Londonward

It’s ironic that it takes a trip down to Streatham on a balmy spring evening to buy Polish food, half a year after I moved to London, to make me feel like I actually live in a foreign country. Walking up unfamiliar Streatham High Road, past a Church that’s been there for centuries, past shops and cafes, I felt like I was somewhere new and exciting. It was a quiet murmur of the feeling I had been expecting to hit me when I’d realize I had moved to London. And yet this was a multicultural South London suburb, nothing more exciting. Maybe it was the strange familiarity of speaking Polish to the shop attendant, smelling smoked sausages and seeing labels I recognized juxtaposed with a new and unfamiliar part of the city. I don’t know, but I’m glad I went.

I saw Nine Inch Nails for the first time when they played the third of four dates in London at the famous Brixton Academy. It was my first time there as well, and what a venue it was! The halls and stairwells breathed a faded glamour. The atmosphere was great, with people enjoying pre-gig drinks sitting on the floor and stairs. The actual auditorium was amazing. The high, domed ceiling, painted black, framed by wisps of smoke, gave the impression of being outside in a weird, surreal amphitheatre. We were in the upstairs Circle, which meant that we didn’t have a massively good view of the stage and had to remain seated for the entire concert, but with my foot still hurting it was just as well.

The entire concert was characterized by the solid delivery of NIN’s greatest and most aggressive songs in rapid succession. The back-to-back combination of Wish and Gave Up was absolutely brutal, and had everyone going crazy. I have no gripes about the songs they chose to play, but I couldn’t help but think that it was a bit clinical. It was like watching a live performance of a perfectly-oiled rock machine playing their greatest hits just a bit out of reach. Of course, being high above the stage could have something to do with it. I’ll have to be downstairs for the next one, to which I’ll definitely go. Apparently, they’ll be back in the summer promoting Year Zero.

I was positively surprised at the amount of teenagers there, going to see the band with a parent in tow. Ticket regulations specified that people under 14 years old should be accompanied by an adult, which is a great way to do things in my opinion. It lets everyone enjoy music equally. The slightly uncomfortable look on a mother’s face behind me in the Circle was priceless, though. It was like she was doing something she really didn’t enjoy but chose to endure bravely anyway. What a good sport!

I didn’t take any pictures, but I’m sure you can find plenty on Flickr or elsewhere.

Sounds impressive, doesn’t it? It’s not, really. All I’m doing is transcribing interviews for a PhD candidate in my department. The pay isn’t bad at all - in fact I was prepared for a lot less, and it sure is a change from having to read academic articles and write essays.

It’s still cool to be able to help someone out with a real piece of research as well as get paid for something that, while tedious and monotonous, is something you can do at your own pace and take breaks if you feel like it.

In other news, the foot is feeling fine. I can walk a lot better now, and it’s amazing that only four days ago I got it run over by a car.

Look right, then left, then right again. Cross the road. Right? Wrong.

At least, don’t do it in a hurry. Seemingly out of nowhere came a car that I slam directly into. It banged my left side pretty hard, and it felt like it drove over my foot. My first thought was that it didn’t hurt that badly, so I just kept going toward the train station. Eventually the pain got so bad I had to sit down on a roadside bollard. No going to a seminar for me.
After some ice, rest and a hobble to the Accident and Emergency, I found out that my foot was apparently only badly bruised. No broken bones, no serious damage.

I’ve got steel caps built in, it seems. No need for them in shoes.