One week has flown by.
Julia has left for Paris.
Gave her a package for friendship,
Including The Alchemist.
It's a good travel book I must say.

The room seems quite empty now,
And larger than it was before.
Solitude is easily ruined by good company
Time to explore my own space once again...

Is it as reported,
That Singapore is having thunderstorms?

Julia & I caught a play yesterday.
oleanna at Gerrick Theatre,
Starring Julia Stiles & Aaron Eckhardt.
Simple set design,
Intense script,
Wonderful performance.

The small group who sat behind us,
Seemed like an English class with their teacher.
The ludicrous comments made me chuckle & choke,
While Julia rolled her eyes in disbelievement.
'That guy's accent was definitely Northern Texan.'
'A review by Playboy shows,
The targetted audience of this play,
Are the young americans,
And there is alot of sexual content'
'The cardigan she wore shows she is poor.
But California is a very rich state.'
'The well furnished set shows that this is a rich school.'
Yeah, with one wooden table,
A wooden chair and a wooden door.

This whole hosting experience,
Is turning out more educational,
Than I have expected.
And I'm getting so used,
To listening to her speak about things,
That the occasional silences,
Actually seem uncomfortable.
How very strange.

Met up with Julia H. last Thursday.
We got along fine,
But I'm still paranoid about being a bad host.
She must think I am a real bore,
Since I don't seem to socialise much.

Caught the changing of the guards on Saturday,
Then headed to Greenwich park & the Royal Observatory.
Petticoat Lane market on Sunday,
Followed by a walk in Hyde Park area.
Conversations flowed better for me,
When I get some alcohol in my blood.

Chelle is having a lot friends over this week,
And she had an convenience issue,
Mainly because the space in the house,
Is not proportional to the size of the groups.
'As fellow Singaporeans I guess I have to help them...'
'I can't say for sure people will help you back,
Just because you are born in the same country.
And you only invited one girl, not the 3 boys.'

Some people must learn,
That dossing just isn't a birth right.

In this world,
There live some people,
Whom you can't give second chances.
Remember Jack,
Forgiveness only comes with repentence.

Being too near people from my home country,
Is testing my patience more and more.
Good friends aside, of course.

Leaving has been on my mind.
And the thought intensifies everyday.

Been waking up at 6am daily,
When the sunlight creeps into the room.
Summer is finally here.

And along with it came a lovely reply from Nicole.

May's friend is coming to London,
And would like to meet my friends,
To hang out & chill, et cetera.
I thought about who we can meet,
And I noticed I don't have many friends here.

Finally.
A reply from Nick.
Which sent me over the moon,
Then into the Grand Canyon.

It has been a long time,
Since I last read a Japanese novel.
The last one I read might have been
God Give Me More Time.
Haruki Murakami's Norwegian Wood,
Has words that are starting to eat into my heart,
Exposing bits of raw emotion,
Long forgotten.

Out of nowhere from my distant memory,
Came the part in Tempting Heart,
Where Karen Mok's character,
Had a relationship with Takeshi Kaneshiro's character,
Even though they both loved the same girl.
Vanessa had explained,
That it was the only way,
Both of them could feel close,
To the girl they love whom they have lost.

I didn't grasp it at that time.
But now it seems to make sense.

Contemplated about future plans.
Inadequate passion for architecture.
Inadequate passion for humanity.
Inadequate passion for music.
Inadequate passion for photography.

Everyone needs a passion.
May it be earrings or shoes,
Or just trying hard to be cool.
I have no real passion for anything.
That must be the saddest thing in my life.
This sorrow is slowly killing me.

Bus 174.
Award winning documentary.
Brazilian society,
Street Kids,
Road to crime.
Left The Other Cinema,
With a heavy head & heart.

Went to Capoeira last evening,
Despite the inabilty to breathe properly.
Caught the show with Miranda,
Whom in quite a few ways,
Reminds me of Keira Knightley.
Her height & build.
(Actually she's taller than Keira.)
The British accent.
The love for Johnny Depp.
And there is just something,
About the way she smiles & laughs.

So blogger's got a new interface.
It's quite a good upgrade.

Went back to the old place to get stuff yesterday,
And was invited by the American neighbours for dinner.
Fantastic Mexican food.
Pity I'm already gone.

Brushed past a familiar face,
Outside MUJI at Tottenham Court Road.
During the time my optic nerves,
Are sending the image to the brain,
She was already gone.
Deep in thought,
That was the face of YT's idol.
With her white top speckled with red spotty patterns,
She looked like any student.
Never thought I'd see a tutor this way.
At least not a tutor like Lilian.

Had the blessing of a few studio sessions with her,
When Mrs Tse fell from some staircase in China,
And broke her nose.
Lilian was nice enough not to say outright,
That I was producing crap,
For my final year submission.

There are some people one is afraid of,
Yet respect so much,
Without even knowing why or how.
Pretty much sums up how I feel about her.

The new house mates,
Turned out friendlier than expected.

Carried a bag of books,
To the new place to try my luck.
Ryota happened to be at home,
So I managed to get in.
Outi left the room neat & clean,
So all was good.

This house has got character.
Neighbourhood with a foul reputation,
Strange smell in the house air,
Barking large dog from the neighbour's,
Dilapidated shed in the backyard,
Which is overgrown with grass,
And even has a mouldy soccer ball.

A new life begins.
Hopefully an inspired one.

So it turned out that,
On this very day that I need to move,
There is no one in the new house!
Or rather, these new flatmates,
Are not picking up their mobiles.
Bloody hell.

The amount of barang barang I have here,
Kind of took me by surprise.
I always knew I had this & that,
But I never knew they amounted to this much.
Skinnygirl said she likes people with lots of stuff,
Because she has alot of stuff too.
In reply I told her,
More stuff means more baggage.
Not good, especially not for drifters.

And just when I started to think,
On this last day of having home internet,
I can spend more time talking to her,
She had to go off to speak to God.

Seems like a great weekend has just started.

At Chester on Monday,
We walked the Roman Walls.
If I were the Romans,
I would be darn proud too,
Looking across the land that I conquered.
Tudor houses,
With the corridor on the 2nd level.
A very modern way of shopping,
Laid out many centuries ago.
Bought a few great but cheap books.
Fast Food Nation, Big Fish, Norwegian Wood, 1984.

Stood all the way back,
On the 3-hour trainride to London.
Played with two little girls who were twins,
Across a glass door on the first half-hour.
Chewed on gum & Big Fish for the rest.

A compilation of my first roadtrip.

The weekend at Peak District.

70 miles per hour on the M53 & M56,
Took a wrong turn at the M62,
Ended up near Manchester on the M60.
The A34 & A537 took us to Macclesfield,
Where the little green car spun round & round,
Along the windy stretch of the A537,
With the windows wind down,
And the sun roof wide open,
French bossa playing on the CD player.
The weather was lovely.


We were more than 200m above sea level.
Vast green fields lay before our eyes,
Mountains beyond the curtains of mist.
Lots of sheep & cows & fresh air.
Sometimes foul air from the manure.
We had lunch at a very special inn,
Smacked right between Macclesfield & Buxton,
On top of the hills.
In fact, it was the only civilisation there.
Helicopter, bikers in leathers & Harleys,
Familes, groups of hikers.
A bizzare mix brought together by one thing in common.
The desire to see the Peak District.

We went to the Gardens at Buxton,
Saw the famous well that mineral water sprouted from,
Bought some stuff at the weekend market,
Visited the theatre, church and town hall.

Hit back onto the A6 to Bakewell,
Witnessed a wedding in a garden,
Gave a friendly stranger a ride.
There were no available rooms in Bakewell,
So we were off to Matlock,
Where we found a room in a farm house.
'This farm breeds horses and dogs.',
The brochure read.
Sehr goot.

Farley farm was sited at a surprising height,
Considering Matlock is only 120m above sea level.
This allowed us to witness a beautiful sunset,
In shades of purple, pink & orange.
(I hate pink, but this is different.)

Had a good night's rest in the traditional stone house,
Before waking up to Marion's sumptous breakfast.
A friendly & warm mother of three,
She glowed when she spoke about her farm & countryhouse.
And family & animals, of course.
I love the animals too,
Especially those horses.
We learnt that they are only paid 16p/L of milk,
While we are paying 45p per pint.
Considering milk is only 10% real milk,
(2% if you are talking about skimmed milk)
That is quite a spinoff.

Back on the road to Bakewell,
Where we tried the infamous,
But also incredibly sweet Bakewell pudding.
Hit the A6020 followed by B6001 & A623,
Driving towards 'Plague Village' Eyam.
Eyam is famous for the story of it fell victim to plague,
And how they managed to contain & control the disease effectively,
Despite having most of their village folks viciously wiped out.

Headed back to Buxton via the A6,
To check out Poole's Haven,
A cave with lots of stillicides, stalagmite & alikes.
The story was that a bandit made it his treasure cave,
But the guide announced that the only money they found,
Was a pathetic 2p.
However, they did find stuff of archaelogical interest,
Like some stones from once-upon-a-time,
When man first made fire in a cave.
The temperate in the cave in a constant at 7�C all year round,
Which made it an ideal refuge in winters,
Before heaters were invented.

A537 took us out of the Peak District,
Setting sun greeting us on A566, A54, A51.
And we're back in Chester.
Goodbye, cows, sheep and horses.

Friday, 30thh April 2004.

Despite suffering from sickness,
I insisted on heading to Chester.
Rushed home to pack my bag after work,
Rushed to Euston station,
Which was thankfully nearer than expected.

The Virgin (the brand!) train ride,
Turned out to be quite a nightmare.
For some unknown reasons,
The train 'lost its path',

According to the annoucements,
And by the time it hit Crewe,
We were already more than an hour late.
A kind old lady told me the ways,
I could complain to Virgin & make claims.
She also pointed out that there was a detour,
When the train passed by Stoke-on-Trent.
That name seemed to hit a familiar spot.

After standing for an hour in the cold,
And a 20-minute train ride,
I finally arrived in Chester,
To be greeted with a big shock ---
Karen had been waiting at the station for an hour.
Whoops.

Spent some time catching up,
Discussing tomorrow's route,
And went on to have a good night's rest,
Before embarking our road trip the next day.

A dream came true,
With an unexpected friend.