A fairly average weekend

I am not exactly sure if summer is here or not, but there are heaps of festivals happening all over the place. There is something for everyone, even a poor immigrant from New Zealand with a shoddy phonecam and a hankering to spend what little money she has on curry, beer and music. Hurrah!

My friend Steph invited me out to Ealing on Friday night for their jazz festival. It is a low-key affair, held at the local park. Admission is set at £1, to keep the teenagers out and the old rockers in.

Our first stop was the Crypt Tent and the London Jazz Collective. This is twenty musicians on a tiny stage playing original compositions for the love of music. It went very well with a pint of lager:


The aroha came through in their playing, and was quite nice. The songs were poetic and upbeat. The groove was particularly good when the band was joined by a woman whose name I never did learn:


Sadly, I missed the last part of her set to wander off and find some nosh. Being London there is always a random curry kitchen somewhere, and this one let me put lots of extra chillis and coriander on my plate. It was pretty good food for a muddy field on a cold night:


The other women grabbed some moroccan foody assemblages and we wandered to the main tent to eat. This was a much more laid-back place, even though it had a massive stage set, really sophisticated light rigging, and some serious jazz buffs in the audience. There was about 500 years' worth of musical experience on stage as the old, old, old groovers improvised and interacted:


Way cool.

Sadly, this was to be my final stop in the festival, as the journey home to Lewisham was going to be almost two hours. I left a steadily thickening crowd, dodging picnic blankets unfolding all around me like parachutes as people settled in for a long night of cool. It would be wonderful to do the same myself next year.

The remainder of my weekend was fairly low-key, although Lucy and I had a random encounter with a Maori womens' music group playing at a children's fair in the courtyard opposite my work. That was choice!

Welcome to the English 'Summer'

Having finished a tough week, it was time to find the next adventure. This weekend, the Rise festival was on in North London. The Festival seeks to harness the energy of the music scene to fight against rascism, especially the BNP - who have a strong following in this part of London. It was a perfect day for a picnic, so off we went.

It took an hour and half to get to Finsbury Park and we arrived as a band called Hollyoaks started up. They sounded a bit like Strawpeople to me, and were quite popular.

Our picnic rug got christened with a little rain, but not enough to stop me exploring the stalls and such like. There were some very cool campaign areas, and it was good to see a huge Union presence. I bought one or two tokens that reflected my inner activist and was heading back to Lucy and some tofu salad when the heavens opened. Then they closed again. As quickly as that.

It had got a bit damp, but fortunately Lucy found beer, so we were warming up well when Jamelia took the stage. She's pretty cool for a RnB pop girlie, and made sure the crowd could boogie by covering other people's songs as well as her own recognisably catchy tunes.

Just as she was launching into the big hits it started to rain again. And this time, for good. Lightening, thunder, darkening sky - all very dramatic. What's a girl with no raincoat, no umbrella and no shoes to do but dance? Of course, my glasses fogged up, so I had to take them off and squint. Lucy thought I looked pretty wet and silly:


The North Londoners who surrounded us were well prepared. There is something very cool (and I suspect very English) about dancing and drinking under individual rainbow umbrellas at a summer festival.

The rain cleared fifteen minutes later, and it was best that Lucy and I stroll around - to get more beer, to dry off her jeans, and to check out the other stages. We found the African stage - but it was just someone's stereo. The Undergound stage had old skool jamaican hip hop - loud but average. The Mela stage had awesome bangra - so we learnt some moves and are now ready for the next Bollywood audition.

We wandered a bit more and bumped into a few people we knew, but we were really just too cold and wet to do much more - so thought it best to make towards the exit. I managed to avoid the Comedy Stage on the way out (phew!) and we got home by 6pm.

Long time no blah blah blah.

The London 'spring' is cold and wet. It was enough to make me think about hibernating.... which I know is what a few of you suspected since I have been quiet for so long. (I will try to make it up to you with heaps of photos.) Unfortunately my silence has more to do with London hustle than a decent rest in a warm cave. I have just finished my night school course (in Marketing) and am finally finding out what the world has been doing for the last eight weeks.

My Aunt Christine is over here for some summer school at Oxford. She is taking a course on the history of the Costwolds and another on Viking invasions. We students(!) must stick together, so I had the great pleasure of joining her in Oxford as her weekend guest.

My ridiculously early train ride got me into town just before lunch, so I checked into our hotel overlooking the Isis. (The Isis is actually the Oxford section of the Thames given an alternative name so that local intellectuals can feel special.) The pub has a cute outlook- replete with old skool cranes for transferring cargo from the river:


I had my first look inside Christ Church on the way north into the town centre, and it looked a wonderful place at which to study:


Softly envious, I meandered along hallowed paths soaking up the learn'ed atmosphere. It was nice to know I would be seeing some of it the next day as a special guest. Past a million ivy-covered walls and wrought iron gates, I found myself back on the street and determined to find the University's museum on the other side of town.

The Oxford University Museum of Natural History is about half the size of a rugby field, and is filled with interestingness. In spite of its size, I thought it the equal of the Smithsonian Museum in many ways:


It was especially cool to be able to touch a cheetah- although it still takes quite a bit of nerve to convince yourself that a 200 year-old model is unlikely to come to life and want an Amy-flavoured snack:


What do you think of the creepy snake specimens?:


I couldn't help but 'wow!' at this. It looks like someone's been let loose with the Playdoh, but these are fossilised dinosaur eggs:


An anthropological museum is attached to the back of the building, and this was full of delights all its own. Unfortunately, the lighting stays down to protect all the treasures and is too low for photos. So, you will just have to imagine the wonderment of a wood and ivory ceremonial apron with decorative monkey head for yourself.

Not really knowing how to top that, I headed back to the pub to enjoy some Good British Food with my aunt. I tried not to worry about the bombs and burning Jeeps popping up all over the UK, but my thoughts naturally turned to everyone in London- especially those at the Pride Parade. By the next day it was clear that nothing terrible came of any of it, so we were able to head out and enjoy more of the lovely town.

Unable to believe my well-travelled aunt had never been on a punt before, I insisted we make the most of the ultra-English Oxford vibe and find one. Thus, we spent a soothing half hour as a scruffy student pushed us around the back of the Botanical Gardens:


Scrambling out as the weather got a bit threatening, we ambled down old, old streets towards Christ Church and lunch in the Great Hall. Rain managed to hold off until we were under the musty, oaky ceiling and soaking up the rarified atmosphere:


This was a very posh spot for a sandwich and a bit of chit chat with my aunt's classmates. I found myself talking to a retired 40 year-old who had worked as a personal banker for the Rothschilds. Other students had come from Ireland and Sweden, and the classes were very interesting - Consorts of British monarchs, children's literature written in Oxford, torture throughout the ages... wow.

After all that wonderful adventure it was time to put myself on the train back to the lowbrow confines of Lewisham. It was special to share some of my aunt's experience, and I am very grateful.