So yeah, we cleaned our place on the weekend, and finally moved everything downstairs to Andy’s on the Monday night. (We’ve had the report back from the independent inspector now, and he comments: “Professionally cleaned” — yah!) I headed over to Willesden Green with Dayna on Saturday and got to check out her flat — small, but well apportioned and very cute. A loft bed over the front door makes it feel like you’re on Firefly’s Serenity space-ship. On Sunday we caught up with Anthony and got to meet Noreen (she’s lovely), sharing a couple of drinks at The Woolpack on Bermondsey before traipsing all of 2 minutes to Del A’ziz in Bermondsey Square for some late dinner. (Anthony got us gifts! Inspiration for work and home, very nice.)

The last week at work has flown by too! We’ve had dinners (with Andy on Monday, Dayna and Bruce on Tuesday) and organisation-stations getting our packs down to size — if you’d looked up at Andy’s balcony on Wednesday night you would’ve seen piles and piles of clothes dumped from our packs, with the two of us poring through them and trying to decide what we really really need.

On Thursday we were moving from Andy’s floor to Dayna’s futon, and so carted our newly pared-down packs with us to work. That was fun — it sort of made it more real for me. (Had lunch with Hin and Neil and talked shop; I think I might miss that, so better dust off my geeky blog and do some research & reading while we’re in transit.) That night we had our “friends” (vs work) leaving drinks at the Glasshouse Stores in Soho: it was great to see everyone, and more than a little sad when we had to stumble towards the tube. We’ll miss you! We’ll see you again soon!

Yesterday was our last day at work, and in true “work” fashion I still had stuff to finish off!! (Didn’t quite get our code building and running unit-tests with Ivy and Ant, but it’s almost there and I feel I can leave it in Hin and Adam’s capable hands. (Outsource it, I say!) At 5 there was the typical “gathering crowd”, a little speech from Kirk and an extremely clumsy one from yours truly — I’m never entirely comfortable as the centre of attention — before we (finally!) headed to The Phoenix for a drink or twelve. I got gifts! Awesome, awesome, awesome — thanks Paul and Anna for your exquisite good taste! Inspired by Hin, I’m going to get it engraved with ${CompanyName} 2010 and a concise piece of advice for the future: “DON’T DIE”.

I’m not a particularly emotional creature, normally, but to see so many friendly faces: I think I’ve made more friends here in ol’ London than I ever expected to. Yeah, I’m going to miss it a little after all…

Oh, and one more week at work.

Today we headed to Holborn for high-tea. Well, something like that: it was actually high tease at a burlesque club called “Volupte”. An indiscriminate building tucked behind the Holborn Viaduct, Volupte’s tame exterior (and a set of thick velvet curtains) hides a fun and funky underground lounge, ill-lit with spotlights of purple, pink and blue-green. As your eyes adjust from the afternoon’s glare to the dim interior light, you see a number of closely packed tables set for two, candlelight twinkling merrily off glass and silverware on each. A few nervous couples are already seated, enjoying the complimentary champagne and wondering what an afternoon of “burlesque” might hold. A small clearing around a microphone designates the stage; at the back, larger tables for birthdays and hen’s nights are already crowded with giggling young women in 1940′s attire.

Billed as “Afternoon Tease”, our show at Volupte included sandwiches (no crusts, thank-you), scones with jam and cream, petit fours and (of course) tea. Such a strange and delightful environment! To be sitting in a Parisian-styled caveau enjoying that most British of past-times, afternoon tea!

And the shows! We started with “Rajesh the Bollywood Lounge Singer”, an Indian man with a remarkable moustache. He sang, he danced (and danced!!), he told risque jokes — all very har-de-har-har, and very much fun — Dee inadvertently laughed out loud at one joke, thanks largely to her familiarity with Indian mannerisms and culture (from work), and he gave her a nod of appreciation, “Thank-you, yes.”

Over the next few hours we saw a “Gateaux Vivant”, the elephant man (er, woman) and a young lady in horn-rimmed spectacles who just really wanted to sell more ice-creams. Only a little bit naughty — it probably caused shock and outrage amongst the more respectable folk back in the forties, but these days you see more skin on an episode of Home And Away — but with a strong sense of humour and showmanship (showwomanship?), and very much fun.

We walked home, hoping to work off some of the delicious scones…

Last week I went to my first football game — Fulham vs Stoke City at the Fulham home ground, Craven Cottage. Andy organised it once he heard I’d not been any time in the five years we’ve been over here; I didn’t even get to a Rugby match at Murrayfield when we lived in Edinburgh! And so, after an early finish at work and a quick walk home, we boarded the train at London Bridge — 30 minutes later we were walking with the hordes through a lovely park, headed for the stadium.

The number of people! Even a relatively small ground like Craven Cottage had crowds upon crowds of supporters (and I assume tourists like myself), all happily ignoring the “Cockney geezers” selling scarves and shirts outside the ground and dutifully lining up to pass one-by-one through the narrow steel turnstiles set in high, solid walls. Once inside we grabbed a hot-dog before the game — when in Rome, after all — and then found our seats for kick-off.

It was fun! The night before we’d sat up with Andy and Jon and watched Rangers vs. Celtic, two Scottish teams. It’s fair to say the Fulham game involved less swearing, but at half-time the scoreboard showed nil-nil and the people were restless. No wonder there used to be riots! It is a frustrating game: back and forth with no score to show for all the effort! In the second half Stoke scored, and this drove the “visitors stand” wild — stomping their feet and shouting, then marching up and down the stands and taking off their shirts and taunting the Fulham supporters. I laughed and laughed and laughed.
Fulham never caught up, tho’ I understand it doesn’t matter (for some arcane and secret reason), so when the whistle blew Andy and I filed out and jumped on a (fairly packed) train before it got toooooo busy. A fun night, but I wasn’t in bed before midnight.

Then we heard that Dayna had found a new flat! So of course we were happy to hear that, and even offered to help move (she doesn’t need our help — she’s hired a van for tonight and will move stuff with Bruce). It’s a cute little place, which makes me think of a (space)ship … but maybe I’ve watched too much scifi recently? Friday night I went out with work people, as there’s at least a chance that I’ll be working with them again at the end of the year.

On Saturday we decided to have a sjaund for Dad, which is a Viking tradition of a feast and ritual drinking. Dayna bought some Tullamore Dew, we got fish and chips and we toasted to him while looking through photos, remembering and talking about our shared childhood. Not gone, just in the next room…

As if we weren’t pickled enough, on Sunday afternoon Dayna, Bruce, Dee and I went for a walk and stopped at the Woolshed on Bermondsey Street for a quiet drink — celebrating Dayna’s luck in flat-hunting and the fact that Dee and I had booked accommodation for all our stops up to Beijing. Unfortunately Dayna noticed there were flavoured vodkas (which Bruce mixed in his Guinness!!), then we also saw they had absinthe…

I’d never tasted absinthe before, but when the bartender (a frenchman) saw we had some he demonstrated how to drink it — melting sugar into the glass, then mixing it with water. On it’s own, waaaaay to strong; with water and sugar, quite delicious! An early night, then, and now we need a week off such shenanigans…

Our good friend Anthony is visiting, and I caught up with him on Monday night down by the river. We sat outside and just chatted for a couple of hours — good, geeky stuff like the future of software development, or human-capability assessment and enhancement. So great catching up with him!

On Wednesday we kicked off the film festival with a preview screening of Vincenzi Natali’s “Splice”. It’s a great movie, and the highlight of the festival for me: exactly the right balance of “disturbing” and “plausible”, and with a personality that is missing from most “creature” films. Oh, and the most comfortable seats I’ve ever experienced in a cinema (at Apollo, Piccadilly). Anthony even won a DVD!

Thursday I took Dee to another Natali film, a black-comedy called “Nothing”. It opens with the statement, “The events portrayed in this film are true. Really true. 100% true. Promise.” and quickly turns hilariously ridiculous. A good night, although I wish Dee had come along to Splice as well.

The next night was the comedy event “Geeks Night Out”. Some funny comedians, although one or two of them played up the self-defensive “I live in my Mum’s basement,” angle and I wanted to shake them: you don’t need to put yourself down for liking comics! Not here! Not now! You are amongst friends!

Saturday was a day off sci-fi, although I could happily have watched more. I dropped Ant off at the station then walked the long way home, har-har. Even stopped for Pimms on the south bank! A beautiful, sunny day.

Today we watched the strangest of all the films, an adaption of Stanislaw Lem’s “One Human Minute” called “One”. Mind-bendingly lovely. We walked home from that one, too, and stopped at the appropriately named Mad Hatter pub for a drink before heading out to Del A’ziz for dinner with Dayna and Bruce (now they’re back — with all the films I’ve hardly seen them!!).

One more film tomorrow: Vampires, a documentary about a family of our favourite blood-suckers living in Belgium.

(Edit: back-posting again. Perhaps when we’re travelling I’ll have more time to write these damn things?)

It all started because a guy that Dee works with is stranded in London thanks to volcanic ash — Ivan, from the Ukraine, who is here with his girlfriend Natalie. We met them after work at a nearby place called “The Ship”, thinking we could get at least one more stamp on our Ale Trail map thing. Ivan and Natalie are lovely, friendly and funny (although I feel sorry for them trying to understand our Aussie accents).

After one relaxing ale at “The Ship”, we headed to “The Walrus And Carpenter” near the Monument (and my old office). One more ale to try, one more stamp and we had our t-shirts!! Sure, size XL (all they claimed they had left), fairly thin and crappy but that’s not the point! Unfortunately “The Walrus” was a bit more “tourist” so after our final drinks we left — I wanted to show our Ukrainian friends the boat…

…which was gone! Some time in the past months it had unmoored and sailed off into the distance — I want to believe it is now off the coast of France, serving ice-cold beer to locals and francophiles alike. We wandered around, ate some dinner near Tower Hill, and said goodbye to Ivan and Natalie. Happy travels, guys!

Of course, somewhere in the whole evening (a school night, no less!) I’d signed us up for our second mission: 7 cocktails at a Gothic club near Marble Arch would get us more tourist swag … how could I say no?

We started our Saturday sharing a nice lunch at Northbank on the Thames with Chris and Tina. I had a so-called “fish pie”, which turned out to be a whole bunch of seafood in a delicious, thick broth served in a little clay pot. Great food, great company, a bright sunny day — time to break out the champagne! A couple of glasses and we’d convinced Chris and Tina to come along to the Gothic club (it was only 3 in the afternoon, mind you). I figured we could have two cocktails each and share whatever goodies we “won”.

I’d half-assed organised a few others for the Gothic place, too, including Troy and his friends (it was Troy’s idea in the first place, as I recall) so you can imagine my disappointment when we arrived to find that the Marlborough Arms was now a G.E.P. — Generic English Pub. So boring! So tame! So lame! With a fading champagne-buzz I ordered Jagerbombs for Chris and I, at which the bartender giggled, “Bit early for that innit??” No, madam, it’s not too early if you plan to be in bed by 9 o’clock at night. We’re old, we are.

Luckily they served Innis & Gunn, brewed in Edinburgh and a particular favourite of mine when we lived up that way. We chatted, argued, laughed and blamed Troy for the lameness of the venue as more and more people turned up. Research is key, I think.

As the afternoon became evening, our crowd dissipated and disappeared back towards their own homes. Dee and I said our fond farewells and I headed with the few “hardcore party people” (ha!) towards a birthday party at The Porterhouse. Jon was turning, er, thirty maybe? Ken and I had a (big blue) cocktail each — the Goth-turned-GEP bar didn’t even have a menu — before switching to a NZ beer called Speights. Many hours flew by and I meet a whole bunch of new people, none of whom I can now remember.

It was a long walk back from Covent Garden. I didn’t make it to bed by 9pm after all.

(Edit: I’ve “back-posted” this, as I haven’t actually written anything for over a month. But hey, only 15 working days left until we’re on the long way home!)

We’re getting into the “spirit of travel” now, I reckon – most of the house packing is done, so I can book the shipping company with some confidence that we’ll be ready for them and start concentrating on our backpacks and gear. In the meantime we’re trying to spend quality time in London so our memories aren’t all work, work, work.

Which is why we caught the bus to Drury Lane yesterday and walked to the Royal College of Surgeons for the Hunterian Museum: a gory selection of skeletons and partially dissected animals (and people!) that was collected by John Hunter throughout the later half of the 18th century. Hunter bought two buildings in Leceister Square in 1783, and had a teaching museum built for his collection between them. It was eventually bought by the government in 1799, and moved into the College.

You walk up a flight of stairs to gain entry to the (free) museum, with a sombre gallery of Surgeons in traditional regalia looking down upon you with a critical eye — no doubt wondering what secrets your body would give up once under their scalpel’s blade. But once you’re inside: shelves, two-storeys high, with row after row of clear preserving jars containing everything you can imagine and a good deal more. We saw: an entire human nervous-system laid out on a plank of wood; the 8-foot tall skeleton of an “Irish giant”; bodies of rats and cats and dogs and sheep, spread open to show digestive systems, hearts, brains; even the quartered face of a child who died with a tumourous nose.

And of course, the reason I wanted to visit: the brain of the genius “father of computers”, Charles Babbage. His 1849 design for a Difference Engine described a mechanism of gears and levers which could calculate polynomial functions, which in turn could be used to approximate logarithms and trigonometric functions. Babbage never finished building his Engine, as the government pulled funding when they realised just how much it would cost! 140 years later, the London Science Museum built a working engine from the original plans;  we saw it on a visit to the museum in 2007.

Suitably humbled, we walked down to Trafalgar Square for Koninginnedag, the birthday celebrations for the Queen of the Netherlands. The entire square heaved with people in bright orange shirts while a Dutch band (I don’t know who) rocked the crowd from a temporary stage on the south side. We didn’t stay long, but it was just so funny to see so many people celebrating “togetherness” … with ample amounts of booze and Dutch food, of course.

After this we wandered aimlessly for a while, and found ourselves across from Westminster Abbey and the iconic Houses of Parliament. Too! Many! Tourists! We realised that although we loved seeing sights and “playing tourist”, we weren’t going to just follow the crowd. So it was onto a Thames Clipper and back closer to home for lunch: the posh “Cote” restaurant had a £10 weekend special, so we straightened our bow-ties and monocles and headed inside.

The place was quiet, which was no doubt why they let such riff-raff in, but we were inspired to share a starter of moules mariniere (mussels) in a delicious creamy sauce. Dee had one, but it wasn’t really for her — so much more for me! I’m loving seafood at the moment, as you might’ve guessed; it was all so much sweeter when washed down with a glass of Crémant de Bourgogne. Boats, mussels and sparkling wine — we felt so grown-up, and so posh. Probably would’ve felt even more posh if we hadn’t spilt shiraz on our jeans on the clipper …

After lunch we were about as relaxed as we could be, and were just going to go home and fall asleep in front of the telly (or something) but realised we were walking past one of the pubs on the “Dick Whittington Ale Trail” — five ales at five venues gives you a cheap touristy t-shirt, who could say no? I had a pint “Leed’s Best” and we studied the map for the next step…

The Mudlark served “A Sign Of Spring”, shown here, and it wasn’t ’til it was poured that I saw the colour. I think I scared the bartender with my exclamation: “Dickens! I think perchance I had not fully absorbed all salient details regarding this fine ale, dear woman! Namely: its emerald hue!” At this point Dee found our camera in her bag, and we documented the strange turn of events. (Oh, did I mention I bought some coloured contact lenses?)

Two pubs (two pints) later and I felt like I was back on the Thames Clipper. With the ground swaying gently beneath me I suggested we head home, but somehow we couldn’t resist the dodgy “Globe” near Borough Market, although it wasn’t on the ale trail. I had a Fosters, for its irony-value rather than a patriotic desire to drink crap beer, but by then it was well and truly time to head home.

It seems the Norse god Eyjafjallajokull has brought the British aeronautical travel industry to its knees this weekend, erupting from deep within his glacial palace and spreading ashy vengeance upon the mortals who dare chase through the skies in chariots of aluminium, steel and beige plastic.

Anyway, I hope this doesn’t disrupt Dayna and Bruce when they fly back into London in the wee-hours of Monday morning!

Tonight we walked home along the narrow path that follows the Thames, crossing via Tower Bridge rather than our usual route over busy London Bridge. With the evening sun still warm, we stopped at a rickety, ice-filled cart next to the Tower Of London and bought two plastic flutes of sparkling champagne and one freshly shucked oyster — for me, as Dee was too chicken doesn’t like oysters and there’s nothing wrong with that mister. (For the record, I didn’t mind it! With a squeeze of lemon and a healthy dash of tabasco, it was a lot less unpleasant than I was expecting — and good enough that I’ll certainly try them again should we find them in South East Asia.)

We’ve been keeping ourselves busy, what with all the different aspects of the trip to organise — tickets, hostels, insurance, VISAs, shipping — but this month we’re really stepping up the “things to do in London” list. It’s the London Sci-fi Film Festival at the end of the month, and I’ve already bought us tickets to a bunch of films and events (although I’m not doing the all-nighter this year, as I have something other than sleeping planned for the Sunday following). I still don’t think we’ll get through all 101, but at least we’ll have done a fair whack.

Funny, really: tonight it felt like we were tourists already, albeit tourists who knew their way ’round and still had another 6 weeks in London. This city really is a better place to visit than to live, I reckon…

Hmm, not so successful as the first.