Definitions of cold

If you weren't aware, from living in Australia with it's tropical winters, there is more than one definition of cold in the UK. Upon my arrival I was registering about a ffffuuuucccckkk on my cold scale. Bear in mind this is the heighest setting on my scale, from times spent at Threadbo and early mornings in Canberra for a year 6 excursion to Parliament. Actually the first three days were a mild four degrees. My brother laughed his arse off at me while I prayed my genes would kick in, during a walk of Burbary Castle and its Neolitic ridgeway. They did not. I may be the wimpiest white person to ever come to the UK. I caved bought some extra winter layers including thermals and am trying to mentally prepare myself for a trip around the highlands of Scottland, where it has been easing at an average of -4 degrees.

But I should write about Swindon and the quick trip to Oxford. Swindon the home town of my brother Warren, and the competent branch of the Office series is a small southern town about an hour outside of London. It developed along railway lines and played an important part in train production of the early 19th Century. Train memorbila can be found throughout the town including artworks in the outlet shops, I wanted to take some photos but I realised it would be the equivilant of taking photos at DFO factory outlets in Australia. Despite my brother's assertions that Swindon is an ugly town, I managed to find some pretty areas around the park and original houses built by the train company for its railway workers.



Swindon Park

I also took a small trip to Oxford with Warren. We visited the tourist centre, I bought a really "cool" library bag with Alison in Wonderland talking to a Dodo and lamely carried it around the streets of Oxford, to the amusement of passers by. We tried to join a walking tour but unfortunately they were booked out, so we bought a little tour book and walked around ourselves.

Oxford is a town dripping with student life and academic influence. We passed monuments to matyrs of the Protestent Church executed under orders of Bloody Mary and we went through the halls of Christ Church College, paying a ridiculous £6 entry fee. Can you imagine paying at UNSW to take a tour of the Roundhouse? Well this was, I realised, somewhat cooler as we walked past portraits of Henry VII and Elizabeth I. In each of the Churches I lit a candle and marveled at the stain glass windows, which photos can't do justice to. Before coming home to Swindon we happened by a bookstore which sold £2 books. I went a little crazy, coming out with a Dickens, book of poetry on World War One and a biography of an academic suffering multiple personality disorder called A Fractured Mind.

This New Year's Eve I will be going up to Old Town for a few drinks with a couple of seasoned English drinkers. I definately won't be going drink for drink.



Christ Church College courtyard



A butcher in Oxford



Shopping in Oxford



The windows are much brighter and detailed in reality

Leaving home

So on Christmas Day I headed down to the airport after a nice family Christmas lunch to catch my plane to Heathrow. I couldn't believe what had happened to the airport. I used to think we had the nicest terminal around but now all the carpets have been ripped up in favour of cheap tiles and the duty free looks like it has been dipped in Franklins juice before being installed in the departure section.

Once on Singapore airlines the air hostess graciously told me that my seat was taken by a couple who insisted they should sit together because "Well, we're together". Now I didn't book my seat nor did I actually care where I was sitting but at that moment I stuck at my chest and said "Actually I do want to sit in the seat I was allocated". I don't know why it annoyed me, maybe because I was an usher for years, or because I worried about being pushed around this early into my trip, needless to say the bloke next to them moved and I felt triumphant in my window seat ... till about 5 hours in when I became suddenly ill.

With just two hours left till Singapore I meditated the rest of the way and managed to avoid getting up to go to the bathroom. I felt awkward asking the people next to me to me to get up and down constantly when we had already had the seat swapping incident. Finally Singapore came into view looking like a darkly sparkly jewel and after many polite "no, no after you" I spent quite some time getting to know the Singapore toilets of the entire airport. The rumors are true they are quite nice. There are also lovely prayer rooms which I thought about using to ask Jesus to intervene and stop my chunder train. He must have listened because suddenly I was okay.

Going from Australia to Singapore was a nightmare - it was packed, the turbulence was frightening and the passengers were seat stealers. Going from Singapore to Heathrow was awesome!

I got into my seat and waited for the other passengers who would be seated next to me. They never came. In fact the entire plane had about one person to each row of seats. We excitedly looked around at each other knowing what this meant and as soon as the seat belt sign went off everyone rushed around finding an empty bank of seats, throwing up all the arm rest and lying across three or four chairs. I slept for nine hours - maybe the most anyone has managed to sleep on an economy class flight.

Finally after 13 hours of air travel bliss I got a glimpse of London by night. Where Singapore was intricate, organised and perfectly manicured from it's aerial view London looked like a mass of tangled gold chains. That's okay though as it is London town and it has other redeeming features.

I grabbed my bags, hurried through customs, saw Warren waiting for me, got in the car to Swindon.



Singapore aerial view.



London aerial view.