The Dating Game...

Source: pinterest

As a single lass whose broken heart has been carefully glued back together over the last year or so, I am starting to notice more and more avenues  available for me to meet my next conquest, the man of my dreams, a fella.


Being quite an open-minded sort, in the past I have ogled the online options, given the introduction agency scene a whirl and speed-dated (the rapid, not drug-induced, kind) with assistance of locks and keys. No, not like that - that would be another type of blog entirely. It's actually quite harmless fun, until you realise you are - at 34 - the oldest in the room by a long way. And that was 8 years ago.

Today I read about a new method for the time-poor and travel-rich. Those clever pragmatists over at KLM have developed Meet and Seat which allows you to choose your on-board neighbours based on LinkedIn and Facebook profiles. They say it is an ideal opportunity for 'networking' but some pundits suggest it will be used more for matchmaking, whether that be between long term relationship seekers or those looking for the more abridged variety. I will use it to avoid crying babies and large, smelly people.

There's been a ground swell of news and opinion about purposeful singledom too. Each week, I read Hannah Betts' 'Things You Only Know If You're Single' column in The Times Magazine (which you will have to pay to read for yourself thanks to bad Uncle Rupert). Last week's was '...that one should forget dating sites in favour of realism.' Nuff said on that score. She also writes stuff for The Telegraph which I fall over intermittently and which you can read online for free.

And just prior to Christmas, Elizabeth Tannen shared her thoughts on the whole scene over at The Huffington Post in Five Excuses For Being Single  By the way, Elizabeth has written a fab post called 'Letting Your Silly Out' on her own blog but I digress...again.

So this led me to think about dating. My approach in the past has been underpinned by the philosophy that if you open your eyes/mind, 'the universe provides'. But I've also read things which suggest we should treat finding a partner in the same way as finding a job. Know your 'audience', targeted selection, tailor your 'CV'. It just doesn't seem to have that joyous and romantic ring to it, does it? Nor does it sound fun.

My theory is that life happens the way it happens and if we remain open along the way, we stand a chance in spite of the pitfalls.

But I'm not quite sure what you would put on this CV.

My last relationship began as a friendship with my next door neighbour and, if I exclude the last couple of months, went on for five and a half very happy years. I've met others through common interests (there were a few of these during my ballroom dancing days), chance encounters at bus stops and all sorts of liaisons in between. There have been the short and sweets, the long and lingerings, the quick fizzers - and then the gaps in between where I get to immerse myself in all the things I love to do without any of the negotiation or compromise.

And there, in that unequivocal indulgence of all the things I love, lies the rub...

Source: pinterest

The defence rests.

The Best Things In Life Are Free...

This weekend I was determined that Gidday HQ would take a little more shape in all areas - not just the relatively finished kitchen and living room - but in order to do this I needed to find a way to get rid of the 45 odd flattened boxes from my move a month ago (plus 5 filled with packing paper - never let it be said I am a wasteful girl!)

Enter Freecycle.

The Freecycle Network is a non-profit organisation that allows people to offer and find things FOR FREE. Started in Arizona in 2003 the aim was to create a worldwide network of 'gifting' groups to divert reuseable items from being sent to landfill. Since then, Freecycle has grown to more than 8 million members across almost 5,000 communities and operates under the mantra 'changing the world one gift at a time'.

And what a gift it turned out to be. At around 5.30pm Saturday, I registered as part of my local Freecycle Group (that's Barnet, if you must know) and posted my OFFER of 50-ish packing boxes/paper.

It is now 5pm on Sunday. From the 8 contacts who professed interest via the network, 3 visited Gidday HQ over the course of this afternoon to avail themselves of My Free Stuff.  I have 3 flattened garment boxes left. In the meantime, I have unpacked and found homes for much other stuff and moved furniture between rooms all in the space afforded me by the departure of said boxes.

So Gidday HQ is really taking shape. I feel so productive and exhausted and happy, I almost don't know what to do with myself. Almost...I can hear last night unfinished bottle of Grenache Blanc calling from the fridge...

Anyway, props to Freecycle and a bit of community spirit. Both now up there amongst my favourite Fab Finchley discoveries.

To find out more about The Freecycle Network in the UK, you can just click here. There are also links to Freecycle in other countries on the landing page and if there's not, there's even a link to start your own group. 

See how super easy it is?  What a community-minded soul I am becoming...wonder what it is I'll find out about next?

Pastures New...

Yoohoo!

  Hellooooo!

    I'm over here!

   Coooooeeeee!!!


Now that I have your attention...

Gidday HQ has moved to pastures new.

Last weekend there were keys to exchange, cupboards to clean, movers to step around and goodbyes to say as I farewelled my little front window, climbed aboard the moving van and set off to begin a new chapter on the other side of the river.

As with all good moves, not everything went according to plan but I have arrived and can confirm I am safely ensconsed in the North London suburb of Finchley.

Day 1 - Morning: Many many many boxes to unpack

Day 1 - Evening: Kitchen done!

That's not Finchley Road peeps (which does not go through Finchley as the name would suggest but rather skirts past West Hampstead in the south). Or East Finchley, lovely though it looks from the tube as it emerges into the night air on my commute home. Or even North Finchley, which is actually one stop too far.

No it's Finchley peeps. Sometimes known as Church End but really, it's just Finchley. Bit like 'just Kym' (no it's not short for Kymberley). But I think I will call it Fabulous Finchley for I am determined that life's next chapter will be filled with all things fabulous.

So yesterday it was time to explore my new neighbourhood (that is the one beyond my easy 5 minute commute to the station....ah bliss!)

Let's start with a stroll along the street where I live...

The street where I live - look at that Autumn colour!

As I reached the main road (you can just see it in the above  picture if you squint hard enough), I decided to venture right towards North Finchley where, rumour had it, there would be a Carphone Warehouse outlet for me to kit myself out with a dongle. I was having withdrawal symptoms and missing you all dreadfully without internet at home!

Luxury Desserts - what's not to like?

A little further along I came across a grassy stretch...

An unexpected patch of green right by the road.

...which actually heralded the entrance to local bowls club.

Doesn't this make you want to kick up the leaves and hear them rustle underfoot?

A bit further on, the spires of the local church pierced the cloudy sky...

The local...church I mean

...and before long, I was in the midst of the hustle and bustle of North Finchley.

Desperately seeking dongle (and door stops actually) as I was, I gave a cursory glance to the myriad of fruit markets, continental food stores, factory outlets and tat shops that spilled out onto the footpath. Until a sweet, sweet sight brought a smile to my face...

Mr Simms is in North Finchley too!

Remember this discovery last Christmas?

Mr Simms in Kingston - a joyous discovery last year

Anyway, this is where the photos stop because by the time I bought my dongle, finally found door stops in Robert Dyas, stocked up on a few essentials at Boots and spent £9 on - yes, you guessed it - tat, I was on my way to that English bastion of all things delicious, Waitrose. Where I bought more stuff.

Which meant more bags (supplied by moi of course - we love to reuse) to carry home. 

Which meant the bus - 10 minutes to go 5 stops versus the 25 minute bag-free wander north earlier.

I think I'm gonna like it here.

Aah, Finchley.  Fabulous already!

A Place For All Seasons...

Two sleeps.



 That's right peeps. Only two sleeps to go.

I have two sleeps left in Kingston.

Nestled under the currently thinning winter canopy of the tree that has, for almost seven years, shaded the highs and the lows of this Australian abroad.

It has been my haven.

An oasis, tucked away at the top of the winding street.

A spiritual home.

Summer Shade

A place of happiness and heartbreak.

Of worry and frustration. Of peace and calm.

Autumn Colour

A place for all seasons.

 Where I succumbed to my love of books, brilliant skies and bracing British winters.



Winter Sunset

Where I wrote my first blog post, discovered the joys of an afternoon spent baking and picked my first blackberries.



A Burst of Spring

And it's almost time to go.



To leave my cosy front window.

To tap away in pastures new.

That's right peeps. Gidday HQ is on the move.

 

All Change...

I have not been as regular with my posts of late so firstly let me beg your forgiveness.

The reason for this is life...but in a good way.

You see on the 1st September, the contract role that I have been in since the start of the year became permanent. 

It's been two and a half years of financial uncertainty - wondering what more I could do to find (and land) a job that would firstly cover my bills, never mind a stimulating and fulfilling role in a company that would inspire me to develop my future there. I am excited, grinning from ear to ear. 

And relieved if the truth be known. There may even have been a few joyful tears. 

No more weekends spent trawling job sites, researching and sorting 'opportunities', clicking 'Apply Now' and in turns waiting for and chasing responses that either arrive by automated email (no matter how friendly and personable the prose, you still know) or not at all. No more looking into my financial plan and wondering whether I would ever be able to take a holiday or save for something concrete (versus squirrelling everything away 'in case') and look ahead with confidence.

And no more commuting four hours a day - well from November anyway. Because being permanent means I can commit - yes commit people - to moving. To the other side of London, a garden flat in the North bit (the other side of 'The River') that will halve my commute. Where I can discover new neighbourhoods, create new habits and take the final steps to re-building the life I want (I wrote 'my life' originally but it seemed a little melodramatic in light of tomorrow's 9/11 ten year anniversary).

I always thought of myself as a strong, confident and positive person and the last two and a half years have tested this in me over and over. I hadn't realised how much until this week when suddenly there was certainty in my future and I felt that unremitting happiness deep, deep down. 

The kind that inspires me and restores a little of my faith that it really does all turn out in the end.

Gidday! It's Me...

I collected my photos tonight...it's been a long wait since mid July (another exercise in patience for little ol' moi!) but at the risk of being narcissistic, I think it's been worth it. 

I wanted to choose some (of the nine I bought) to share here but I'm finding it really hard to pick my faves. This is not good.  I get unbelievably bored with the state of 'being indecisive' and to be honest, if I dither too much longer this post will not go up tonight and you'll all have to wait even longer - and let's face it, waiting sucks. So without further ado, here's today's top three:

Down to business - the one for LinkedIn

A bit of 007 fun

A smiley, happy me

If you want to check out all nine, click here and you'll whip across to my flckr album quick as you like.  In the meantime, I'm off to update my Facebook profile with this one:




Colourful, free and ready for a new chapter.



Life's Classroom...

Every week I get an email newsletter from Australian Times.  It keeps me in touch with what's going on with Aussies in London and also with some of the big stories Down Under.  But this week's article by Adrian Craddock, Does Being Australian Make You Less Employable? hit a particularly sensitive spot.

I arrived in London at the age of 34.  I had achieved a great many things in my career up to that point and my move to London, while sudden, was a permanent one as far as I was concerned. I had great references and could give many examples showing the results I'd achieved and how I'd 'managed' to do this. I'd qualified easily for my work visa under the Highly Skilled Migrants Programme. Note that this was not the 2 year working visa, or youth mobility visa as it's now called, that most Aussies who are under the age of 30 and without UK ancestry come on. I'd sold my apartment and had a shipping container of furniture on the way. 

No-one actually said anything but as I trawled the recruiters and the job boards and built my networks, I felt an undercurrent of disbelief from the locals.  Had I actually done all of those things at such a 'young' age?  Was I really here for good and how could they count on me not to get homesick and flee back to Melbourne? And for that matter, why hadn't I stayed in Australia if my career had been that great?

On top of this, I was faced with the constant refusal to believe that the skills and experience I had put to such good use in Australia (and in dealing with suppliers and customers in overseas markets while based there) could possibly be transferred to the UK.

And the longer this went on, the more difficult it got.  Added to the great unspoken was the question, 'Why aren't you working yet?'

My networks were gone - the Australian ones I'd left behind could do little to provide any pragmatic help and the new ones, while delighted with the opportunity to ask me 'what I was doing here', proved a bit of a closed shop.  I didn't resort to spending my time fulfilling the common view of Australians as hard-working wanderlusts, ready to 'make the most' of the plethora of multicultural experiences just a couple of hours and a few quid away across the Channel.  I kept working - temping and working in the kinds of roles I'd worked in 8-10 years prior - trying to get a foothold in the market and earn enough to pay my bills and build my life here. 

Seven and a half years on and a whole rollercoaster of ups and downs later, I've learnt a lesson or two.  

The first is around dogged hard-graft, relentless persistence and above all, emotional resilience.  It's tough to start again.  Really tough.  And it's destabilising to be without those taken-for-granted ways of life, the unconditional daily support networks and, not to put too finer point on it, money.  It made me dig deep to find new ways to keep going and new things to embrace about my life. 

Which leads me to the second lesson: humility, integrity and faith that it would 'happen' for me.  There is no such thing as being 'too big for your boots' when doing the coffee round for the office was helping me to pay my bills.  I was employed to do a job, whether I liked that job or not. And I'm someone who always wants to do a job well, sometimes in the face of much cynicism and comments like 'why are going above and beyond? No-one cares!'. (I am not a proud, proud Leo for nothing!) 

I'm emerging from a 2 year dip now, enjoying the sunshine (so to speak) as I climb to the top of the hill again.  It's good to feel inspired and hopeful.  Everywhere I look, the future is looking bright and shiny. 

And the best part?  I feel grounded, like I can deal with whatever comes, and lucky to have such valuable lessons from Life's never-ending classroom under my belt.

The Stuff That Dreams Are Made Of...

I was happily ensconsed at a local cafe this afternoon, sipping my coffee and picking at a slice of quite sublime lemon and ginger cake, when I came across an interview in The Times with some of the Brisbane-ites who were affected by Australia's shocking floods 100 days ago (yes I thought, 'only 100 days' too).

Right in the middle of the first column was a paragraph that really made me stop and think - it went something like this:

Someone said to me 'You should be thankful you're alive.  What you've lost is just stuff', she said.  'But your 'stuff' is what validates you.  Now we feel invaild and invisible.'

When I arrived in the UK over seven years ago, I had planned to be living with the one person I knew and had arranged for the contents of my flat in Melbourne to be professionally packed up and shipped here.  Long story short - he freaked at the 'responsibility' for me coming over here and I moved out after six weeks into a share-house with someone I didn't know. As one does in London...you know the adage 'When in Rome...'

So my 'stuff' (and my dreams) sat in storage.

I moved into my current flat a year later and I cannot even describe the joy of unwrapping MY couch, unpacking MY books, MY music, MY photos and pictures and basically surrounding myself with MY stuff.  It made me feel whole again, reminiscing over things that had been by-the-by in Melbourne but that had suddenly taken on a comforting and joyful nostalgia.  I remember unpacking my stereo, unearthing an adaptor from somewhere and, in the midst of the mountain of bubble wrap and paper wadding, listening to one CD after another: Kylie, Aussie Crawl, Bachelor Girl, Savage Garden, Noiseworks (just in case the neighbours did not realise that there was an Aussie 'in da house') as well as some vintage Madonna, Elton John and Neil Diamond.

And in that one afternoon, it became MY place.  A haven to recover from the knocks I had never expected, and the ones I suspected were still to come.  To catch my breath and take stock of who I was and to assess what I had always thought I wanted.  And to realise that in this 'stuff' lay not only the life I'd had so far but also the building blocks for the new chapter I'd started to write.

Six years later, I am sitting in my front window, the late afternoon sun is streaming through the dappled leaves and it's lovely and warm on my face.  I've written many more chapters since - the good, the bad and the heart-breaking - mostly ones I never expected I would write. 

And I remain resolutely and inordinately attached to my stuff...and dream of the chapters that are still to come.

Expat... Born or Bred?

On one of my especially long commutes home this week (3hrs!) I stumbled across a blog, Adventures in Expat Land by 'accompanying wife' Linda from The Netherlands.  As I sat on the top deck of the number 14 bus (having been ejected from King's Cross Station after a 'reported emergency' with the rest of London's peak-hour commuters and then walking 20mins to get on said bus), her post Seven Reasons Not To Become An Expat struck a chord...

It can be fun. And exciting, educational, eye-opening, energizing, amazing.

It can also be uprooting, disruptive, alienating, challenging, lonely and just plain hard work.

It made me ponder my 7+ years here in the UK and the highs and lows of my own expat life: exhilaration laced with fear, hope combined (in a shaken not stirred kind of way) with desperation and contentment hand in hand with loneliness and as I peered down from my perch high above the crowded streets, I wondered to myself 'would I have come at all if I'd listened to the sage advice and read the sensible tips about moving overseas?'

I knew no-one here and had no job (just some leftover redundancy package money) but buoyed by fierce determination and an unrelenting belief that it was where I was meant to be, I packed up my comfortable Melbourne life and started again.  Just like I did many times over as we moved up and down the east coast of Australia and around Melbourne, changing schools, jobs, friends, creating new habits and leaving the comfortable predictability of old ones.

But then so did my sister...who stays happily ensconsed in Australia with not so much as a twinkle of expat life in her eye.

Which then leads me to wonder whether an expat is 'born' a nomad rather than being a product of their upbringing.  You know, nature vs nurture and all that.  Bit like a personality flaw trait. 

So are expats actually born or bred?  And what's the difference between those that up sticks and settle somewhere else vs the constantly relocating expatriate lifer?

Does anyone know?

ps...and if you even have a inkling that you might like to try on 'expat life', you should read Linda's post for yourself by clicking here...or not...

A Conscious Incompetent...

This week I started my new job and I find myself back in that uncomfortable place of Conscious Incompetence...when you know that you know absolutely nothing.

Without a shadow of a doubt there's some Unconscious Incompetence there too (I don't know what I don't know) but that doesn't count because I don't know about it...yet!

And this has all been combined with some god-awful jetlag which resulted in me hitting - no, head-butting the wall vigorously and repeatedly about Wednesday.  (What a joy I must have been to be around!)

So I'm frantically trying to muster some of my Competence (Conscious or Unconscious - I really don't mind at this point) to offset that first day at school feeling of 'how on earth will I fit in' and 'what will be my contribution to this new community'.

A bit like when I moved here 7 years ago and began 'Life in the UK'...

...and here I am, tap tap tapping away in my front window and taking a brief few moments before the inevitable Sunday evening maelstrom of getting ready for the Work Week whilst watching entertainment of the mindless, sparkly variety (currently Dancing on Ice for those of you who don't live in the UK).

Now that's something I know about!

ps...I'd also like to take this opportunity to welcome 2 new followers to the Gidday From The UK peanut gallery...Lil Chicky and Anji.  Hooray! Bonza! You Little Ripper! and all that...now settle in and make yourselves right at home!

Nature abhors a vacuum

I went to a friend's 40th birthday party last night...Avril and I worked for the same company for a while (she left mid 2008 and I was made redundant in December 2008)...and bumped into some faces I did not expect to see.

Being a redundancy meant that the gap between when I was advised my job was at risk and the actual finish date was only a week so there were many people I had worked with that I didn't get to see before I left. Some of those that I saw last night had only heard I'd left through the company rumour mill - as efficient as ever - but all were surprised I had been on the list to go, were pleased to see me and wished me the best for whatever is next for me.

What really struck me (and it's not the first time) is this whole principle that nature 'abhors a vacuum' and the gap that is created behind you for others and in front for yourself when you leave, is quickly filled as life moves on, as other opportunities for fulfilment and exploration present themselves. It is easy to move so quickly in filling these voids that we miss the chance to get present to our lives developing new shape...I am looking forward to a busy and varied week and am now wondering what new shapes will emerge for me.