Novelties

It's been over a week I've moved into my (presently 'our') new place, and haven't had internet since, which led to the curious finding that I can procrastinate by reading non-required material, instead of taking notes on any of the 15 books that I should. So I am typing away from a cafe in Camden, and trying to conjure up the number of happenings of last weekend. 

The new apartment is fab, and I didn't notice any real problems with it until I fancied myself up, put on my Saturday-dress and headed for the door. Promptly I bounced back. It was stuck. Locked. Unmovable. Yanking the door. Panic. More yanking. More panic. You know what is more terrifying than being stuck outside of your place? It's to be stuck inside. There is very little to do there, if you are alone that is. There is a whole world outside, so I came to the, maybe surprising, conclusion that any day I would rather be stuck outside with the world, than inside, with virtually nothing to do, just circling around like a poisoned mouse. I had a randez-vous with a friend I met in Colombia. Unfortunately, his cell is Swedish and I quickly ran out of 'foreign credit', so after begging him to come and rescue me, I had to resort to calling an other friend with a UK cell to call Sweden and continue the directions, while I glued myself to the little window of my entrance door. The door was pried open after some considerable efforts by my friend and later on by the neighbour's part. At this point I only had time for a quick catch up drink with my knight in shining armour, before heading up to fancy restaurant numero dos this weekend, Tamarai. Unfortunately, the night before, I couldn't properly enjoy numero uno, as I already had dinner at a remote, little, nevertheless exquisite, phillippino restaurant at the end of Charlotte street. So when I arrived to Gaucho , and they brought out the glisteringly beautiful and mouthwatering stakes on a cutting board to choose from; in tears I had to resign myself to the idea of having a miserable little ceviche, which, naturally, was nothing compared to the ones to be had on a Peruvian beach under lot less glittery circumstances. Saturday night was spent, well, spending. We ended up in Sketch, whose egg shaped toilets still cause me little shivers of joy when casting eyes upon them. I'm pretty sure it is quite bizarre to get so excited about toilets, but I can't help it. 

I can no longer pretend that I still have even a morsel of bagel left on my plate, so I will dutifully and with head hanging proceed to pack up my stuff and head back to the library. Tear.