"SPRING", & I'M DONE

In the last few weeks or so the sun has decided to coyly start sending suggestive looks London’s way, repeatedly flashing her warm gaze hither and yon before withdrawing behind her mask of clouds to lavish her attention on her Mediterranean bosom buddies once more.

London, of course, being starved of such attention for so long, has predictably reacted like an over-s*xed teenager being flirted with by a Penthouse Pet. You should see the lather the locals have been whipped into.

Deathly-pale legs and arms have been unwrapped and exposed to the frigid breeze. Skirts and shorts that have been languishing in the dusty bowels of wardrobes have been hauled out in the desperate hope that they’ll get more than a month’s worth of use before the changing winds of fashion render them un-wearable. People sun themselves on balconies, in parks and even on grassy footpaths like so many pale, underfed seals. The media froths with Thank-the Lord-and-all-his-angels headlines trumpeting the arrival of Spring like it was Richard the Lionheart returning from the Crusades to see off the dastardly barons. Gossip columns attribute every rumour of infidelity or celebrity seen-togethers to the Viagra-like properties of the season.

Never mind that it’s still cold enough to give you hypothermia if you got trousered and passed out in a carpark all night. There’s SUNLIGHT, by jove. Not to be wasted, ey wot?!?

In all fairness, the weekend just gone was nice, with two (count ‘em, two) cloudless days back-to-back and smiles all around. Such is the importance placed upon the weather here – the moods of millions remain, as always, intertwined with the amount of cloud cover.

Anyway, during this recent spate of brightness in The Twilight Kingdom, I:

• Went to a surprisingly-under-attended but wickedly bounce-a-licious gig at Portland Road – we saw a (very) French jazz ska band called Babylon Circus who apparently ripped it up at the Woodford Folk Festival a few years ago (hands up all those who’ve seen these boisterous Froggies in action?). Good fun, good night.

• Went to a pub billed as Clapham’s best-kept secret, the Bread and Roses, to watch the Six Nations Rugby and to farewell yet another friend who’s pulled the Eject lever on London Life (more on that below). The rugby wasn’t bad – Ireland beat Wales by a whisker at the death, so the Irish lads behind us erupted as only the Oirish can and turned the place into a party house for the rest of the night. Oh, and the name of the pub has nothing to do with the Ken Loach film of the same name - instead (I love this) it comes from an old American poem they have on the wall behind the bar which the author dedicated to the women who led the Textile Strike in 1911, demanding fair wages and dignified working conditions: “Our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes; Hearts starve as well as bodies; give us bread, but give us roses ". Tremendous.

• Somehow managed to keep up with my marathon-running, ex-SAS mate on a 1.5 hour jog through London’s biggest parks in the brilliant sunshine, marveling at all the locals sitting in the deck chairs in Hyde Park wrapped up in jackets worthy of a polar expedition. First serious run since toe surgery nearly a year ago. My calf muscles have only just started talking to me again, but it was well worth it.

• Informed work that I was sorry but it never would’ve worked out between us and that I’d be moving my stuff out in a few weeks.

Yes indeedly-doodly, it’s official, folks. I gave my notice at work this morning. After 8+ months, I’ll be leaving my job here and the United Kingdom at the end of April and hitting the open road for awhile.

Reasons:

• the job was not as advertised;

• the workload has slowed right down and changed as the recession bit deep because, all of a sudden, all the developers stopped lodging applications to build bright shiny new things and are instead sitting on their cavernous, echoing bank accounts and weeping. And those who have already lodged and/or built are demanding to know how we’ve spent their Planning Obligations contributions. If those Appeals rooms in Town Hall don’t get plenty of use in the next 6 months you can slap me sideways and call me Susan;

• due to the gargantuan bollocking the bank-reliant British economy has taken, alternative job opportunities at a similar level to my current one are rarer than Robert Mugabe's apologies;

• To be frank, I’ve come to realize that London just ain’t me – yes, the cradle of the Empire has got its tasty bits, and I absolutely loved the place the other times I was here, but back then I was on holiday, very single, in party mode and looking for something different. Lobbing here focused on getting international work experience, only to be met by the biggest, ugliest recession since the 1920’s and a workplace I'd been told porky-pies about – well, that’s just bad luck really. Can't really give myself any uppercuts about my timing (hands up everyone who predicted we’d be lurching drunkenly through a global recession as horrific as this right now………... anyone?....... anyone at all?). I’m glad I finally came and experienced working here, but London bores me (cue shocked gasps from all the London-lovers reading this). It’s not the weather - that I can handle. It’s just too safe, too rules-bound, too inefficient in a befuddled way, too commodified, too pedantic, too petty for me to stay any longer. And people here are far, FAR too engrossed in entertaining themselves at every single opportunity. It seems like that's everyone's goal in life here. All well and good if you’re 18 or a YAAB or even if you’re just a bloated white Westerner who wants an easy, cushy life without being troubled too much by the real world and all it's wonderful imperfections. But how much mindless, unchallenging, soft-serve entertainment masquerading as "culture" can a homo sapien absorb before they start thinking there’s gotta be more to life than the booze / drugs / clubs / pubs / theatres / concerts / exhibitions cycle? Not much, in my case.

Anyway, that's just my personal opinion. But a lot of others here are acting like Sri Lankans who’ve just seen the next tsunami on the horizon as well. My line manager has been forced into retirement already (last week) and is off sailing for a few months, my divisional manager has called it quits as of April 1 and four other officers from different departments have also called "Chocks away!" and flown to distant shores in the last 2 weeks alone.

On the social front, no less than half of my minuscle group of London-based friends and acquaintances are also joining the mass exodus from Titanic Mk II (aka the UK ). One chum is moving back to The Land of Oz and taking ten (count ‘em, TEN) of her Brit friends with her; another pal has just moved to Hong Kong to follow her heart, and another one is about to go to Afghanistan for work on a youth project. Rather than seeing this as a depressing set of circumstances, I’ve chosen to be inspired by my scurrying friends and their grand plans for the next stages of their lives.

As such, I’m off to France first, to tour the World War One battlefields on the ANZAC Day Weekend and do the Dawn Service at Villers Brettoneux, then I’m making my way down to Morocco to try my hand at surfing the last of the winter swell for awhile, and then……. who knows. I’m waiting to see how the money situation pans out once I’ve sorted all the necessary things here in London before I can determine what my options are. But the dark places of the world have been calling to me for a long, long time; maybe it’s time I answered.

Sri Lanka photos

Chillin' Midigama style at Ram's
The Proof - yes, I can now stand and ride, sort of. No, it ain't pretty. Yes, wearing a t-shirt that expanded enough to fit Shaquille O'Neal after 3 waves instead of a rashy was a hindrance. No, I will not be entering the Billabong Pro as a wildcard entry anytime in the near future.

Galle Fort wall, en route to Colombo. Had to take dopey tourist photos to remind ourselves that yes, it really was that underwhelming.

Midigama, out the back of Ram's guest house, complete with resident bovine and reef breaks front, left and right. This is where every sunset was spent while we were here. Ahhhhh. How's the serenity?

Surf saturation

View from behind Sri Lanka's biggest Buddha's ear lobe.

Oooooo, colourful! Sarah inside the temple.

Sereneley contemplating how much to tip the dude "minding" our shoes...

Temple wall. They lurrrrrrve them some elephant decorations in Sri Lanka.

Writer's island retreat. Gorgeous. Apparently you can stay there. If your last name is Abramovich. Or Buffet.

How Sri Lankan mums keep their kids on their best behaviour. "Sanji, put the cricket bat down or I'll get the doll out again!"

Stilt fishermen on the way back to Midigama from Unuwatuna (I think)

Sarah out the side of Ram's (in the background)

View north to Lazy Left break (popular with a gang of French surfers staying just up the road) from Ram's

More Ram's / Midigama. Can you tell we liked the place, perchance?

Your typical Sri Lankan grocery store - thick on the ground in some towns.

Westerners: exciting. Check out the utter excitement on the face of the girl in the blue t-shirt!

Military recruitment, Sri Lankan style. Note the fake gun barrel jutting from between the "camo pattern" sandbags.

Snake Farm. Cobra - v - Tortoise. Result: 0 - 0 draw, relegation for both

Mr. Bitey sizing up Mr. Open-At-The-Bottom-Sarong

Python neckwear: comin' to a boutique menswear store near you in '09.........

........ along with All New TreeSnake bracelets! I make this look good.

"You don't bite me and I don't rip your head off - deal?" In all seriousness, we got along like a house on fire. We're now Facebook friends.

Fresh tuna / seafood stands on the main coastal road between Midigam and Welligama. Fresh off the boats that pull up onto the beach directly behind. Tuna-licious.

Sarah and I atop Parrot Rock at the southern end of Mirissa. Speccy. Well, not me. Sarah and Mirissa. You know what I mean.

Some tourist on top of Parrot Rock. Looking back towards our guest house directly behind amidst the palms.

Same guy spoiling our view up Mirissa's main beach
(god he was everywhere, this guy).

Train journey through the hill country, Kandy to Colombo, aboard the BLT (Blo*dy Loud Train)

Sarong-clad Tamil ladies picking tea in the lower hills around Adam's Peak.

Punk monkeys at a Buddhist temple on the way down from Adam's Peak

And the Lord said unto Matt "Yea verily, thou shalt bless the Earth by wearing a fetching sarong over thine garments and squinting this day". Cold dawn atop Adam's Peak after 3-hour climb.

Sarah and I at dawn on Adam's Peak summit. I'm the one with the s*x-bomb hat hair. Stylin'.

Anyone for limes? Con-ji the Fruiterer near Hatton's bus station.

Temple of the Tooth, Kandy.

Did I mention they like them some elephant decorations in Sri Lanka? More Temple of the Tooth (main hall).

The Perpetrators. Sri Lankan traditional dance troupe in mid-swindle.

Hindu temple, Kandy. Fantabulous little find off a busy street, completely unexpected.

Kandy Mosque. No, really. Just up the road from the little Hindhu Temple in Kandy.

Road-side commerce and elephants. Doesn't get more Sri Lankan than this.

Best ladyfingers I've ever tasted are to be had in Sri Lanka. Anyone who smirked at that should now go to the corner and stand there for the next ten minutes before writing "I will get my mind out of the gutter" on the board 100 times.

Tuk tuk a-flyin'

Surf right on the doorstep of our guest house in Hikkaduwa. Can't claim this is me, much as I'd like to.....

............ but this is Sarah carving it up on the reef break in Mirissa (talented little b*gger). The surf really was a bit bigger than it appears in this photie, but this was the best shot. I was standing on the reef at the water's edge surrounded by sea urchins to take this shot. I'm so hard-core I can barely stand it.

No, really, it was bigger than this too. Sarah heading out to take on the locals.

Mmmmmm banana fritters. They do good dessert and sweets in Sri as well. Mirissa again.

Yet more Mirissa.

Too much Mirissa is never enough. Down "our" end of the beach, near our guest house.

A man and his dog. Parrot Rock.

The view from our front door at the guest house, Mirissa. Excruciatingly tough to take.

Join The Military And Get to Look Like a Bad-*ss Wearing Bandanas and Camo Paint & Heaps of Machine Gun Belts.

Hill Country tea plantations from the BLT.

Sarah lovin' every minute of it.

The Adam's Peak Aftermath. My 10-year-old hikers finally and inexplicably decided to disintergrate on a gentle stroll around Kandy's streets. Cue gaffer tape. Wondrous Gaffer Tape - is there nothing you can't fix?

This from the balcony of our guest house, looking up to Adam's Peak in the background.

Dawn at Adam's Peak, Sarah feeling mystical and at one with the clouds.

Pilgrims, Adam's Peak.

Standard Sri Lankan fare. Although the EGB (Elephant Ginger Beer) is outstanding.

Sarah capturing sunset over Kandy's central man-made lake.

Snazzy elephants, Colombo

Sacred bodhi tree in Gangaramaya Temple during the above festival, Colombo.

Seeking divine enlightenment as to how they got a tree that size to grow on a second-storey platform.

Gangaramaya Temple, Colombo

Gangaramay Temple courtyard - serene. Sarah's standing on the platform the used to load up the First Elephant.

Gangaramay Temple

Lanterns lining the roads outside the temple

The First Elephant, leaving Gangaramay Temple and bearing the holy relic on it's back.

Radicalised skinhead Oompa Loompas protesting against the working conditions at the Wonka factory.........okay, yes, they were Buddhist monk trainees in the parade. But can you imagine?

Traditional drummers. Blurring courtesy of digital camera, not their awesome superhero-like speed.

Me. Pagoda. Colombo. Sunshine. First-day-off-the-plane-from-London tan. The start of it all.