Jaroslav Seifert rides the Tube ...

And Now Goodbye

Poetry is with us from the start.
Like loving.
Like hunger, like the plague, like war.
At times my verses were embarassingly foolish.
But I make no excuse.
I believe that seeking beautiful words
is better
than killing and murdering.

(Jaroslav Seifert is a rather famous Czech poet. I found this on the Tube ... and suddenly commuting didn't seem so bad, and neither did poetry, which I normally hate.)

Apparently I don't blog about sex enough?!

-- Those of you with a short attention span can skip this part. --
A few days ago, I posted a little rant on my Facebook, complaining about the lack of readers on my blog. OK, so some people visit. The visitor-counter widget I installed recently says 559. But no one comments. And it makes me feel lonely. I wonder if someone is out there, reading my blurb? I wonder if anyone is enjoying it. I wonder if anyone is reading it on a regular basis, or if those 559 people just stumbled upon my site randomly, took a look around, made their excuses and left.

I thought it's because I don't promote the blog enough, through all sorts of fancy Search Engine Optimization tricks, cries for attention on social networking sites, leaving comments on other people's blogs and writing the address of my blog on the walls of toilet cubicles around London in permanent marker. I don't do it because I'm shy. I don't like to seem desperate. For example, I would never audition on TV for any kind of talent show. I also never-ever call guys I fancy, instead I wait for them to call me, even if I know they don't have my number, reasoning that either it's destiny and he will learn how to communicate via telepathy, or else it just wasn't meant to be. I happily throw flirty looks across the table under candle light. But full-blown striptease under the spotlight coupled with a laser show and fireworks? Nothanks. Advertising just isn't my line of business.

Luckily, my dear friend R. decided to enlighten me. Apparently, the only reason why no one reads my blog is because I don't write about sex enough. Sex sells, Lucie, it's not rocket science?! So today, children, we are going to talk about it. The bees and flowers and the things that good Catholic girls never talk about, let alone do. I will do it in the form of a book review, because good Catholic girls are allowed to read books, and it will be London-related too, so that it deserves a place on this blog.

Without further ado then, let me introduce ... The Intimate Adventures Of A London Call Girl

-- You people with no patience can start reading here. You missed out, btw. --

A book in which Belle de Jour, a high-class escort, introduces the ins and outs (hello! shameless innuendo!) of sex-for-money in London. It's not new, and there is even a sequel called The Further Adventures of a London Call Girl, but it's such a highly educational read that I think it needs to be promoted. Reading this book was the first time I heard about anal fisting, for example. (Yes, I am that backward. Hello innuendo again!) I mean, what the hell? Anus + Fists? Do people really do that?! And more importantly ... how? Either someone has really small fists, or someone else has a really big anus. Confusing world, isn't it? All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten? I don't think so, Mr. Fulghum.

Aside from all the X-rated things, Belle captures precisely what it's like to move down to London as a graduate, look for jobs, pay rent, and how lonely it all feels.

Here is one of my favourite bits from the sequel:

[Talking about women who despise one-night stands because they think sex should only be done with The One.] "I'd love to dine at Michelin three-star restaurants every night, sure, but in the meantime I still have to eat ... And London is a lonely place. Sometimes human contact for its own sake is nice. One day during my first six months in London, I decided to not talk to anyone for twenty-four hours, to see if it could be done. It could. And it was depressingly easy, as well."

Read it!

London is the Capital of Twitter

Yesterday's papers were full of Twitter. There was that insignificant piece of news when the site was brought down by a denial-of-service attack. But more importantly, London was proclaimed the capital of Twitter. Yes, London, it is official. We have the most people twittering, out of any city in the world. More than San Francisco, which seems impossible to believe. People down in our Sillicon Valley office seem to tweet all the time. "I'm going to a meeting." "Back from a meeting." "Going to make a cuppa tea." ... you get the idea.

Everybody who is somebody in the blogging world has Twitter. Alright, The Compulsive Confessor has Twitter. And she's my hero. She rocks my world. Hear that, Meenakshi? You rock.

Even Chuck Noris has Twitter. What better way to communicate gems such as these?

• Chuck Norris does not wear a watch, he decides what the time is.
• Chuck Norris has never blinked in his life. Never.
• When Chuck Norris cuts onions, the onions cry.
• Chuck Norris sleeps with a pillow under his gun.

John Soden III, a managing director at Thomas Weisel Partners, got his own fake Twitter account after sending one of those asshole-emails to his employees, asking them to get back to the office at Easter. The minute I saw it was the minute I started to understand the point of Twitter. Here's a selection of my favourites:

• Why do people have Easter off work. It's so pathetic.
• #bankers are underrated. We work harder than most people.
• Still making minimum wage. Need more stimulus.
• Just made plans for sushi tonight. Man, I love Chinese food!
• I love my life.
• Just made it into the office - only one person worked all night. Pathetic.
• @h2osmiles marketing manager? 26? urban chic? i only cultivate CEO-level relationships. i'm not on twitter to meet peasants
• Retired to the toilet for a quick cat nap. My Outlook calendar says I am in an important meeting. Nobody has a clue. Suckers. Next tweet in 30 minutes.
• Some of my foreign staff sometimes revert to their native tongue. How rude. People are selfish.
• Before I go, I will suggest following @britneyspears I think she has really moved on as an artist and a role model.

That would be revenge in the age of Web 2.0 ... Unfortunately, Twitter closed his account down eventually.

David Cameron doesn't have Twitter. But he is on YouTube.

Now for the big question - Should Lucie's London get Twitter? Y/N. Vote in the comments section.

London Street Food: Does TimeOut read my blog?

The latest Time Out newsletter arrived in my mailbox today. Surprise, surprise, the Features section featuring a feature on street food. Are they stealing my ideas? I wrote about that in bloody April, hello! Or do they love me so much that they write special articles to answer all my woes and questions?

So here are the places they suggest:

• Broadway Market
• Portobello and Golborne Roads
• Greenwich Market
• Exmouth Market
• Whitecross Street
• Brick Lane

Shame I am stuck in the office with a deadline and a horrible, horrible chicken tikka wrap for dinner that I bought in the newsagent's downstairs, because it's the only place that's open at this hour around here. If we were in Asia, there would be a cart outside on the street, open 24/7, and the smiling vendor would cook up chicken fried rice for me. But we are in London and according to Time Out, you have to spend an hour or so on the Tube to get to your street food. Get my point? Boooooo.

My posts are so negative lately that I wonder more and more if it's time to pack up and move. Surely not?!?!?!

Infidelity in Kent

No relationship is perfect. Because we don't live in Mills-upon-Boon, we live in London. There are cracks and errors, misunderstandings and arguments and silent treatment, and sometimes you just need to get away from each other for a while. A change of scenery, some time apart, a little breathing space. An open relationship, even?

One such day, London and I decided to take a break. OK, mostly I decided. Spontaneous and too lazy to plan, I reached for The TimeOut Book of Country Walks: 52 Walks Within Easy Reach of London (which I recommend!) and opened it on a random page.

The random page said - walk from Yalding to Borough Green. Off to Kent it was, then. Me and my hiking boots, my hiking camera, my hiking jeans, my hiking handbag and my hiking mood, for roughly 15 kilometres, enjoying the peacefulness of English countryside, just over an hour on the train from London Victoria. Utter bliss.

The instructions in the book are relatively easy to follow, although I did get lost a few times, when my mind wandered off somewhere with the butterflies and the fairies and who-cares-about-directions.

P.S. London and I are back together. We are planning many more adventures. Have a nice day.

A Soliloquy on Street Life

To live on the street. Does that phrase have negative connotations for you? Like, say, "I don't want to end up living on the street." Positive or negative, ha? Fine. Go ahead, nod at me with understanding in your eyes. Show me your sympathy. You and I, we both go to the office every day, to a job we possibly hate, because no one wants to end up on the street, right?

But ... I love cities where people really live on the street.

Like playing football.

And eating ...

... and playing guitars ...

... and playing chess in the morning ...

"And why is London not like that," she sighed. Most days, most office people, like me, only seem to go outside when they need to go from point A to point B.

Apartment to Tube. Tube to Office. Office to Sandwich shop. Sandwich shop to Office. Office to Pub. Pub to Tube. Tube to Apartment. Apartment to supermarket. Supermarket to apartment. Apartment to gym. Gym to apartment. A, B ... and everything in between.

I know the weather is bad. So what. Let's put our coats on. Let's go. I'm sick of living indoors.

(The pictures in this post were taken during my recent trip to Jakarta.)