Snow Patrol, as I blogged enthusiastically after the show, was amazing.

They're not the biggest band around, nor would you ever expect to find yourself crushed amongst moshing fans, but they certainly are awesome live. And you honestly wouldn't expect it, given that their songs aren't exactly anthemic (in the U2 sense) or "anything above 32 bpm" as I put it the of the concert.

The band kicked off the show with If There's a Rocket, Tie me to it from A Hundred Million Suns, before digging into their back catalogue and performing crowd favourites Chocolate and Spitting Games. I was having a generally good time and just pointing out the bigger hits to my friend's date (another member of Snow Patrol's Lonely Hearts Club, as she had also just come out of a relationship, although she had never really listened to the band before), when You Could Be Happy came on. It's an achingly sad song, a song about "everything going wrong" as lead singer and guitarist Gary Lightbody put it, and was one of the reasons why I was hesitant to come to this concert by myself. I mean, just look at the lyrics: You could be happy / And I won't know / But you weren't happy / The day I watched you go. And I was sad... but happy at the same time. The song's incredibly beautiful live, just brimming with emotion and regret, but a strange kind of happiness too, as you realise that the person you've let go is doing much better without you, and, because you love that person, you're happy for them too.

I really like how this photo turned out.

After this, Gary announced it was his mother's and aunt's birthdays and the next song, "a song about everything going right," was for them. And, of course, it was the gloriously uplifting Run. And it was incredible. The whole crowd just swaying and singing along as Gary exhorted us to "light up, light up, as if you have a choice." This song just about made my night. Just thinking about it now, two weeks on, still makes my spine shiver with how beautiful it was.

A couple of songs later, Shut Your Eyes came on. Midway through the song, Gary divided the crowd into two and made us sing along to the chorus. It's a little cheesy, to be sure, but I do like it when the band makes an effort to interact with the crowd, as opposed to going through their enormous back catalogue (The Cure, I'm looking at you). My only complaint about this song was that I had started out recording it on my camera and was then forced to record the entire segment which went on for eight minutes. My arms were really aching by the end of it!


Of course, right after this, it was Chasing Cars so there was no respite for my arms. Chasing Cars was my song of 2006, and still remains among my favourite tunes. I mean, it's all about love, about how one of the greatest pleasures in life is just wasting time doing nothing with the person you love. For a person like me, someone who's so intent on filling up her spare time with experiences and memories, I'll admit that some of the best times I've had have been just spending time, walking, sitting in the park, doing absolutely nothing but enjoying the other person. The incredibly recognisable opening guitar strains never fails to make me stop doing whatever it is I'm doing, and just... listen. And the melody, the way the song builds up from such a quiet beginning to an incredible climactic crescendo... utterly amazing. I only wish my friend would stop making me sing this in karaoke. Just because I love the song doesn't mean I want to mangle it! That's only true of U2 - Stay (and I would add that I sing that quite well).

The enraptured audience

Next up was the band's duet with Martha Wainwright Set the Fire to the Third Bar. She wasn't present, and I can't recall who filled in for her, but the performance was great. Just as dark and dramatic as on the album.

The band concluded with a couple of songs off their most recent album Crack the Shutters and Take Back the City. I much prefer the former to the latter; the former's more in the style of Snow Patrol's previous hits, while Take Back the City's rather more jarring and ordinary.

I like this photo for it's 'scene-within-a-scene' quality.

The concluding song was, of course, Open Your Eyes, my favourite Snow Patrol tune. I can't say anything bad about it, and I've gushed about every other song before this, so I'll just say that their performance of this was very inspiring, and what made me leave the venue on a high. Yes, there was an encore (The Lightning Strikes and You're All I Have, set against an impressive CGI-animated background) but it was this song which absolutely did it for me and catapulted them above Coldplay in my list of favourite bands.

Fine, it's cheesy, but cute.

I did have one wee nitpick. I'd have liked to have heard Signal Fire. Still, I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of old material they played. A Hundred Million Suns isn't bad, but I much prefer their earlier stuff.

Edited on April 2nd: I'd totally forgotten that I very much enjoyed Death, the only song I heard the supporting band, White Lies, play. It starts out a little Ulrich Schnauss-y, but then turns into a more typical indie Britpop tune. Listen to it over at My Old Kentucky Blog.

Taylor St Baristas
1a New Street
London EC2M 4TP

Off Bishopsgate, opposite Liverpool Street station

Taylor St Baristas is one of three places in the City which serves good coffee, the others being Manon Cafe on Copthall Avenue, but I may be biased here as you get a free piece of Leonidas chocolate with every purchase of coffee, and Mangiare, which initially grabbed my attention with a sign proclaiming they served "the best coffee on London Wall" with the fine print reading "as voted by regular customers". I'm inclined to think Taylor St Baristas serves the best coffee of the three, but, as with everything, this is all subjective.

The cafe, as with many cafes which serve good coffee in London, was opened up by a group of Australians. I'm not sure why Australians seem to have a monopoly on good coffee, at least in London, but, hey, I'm not complaining. I've drunk coffee from one of the best Australian coffee houses in the world, and I can assure you it was well worth the seven hour flight from Singapore and one hour journey from our hotel in King's Cross. Heck, it's well worth a 20 hour flight from New York. It's that good. 

Anyway, Taylor St Baristas, as you might have inferred from the 'a' in its address, is small. There are no tables to speak off, although there are three or four bar stools which you can perch on, provided there are no more than three people in the line. For that reason, although I've purchased coffee from this cafe a fair number of times prior to my deciding to cut down on spending, it hasn't featured on this site just yet. However, one fine Sunday afternoon, we decided to grab a coffee and discovered no one at all in here, so we decided to sit, enjoy a slice of lamington, and just chill for a couple of minutes or so. I suppose, in a fierce throwing down of the gauntlet of sorts, the view that you get from the bar is of the Starbucks right opposite it, which opened up a week or two after this cafe opened up.

A lamington (£2.50), we were told by Eastern European barista Michal, is a cake which has been dipped in chocolate and covered in dessicated coconut. Apparently, you can enhance the calorie content of this even further by choosing to eat it with jam for an extra 50 p. My friend had tried it before and liked it, so he decided to order it when Michal recommended this over the brownie. That, and he's a sugarholic. I don't like coconut so I didn't enjoy this very much. My friend ate my half without objecting.

Now, the coffee... the real reason why people go to Taylor St Baristas. I have not had a bad coffee at this place just yet, and this one was no different. Just as we entered, the customer exiting the cafe said that he'd read on some website that, of all the baristas at this cafe, Michal made the best flat whites. I guess we were fortunate in that the only other barista in the cafe stepped out to chat with that customer, because that meant Michal made both of ours, and while I don't have any basis for comparison, I certainly am not about to disagree with that guy's view!

although the reason why I hadn't been back there in three months prior to my Sunday visit was my decision to economise. Over here, a flat white will set you back £2.20, although I've just realised that with the loyalty card (buy five, get one free), a flat white costs £1.83 or so, which makes this the cheapest flat white around, I guess!

Still, given my spending spree of late (which I'd classify as normal if I were still working, but overboard if I'm not), I really shouldn't be going out and eating and drinking (coffee, not alcohol) the way I've been doing over the past few weeks! As a family member has noted, vintage clothing and coffee are my green kryptonites.

Taste of Lewisham, a fairly recently refurbished Sri Lankan restaurant located within walking distance of Lewisham DLR, serves up some pretty authentic Sri Lankan (think South Indian, if you've not eaten this kind of food before) cuisine. It is also incredibly spicy. I don't know if they offer a mild option - I doubt it - and these guys sure as heck don't warn you when you're ordering.

Anyway, this is only my second visit to this place, my first having been more than a year ago. I can't remember what it used to be called, and while Taste of Lewisham has clearly undergone a refurbishment - it certainly wasn't this clean or shiny or orange and didn't have an English name during my last visit - the menu, quality of food and the prices have remained unchanged. And that's a good thing!

In a bid to be healthy, having had a cholestrol-laden dinner the night before, followed by an equally cholestrol-laden breakfast in the morning, we opted for paneer 65 (Indian cheese fried in spices, £3.75) for a starter, followed by lamb curry (£4.25), mixed vegetable curry (£3.50) and two servings of stringhoppers (idiyappam in tamil, something similar to vermicelli cakes, one portion for £3.50).

The paneer 65 was delicious! Apparently, it's named after a dish found in some restaurant some place and was number 65 on that particular menu. There're different versions of the recipe all over the world wide web, and this one, whatever it is, was amazing. I wasn't so keen on the raw onions, but the curry leaves were a nice touch.

Then came the main courses. I'd remembered that I wasn't quite able to handle the spiciness of the food the last time I was here, and this time was no different, with my lips starting to burn, and my finishing off half a can of Diet Coke even before finishing up one of the ten stringhopper cakes on my plate. I gradually got used to it and thought to myself, "this isn't so bad" when I made the cardinal error of biting into what I thought was a stringbean but which turned out to be a green chilli. I wasn't able to speak for some time after that. I started to sniffle quite badly and finished off three more cakes before regaining my powers of speech which were rapidly used to gesture at the offending chilli which I had spat out onto my plate and exclaimed, "I bit into a f***ing chilli! F***!"

That aside, the food was good. The bill came out to less than £20 including two soft drinks (60 p each), and I reckon that two could end up dining here for even cheaper if you don't go for the stringhoppers but instead opt for rice or dosai. Mind you, as I mentioned in the first paragraph, the food is hot. Very much so. I don't think my stomach could have survived if we'd ordered any more food!

Taste of Lewisham
19 Lee High Road
London SE13 5LD

S***! It was sleeting* hard outside ten minutes ago!

And now it's all bright and sunny again. Guess we're not quite into spring just yet!

* Is that even a word?

I am exhausted. I've been operating on very little sleep due to a combination of having to work on a report as part of a job application process, running around meeting people (both social and jobhunting-related) and trying to enjoy the intermittent sunlight we've been getting in London this week so far.

Posts I still need to get up are:

• Snow Patrol concert review
• London Restaurant Fortnight
• Mexican night at Roxy Bar & Grill
• A walk in the park
• A recent shopping craze resulting in the purchase of several designer sample pieces, and some vintage pieces from the US

But, for now, I just need some sleep. Or rather, a lot of sleep!

Edited on April 14th: Finally caught up on my backlog!

What do you need to make a man?

Iron enough to make a nail,
Lime enough to paint a wall,
Water enough to drown a dog,
Sulphur enough to stop the fleas,
Poison enough to kill a cow,
Potash enough to wash a shirt,
Gold enough to buy a bean,
Silver enough to coat a pin,
Lead enough to ballast a bird,
Phosphor enough to light the town,

Strength enough to build a home,
Time enough to hold a child,
Love enough to break a heart.

- The Wintersmith by Sir Terry Pratchett

Thank you, Sir Terry, for the wonderful books you have written. I don't think there's been a single book of yours which I haven't enjoyed.

Future Cinema organised a screening of Watchmen at a club under London Bridge some weeks back. This was a live cinema event, which meant that the event would be organised around the movie, and featured an entire '80s New York set being assembled in the street outside the club, and even involved a tank with the Comedian!

Tickets sold out within half an hour of being released. This was one of the events I didn't manage to get tickets to, proving that there are limits to my ticket-obtaining powers after all. Here're the link to the BBC feature and photographs of the event. And my word, it looked awesome.

On a Watchmen-related note, is it a coincidence that Devo, a band I had never heard of until I read the graphic novel last year, are doing a world tour this year?

Bwahahahaha! This can be found at J-List for US$28 (ex. delivery) [via Rare Bird Finds]. There's also the R2 D2 pepper grinder edition available closer to home from Play.com for £12.99.

I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal a pun from one of the comments I read on this as it's too good not to post: May the sauce be with you. Always.

And no, I'm not even going near the engrish on the label.

So he broke first. He called. And I, foolishly, foolishly picked up the phone. We somehow managed to talk for 50 minutes, with the conversation occasionally running off into awkward silences, and my having to concentrate so, so hard on not saying anything I might regret.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have called you, darling", he said, at one point, picking up on my distress as my insides were being ripped to shreds with the effort of talking to him. It's been so long since we last heard each other's voices, our goodbye having been less than ideal, as we were interrupted midway.

"Please don't call me that," I managed, and he apologised again, this time using my name, a move I've now come to realise means "dear" and "darling" to him, as opposed to just being a mere pronoun.

He called, he said, because he missed me and wanted to see how I was getting on.

And I answered because I felt the same way, although I hesitated once I saw his name on the caller ID.

Why oh why did I pick up? Stupid, stupid girl.

I just came across The New York Times' mini-guide to what's hip in East London published in November 2008. A lot of these places do sound rather cool, but I'm a little wary of anything that's in Hackney, having ventured there for the first time at night (and my second time overall) for Bad Passion, an underground club night at a disused club behind the Shacklewell Arms.

The event in itself wasn't bad; in fact, it was quite an enjoyable night, what with the disco and funky house music Eric Duncan (one half of NYC DJ duo Rub 'n' Tug) was spinning, but mostly because of the assortment of freaks, dweebs and weirdoes that made up pretty much the entire population in the club barring my friend and I. We wouldn't even have been there if I hadn't won tickets, so it's a safe assumption that I, honestly, do not belong to this particular clubbing demographic, even if I do enjoy the music, which was very much like what you would hear at a set by David Mancuso or Greg Wilson.

From the people with the ginormous shoulder pads and disco outfits, to a guy with hair that would look right at home in Breakin', to the Indonesian ladies who looked very much like short transverstites (and who were most likely high on some illegal substance) to a guy with a Tom Selleck 'tache to the bartender who looked like a cross between Queen Latifah and the lady cop from Law & Order, to a couple whose dancing can only be charitably described as "spaz" to a guy who might have been trying to do the Twist on the dance floor, but somehow only managed a Twitch... the list goes on and on.

And when you consider the club could only comfortably fit 50 people or so, you realise that this event registers a 37.8889 on the freak-o-meter scale from 1 to 10.

Just to clarify, it wasn't the event itself which made me feel uncomfortable about Hackney; it was getting to and from that location. On the way there, we passed by a grocers which had an unusually large crowd of youths congregating outside the doorway for no apparent reason whatsoever. One youth, with a large camera in hand, was taking photos, and actually ran over to take a photo of someone on the bus we were on, sliding across the hood of the car next to the bus, even as the traffic light turned from red to green. We saw just as large a crowd outside the same grocers on our way back, even though it was close to 3 am. If I had been walking, I think I would have been rather freaked. 

I guess the other reason is the reputation that Hackney has; there're Turkish and Vietnamese gangs operating in the area, and while I thought I was sort of okay with the idea because I look Oriental, I realised that it doesn't really help, because they'd just assume you're with a rival gang if they don't recognise you, so... yeah. I kind of felt conspicuously out of place the moment I left the comparative safety of the bus and club.

In any case, I'm not usually one to avoid a good night or an interesting venue just because I think it might be dangerous, though I don't go out of my way to court danger either, so I'll just have to figure out which places on the NYT's list are worthwhile exploring one of these nights. And I am definitely going to check out one of Bad Passion's events in Shoreditch, just to see if the crowd's any different!

I returned to Wild & Wood this afternoon, making it my third visit to the coffeeshop. I think this makes this place the most frequently visited coffeeshop of all the ones I have been to, with the exception of Caffe Vergnano, and Taylor Street Baristas.

Why my third visit warrants a separate post from my second visit, in spite of the fact that I'm posting them one after another, is because of what happened during this third visit.

You see, I was determined to try out one of their sweet treats today, although I was incredibly full after a wonderfully delicious Singaporean/Malaysian lunch whereupon I ran into a friend from JC, whom I haven't seen properly since JC. He looked pretty much the same, and he said the same about me, which is probably the best thing you could ever say to a girl, to be quite honest. Suffice it to say that the number of years since we received our A Level results is in the double digit range. Anyway, he was going off to meet some friends in Soho, and he and I arranged to meet up some time soon at the coffeeshop I was making my way to. At that point, I was within walking distance of a number of good coffeeshops. According to my GPS, I was less than 10 minutes away from Flat White, Fernandez & Wells, Nordic Bakery and Wild & Wood. But I wanted a place to sit and read, so, in the end, I made my way to Wild & Wood.

When I arrived, I saw that there was one brownie and one slice of apple cake left. I love baked goods. I really do. I have a fondness for brownies, black forest cake (gosh, I haven't had this in forever), and anything with apple and/or cinnamon (so there was a bit of a struggle between this place and Nordic Bakery). I asked the female barista (I got her name, but haven't the faintest idea how to spell it) which she would go for, but she wasn't able to help, as both taste so different. I stood at the display for a while, and finally opted for the brownie. After all, I'd heard that Clarke's brownies are among the best in London, and I hadn't yet had the opportunity to try them out, West Kensington just being a little too west for me.

"Pick me. Choose me. Eat me," it said, when I stood at the display. Apologies to Grey's Anatomy for mangling one of their most well-known lines.

And it went down a treat. The lady later said that she agreed with my choice as brownies are the ideal choice for a sunny, warm Saturday treat. And in any case, I figured I would just have to return some other day to check out the apple cake!

A flat white

The rosetta's not as pretty as the ones you might find at other places, but the beverage is great. And given that it's less than £2 for eating in, that, in my mind, upgrades it even if it's not as visually appealing.

Anyway, funny story is, after I commenced eating my brownie, the guy half of the couple at the table next to me asked if there were any brownies left. No, there weren't, because I'd taken the last one. I apologised (it was just one of those days when I felt sociable), and his girlfriend laughed it off, telling me it was because I brought the brownie to his attention that he started craving one. I offered him a little bit of mine, but he declined and opted for one of the large chocolate cookies instead.

After this, a young man sat at the same table I was occupying, and, at first, ordered a flat white. It was obvious he was a regular there, as the barista and he had a short chat. About half an hour later, he ordered the apple cake. Unable to contain my curiosity, I asked him how it was. "Really good," he said, and offered me some of his. I'm still on a bit of a diet, so declined, saying I'd already decided to come back and try it some other day. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the female barista laughing at the fact that I was so fascinated by the cake.

And then he and I started talking about anything and everything for the next 30 minutes or so. I'm not the most forward of persons. I don't mind chatting, but sometimes I chat without even bothering to introduce myself. Why bother if we're never going to meet again? But at the end of it, when we were both leaving (as the shop was closing), he asked for my name, and, just as I said, "maybe I'll see you again in there some time", not only did he say "Yes, I'm there most days," he also asked for my number.

Heh.

I explained to a friend a few weeks back (not about me, but about someone else), sometimes, when you're out of a relationship, you're at a stage when you'd just like to see if it's possible for you to attract someone's attention, and for that person to ask for your number, and not the other way round. It wasn't my intention when I struck up a conversation with this guy as I truly was interested in the cake, but I'm glad that I'm still able to have an intelligent conversation with someone. Especially since, in recent weeks, I'd become very worried that the only things I seemed to be talking about were job hunting, job hunting and job hunting!

When I first came across Wild & Wood, I didn't have my camera with me. So I went back there a few days later (after lunch at The Bountiful Cow) to capture this delightfully quaint oasis in the middle of central London (not for long, I expect, what with it being featured in Time Out's Consume for a number of weeks now) while it was still shiny and new.

For those who haven't been there, Wild & Wood is an amazingly affordable coffeeshop run by a two-person team: Kit, the male barista, and a female who is most likely from Eastern Europe, and although I got her name, I don't know how to spell it, so don't dare try!

Here're the photos:

Check out these prices. Definitely cheaper than Taylor Street Baristas and Nude Espresso, and, yet, they use organic milk and Monmouth coffee.

A nice spread of sweets and savouries.

I was quite amused by the tiny scrawled "it's great!" under the sign.

Any place which stocks newspapers and lets customers sit in a comfortable space without chasing them off is all right by me. This little cranny is called "The Nook".

Why is this sign so important? Simple. The fire alarm is right behind you if you happen to be sitting next to the sign. See the next photo for more details.

A latte

A cappuccino

Man, I really wish I could get my blog posts up as quickly as some other bloggers, but it's been pretty difficult, what with the job applications, preparation for interviews, wanting to chill and hang out with my friends or just basically, stepping away from the computer. 

I called this the "Eh, you want to buy copy watch?" photo.

In any case, here is my two week overdue post on The Bountiful Cow, the restaurant I chose to redeem my expiring toptable points on. The Bountiful Cow is, as you might guess, a restaurant devoted to beef. To be more specific, it's a pub which serves steaks and burgers, and had movie posters featuring cows and cattles adorning its walls. Some call it a gastropub, but that just sounds a little too upmarket for what this place actually is.

I was here because I figured P. and I should have a decent meal out. And by decent, I meant meat-filled. P., being a typical male, loves his steak. Me, not so much. I grew up on black pepper steak from Seng Huat at the old Zion Road hawker centre, but I'm not really a steak fan. I do like burgers, but am most definitely not a burger afficiando. My favourite burger happens to be the BBQ burger from Carl's, Jr., an American chain which set up in Singapore two years before I left, and which I hope will still be there when I return home next.

The pub wasn't exceedingly welcoming when we first walked in. The waiter stared at us curiously, and I had to make my way to the bar to explain we had reservations. As it turned out, our toptable reservations - made two weeks in advance - had not been conveyed to the restaurant, and they asked to see our e-mail confirmation as proof. Fortunately, I had it on my new BlackBerry. They also accepted that I had opted for a toptable treat and a set meal offer (which had actually expired a few days before, but I had sneakily changed the date of my reservation from before to after the expiry date so I got by on a loophole) even though this wasn't mentioned in the e-mail.

So, P. ordered the 13 oz. T-bone set special (£19.50 for the steak, £20 including dessert), while I ordered the 13 0z. Bountiful Burger toptable set menu (usually £12.50 for the burger alone, though mine came with a starter and dessert). Together, that's about close to 800 g of beef and bone between two people. To my mind, that's a lot of meat.

The steak wasn't bad. I had read reviews that the T-bone usually consisted of far more bone than meat, but I can personally vouch that that wasn't the case, although P. was getting rather tired of having to cut through so. much. meat. This was possibly due to his confusion between whether it was easier to cut along the grain of the meat, or across.

My burger was huge. I opted for cheese on my burger, and as you can see from my photo, it consisted of a solitary square of cheese on top of the patty. I don't know if that's usually what happens, but I was a little taken aback. Possibly it just looked worse than it really was because of the sheer size of the patty.

The burger had the smokey charcoal burnt taste that reminded me of home-style barbecues. I happen to like that, although I'm not sure it's entirely healthy. I don't really know what else to look for in burgers, so my only other comments would be that the bun wasn't soggy, and was generally okay to eat, and that the chips were very nice.

All in all, we managed to get through most of the meal, with P. helping me out on part of my burger. Still, as you can see, we actually left stuff behind. Knowing how much of a human garbage can P. is, that's actually saying something.

So, would I come back? Sure, I would, but only if they were holding a special promotion. As I said in the beginning, I'm not a big meat fan, and in spite of my occasional cravings for burgers, I really do eat them once every four months or so, so it's not as if this kind of food appeals to me. Still, for the portions, and the price (even if one was free), it wasn't bad. 

That being said, I rather unexpectedly got the chance to eat at Lucky 7 the day after. More on that in another post!

Wow! U2 tickets for Wembley sold out in three minutes, although I could still find the odd single seating ticket at 1.45 pm, almost five hours after the sale opened at 9 am. Fortunately for me, I'd already secured my tickets at the pre-sale (cue *squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee*).

Now, I've got friends clamouring to buy a ticket off me, but the problem is that I know how much they're worth now, and while it wasn't my intent when I maxed out my allocation, I'm also in a position where I'm no longer reliant on a stable income flow, so the value I want to realise for my unexpected advantage is now higher, particularly since I paid $50 for pre-sale excess.

Plus, I did the work, so I'd like to get compensated for that as well. Shoe leather costs, if you will. Fortunately for me, for the most part, my friends were economics students and/or work in financial services, and do understand my way of thinking, so it's cool.

I just feel a little bad, that's all. Damn this Catholic guilt complex.

Whitecross Market banner against a background of the ugly yet striking Barbican

Tried the by-now-incredibly-famous Whitecross Market coffee this afternoon, having some time to kill before heading off for a fascinating talk by Frank Casey on he, his colleague Harry Markopolos, and their nine year quest to get the SEC to look into Bernie Madoff. I'll blog about the talk some other time, as this isn't the main focus of this post.

Anyway, UK Barista of the Year for 2009 Gwilym Davies wasn't around. Instead, a friendly female barista made my flat white. She asked not to be in the photo, so all I have of her is the top of her head, behind the row of cups on top of the coffee machine.

And it was a very nice flat white too, with a nice, if simple, piece of latte art on top. Definitely woke me up. The drink that is, not the art. I'll have to return some time to try out Gwilym's coffee... especially his signature drink, though I don't think he offers that on a regular basis!

I can be fairly spontaneous (as spontaneous as a rigid Singaporean can be, that is), and, yesterday, while on the Victoria line, figuring that I would be doing quite a fair bit of travelling anyway, and deciding to take advantage of the one-day travelcard fare on an Oyster card thingy, I ventured southwards to Brixton to try out Franco Manca, allegedly the best pizza in London.


Franco Manca (Italian for "Franco's not here", a reference to the restaurant that used to occupy the space before Franco Manca) serves up proper Italian pizza (i.e. a maximum of four toppings) made with a sourdough base which has been baked for 20 hours in a wood-burning oven imported from Italy. The restaurant is located in Brixton Market and sits rather incongruously between a Caribbean grocer's and a wig shop. I sat outside, along the market walkway, which wasn't the greatest spot, because there was a smell of fish wafting over from the fishmonger nearby. Still, the smell wasn't strong enough to put me - or anyone else - off their food.

There are seven pizzas served on any given day (six on the menu, and a special), none costing more than £5.80. I'm a sucker for anything with the word "special" (seriously) so that's what I opted for. It turned out to be a no-tomato pizza (yes, amazingly enough, that's what tomato-crazy LMR opted for) with mozarella, Italian sausage and what the waiter called "broccoli from the South of Italy".

I thought the sausage was a little too salty, while the broccoli tasted a little more like watercress. The mozarella was incredibly delicious (apparently, Franco Manca flew in a cheesemaker from Sorrento to train their supplier Alham Wood Cheeses in Somerset) in the art of mozzarella making. but that wasn't the point of the pizza. The main focus was the dough. And, my gosh, I have never tasted a pizza base as delicious as this in my life ever. And it was astoundingly light too.

According to owner Giuseppe Mascoli, if the crust is covered in small black charcoal marks ("like a leopard's skin"), it "means the pizza is cooked just right." Indeed, it was.

All of this was washed with a glass of homemade organic lemonade, served in bottles which reminded me of home (as these are exactly the kind of bottles I have at home in Singapore). If I hadn't been so full (and caffeinated from an interview which I later learnt went better than I thought, but still not good enough), I would have opted for an espresso (Franco Manca uses Monmouth coffee). The restaurant also serves water on tap, organic wine (£7.50 for a 750 ml bottle, £1.40 for a glass) and organic beer (£1.40 for a 330 ml bottle).
All of this - and a sense of humour too - for less than £8. Greta doesn't work there anymore, but her name's still on the till.

Franco Manca is only open from 12 noon to 5 pm, Monday to Saturday.

We've had remarkably good weather in London over the last few days. It's astonishing. It's as if they're making up for the crappy summers of the past two years. But on a rather grey day last week, this exchange between P. and I took place.

Me: Ugh. It's going to rain. I know it. I hate when it rains.
P.: I thought you're only happy when it rains?
Me: That's garbage! [pause] Hee hee hee.

I do love me a good double entendre.

It's been 4 weeks since I last spoke to MD. 672 hours. 690 hours since we broke up. In spite of recent posts, I don't hate him. I am angry, and am trying to remain angry. When it comes to negative emotions, I much prefer anger to sadness. Anger doesn't incapacitate as much as sadness does. And anger's easier to burn off as well.

And I miss him a lot. It's been so tempting to text him just to tell him that, but, so far, I've managed to refrain. It usually hits me towards the end of the day, and I stop myself by telling myself not to bother him at work, or that he's most likely asleep and that there's no point in torturing myself by wondering why he hasn't replied if he's not in a position to respond.

And, damn it, I don't want to be the one to break first.

We have texted, but mostly just over administrative matters to do with events we'd bought tickets for. I've ignored any of his attempts at making conversation and just laid the facts down, not just to let him know in no uncertain terms that I meant what I said when I told him I didn't want to see him after we broke up, but also to limit the damage I can do. The less words said, the better. The less likely I am to break down, the less likely I am to lash out.

But I really, really miss him. There're times when what we had, and what I've lost just pops into my head, and I just cannot think about it because thinking about it in any measure threatens to overwhelm me completely. When I find myself near a place where I might run into him, I get a little panicky in spite of how large this city is.

Baby steps, girl, baby steps.

One month down, just a few more to go.

In a recent poll conducted by the FT and Harris, over 75% of Britons believe jobless immigrants (i.e. people like me) should be asked to leave the UK, according to a new poll. Back home, I've grown up with a constant barrage about how foreign talent's the way to go, as if Singaporeans aren't good enough for senior positions in any organisation. I've seen my fair share of second-rate Westerners working in positions of seniority back home simply because they're white. Not that they're all bad, mind you, but you've got to admit that there's more than the occasional case of reverse discrimination in Asia.

It's tough being a Singaporean sometimes. It's not as if we're not welcome anywhere. It's just that we don't seem to be seen as good enough to get anywhere.

I'm absolutely overjoyed right now. Snow Patrol were awesome! I was incredibly worried that I'd be a little down because Snow Patrol's a band you're meant to see with someone special, with someone you love... But I didn't feel any of that at all! They were brilliant. And I'm so glad I didn't waste this on someone I wasn't meant to be with.

All this feels strange and untrue
And I won't waste a minute with you...

Just bought a pair of calf-high boots from eco-friendly ethical shoe designer Terra Plana for £40 (down from £150). They're the same as the style in the photos below, but in black, and I have just found out that you can wear them two ways: up to your calves, or scrunched down to your ankles.

I'm not just thrilled by the price (even if the shoe isn't entirely made out of leather, but a combination of leather and mesh), but I have been looking for a pair of calf-high boots with heels for over a year now, and the price is certainly all right by me! With the warmer weather we've been having, I've been dying to show off my legs and short dresses for a while now. And even when the weather's not co-operating, I can wear these with my work trousers too.

I also purchased a pair of sky blue high heeled open-toed sandals (perfect for summer) for £10 (down from £90). Yes, I know, I shouldn't be spending, but I really need to get out of my ugly shoe rut.

And now to get ready for Snow Patrol tonight. I'm not sure why, but it seems to be a case of Snow Patrol's Lonely Hearts Club this weekend. There are a couple of people whom I know have gone through break-ups recently (including myself) and we all seem to be in the same boat: having to find someone else to go with as we no longer wish to go with our former significant others.

And, yes, I'll admit it. My team was outclassed and outplayed yesterday. And the worst part of it was: Man Utd was actually playing well. I mean, they hadn't rolled over and played dead. They turned up to the match. It's just that Pool were awesome yesterday. Fortunately, Man Utd are still four points ahead with a game in hand... for the time being!