It was really cool to see the lift technician paraphrasing, accurately, the content of a few episodes. “Before the Normans came here [England], we were mostly, you know, Angles. They brought with them law, and literature, and things we’d lost when the Romans left. A lot of that survives to now, you know. Like words. Did you know that ‘country’ is a French word? Because if you were English, you’d call it ‘land’. That’s the old English word for it. And garage. That’s French too. But I say it /ga’ridz/. Not garahge, because I’m not French,” he ended with a wink.

With a few more forkfuls of chips and beans he continued, paraphrasing from Wednesday’s episode.

“And the fascinating thing about the Normans is that once they conquered, which is what they did all over Europe, they merged with the population. You couldn’t tell after a few years who was Norman and who wasn’t. And nobody else did that at that time.”

He moved on to another show that started last night, called Digging for Britain.

“It really makes you see how much history there is, and we don’t even think about it. What they do in that show is go around to all the digs going on around the UK and talk about the stuff they find. And it’s really well done. Like last night they were at this construction site for a six-lane dual carriageway somewhere down near Dover I think [actually slightly further North, but still in Kent] and what they would do is get the top layer of the soil out and allow the archaeologists to work for like a month. And they would map everything they found before it got covered by the road. And they talked to the guy who found all those coins in Somerset, remember?”

“The BBC really is doing a good job this year. What’s neat is they repeat the programmes in the night, with the little man in the corner, you know, signing away for those people who can’t hear. And it doesn’t hurt that the archaeologist in that other show, you know what you think of when you think archaeology, boring, but she’s not… she’s like this red-headed, kind of blonde woman, in her thirties. And I mean, she’s nice to look at” he guffawed.

I agree. Fully. One hundred percent. The BBC is doing a very good job in this case.

I bet it’s going to rain my pants off.

See you next week, both of you.

The endless rows of fried chicken shops littering London’s streets are clearly getting to me, so it’s a good thing I’m getting away for a bit permitting that flying tin cans don’t fall out of the sky. I don’t think I’ve ever had quite this much flying planned for the next month. I feel like a bit of an environmental criminal but on the other hand I’m going a bit ropey in this city. It’s made all the more interesting because my job situation for later this year is all still up in the air, with me hopefully finding out more today or tomorrow, Tuesday.

I’ll be in Rome for the coming weekend, which means a four-day work week both this week and the next. And the one after that, too, given that I’m flying back to Finland for midsummer. Getting away from it all for a bit never hurt anyone, least of all with at least some Finnish blood flowing through their veins.

Once I get back I will wrap up my job and leave for my trip across the Atlantic. All very exciting, all very confusing.

British TV and the press are full of the political news and not much else. No matter what your personal political views are, one can’t help getting swept up in the speculation and even excitement of this new government. No doubt there will be much blaming of the situation left by the previous administration, but both the population and the markets will want specific and effective measures, not just soundbites about how times are tough.

Perhaps the biggest sign of being grown up is not only thinking you understand the machinations of politics (with the associated things like the economy) but you enjoy following them too.

It smelled exactly the same just now, when I grabbed the last pile of things and carried them out. It looked the same, too, when I put up the long red curtains that were there when I moved in. I’m only moving upstairs to the room vacated by a couple who are leaving, but it feels quite momentous. The dynamic in the house may very well change, considering the leaving flatmates were giant, affable personalities. They’ve taken quite a bit of things with them, which of course they are entitled to, but it too has contributed to a feeling of change in the house.

The mattress topper I have is slightly too big for the bed, and most of my things are spread across the floor. That reflects a bit of how I feel, too – a little uncomfortable and scattered. It remains to make this room, gutted to the bare minimum, feel like home. I guess I’ll have to spend money for that to happen, though I wouldn’t want to spend too much considering I never know where and when I’ll be moving next and moving with lots of stuff is a pain. On the other hand, I wouldn’t want to spend money on throwawayism in the form of a load of flat-packed fibreboard furniture which you can’t really transport once assembled.

I’ll have to do the same thing I did a year ago and try it out. It’ll settle, as will I. It’s just made me think of how I have no clue where I’ll be in a year’s time from now.

The news did hit me hard, I won’t lie. I spent a good hour and a bit ambling around North London to clear my head on Sunday a week ago, wandering vaguely on a circular route that ended up being around five miles.  I will definitely have to do that again, as the lack of a camera prevented me from capturing some really nice shots, from young rowers on the canal to boarded-up post-industrial gloom of trackside business premises long abandoned.

So, to get the house full again, I’ve had to make my room look as presentable as possible for a prospective female housemate, because gender balance tends to help with things. If anything, it’s made me think about how I can effectively store my meagre belongings once I move up a floor into one of the departing housemates’ rooms. It’s been pretty stressful on the whole, having viewings/housemate auditions pretty much every night, coordinating schedules and other admin at the same time as working full days. Oh, and racking my brain about another development I’m not sure what to do with.

I’ve been offered a job that would start much earlier than my current contract finishes. Apparently it’d be mine if I applied for it, and the colleagues would be enthusiastic to have me. All good and great but though it’s more money, I can’t help but think I would have wanted something more career-oriented as my next job. I don’t want to say too much about what this offer would be but somehow I feel this’d be an easy way out, perhaps too easy. I like the field (it’s vaguely academic) but as much as I’ve never thought about career advancement, the lack of immediately visible prospects from it bothers me.

And I know I should always be looking out for number one, but telling everyone I work with, fixed-term and temporary as my current contract is, that I’d be leaving for greener pastures fills me with dread. There would be no coming back, I don’t think.

I’ve been back in London mere hours, and I’m finding myself missing Finland a lot. Somehow it being really cold and really wintery, completely different from London, made it that much more attractive. London seems dimmed and grey, even bleak, compared to the strict monochrome of Finland where, even in the silver moonlight, there was mostly just black and pure white. While walls grow with Ivy here, they’re subdued in their green in a way that is hard to describe exactly. It’s ironic, there being more colour around here.

I’m due back at work tomorrow, and I think I’ll have an early night. My body is, after all, two hours ahead, or at least something that is not GMT. Thanks to everyone that made this break really good and met up with me, and apologies to those I didn’t get to catch up with. I’ll definitely try to be back as soon as resources allow.

It’s Sunday, and I’m at work.

When I woke up the rain rattling against the window made me want to just wrap myself tighter and stay in bed.

By the time I was on my way out the rain had stopped, and once I got to King’s Cross the sky had cleared too. In the gray-white sunlight, I walked the last twenty minutes to work to try and avoid the noise and the soot and the empty but yet still claustrophobic tube carriages, passing few people because at that time on Sunday, London is mostly asleep or only gearing up to a day of Christmas shopping.

My friends are in Cambridge today, no doubt enjoying clearer sunshine wandering around the grounds of the University or the warm company in a relaxed pub. I’m not ashamed in admitting that I’m jealous. I’d like to see them very much. Instead, on a Sunday, I’m at work.

I’ve been invited to a book launch on a topic generally of interest to me through my studies. It’d be a chance to network, I suppose, though I don’t really know what sort of people will attend. Still, a couple of presentations summarising various chapters of the book (so I won’t have to, you know, buy and read it), some wine and chatter wouldn’t be too bad. I’ve known about it for two weeks and was happy to put my name down as attending at the time.

On the other hand, I’ve also been invited to a charity wine tasting evening tonight. It’d go well with my running haute cuisine theme, what with having dined at Chez Bruce last night. It’d probably be with a completely different crowd that I would most likely feel underdressed at, even though I’m planning on getting home after work and changing. Still, mingling and having some wine (I’m not sure if it’s a course or just a reception) doesn’t sound too bad. So, I remain undecided. Obviously I’m down as attending on the book launch and wouldn’t like to let anyone down, but … argh. Suggestions on an electronic postcard please. Please? It’s doing my head in. Oh woe is me.

And how was Chez Bruce? Rich, yet very, very tasty. Extremely intense flavours, in combinations I would never have thought of. I was really glad I’m not in the least bit fussy about food. Not badly priced either, considering. Must be one of the cheaper Michelin-starred restaurants around. I’d definitely recommend it, though only for a specifically planned night out. We went with a bunch of friends, a bunch that grew over time as we planned it. I glowed all the way home to North London though, just happy on a few glasses of wine and belly full of intricate cooking.

I love the weather right now. The most-read story on the BBC is about how Britain is being lashed by the storm of the year, and you can definitely feel the wind outside even in built-up London. It’d no doubt be rougher in rural areas but in the city it’s just strong enough to buffet you around a little bit, flicking trees back and forth to rip out leaves. The rain has thankfully died to a drizzle that comes at you in lashings, but no longer in waves. One of my favourite things, the colourful reflections of artificial light on the shiny black surface of paved road is in abundance with all the neon signs of shops and the tail-lights of cars.

It is, of course, all made fun by the very fact that at any moment I’m able to escape it into the relative warmth of my house, changing into comfortable clothes and settling to enjoy a book or a movie or whatever while the neighbour’s wind chimes are going nuts. But walking out there, I wasn’t just enjoying the prospect of being indoors. There was genuine enjoyment of being lashed by the elements too.

Then, today, both these things combine in the news, with the Guardian reporting that it has been gagged from reporting on a Parliamentary question (which to my ignorant common sense should surely be public) and that said question possibly deals with the Trafigura case and the gagging order was imposed by the notorious Carter-Ruck solicitors.

It was wonderful sitting on the beach, watching the sun go down and then basking in the glimmering lights from the Pier having some drinks and laughing a lot. It wasn’t too cold that night, though there was a cold undercurrent in the wind that picked up on occasion. Watching the dark sea glittering from the lights by the promenade after getting out of the pub was pretty cool.

It’s turned decidedly autumnal since. Right now it’s bucketing down and my normally light-grey hoodie was the colour of graphite by the time I made it home from work today. I think it’s time to start carrying, if not wearing, a coat.

I’ll write more about the Carnival (possibly the loudest thing I’ve ever been to, and I have seen Merzbow live) and other stuff. In the past two weeks I’ve visited Versailles and Shrewsbury, and done other assorted things. If I was so inclined I could write plenty.

Inclination is influenced by time. I’ll try and make some. Promise.