emergency office weekend survival kit

one big holiday

Q: what's better than a 3-day weekend?
A: a 4-day weekend!

Tomorrow is the first of my 3 August mini-trips, with a 4 day jaunt to the -mostly- sunny shores of Brittany. Eating, sleeping, reading, swimming, laughing, sleeping: sounds like a decent agenda to me.

lead me to your door

as one of the most diverse cities in the world, it is hard not to feel at home very quickly in London. But feeling like a Londoner can take more time, if only because when moving here (or anywhere else) you still carry over the instincts and behaviorism you've picked up in previous homes.

For me the first time feeling like one happened not too long ago while, quite fittingly, riding the bus. A couple of French 20-somethings here for the weekend were talking with their friend who apparently lived here or something, and they got to discussing the weather, remarking how horrid it was. The bus passed the James Smith store and the guy make an innocuous joke about how that store would never go out of business considering said crappy weather. And even though it is probably exactly the sort of remark I would make, my first thought when I heard this was how so not better Paris (which is where they were from) weather was and that their miffed criticism was a bit annoying. So in effect I got sort of defensive, which is a common reaction when you feel a sense of belonging somewhere. It's not very rational, after all talking about the weather for 5 minutes is something you'd do with perfect strangers here, so for friends to do so seems totally normal. But in that context this small moment kind of served as a personal realization that I do consider London to be more than just where I live - it's also my home now.

the night starts here

Tuesday morning I'm feeling good, it's quite sunny out, for once not too chilly, and I decide to go for a run during lunch. Though not yet a runaholic like some people at the J.O., I've managed a decent time last week and it's got me wanting to get back into regular running. I even start thinking about the London marathon while on the tube (NB: i have never run a marathon, or even an official race since my glorious participation in the Hong Kong French middle-school olympics) and start scheming about how to deal with the hordes of groupies that will soon pave the way of my training runs.
Typically busy morning, I really should stay at the office during my lunch break but it's too nice out to resist, so I go for a run with a friend from work. We start kinda slow then I push a little bit, manage to beat my time from last week, and also push my buddy to beat his, although 2 minutes behind (hey I never said I wasn't competitive). Back to the gym to change, I'm barely out of the shower when I get a message asking if I'd go for a run that evening. Can't refuse, so I text back to accept, even adding an exclamation point to my answer to show my eagerness, which is a technique I believe I learned from Shakespeare. I know that getting pasta salad for lunch isn't an option at this point, so I oblige.
After an even busier afternoon, run number 2 does not sound like the most inviting of activities. But actually it goes fine, my running partner is in a similar state of mind to mine, so we shuffle along. Hyde Park can be really gorgeous in these conditions, I even forget I'm tired by this point.
I am due at a work social for a friend who's leaving the company, and manage to get there at 9:15pm, also known as 3 hours after everyone else. By this point a few people are hunched around a table waiting for food, the rest near the bar just having drinks. Of course I make the sensible choice and opt for staying with the stand-up crowd (zing!), despite my belly's protestations. Some drinks are had, conversations partaken, a general enjoyable night out, prolonged with the inevitable last mojito at a hotel bar (why do bars close so early in this city again?). At 1:30am I stumble somewhat into bed, a bit dizzy but my pillow seems like the softest pillow in the world and I promptly pass out.
1:32am: bzzzzzz. I get a text, then a call from the friend we were feting that night. She thinks someone has been in her apartment (door was open, lights on, etc...). I somehow dress up normally, get a cab to her place, and make my best to reassure her. Considering my state of tiredness, I am pretty sure I would've dozed through any break-in during the night. In fact I am pretty sure I ask her where I can sleep within 40 seconds of my arrival. Who says chivalry's dead?
Work today feels kinda bad, to say the least. Unshaven, with mostly the same clothes as the previous day (which is where the extra tie in my desk comes in handy), with mental reflexes far from sharp, I slowly realize that this is going to be the busiest day of the month, as first days generally are. Hooray for red bull!
All this to say: I am going to bed now. Attention would-be burglars: if you could leave my friend's flat alone (and mine while you're at it) it'd be much appreciated. And to all other, as a great man used to say: good night, and good luck