do.And that isn't limited to house parties. The same thing happens in a pub, on the street, at a hockey game, etc etc. People are keen to get to know you, will ask you questions, and conversation will just flow naturally (with or without alcohol). Strangers help each other out without hesitation, pushing cars out of snowbanks in -20 weather.

But in my experience, Brits tend to view openness and friendliness with suspicion and, in some cases, hostility. In my first year here, The Man and I often went for walks in Hyde Park, where I'd admire the dogs of the people passing by us and smile at the owners. It took awhile for me to clock on to the fact that my friendly smiles were not being returned. In fact, the owner would dart past us even faster. The Man finally had to tell me to stop smiling at strangers, because they didn't like it.

I resisted at first, thinking surely he had it wrong. Who could have a problem with a friendly smile? But once I was finishing sulking at his admonishment, I started to observe their reactions, and I had to admit he was right. Any attempts at conversation in public places were also rebuffed, and I started to adopt the poker-face seen so frequently on the Tube.And so, after a few years here, my transformation from friendly Canadian to (sort of) reserved Brit was complete. I don't talk to people in lifts. I don't smile at strangers. And I've become very well versed in the art of British small talk at parties (weather, weather, Gordon Brown, weather).

The change was made clear to me last years when I was taking the Tube home after a long day at work. A man about my age sat down beside me and asked, 'Wouldn't it be great if people could talk to each other on the Tube?' He came from Bognor Regis, a town on the sea, and wanted to bring some of the small-town spirit to the big city.

Exhausted and frazzled, I told him in no uncertain terms that I DID NOT think it would be great to chat on the Tube with strangers. The Tube is transitional zone between work and home, a place to recover from the day and gear up for the evening; to be alone with your thoughts or novel. I did not want unwelcome intrusions in the form of Joe Bloggs from Bognor Regis! Far from trying to be polite, I am partly proud and partly ashamed of my response.Britain -- or London, for I'm sure there are many friendly people in small towns -- has definitely exerted its influence, good or bad, on me!

Wandering Around Notting Hill

I'm in Cairo right now soaking up some sun and no doubt stuffing myself silly, but here's an old post I wrote awhile back...

Wandering about Notting Hill a few days ago, I remembered how great the whole area is. I know I keep banging on about it, but I really do feel lucky to live so close to iconic places like Portobello Road on one side and Kensington Gardens on the other. On the weekends, The Man and I often go for walks to take-in the local sights.

One of our favourite routes is up Kensington Church Street to Notting Hill Gate, our closest tube. From there, we turn right and follow the crowds up the curving street towards Portobello Road. The whole look of the architecture changes from gleaming white Victorian terraces to small, brightly painted cottages. Notting Hill used to be piggeries in Victorian times, and then a slum in the 1960s, home to Caribbean immigrants. The whole area got a lift when the film Notting Hill came out, and since then has continued its gentrification. Housing prices have shot up and now the area is populated by media and film types, known as 'Notting Hillies'.


Standing at the top of Portobello Road, you see a mish-mash of different stalls on the narrow road and brightly coloured houses and cafes lining the street. The road is known for its variety of antiques, and many people come looking for bargains, but I think it's pretty safe to say that there won't be any bargains found here! As in any touristy spot, prices are jacked up and haggling is pretty much a no-go (but you can try!). Mixed between the jumbled antiques are cheap clothing stands selling scarfs and other items that will fall apart after one washing.

Further on down the road is where my favourite bit begins. You have the infamous Electric Cinema, where a ticket for £15 gets you a leather armchair and side table for the duration of a film. There's a bar in the back of the cinema where you can nip back to buy any drink you like. It's so comfortable, the only issue is keeping your eyes open!

The accompanying Electric Brasserie is a sure place to spot celebs and is buzzing every night. Great cocktails, too!

Hummingbird Cupcakes makes 'fairy cakes' (as they're called here) to die for, my favourite being red velvet which has a chocolate centre and cream cheese frosting. I'm salivating just thinking about it! And across the street is Gail's, an organic bakery/cafe with great sandwiches, quiches and coffee.

If none of that does it for you, you can always catch a bite to eat from the many stalls selling everything from Bratwurst to Paella and lovely churros with chocolate sauce for dessert.Mixed between the restaurants and cafes that dominate this stretch are some funky shops with one-off buys. One of my favs is Fussy Nation. If you're looking for a card unlike any other, than this is the place to get it. My favourite bizarre thing I saw there was the 'Jesus Action Figure' set.

As you continue down the street, you'll come across the fruit and veg stalls, with the traders looking like they've stepped straight out of 1960's East London. And then the Westway, a enormous motorway overpass, looms and just when you think it's over, you discover a whole new massive clothing, vintage and jewellery market underneath. You could get lost in there for hours looking at the treasure trove of items.

And if that leaves you hungry again, there's the best place in London for falafels: Falafel King. Even The Man agrees that this is fine stuff (and having grown up with the food, I trust his judgment).

Happy Thanksgiving!

Yes, I know it's not November yet and I'm fully aware I'm living in England, but today is Thanksgiving for my friends and family back home in Canada. And I am very ashamed to admit that when The Man asked me why Canadians have a different date than Americans the occasion, I had no recollection of why that might be.

Now that I've refreshed my primary school history lessons, I am proud to say that the tradition started in my home province of Nova Scotia. The French settlers, led by Samuel de Champlain, celebrated surviving the ocean crossing. They held a feast to mark the occasion, which they shared with the Natives. So all in all, a similar story to the American one with a slight Canadian twist.

The holiday comes just as the leaves are turning their amazing colours of flaming red and orange, unlike in England where they turn brown and fall off in disgrace. And the weather usually cooperates, with the perfect combination of warm sun and crisp air. As much as I love London, nothing can compete with Fall in Nova Scotia.

Cairo Calling!

I'm off to Cairo this weekend for a week! I've been brushing up on my Arabic (not that I had much to begin with, but I now know a few key phrases) and ironing my summer clothes. My fog tan is perfectly intact and I have buckets of sunscreen to keep it that way.

I have never been to Egypt. Hard to believe, seeing as how I'm married to an Egyptian and everyone and their dog seems to have been there. But whenever we've had holidays, we've usually travelled to Canada or done our own thing. I can't wait to see where The Man grew up and meet his extended family.

Engrossed in London promotion and Paris research, I haven't had much time to read about Cairo. But I've got a book from the library today and I'll read on the plane!

If anyone has some tips for me, please let me know. In the meantime, I have a few scheduled posts from the archives while I'm away... just on the off chance that anyone will miss me!

Maybe it Takes a Canadian

Most times when I tell a native Londoner about my book - a London travel guide - they do a double-take.

'Wait a second,' they say, staring at me as if my face will reveal my nationality (if they haven't already figured it out by my accent). 'You're not from here, are you?'

When I explain that I've lived here for five years but I'm from Canada, they usually nod. 'Ah, yes. Sometimes you need a foreigner to introduce you to your own city.'

While I'm not saying I know London better than someone who's lived here their whole life, in a way, I have to agree. We take for granted what we know best, and we don't have the same curiousity and urge to explore as someone who's new to town. Even though I have been here for awhile now, I still love walking down the street of gleaming white terraces, the strange cadence of the siren blaring by. Something as simple as an iron lamp-post or the gold-lettered sign on the pub will remind me that I'm in a different world than the one I left behind. I always go to end of the alley to see if something cool is around the corner -- whereas in my hometown I always chose the fastest route possible.

From the rubbish bins to the church steeples, London still holds that foreign appeal to me. And I hope that never changes.

A Year of Bloggery

I've been blogging for almost a year now. I can't believe it hasn't been longer. Blogging - and reading blogs - is such a routine part of my life now that I can't imagine how I slogged through my day without it! I've met writers from all over the world and read a lot of great information about the publishing industry I wouldn't have come across otherwise.

I have learned one very critical lesson when it comes to blogging, which is this: be careful, be very careful, what you put out there. Because even if you think it's private; that your blog doesn't have any readers; or that no-one will ever find your rants or scribbles... you can depend on this: someone, somewhere, will. And it will be the person you least want to! Yes, that all sounds very sinister and cloak-and-dagger. But I can assure you it's true.

I had another blog I started a year ago, mainly as a reaction to a part-time job I had to make some money while writing. The job was OK -- but what really irked me was how I was treated by some of the clients. So I started an anonymous blog. (You can see where this is going...). Someone stumbled across it, put two and two together and let's just say I didn't work there much longer!

Naively, I'd stuck my head in the sand, thinking no-one would ever run across it and hey, if someone did, it was anonymous anyway! It was a great outlet for me to get my own back, and I didn't think through the what ifs properly.

So, on the anniversary of my entry into the blogosphere, I urge my fellow bloggers to be cautious about their public writings - or, at least, be prepared for the consequences!

Man (or Woman) versus Machine

Well, I just wrote a very long post but in the spirit of the day, of course my computer crashed and I lost the whole thing.

I spent the whole day fighting with Google spam filters, so that seems a very fitting end.

No matter, though. I have my glass of wine, and some lovely penne The Man cooked. Oh, and did I mention the Swiss chocolate?

Who needs computers anyway?

Make a Splash!

Continuing with the theme (if you can call two blog posts a theme) of connecting with other authors, today I'd like to invite everyone to help out author Fiona Robyn with her upcoming Blogsplash!

Fiona's going to blog her next novel, Thaw, starting on the 1st of March next year. The novel follows 32 year old Ruth’s diary over three months as she decides whether or not to carry on living.

To help spread the word she’s organising a Blogsplash, where blogs will publish the first page of Ruth’s diary simultaneously (and a link to the blog). She’s aiming to get 1000 blogs involved – if you’d be interested in joining the splash, email her at fiona@fionarobyn.com.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Endless Summer – The Postcards Tour Finale

Welcome Michael Harling, author of Postcards From Across the Pond – dispatches from an accidental expat, who is today wrapping up his Kindness of Strangers Blog Tour with a guest-post here!

(And no, I didn't pay him - yet, anyway! - to say those things about my book!)

Take it away, Michael!



I started this tour just as summer was beginning, so it seems fitting to end it just as summer draws to a close and autumn takes over. It’s been fun and I’ve met a lot of great people, but touring is tiring, even in the virtual world, so I’m taking advantage of that magic we call the Internet to round up the Kindness of Strangers Tour by relying on the kindness of several strangers at once.

In a way, making my final tour stop to ten locations simultaneously seems the perfect ending for it—one big autumnal burst before quietly fading away. This tour began as a means of promoting my book, but it soon became an end in itself and took on a life of its own. Very often, I found myself having such a good time “visiting” people around the globe that I forgot to mention the book.

To date, my trip has taken me from Britain to Canada, Australia, sunny Spain, Tenerife and even back to my own hometown, ending up here in London with Marsha, just a train ride away from my home in Sussex. This is a fitting stop to end my tour on, not only because it is so close to home, but because Marsha is an author herself and HAS A BOOK COMING OUT!!!!!!

She may have already told you about it, however, so I doubt I have much new information to add, except for the fact that I have actually read the book and it is simply marvellous. And I’m not just saying that because she and her husband are putting me up, letting me drink their beer and taking me out on the town tonight. (Marsha is calling it “continuing research,” but I think she just likes to party.)

Seriously, though, 24 Hours: London is a must-have book if you live in or near London or plan to visit. It is interesting, intriguing and very readable. So go by a copy. Right now! And while you’re at it, buy a copy of my book, as well. It’s not as informative as Marsha’s, but it is funny.

I have to say, of all the adventures I might have imagined for my life as a young boy, touring the blogsphere on other people’s blogs was not a contender. But then the idea of leaving my quiet, rural life, moving to England, marrying a foreigner and writing a book about it never occurred to me, either. I’m glad and grateful for having done both, however, and although the tour is coming to an end, the adventure continues. May yours continue as well.

Thanks and Good-bye from The 2009 KINDNESS of STRANGERS TOUR
Michael Harling is the author of “Postcards From Across the Pond – dispatches from an accidental expat”

“Laugh out loud funny regardless of which side of the pond you call home. Bill Bryson move over, there’s a new American expat in town with a keen sense of humor.”
-- Jeff Yeager, author of “The Ultimate Cheapskate”

Buy the Book: http://www.lindenwald.com/booksale.htm
Follow the Tour: http://www.lindenwald.com/thetour.htm
Visit the Home Page: http://postcardsfromacrossthepond.blogspot.com/

The X Factor

Another September, another season of the X-Factor. It's the UK version of American Idol (except Simon's a lot nicer). Every year I watch the progression of hopefuls through to the climax, and every year I cry while watching.

My cynical self knows - and is annoyed - that every contestant seems to have a tale of woe. A broken home, a childhood chock full of bullying, a loved one whose dying wish was for so-and-so to audition. And yes, the parade of people braying 'I want this so bad' does get irritating.

But every year there is one story that stands out, one contestant guaranteed to make me bawl (it's the Susan Boyle factor). This year, it's been Scott, a 21-year-old autistic man who didn't leave his house for years. Watch the clip here.

(I wish I had something more interesting than television programmes and adverts to blog about but really, that's about the extent of my extra-curricular activities right now!)

If You Love Where You Live...

Alright, so I'm a sucker for adverts. But this one is a good one!

My Life is Now Complete

I may have been known to utter, once or two, several sort of snide remarks about our new London mayor. Maybe some comments about his hair, or something.

But I retract all of that in glorious technicolour. Because today, Boris Johnson, our esteemed Mayor of London, gave me a blurb endorsing my book (24 Hours: London, in case you didn't know).

I sent his office off a review copy about three months ago now. When I didn't hear back, I just chalked it up to being caught up the the slow-moving cogs of bureaucracy -- or even thrown away in a rubbish bin in City Hall somewhere.

But two weeks ago, I got an email from a very helpful press officer who said he'd just been passed my letter, the Mayor would be happy to comment, and could I please send another review copy? It being Friday night, I danced around a bit, texted my publisher, then had a big glass of wine. Of course I knew this didn't mean we'd: a - get a comment in the next month or two; or b - get a comment we could actually use (I feared it might be too generic to even have any punch).

Two weeks passed. The press officer reassured me he was on the case, but I was starting to fear the worse. Who knew what dangers and delays lurked in City Hall?

Then, half an hour ago, I got the email. With the blurb!


London Mayor Boris Johnson says:

This is a nifty guide for Londoners and tourists alike. There are some brilliant tips whether you have just a day to spare, or much longer to enjoy what the capital has to offer. London has some of the most famous landmarks and attractions on earth, so use this book to discover some of our city's less well-known delights.

My faith has been restored! My life is complete!

OK, that might be a bit of an exaggeration. But I am pretty damned happy right about now. Yes, my cynical self knows that of course the Mayor of London is keen to promote his city, and himself. But hey, if he does so by endorsing my book, hopefully boosting sales (and maybe credibility, depending on political persuasions), who am I to complain?

Into the Jungle

Amazon certainly named their site well. It is like a jungle out there.

I've spent the past few weeks or so making forays into the foliage, trying to understand how the Amazon rankings work. And the answer? There is none. Books rise and fall, seemingly on a whim. The top sellers may stay put, but those mid-list seem to be at the mercy of... aliens? Intelligent ants? Who knows?

I need to put together a plan of attack; something to navigate the jungle.

If anyone's charted the route, please hand me your map!

What? Tuesday?

When you don't need to leave the house to go to your job, the days tend to blur together -- especially when you work on the weekends, too! I can't believe it's already Tuesday. The weekend passed in a blur of Paris research for the next in the '24 Hours' series, X-Factor (yes, I am a sucker for the show) and sun. September is such a great month in London; the sun actually makes a prolonged experience and everything is crisp (except for the air on the Tube).

My days lately have been divided up into three parts - the first part of the morning for my fiction, then Paris research, then book promotion for 24 Hours: London. I think I've got over my initial cringe factor fear. I had to, anyway! And I have to say that people have been very helpful and the response has been positive (thanks Scott, Toni, Mike and Tim!). Although I think I'm a pretty good writer (pride cometh before a fall, I know), it's always hard when you put yourself out there to be judged, even if it is a non-fiction piece. And who knows, maybe next week I'll get a nasty review or something, but for now I'm happy people like the book!

So what's coming up? Well, the book is launched October 30th, so now I'm busy trying to garner reviews and quotes etc. I've posted out some promotional postcards to 50 independent bookshops across London (God love VistaPrint!) and I'm printing up some more. It's full steam ahead! You may even see me outside a Tube or train station doing a spot of book busking (I'm exaggerating but hey, might be a good idea).

And... I guess that's where the week went!

Glued to My Seat (or Not)!

Tonight master magician Derren Brown threatens (or promises, whichever way you look at it) to glue viewers to their seat using subliminal mind control.

Can he really do it? I'm certainly going to tune in to see if I can be mind-controlled! Then again, it doesn't take much to stick me to my seat. Put a glass of wine in my hand and some Friends on the telly, and I'm pretty much done.

Tune in tomorrow to see if he's successful! Ah yes, my life is exciting!

UPDATE: Well, I wasn't glued to my seat. Neither was The Man nor a friend we watched the show with. Some people who watched the show apparently were, though.

Autumn without the Dread

It's definitely autumn now in London. Leaves are turning that boring shade of brown, the skies are grey and the park is emptied of its summer tourists.

Back in Canada, Fall (Autumn, whatever) was not one of my favourite seasons. I loved the vibrant oranges and reds; I loved the smell of dried leaves and that crunch underfoot. But I did not love that a long winter of ice was crouching around the corner and that I wouldn't see leaves again for another six months.

In London, though, I know that long winter isn't waiting. There's no snow, no ice. I can run outside all year round without freezing the hairs in my nose, and the grass here stays green. Spring will start mid-February and by the first of April, the trees will be sprouting. I can enjoy Autumn without having to brace myself for what's coming.

Bring on the brown leaves! Bring on the grey skies! Bring on Fall in London.

When a Little Means a Lot

So many times in the publishing world, it's easy to wonder if your email is working. You send out queries -- nothing. You wait. And wait. Still nothing. You get a book deal, you write the book, then you send it out for review... and still, you wait. Granted, the book's not due out until the end of October, but you hope that someone might respond. This book is the best thing since sliced bread. Or: The writing is reminiscent of a young Hemingway.

And yesterday, someone did respond! The inimitable Scott Pack, no less, former head buyer at Waterstone's and currently a publisher at The Friday Project. Scott writes the blog Me and My Big Mouth, a mixture of book reviews, opinions, and all in all, a very interesting read (wow, lot of commas in that sentence!). If you haven't come across it, I'd highly recommend taking a look.

I'd sent him a PDF of my book, along with some cover art, thinking I probably wouldn't hear back. I was shocked when I saw his email address in my Inbox, along with some nice words about the book's concept and an offer to mention it on his blog -- along with running it in a giveaway contest!

Yippee! I thought as I typed a response. His next email knocked me back though: he didn't think the cover was strong enough to reflect the contents. A few more cover designs later along with some very helpful additional input from Scott, and we've come up with one that looks professional, eye-catching, and that we think will sell.

So... a giant thank-you to all those out there who extend a hand to new writers struggling in the shark-like world of publishing! Seriously, a little can really mean a lot.

The Cringe Factor

Sunday already! Where has the weekend - never mind the week - gone?

I'm 20,000 words into my new novel, and trying to kickstart the promotion machine for 24 Hours: London. It definitely needs to be revved up a gear, but I'm finding it all slightly embarrassing. I'm learning it's hard to promote yourself (or your products). I used to work in PR, so I should find it easy. I had no problem ringing up the media regarding gigabit ethernet or semiconductors (really exciting stuff). So why do I find this difficult?

I need to get over myself and my (relatively false) modesty - because I do think it's a good book and I am proud of it! - and spread the word.

But if anyone out there has tips on how to promote your book without the cringe factor, I'd love to hear them!

New Year Review

September seems much more like a new year than January ever does. So... it's a good time to recap what I've done in the past (almost) two years, since I've left the wonderful corporate world to focus on writing.

Drafts written: 5 (four fiction, one non-fiction)

Books completed: 3 (2 fiction, one non-fiction)

Books published: er... none (yet - but one to be published next month!)

Rejections received: I am certainly NOT going to count them but let's just say there's a sizable pile

Wine consumed: On a good day - one glass; on a bad day - half a bottle. Luckily I don't have many bad days!

Weight Gained: Surprisingly, I've lost weight since I've left the corporate world, although I'm sure I move less (some days I barely leave my desk). It's a mystery but I'm certainly not complaining!

Money earned: What? You can earn money writing?

Job satisfaction: 100%

Two Years Old! Someone Once Told Me

It's been around for two years and rightfully so. Someone Once Told Me is a great idea. I first blogged about it about a year ago, then became a part of it myself!

Check it out for some random daily inspiration.

Happy Labo(u)r Day

It's a shame we don't have Labor Day here in the UK. We do have 'Bank Holiday Monday', always the last weekend in August, but somehow that doesn't have the same ring. Labor Day is the perfect demarcation between summer and fall, vacation and school; the official signal that it's time to get your head down and work.

I was interested to see why the UK doesn't celebrate the holiday so I turned to my old faithful friend, Wikipedia. Surprisingly, Labor Day originated in Canada in 1872. An American later witnessed the annual event and decided to import it to his own country. The first American labor day was held in 1882; looks like the idea never caught on in England.

What can I say... all good ideas originate in Canada!

Is This What My Life Has Come To?

I am inordinately excited that The Cupcake Company is opening on my street! CUPCAKES!

24 Hours: London - The Promotion Begins!

As I may have yammered on about a few thousand times or so, I have a book coming out! 24 Hours: London will be available UK-wide on October 30, 2009, and in Australia and New Zealand just in time for Christmas!

So is this just what the world needs, another guide book on London? Well... yes! This is a different take on London -- an around-the-clock guide to what's on, when. Awake at five? How about some outdoor fishing in the heart of the city. Want to climb a castle? You can do that, too. Or if you can't sleep, head on over to East London for a 24-hour beigel shop.

Intrigued? (Please say yes!) Well, every day until the book launches on October 30, I'll be posting a top tip on a dedicated blog to the wonderful city of London (and of course my book)! Click here to go there! You can follow the tips on Twitter, too. And please head over to the 24 Hour City Guides Fan page on Facebook (because right now I have only one fan - me!).

And don't worry, I'll keep you updated!

The Wonderful World of Rejection. And When, Heaven Forbid, It's a YES!

Sometimes I'm so engrossed in my own rejections - and yes, I've a stack now - that I forget it can be just as hard to break into other industries. Over the past few months, The Man has been submitting his first feature-length film to festivals around the world and receiving his fair share of that dreaded letter himself.

He made me laugh the other week when he told me his new strategy. When he receives an email, he doesn't read it. He just hits 'Control F' - for 'Find' and types in 'regret'. As soon as the computer locates the word 'regret' in the email, he knows he's been rejected. He doesn't even read the whole thing!

I used to pour over every word, trying to decipher a hidden meaning. Until I discovered the hard way - through every writer's friend, Google - that a seemingly personalised rejection letter was, word for word, exactly what loads of other rejected writers had received. Now, I scan such letters, add them to my stack, and move on. It hurts less and less, but as the letters add up, it sometimes makes you wonder if it'll ever happen.

But it can!

Saturday night, pre-X-Factor (yes, big Saturday night, I know). I was in the kitchen, covered with flour, rolling out the dough for our pizza, when I heard a whoop and the thump of footsteps running over to me. The Man grabbed me and danced me around, flour and all -- he had received an ACCEPTANCE to the Sao Paulo International Film Festival, one of the top 50 film festivals in the world, according to Variety Magazine.

He - we - were walking on air for the rest of the weekend. It can happen, after all!

Into the Sea... of People

The way to the Notting Hill Carnival... if you're brave enough.


The sea of people awaiting the parade.

(There would have been more photos but my hands were greasy with jerk chicken! For some more pictures, courtesy of The Guardian, click here.)

Chick Lit Cuts Corners

An interesting story in today's Independent on Sunday on a 'new breed' of chick lit emerging from the ashes of economic meltdown.

Click here for more.

Batten Down the Hatches!

The colourful costumes of the parade last year.

No, it's not a storm but it does pack quite a punch... it's the Notting Hill Carnival!

Held the last weekend in August (traditionally a bank holiday weekend), the Carnival is Europe's largest street party. Anywhere from 300,000 to half a million people flood the area... in which I happen to live! The height of the two-day party is the street parade on Monday, full of eye-popping colour and heady beats you can't help but groove to.

While I'm not right in the heart of Notting Hill, I'm within a 10-minute walk of the festivities... which means I'm on what I've come to call the 'puke and pee' route. As much as I love the food, dance, costumes and music that come with the Carnival, I do not like the drunken noise all night, not to mention the piles of rubbish and vomit outside my front gate.

Strolling to our local video store, we couldn't help but notice the shop-fronts being boarded up with plywood, and the row of portable toilets that line the roads. Police cars cruised by, and the streets seemed devoid of life. It was liking the area was preparing for a hurricane, or something.

And in a way, it is!

Bring it on - minus the puke and pee.

Boarded-up shop-fronts and rubbish-lined streets.

South Bank Serenade

You could argue that the charms of the South Bank are fairly obvious. River, restaurants and culture: who could ask for more? But if you're looking for something away from the tourists and buskers, you can find it there, too -- without much effort.

As I've mentioned several (or a thousand) times, the South Bank has a very special place in my London. It's where I met The Man, where he proposed, and where we got married a few weeks ago. We have some great memories of Tate Modern, concerts at the Royal Festival Hall, and many, many riverside dinners. So where better to go to celebrate The Man's birthday?

Hot on the heels of receiving an invite to screen his film at Leeds International Film Festival in November, it made sense to nip into the British Film Institute for a drink at their relatively new Benugo Bar and Grill. This is a great place to grab a funky-coloured armchair and relax away from the legions by the river -- we didn't even know it was there until passing by the side entrance of the BFI! Surrounded by the buzz of industry people, heady with success, we downed our Passion Pushers (don't ask) and went off to the nearby National Theatre for a brilliant short play by Caryl Churchill (Three More Sleepless Nights).

With two hours to kill before our dinner at Skylon at the Royal Festival Hall, we headed to the Oxo Tower for some drinks and jazz. Although very visible from miles around (literally -- you can see it from Hampstead Heath on a clear day), you have to hunt a bit for the entrance. Once located, we were whisked up to the eighth floor for views that rival the Tate Modern's, not to mention great jazz. Our waiter bestowed nuts, olives and a great Medoc upon us, and time flew as we listened to two guitars while night fell.

Back out into the fray and down to the Royal Festival Hall to Skylon for dinner. Formerly known as The People's Palace, I've wanted to go to the revamped restaurant since the Royal Festival Hall reopened a few years ago. With a great offer from the Evening Standard in hand, we trotted over to the grill section and proceeded to devour some chicken liver parfait, duck legs and risotto.

Then back home for a decadent raspberry and lemon cream cake... with candles, of course!

O South Bank, how I love thee!

Fancy Some Tea... in a Stranger's Living Room?

Londoners drown in the choice of places to take tea. From over-the-top The Ritz to The Berkeley's Pret-a-Portea, where biscuits are shaped in the latest designer bikinis and handbags, there is a mind-boggling array of venues.

But this week's TimeOut profiled a new idea on the tea scene: taking tea in a stranger's living room. Although the idea of 'underground' eating isn't new to London, it's nice to see the concept extended to the age-old tradition of afternoon tea.

Check out what TimeOut has to say here. Or for more information, go to http://www.hiddentearoom.com/.

Shell Suits? Really?

I have great respect for the UK press -- in particular, The Guardian and The Independent. I like their spirited op-ed columns, and their (mostly) thorough reporting on the world in general. But this must truly be what they call the silly season, for today The Guardian has sunk to a new low: commenting on Castro and al-Megrahi's shellsuits, with the riveting headline of 'Shellsuits Are Back!' Tongue in cheek? Yes, but still...

More hardly need be said, so I leave you with the following:

Eagle-eyed observers of the world stage have noted that the shellsuit seems to be making a return among men of a certain age. Namely, Lockerbie bomber Abdelbaset al-Megrahi on his flight back to Libya, and Fidel Castro in his first public appearance in 14 months.

You can see the attraction. Tracksuits are comfy. They have no annoying buttons, or tie-matching issues. You can make a nod to smartness by making sure top and bottom match.

Click here for more.

New Beginnings

Back at the desk today, I finished sketching out an outline for a new novel. Yes, it's number 5, and no, none of the previous 4 have been published (not counting my non-fiction). To some, this might be depressing. But strangely, it doesn't really bother me -- much.

Of course I don't want my fiction to waste away in the dust-laden corners of my desk. But I'm not giving up on them entirely. The last two still need some thorough editing; in fact, I just received a very detailed (and very helpful!) report from the Romantic Novellist's Association with some great advice for my latest effort. And sometimes I think novels just need to sit for awhile, so sit they shall.

It's always fun to let a new idea bounce around your brain, to see if it has legs. It's disappointing when it doesn't, but when it does... I love the buzz that happens as you sketch out the turning points, the conflicts; the tension when you finally sit down to begin chapter one.

New beginnings. They're the best!

First Church, then The Perch

Since Oxford-based pub The Perch was the only tavern open on a Sunday, this expression became common-place for the the inhabitants of the small village of Binsey, then on the outskirts of Oxford. We didn't go to church (well, it was a Saturday night, after all), but we did head to The Perch for a drink and dinner last night. Leaving the main road just outside of the centre of Oxford, a few minutes later it felt like we were in the wilderness even though we were smack in the middle of the city sprawl.

One of The Man's former work colleagues was celebrating her birthday (I won't say which one) and we decided to head up to Oxford for the night to join in the fun. With the speed of a race-car driver (and yes, this is how The Man drives), Oxford was only a mere 45 minutes from London. The night was clear and warm, but owing to the vicissitudes of the British summer the pub had set up a covered tent in the back garden. Filling our bellies with steak and wine, swaying to the tunes of a jazz trio, the night around us took on a magical quality and time flew by.



Photo courtesy of Flickr.


As with most British pubs, closing time came way too early. We took a final stroll around the grounds and down to the river, then back to the car. Five minutes later we were back in the twenty-first century and blitzing back to London, the age-old world of The Perch fading into memory.

I'd Like to Thank...

Yes, I know, enough with the wedding already! Well, I'm almost done and then I'll be back to my regular boring drivel. Just one more item of business on the agenda: thanks to all the lovely people who helped make it such a great day.

John and Jessie Flowers, Kensington Church Street, who arranged and delivered our two big vases of calla lillies for the gallery and made me such a lovely bouquet that I refused to throw it!

Jo from Blush, who made me, Mum and my maid of honour look pretty! We got loads of compliments all day.

Marika Rauscher, our lovely soprano, who sang Casta Diva as I walked down the aisle.

Smoke, the wonderful duo of Nicky and Steve, who played cool jazz tunes as we drifted down the Thames.

Rob from Dali, who helped us organise the ceremony and stuck around to make sure everyone had champagne!

And finally, Monika and Marek from Gold Lens Photography who were absolutely brilliant, took amazing photos, and pitched in to tie bows and open champagne for us!

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

The Island of Lopud

Before I get clogged in the routine of life on this island, I have to tell you about another island where life couldn't be more different from the UK if it tried: the island of Lopud, in Croatia. Although it's not exactly undiscovered --tourists from Germany, Scandanavia (oddly), Britain and France clutter its shores -- it is far away from the ugly concrete resorts that usually line such wonderful coastlines.

After scoffing down our first breakfast as husband and wife, The Man and I caught the Gatwick Express to Gatwick, hopped on EasyJet (remarkably on time and hassle free) and arrived in Dubronik a short two hours later. As we drove along the coast to our water taxi, we couldn't believe our eyes: the water and mountains gleamed in the setting sun, lights dotted the undulating shore, trees speared up into the glowing orange sky. Darkness fell and our driver wended his way down the hills to a small beach lit up by one light. Waiting for us was our speed boat and driver, Tomo. We jetted off towards what looked like a dark lump crouching in the water... with me wondering where on earth we were going and hoping some life (and wine) existed there!

We rounded a rock and the small settlement curving along the coast met our eyes. A monastery stood guard on one side, and houses rose up the side of the hill as if they had been planted there. Nothing moved on the main promenade; there were no cars and the only sound we could here was the low hum of the engine. Pure bliss.

Our penison, booked with little knowledge of what it actually looked like and with a lot of fervent prayers it would turn out to be alright, was a short walk from the boat, up a narrow stone staircase. As we made our way between the orange, banana and fig trees, the cloying smell of leaves, damp earth and something like lavender filled our nostrils. It was more than alright. It was paradise.

And the rest of the island did not disappoint. Stellar sandy beaches, clear blue water, great restaurants and friendly residents who refused to take payment from us for drinks, etc, when they found out it was our last day on the island.



Who could ask for more?

Getting there: EasyJet flies from Gatwick to Dubrovnik in about 2.5 hours. From the port in Dubrobik, Lopud is served by a ferry four times daily.

Sleeping: We stayed in Pension Tomic; great accommodation at a fraction of some of the other hotel prices on the island. They even gave us a free jug of wine on arrival! Transfer and booking arranged through i-reception.

Eating: Obala, Terasse Peggy and Konoba Dubrovnik were some of our favourites, along with our daily breakfast from Hotel Glavic.

I'm Back!

Did you notice I was missing? My ego would like to think so!


Almost a month away from my desk -- hard to believe! I've got married, gone honeymooning... and come home to start a new chapter, this time in life! I'm busy getting the flat back in order (laundry, cleaning and all that fun stuff) and will make a strict return to life tomorrow. Or so I tell myself.


See you then! In the meantime, here's a wedding photo... it was actually sunny, if you can believe it!

I'm Alive!

Poor blog, it's been sadly neglected these past few weeks. It's been an exciting and busy time for me, getting the almost-final copy of 24 Hours: London ready... and the small task of organizing a wedding!

In book news, we've decided to push the launch ahead to October to allow us more time to send out review copies, and to have an extra window to make sure everything is letter perfect (hopefully - I hate seeing grammatical errors in books!).

In wedding news, everything is almost set! The big day is 8th August, and The Man and I can't wait. It's a small group - about 12 people. I'm really looking forward to seeing friends and family, and really touched that people are crossing oceans to come! In fact, my maid of honour is arriving on Saturday and we'll lounge and drink it up!

The Man and I decided to get married on the South Bank. It seemed fitting, as that's where we first met and where he proposed. Given that we both love art, Dali Universe fit the bill. We'll tie the knot surrounded by beautiful artwork by Azam, with poetry by Harold Pinter and Carol Ann Duffy, then head over to Waterloo Pier right by the London Eye to a waiting boat, for our reception. We've chosen a great jazz duo called Smoke to pay some funk and jazz as we drift down the Thames (in hopefully good weather!).

Then off to Lopud on Croatia for a week, before returning to reality.

Swine Flu Nation

Want swine flu? Come to England, where the number of cases is said to be ballooning. Yes, that wonderful piggy virus is spreading at lightening speed -- apparently, pigs can fly. One of the reasons the UK seems to be a virus hot-spot is the wonderful Heathrow Airport, the busiest airport in the world and a giant mixing pot for the world's infected.

I've never been that keen on germs and the like (who is?), but now I find myself suspecting every cough and snort beside me on the Tube as a carrier of swine flu. People of Britain, please - cover your mouth when you cough! As much as I like pigs, I have no desire to have their virus inside of me.

Swap It!

There's more to Windsor than the Queen. The legendary Scott Pack is starting a new monthly literary event: The Book Swap. Here's his description:

Our first night is on Thursday August 20th at 8pm. Tickets are £5 and are on sale now! The Book Swap will be a regular monthly literary event taking place at The Firestation, a lovely arts venue in Windsor. Hosted by myself and novelist Marie Phillips, it will essentially involve us sitting down on a sofa with a bunch of guests from the world of books and chatting about, well pretty much anything. The emphasis is very much on getting to know the authors so rather than having them read from their books we will engage them in banter about all manner of other things - music, cake, gossip - and hopefully it will end up a rather endearing, if chaotic, night for all concerned.

Oh, and then we have the book swap bit. Everyone who comes along is required to bring a book with them, one they don't want any more. During the evening they will get to swap it for another book, ideally one they do want.

For more on location and directions, click here to go to Scott's original post. What a brilliant idea, and if I can entice myself out into the wilds beyond London, I'll be there.

Summer Days

I'm feeling lazy (yes, again -- well, it is summer after all!), so instead of exercising my brain I will leave you with these recent photos.


The new pavillion at the Serpentine Gallery, Kensington Gardens.


Rogue piano plunked down at Portobello Market for all to play.



Veggies at Portobello Market.



Late-night dancing at the National Theatre, South Bank.

The Art of Conversation

There's a great discussion over at Pond Parleys this week: Who's friendlier, Americans or Brits?

After interrogating many Brits at countless parties in an bid to get them to talk -- and then wondering why on earth they don't ask any questions back -- I'd have to say that overall, North Americans (I'm going to include Canada in this) are friendlier. Or at least chattier! I find it hard to let the 'awkward silence' lapse for too long and I always feel compelled to fill it in with a useless (and likely annoying) observation about the weather or such.

It is a mystery to me why people as erudite and articulate on everything from politics to philosophy seemingly have difficulties sharing anything personal other then 'I'm very well, thank you.'

Insert awkward pause here.

And that's all I have to say on that subject! And yes, I'm aware this whole post is a massive generalisation.

Four Years On

Four years ago, 52 people were killed on Tubes and buses as they made their way into work. To remember the victims of the July 7 bombings, a memorial will be unveiled today in Hyde Park -- 52 pillars commemorating each Londoner killed.

I remember the shock I felt when I first heard about the bombings four years ago. I was teaching in a secondary school in Staines, just outside of Heathrow. I had a car at the time, so the Tube for me was just an unpleasant memory. I'd just finished teaching the first two lessons of the day and was in the computer room with some other teachers when we read online about the bombings.

It was hard to believe. But the horrific photos of twisted metal, and the shock and panic on the faces of commuter in business suits -- those more apt to be single-mindedly pushing you out of the way -- drove it home.

Back in class, students worried about parents in the city and what it all meant for their own safety as residents of one of the world's biggest cities. Unfortunately, there were no answers I could give them.

Driving back into central London that afternoon was surreal. The roads were empty; Tubes and buses had ground to a complete halt. Shops had closed and the streets were deserted. It was like the city was under siege.

But over the next few days, Londoners reclaimed their city with a vengeance. Tubes ran again and although fear and tension was palpable, there was also a sense of determination. London is a city with people from everywhere -- people who escaped fear and persecution in their homelands -- and we would not let such events destroy our home.

My thoughts are with the families of the victims of 7/7 and all Londoners who helped in the aftermath.

City Stories

I've just run across this great website, Hitotoki. It give snapshots of city life -- in words. Here's an example by Dylan Carline from the London section:

We were to meet outside the tube station in Brixton. She was an old friend I hadn’t seen for years. The premise: a date. Riding up the escalator into the night, my first time here, I noticed acute drops in temperature with each weary clunk, and a regular metallic grinding that quite clearly meant ‘please use the stairs’.

It was colder than I expected. A still night, but dry compared to what I had become used to. Trails of breath lingered, their form and meaning suspended in transient beauty, inexorably decaying from this fragile state. Once gone, they were replaced, in seamless exchange, by the heavily breathing procession of people around me. I wondered if I was the only person here without an imminent need to be in another place, and therefore the only one capable of appreciating this scene. I briefly entertained the notion that it was entirely for me. Abruptly, someone buffeted me from behind. Evidently I was in the way. Rousing myself with a deep, icy breath, I realised that I had begun to tingle slightly.

The dense ball of excitement in my stomach wouldn’t attribute itself specifically to either the forthcoming event or the fact that I was back in London. It probably comprised an amount of both. Where I live (the Lake District, in case you’re interested), you don’t see that many people, especially at night, and the ones you do see are generally all made in the same factory. I spent ten minutes waiting at the top of the escalator, but could have happily been there for an hour.

To read more, click here.

Birth of a Book

Sorry for my absence for a few days, but the reality is that when it's sunny in England, you just gotta get out there and enjoy it. So, that's what I've been doing (when it's not too hot, anyway!). The weather here has been gorgeous, and after two rubbish summers I'm ready for it! But it's significantly cooler today, so I can finally line up my thought again.

A few days ago, I had a very exciting moment: I saw all my work come together in the shape of a book! OK, it's just a proof copy for reviewers -- and the cover needs a bit more work -- but it was still pretty exciting to see the stack of papers I'd been endlessly editing take a recognisable form. The glossy black-covered book felt so foreign that when I held it in my hands, I had to remind myself that I had written it. It'll be even stranger, I'm sure, once I see 24 Hours: London in a bookstore. I can't wait until that moment!

This is a baby step, but for me it felt like a giant leap forward on the road to publishing.

Happy Canada Day!

Yes, it's July 1, the one day Canadians feel it's actually OK to show we're proud to be Canadian. So what is Canadian?

I have pondered this question several times during my five years living in the UK, and my two years in Poland. What is it that makes us so different from our unforgettable neighbours to the south? And are we really that different?

I'm often mistaken for an American, due to my accent. I'm always quick to point out that I am, in fact, from a completely different country. But when people ask me what's the difference, I'm at pains to answer succinctly. Is it that we like hockey? No, Americans have that passion (obsession, some might say) as well. Tim Horton's? Nope, it's spread across the States. Crazy cold winters and lots of snow? Again, it's like that in the US, too. Perhaps it's the way we say 'about' (I've never understood that one, but apparently it's different!).

I'm not sure Canadian is something that can be defined. Perhaps it's in the way we react to events that find their way through to our little peaceful piece of the world. Like the 9-11 tragedy, when the people of Gander, Newfoundland -- a town of only 9,900 people -- took in 39 trans-Atlantic flights forced to land there, with over 6,600 passengers and crew, opening up their own homes and even organizing sight-seeing outings for those stranded.

Or, indeed, in the referendum of 1995, when the Quebecois voted on the possibility of Quebec independence. Over 100,000 Canadians from across the country travelled to Montreal to show their desire for Quebec to stay Canadian. And it did, with a narrow majority voting to remain in the country.

I don't know what it is but I do know this: I'm proud to be Canadian!