Notes from a catwalk show (Wednesday 17 September, 2008)

(London Fashion Week - A big white tent in front of the National History Museum, Kensington)

Welcome to Naomi Cambell’s Fashion for Relief (London Fashion Week)
An hour late and counting . No models hanging off my arm, no goodie bag, not even a Gingerbread man. But I can't really complain. After all, I'm sitting in the third row of a catwalk show. Three rows from the white strip, from international fashion icons, from another reality. It's a little surreal sitting here in the middle of it all. I find myself constantly distracted by the unnatural gleam of soda-white teeth.

The crowd
The venue is crowded. The demographic predominantly young and female; all glammed, heeled and powdered. In the background cameras flash as the room slowly settles itself. It's London. It's the scene. It's like something straight out of the fashion channel... or (dare I say it?) Ugly Betty.

Champagne bubbles float through from the foyer, and with them an excited buzz. There are International celebrities in the house and high fashion couture in the wings. Everybody, punters and professional crew alike, are glancing around to see who is here and how they are dressed.

The front row is apparently where the action is. Photographers cluster, clicking away for the social pages. Mischa Barton looks elegant and bored in a flowing red and white number. She's taller than I expect. Pretty. Her face is half-hidden by the golden flow of her hair. She looks like she's by herself. I wonder where Josh Hartnett is tonight? Maybe they have a late date... My view is obscured by another cluster of suits and dresses.

I could be in any of the fashion capitals of the world – fashion types in black t-shirts, a gleaming white catwalk and a bank of photographers. The only reason I know I'm in London and not New York (besides the accents) is the fact that so many of the people here, while well brushed, are not even verging on beautiful. Perhaps it is because I'm too close and not peering through a stocking-ed lens? Caked make-up, an inch thick, covers blemishes and acne. Expensive dresses (unfortunately) can't hide the body beneath. Fake tan... an ocean of orange. And yet, in this carnival to the superficial I'm feeling okay. Is it that I fit the part? No, I think it has more to do with the fact that the crowd are so conscious of their own appearance that they can barely spare a thought for anybody else.

The fashion conscious, the celebrity and the tragic - we're all gathered here tonight in homage to... high fashion. There are punters behind me in ranks (heck, I still can't believe i'm in the third row) standing and straining. Celebrity wh0res and wannabe fashionistas. I'm surrounded by them. Drowning in them. All wearing their solitary designer pieces and mortgaged Louis Vuitton. The girls are decked out in accessories, clad in everything from neat charcoal pants suits to long lime-green ball gowns (open-backed of course). The men appear to subscribe to two styles: young urban funk (trying) or white shirt and blazer brigade (receding hairline optional). I won't speculate as to where I think I fit.

And the show begins
Where is Naomi? The show is introduced by the MC who trumpets the show’s philanthropic generosity (this year to the White Ribbon Alliance) and the tireless work, verve and energy of the one and only Naomi Campbell. Where is Naomi? The Prime Minister’s wife is next, reading well from the lectern. She’s in red and, while passionate, is neither glam nor inspirational. Still no Naomi.

As fingers start to drum on wood pews finally the lights dim and music begins. The first figure on the catwalk, though lovely and dark, is not Naomi. Nevertheless the crowd cheers on a self conscious looking Estelle who does her obligatory walk. And then, Naomi arrives on the catwalk, her wing model attached to her left hip.

With her trade-mark model strut, Naomi Campbell owns the catwalk. She's all long limbs, long hair, projecting attitude and style. A goddess. She stalks to the end of the white strip and does the full pose - shoulders back, hips square. A perfect pause. Cameras flash. She turns and she's out.

Amateurs. Professionals. Women. Men. Inspired fashion. Retro fashion. Ethnic influenced fashion. An orange suitcase on wheels. I scribble and stare. Cameras continue to flash. Celebrities flow by; first among them is Cheryl Cole, gorgeous in red all slim style and smouldering eyes. There are a pair of British Gold-medallists in black cocktail dresses, who march up the catwalk, posing behind their big Olympic mementos. A giant African-American model in motorcycle leathers (the girls cheer). A boy-zombie in a suit, diamond stud from his white ear. Kimberly Stuart, high cheekbones and ski-slope nose. Tartan mother and children. Ear to ear smiles. A platinum blonde drag queen. A mature woman, all orange haired and crows-feet, carrying decades of characters (could it be Vivienne Westwood?). A saucy girl in jeans and smarm. Tall and leggy. Painfully thin. Rounded and voluptuous. Coiffures. Powder. Jaunty walks. Jolting walks. Self conscious. Self obsessed. It's all on the catwalk.

A men's charcoal suit, double front-pocketed, with matching polo. Chiselled looks. Good teeth. Sugarbabes in chorus-girl outfits. The blonde loses a heel mid-walk but doesn't even pause. She recovers it on the return. Neo-gothic. Neo-modern. Neo-classical. Just new. Gold and glitter. Ornate silver and simple black... but never plain.

The music pumps and the catwalk absorbs the beat and spits it out. Models swing out in new outfits, eyes staring through the wall of cameras. The audience cheers and claps, their cameras capturing outfits and models. Even Mischa has her hand-digital out and busily snaps away.

All too soon it is over. The lights dim. The celebrities (Mischa among them) scurry out, escorted by clip-board carrying minders. Disappointingly, I don’t even warrant a hand-blown farewell kiss. Such is the price of anonymity. Perhaps next time...

Living in London - Part 1: Costs

For the past 15-months I've lived the Australian backpackers dream - working, partying, sleeping and living it large in London. I've had a brilliant time, with many new memories, scars and stories to tell. Despite this, I have to admit that London is not the easiest place to live in, let alone move to. Yes, travelers are constantly coming from all parts of the globe to setup a new home and live the London life, but that doesn't make the transition any easier.

In an attempt to assist the following few posts will be written to cover some pointers for easing the transition. Some of the content will be common sense points that you'd consider regardless of where you are moving, and some are unique to living in London. Please feel free to comment and let me know your thoughts.


1. The cost of living in London
London is acknowledged as being one of the most expensive places to live in the world. Rents are high, but thankfully wages in central London tend to compensate to some extent. Nonetheless, some items tend to be comparatively more expensive than others.


1.1 Exchange rates
The exchange rate between the Great Britain Pound (GBP) and Australia Dollar (AUD) is currently sitting at around 2.07:1 (May 2008). Bank exchange rates tend to be competitive against money changers, with both charging percentage-based fees which may already be incorporated in to the offered rate. Airport money exchange rates are quite bad (which is to be expected).

For setting up accounts or transfering larger sums of money international wire transfers (via bank) are the way to go. These generally carry a standard transaction rate + percentage fee.

I find that it takes me at least a month in a new country before I become comfortable with the exchange (and the prices I’m paying!). In some ways it’s a good way of holding back on expenditure to calculate the exchange, especially while you’re getting settled and are yet to earn GBP.

Settling into a new city takes time. Over the last few years I've went through the cycle more than a few times (it's that Australian wanderlust kicking in), and find that from arrival to set-up, to getting to the point of financial stability, usually takes 3-months. Of this the first 2-weeks are usually spent getting myself comfortable with my environment, finding a permanent place ot stay and getting work. It then takes a further 2-months before I've absorbed the costs of accommodation bond and needed homewares.


1.2 Cost of entertainment
The biggest difference that you'll probably note in your expenditure is what it costs when you are out on the town. Eating and drinking out in London can be extortionately expensive, whether you are comparing to home ($AUD) rates or supermarket prices.

To illustrate: In a London pub the cost of a pint of beer is ₤3.00+ and a mixed drink (25ml shot) is ₤3.50+. Note that most bars will charge you extra for any mixer that you may choose to have. Premium offerings can be as much as twice this. At a supermarket you can get a 6-pack of beer for around ₤5 (premium beer) or a bottle of spirits (70cl) for around ₤11. Supermarkets will feature a particular brand each month which will have a sizeable discount (₤1 or 2 pounds off).

Eating out tends to be similarly expensive. I remember the first time I was out with friends in London and ordered a simple burger (gourmet thought it may have been). The cheapest option on the menu was ₤12, and while it may have included fries, my internal conversion was spun out at the thought of paying $25 for a simple hamburger. While cheaper eats are available if you search, expect to pay between ₤15-30 for a basic meal (main + beverage). If you’re into posh nosh the sky is the limit.


1.3 Rent
Rent is often identified as the biggest contributor to London’s high cost of living. It’s therefore important to understand what the cost / comfort trade off is and what you can afford to pay.

Factors that you may initially consider include:

• Area demand / posher neighbourhoods
• Locality and transportation links
• Fittings and space
  

High (₤200+ week)
High demand areas such as Clapham or Camden often demand higher comparable rent purely due to popularity and competition for places. If you're taken with posher established neighbourhoods such as Holland Park, Notting Hill or Bayswater, then expect to pay a premium. Cost may also be incurred for living closer to the centre of London (Zone 1); the trade-off for reduced travel time and good transport links. Single or double bedroom properties may also be more expensive (less ways to spread the rent).

Medium (₤120 – 160)
Medium rent areas generally trade off either locality (Zone 2 or 3) or area in favour of improved size and comfort. Areas such as Chiswick, Earls Court and Greenwich may be considered typical medium rent areas.

Low (<₤120/week)
Low rent areas may be further from transport links, less spacious or in less well regarded areas. Low rent accommodation may be found in more reputable areas, however this is often as a result of house sharing (8+ people) and/or bedroom sharing. Such an option is particularly popular with travelers (the term ‘Antipodean’ is often used in the UK to describe those who come from Australia, New Zealand and South Africa) who are working basic jobs but wish to save money for traveling.


As a final note, rent cost is often as much determined by luck as the previously discussed factors. Low historical rent or housemate desperation can contribute to lower rents than generally expected for a given area. The only real way to work out if a place is worthwhile is to see it for yourself!


1.4 Perishables
Food costs can vary significantly in London, although you can survive comfortably on a budget if you are careful (and we’re not just talking pasta and canned tomatoes-style). Supermarkets in particular can offer good value-for-money with their competitive every-day-lowest-price and 2-for-1 offers.

Pre-prepared meals have become increasingly popular, but are generally less cost effective. Investment in a good cookbook and staple ingredients can make eating in London a little more pleasant.

Groceries

• Top tier: Waitrose and Marks & Spencer are at the top-end of the supermarket hierarchy, offering fresher, better quality food stuffs. From experience fruit and vegetables tend to last longer and carry more taste, however you are paying a premium in return.
• Mainstream: Asda, J Sainsbury and Tesco are the three major supermarket chains in the UK, with huge buying power. Between them they account for approximately 70% of total supermarket spend, with Tesco dominating within this holding twice the market share of its two closest competitors. Slightly behind the big three are Morrisons and Somerfield, who each hold about 10% market capitalisation.
  All chains have a large number of stores nationally, are very competitive in their pricing and offer good value. Further benefits may be garnered from in-store membership cards J Sainsbury and Tesco are generally associated with the middle class, while Asda and Morrisons are targeted more at the budget sector. This is reflected in brands and product offering.
• Budget: No-frills style supermarkets have gained increasing popularity in recent years, with emphasis on low margin, high volume sales attracting the budget conscious consumer. Aldi, Lidl and Iceland are representative of this type of retailer, offering a very limited selection of products for very competitive prices.
• Convenience: Local convenience stores such as Cost Cutter, Co-op and local cut-down versions of J Sainsbury and Tesco stores offer smaller format stores. Prices are generally slightly more expensive, with less special offers.

Pharmaceuticals and toiletries
Boots and Superdrug are the main chain pharmacies in the UK. Both offer a range of monthly discounts and specials, with larger stores also offering photo development and optical services.

1.5 Durables
London offers a variety of popular chain (referred to as ‘High Street’ stores) and boutique stores. Besides local shopping centres (generally located around suburban High Streets) key shopping areas in London are High Street Kensington (West), Oxford / Bond Street (Central) and Covent Garden (Central). More alternative fashion options can be found in Camden (North) or Soho (central London).

Key sale seasons are January / February (Winter) and June / July (Summer). At this time High Street and department stores offer attractive discounts on their core range. This is the best time to bargain hunt, with up to 70% discount on certain items.

Clothing - young and casual
Popular retailers for young adults (male) include: Topman, Mexx, River Island and Burton. These retailers offer contemporary seasonal fashion at moderate prices. Quality of clothing can vary between seasons and retailer however and isn't always durable. Office and Aldo are on a similar level selling sweat-shop mass produced shoes. Then there are the fashion outlets Next, H&M and Zara who produce budget fashion based on the latest European fashions for both men and women.

Clothing – formal / suits
While London’s Savile Row has long been associated with quality tailoring and bespoke suits, there are still many options for those who aren’t ready to spend tens of thousands of pounds on a top-shelf morning coat. Most High Street retailers catering to young adults sell off-the-shelf suits. Moss Bros is another popular alternative, who offer both hire and sale. With a large range of mainstream suits, including brand names like Yves Saint Laurent, Zegna and Pierre Cardin.

Jermyn Street tailors have long been acknowledged for their high quality shirts, and during key sales periods a good quality 100%-cotton, French cuffed shirt or spring jumper can be snapped up for a reasonable price. TM Lewin and Curtis & Hawes are two more popular Jermyn tailors who have a number of stores in the London area.


Bedding
Good quality bedding can be expensive. If anything I’d recommend bringing sheets / doona covers over from Australia as good quality cotton in London seems to be comparatively expensive.

If you’re not too fussy about what you’re sleeping in then Primark or Argos offer relatively cheap options. It should be noted however that 50/50 cotton-polyester doesn’t wash well, particularly at moderate temperatures. That said budget retailers tend to offer a limited range of single colour 100% cotton sheets at reasonable prices. Both Primark and Argo are also a good option for cheaper pillows, quilts and mattress protectors.

Alternatively, department stores offer high quality bedding from brand names such as Sheridan and Espirit.

Books and travel guides
Waterstones and WH Smith are probably the most common book chains in London, although there is also a very large Borders outlet on Oxford Street. It should be noted however that while all chains tend to offer Buy-2-Get-1-Free offers, books are not cheap in the UK. A more competitively priced alternative is to order online via Amazon.co.uk which has developed a reputation for good deals.

Department stores

Department stores come in a number of shapes and sizes in London. The most acccessible lie on Bond Street in Central London, with John Lewis and House of Fraser located within a block of each other. Further up towards Marble Arch station on Bond Street is Seflridges and Co., which has a good selection of more exclusive brands.

If you happen to be feeling particularly wealthy then at the upper end of town there is of course Harrods, infamous for its oppulence. Alternatively both Harvey Nichols and Fortum & Mason are also established higher-end retailers who will be very willing to sell you the finest cognac, caviar and champagne.

04 August, 2007 (Saturday) Barcelona, Spain

Another day in Spain - bring on the tapas, sangria and sun!

Barcelona beach
If I had to confess to the thing I missed most about home then I´d probably have to say the beach. It´s been over a year since I last jumped into the ocean (see Tofino, hot springs tour - sharp rocks and freezing ocean), over 20-months since I have been on a beach. See - I´m still counting.

With the sun shining at a good 30+ degrees, it was fine beaching weather. We wandered amongst the laundry decorated streets of Barcelonetta to break out onto the promenade looking out across the Mediterranean. Bodies littered the beach baking and erasing tanlines. The beach itself was not the golden yellow of sand, but a light brown colour. Walking closer we found the beach to be coarse brown dirt. Waves were tame, a tiny shore break crashing in regularly. It didn´t take a heart-beat for us to shed layers and start splashing in.

The slow roll of the waves and salty brine on my lips awoke dormant memories of home. While there weren´t any waves worthy of name to ride to shore, it was a relief to be in the sea again. It felt just as good to drip dry, although the novelty of sitting on gritty dirt was short-lived. Once we´d soaked up some of the Barcelona sun we wandered the promenade for something to eat. Tapas and sangria were on offer, and provided a pleasant light afternoon repast.

Each beach is different, and Barcelona has a character all of its own. Open-air restaurants, fresh sea food and a jug of sangria? I think I might sign up for more of that...

Hosteling
Hostel life is so transitory. New people every day, old ones disappearing just as you´re starting to build rapport. A range of nationalities. A range of traveling types. Stability is knowing that you´ve got a bunk to sleep in each night. Nationalities stick more than names. Let´s guess ages...

03 August, 2007 (Friday) Barcelona, Spain

A while between updates, but I have a few in the wings. Just trying to find the right opportunity to send through. I know, I know. My captive audience is just waiting with bated breath. Well hold that breath just a touch longer. So, onto Barcelona...

Barca
Today I'm in Barcelona. The weather is sunny. It's looking better than good out there. I'm sitting here, typing away, looking into one of those classic courtyards - you know the deal, glassed walled apartments looking into a messy central square. So I'm starting to get a feel for this party town. My brother... well let's just say he seems to be hitting his groove. For the day ahead, I'm looking forward to taking some enthusiastic happy snaps.

Barcelona seems to be another of those European cities that somehow manages to mix in the old with the new. The result is something which manages to be both, but somehow not quite either. Yesterday we wandered through the harbour front, all reflective glass and paved commercialism, before finding our way into the medieval Bari Gottic. It was amazing just wandering into a square with a centuries old cathedral dominating the space, before finding ourselves lost in another sequence of narrow winding streets.

The trickiest part so far has to be finding a decent tapas bar outside of the tourist area. But I'm working dilligently at finding the 'place'. I guess it's part of the adventure. In the meantime, it's going to be more winding streets for me. Perhaps even the beach (living in London I'm a little beach-starved).

14 July, 2007 (Saturday) Paris, France

The language barrier
It´s not merely an issue of language, but also one of pronunciation. Between by own pig ignorance and accent (yes, I admit it - I suffer from an accent) I feel like I have a mouth full of marbles whenever I attempt a poor excuse for pidgeon-FrenchÑ
"Parlais voius Anglais, sie vous plais?"
"Pardon!?!?"
"Umm... just another ignorant Westerner expecting that you´ll be able to speak English. Will it help if I just point at things and grunt?"
"Sui."
"Ok. Thank god!" Raise hands in religious salutation.

So right now all I can do is laugh at the inanity of each encounter and try to work on my pronunciation from what I hear back.

... It´s quiet on the metro.

Bastille Day
The 14th of July is France´s national day ' Bastille Day. To celebrate the occasion street parades march down the Champs d Elysees, military aircraft fly overhead and uniformed men with machine guns wander around looking vigilant.

Josh and I arrived in Notre Dame before 10. The streets of the Latin Quarter were quiet, although the Church grounds were already swarming with tourists. Charlemagne rode to the South and visitors eddied by.

Its huge Gothic edifice open, Catedral de Notre-Dame is another monument to the passion, artistry and vision of another age. Still an active place of worship, exquisite carvings look down, watching all those who enter.

Inside it is dark, the hordes of tourists providing a steady murmur of voices. Notre Dame does not charge entry and the results seems to be an excess of tourists, digital cameras flashing steadily. Much of the magnificence of the church is therefore subsumed by this flow. Indeed, walking through there is a feeling of desecration as the church becomes just another tick box on the tourist checklist.

And in some ways, that was the problem with Notre Dame. The cathedral, a place of such majesty and history, is reduced to just another cheap attraction for the masses. The presence of a gift shop and vending machines impinge on the sanctity of the site. In some ways I think I´d prefer it if they did charge for entry - perhaps then visitors would show more respect.

By contrast, yesterday we walked into the Greek-columned Magdalene. Even with people sitting on the steps lunching the grounds were lovely. An appropriate level of hush accompanied entry, and this complemented the architecture and display within.

24 June, 2007 (Sunday) London, West

I visited Holland Park yesterday. It's another suburban park just West of Notting Hill, in one of the more rarified parts of London. Since I've arrived in town I've been surprised by the abundance of green spaces in what is supposed to be one of the most densely populated cities in the world. I've wandered the genteel paths of Hyde Park, the sculpted overhanging trees of Green Park, the open spaces of Greenwich. Holland Park though is a little different. It's wilder, a smaller English version of Montreal's Mount Royal Park.

The park is a world removed from the bustling streets outside; rambling dirt tracks bounded by little paling fences that hold back the wild English woods, soft bird calls and well spaced benches. In the centre is a proper hedged garden, overflowing with flowers and well kept lawn. It's peaceful, wandering the dirt tracks.

The hedged garden is pretty, but most of the benches are taken. A short way along we discover a Japanese Contemplation Garden, a sea of stillness in a clearing. Seats dot the periphery, around strategically placed stones, a carp pond, waterfall and paved bridge.

Sitting down it starts to rain. This doesn't stem the tide of visitors: couples, families with strollers of toddlers. The day rolls on and the tranquility of the garden is broken by an influx of sugar-crazed toddlers. One clambers from stone to stone, plastic sword in hand, waving it menacingly at the pond. Another drops down on the pond's edge, she wears a mud-streaked red-striped dress and pensive look on her face as she clears a stone from her sandal. A bunch of youths lie on the bridge, reaching in - although whether it is to tickle the carp or rescue copper coins it is unclear. The sun comes out, but it continues to rain. We leave, umbrella in hand, to return to the dirt paths.

06 Apr, 2007 (Friday) London, West End

Equus
0135 (London Time) 07 Jan, 2007

Where? Gielgud Theatre - Shaftesbury Avenue, London, UK
How much? Ticket prices from £19.50 - £49.50

It was Megan who suggested that we see Equus, one of the West End's newest plays. She wasn't exactly shy in admitting that her primary motivation wasn't so much artistic indulgence as the opportunity to "see Harry Potter's bits" (with accompanying finger motions). For myself, my interest was somewhat more pure (seeing Harry in the buff isn't really that appealing), the play having received significant acclaim since it's opening last month.

First released in 1973, Equus (by playwright Peter Shaffer) is the story of a troubled boy, Alan Strang (Harry Potter's - Daniel Radcliffe), who is sent to counseling after he blinds a stable of horses. Resentful and aggressive, Alan nevertheless begins to respond to the treatment of Dr Dysart (the portly Richard Griffiths), reliving his experience from early childhood to the terrible incident. The journey through Alan's psyche is dark and warped, a series of increasingly emotional and violent episodes.

The play is powerful, well directed and amazingly crafted. All of the main actors manage their parts with depth and humanity, from the brooding yet fundamental innocence of Radcliffe's Alan Strang, to the professional yet self-questioning Dysart, to the willful flightiness of seductress Jill (Joanna Christie). Radcliffe has real presence, a distinctly different creature from his film alter ego, the bespectacled magician Harry Potter. (At this point I think Megan would make a comment about the size of his wand...).

The costumes are simple yet effective, brown-clad horses in their silvered masks and high-heeled hooves somehow conveying raw animal power and majesty, despite the actors being clad only in close-fitting t-shirts and trousers. The set, consistent throughout - a raised tableau with four free-moving boxes - transforms to different times and places through a subtle mixing of lighting, mist and shadow. Indeed, the atmosphere of the play is almost beguiling, the lighting and set evoking mystery and other worldliness in equal measure.

As we walked from the theatre my fellow theatre goers looked a little shaken. One announced that she found the experience "disturbing", with another agreeing that it had been strange and unsettling. Personally, I enjoyed the whole production, particularly the range of complex issues that it raised and left unanswered - from suggestions of the inter-relation of pain and passion, to questioning of beliefs and Christian values, to the juxtoposition of man and beast, god and slave, constraint and freedom. I appreciated the haunting atmosphere, which was often dark and suggestive. I was captivated by the exploration of psyche - mildly erotic and riding on (and perhaps over) the edge of sanity. How often do we trap ourselves? Is it better to feel extreme pain so that you can also experience extreme passion? Where does belief come from? A lot to think about for a Friday night.

Celebrity sighting
Rowan nodded to me as I walked from the bar, a bottle of Coke-a-Cola in hand. "Look toward the bar" he suggested quietly, "It's Patrick Stewart". Dutifully I scanned the bar area for any tall bald-headed men. "No, it's more umm.. three o'clock", Rowan indicated the direction with his eyes. It's rude to point. I turned casually and spotted him, shorter than I expected, chatting to a well-pierced young lady. When we got back to our seats (Golden Circle) Patrick was already seated, safely ensconced in a private balcony overlooking the stage. One of the perks of the industry I guess.

Problems with punctuality
Yes, I was late again. After a sleepy day I lost track of time (a hazard with this daylight saving thing) and ended up getting to the theater 20 minutes late. I had to bang on the door for an usher to let me in, and saw the first half of the play from the lower stall level. Thankfully I only missed the first few minutes and it didn't take long to become engrossed in the unfolding drama.

Radcliffe in the buff
Yes, Radclifee strips off. But he's not alone - the young lady who partners him is quite pretty. Then again, I've admitted before that girls in riding boots have always been a weakness.

Theatre crowd
I always enjoy theatre crowds - there's a nice mix, from younger funksters, alternatives and the older chardonnay crowd. Tonight's performance had a strong contingent of younger girls obviously out to see more of Harry Poter. I expected to see more opera glasses present.

A new level of London experience

Last night was a new high in stress levels - I've been granted a company car and, given the limited parking spaces, drove it home. The catch is that I work on the other end of London to where I live. See, our offices are in an industrial park in North West London in an area called Park Royal. I live in Greenwich, a nice village-style area in South Eastern London on the Thames. The AA site suggested a travel time of 54 minutes. I managed the drive in 2hrs 25min. That time included getting lost twice and calling my housemate James to beg sympathy (he was very supportive).

My first UK driving experience? Besides navigating winding streets, London traffic, trying to read badly-lit sparsely-spaced roadsigns and feeling like I was going in circles the biggest difficulty was that I'd been given a 4-door Saloon (sedan) - probably not the perfect choice for London driving. Let's say the drive through to our behind-apartment parking was the icing on the cake.

I think I've started to recover from the initial trauma. I'm planning to invest in a London A-Z and familiarise myself with the area (apparently that will assist in navigation) before venturing forth again. Wish me luck.

An update

Dear World,

I am still computer-less, although (finally) Orange decided to not only supply a modem but also enable our ADSL connection.

My weekly correspondence (not quite love-letters) with Acer has not really progressed. Acer Support in Canada send me a regular cut and past suggestion to a) ring a 1-800 number (strangely enough not available if you are calling from an overseas number, which I've stated clearly the last 3 times) or b) log an escalation request via their website (which incidently doesn't seem to work). I think they may have succeeded in resigning me to finding alternative options. It's hard to persist in talking to somebody who is going to such effort not to listen.

Meanwhile, life goes on. London life is flitting by quite fast, although I still have yet to book any time away. Last week I started on a longer-term job. My first day was like Christmas, with corporate toys piling up on my desk - mobile phones, company charge card requests and laptop computers formed a pyramid of geeky yuppie toys. My phone can take pictures, and play music and record things. Woot for me!

Acer - never again

I haven't written for a while and today I'm not a happy chappie. On Saturday my Acer laptop died, only a month and a bit out of it's 1-year warranty period. The prognosis: system boot failure. Basically my motherboard is trash. But how did this happen - was it misuse? Was it because I didn't treat my computer with respect? No. Afraid not.

I've been following it up and they've told me that the best I can expect is to pay £350-700 for a new motherboard. The Acer engineer I spoke to was completely unsympathetic and told me I was better off just buying a new laptop. It's news to me that I can only expect to get a years worth of use out of my laptop these days. Apparently as soon as the warranty period has expired I can expect my purchase to self destruct.

Completely furious I've started to forward the following letter about (Note: Letter has been updated):

'To whom it may concern,

I have been directed to email you for assistance by Acer UK. I am a very upset Acer customer. In fact, that would be putting it mildly. I'm outraged and disappointed for the following reason: I purchased a new Acer lapptop just over a year ago. As of Saturday 10 February, a little over a month outside of the 1-year warranty period, it died. I've spoken to technical people, including your own engineers, and they tell me that i'm better off just buying another laptop. This is beyond disappointing.

Furthermore, after spending the last 3 weeks following up with Acer UK they've directed me to contact you as the only way they are able to help me is if I pay. Finally, I have been in contact with other owners of Acer Aspire 3003WLMi's who have similar issues with their motherboard. In at least one case the support center (Texas) was able to extend their warranty for 3-months. This gives the impression that it is a known fault.

** My story **
I purchased an Acer Aspire 3003WLMi (Serial Number: LXA550 56255380 D3A1EMO1) in mid-December of 2005 while I was travelling in British Columbia, Canada. It seemed like a good purchase, and at the time the salesperson (at The Source) assured me that it was both reliable and durable. Furthermore I was thrilled to receive with my purchase a 1-year travellers warranty just in case.

On Saturday 10 February 2007, a little over a month after my warranty period, my laptop computer stopped working. The power light was on but my computer refused to show even the opening Acer screen. I removed power, gave it 2 hours to cool, and then tried to boot again. It got as far as the WindowsXP diagnosis screen before rebooting itself and giving me a blank screen. Since then it has refused to even get as far as the Acer boot screen.

I've independently tested the hard-drive (which is completely fine and stable) and have spoken to a number of computer engineers, including two of your own technical engineers in the UK. They have advised me as follows:
1. I am suffering from a System Boot Failure. In layman's terms this means that my motherboard is rubbish.
2. It will cost me £41 (approximately $US80) to get the machine examined, but it can't really be anything else if it doesn't even get to the boot / BIOS screen.
3. It will cost mke a further £350-700 ($US700-1400) to get the motherbaord fixed / replaced.
4. In addition, your own technical engineer advised me over the phone that I might be better to just buy another laptop.

** Perspective **
But wait, I'd like to put this into perspective:
1. I purchaesd this laptop just over a year ago Last time I checked, a reasonable expectation for laptop life was 2-years minimum.
2. I have used this laptop regularly, but have taken good care of it.
3. A little over a month outside of the warranty period the laptop breaks down with a problem that will cost what I paid for the computer in the first place. Is this normal for these machines? Have I got a lemon? What recourse have I?

Your UK staff have informed me that since I am outside of the warranty period it is completely MY problem. Furthermore, even if I was still within warranty they would not help me because I purchased the computer in Canada and could not prove that I was going to be in the UK for less than 3-months (I am not a resident here). Finally, your engineers tells me that I'm better off to just purchase a laptop. Forgive me, but I find this just a little outrageous!

Can you assist me? I am very disappointed and would prefer to get my laptop fixed rather than just go and buy a new one (and if I was to buy another laptop I'm afraid it wouldn't be Acer!). However, I'm not willing to pay the cost of a new laptop just to have an old one fixed. Added to which, when it broke down I was just out of my warranty period.

** Final words **
I do know my way around computers - I have worked in the IT industry, know my hardware, and previously have had a very high regard for Acer products. As such I believe I'm a relatively well informed consumer. That said, my experience thus far have not met my expectations at all. I'd prefer to believe that I was unlucky with a faulty component than that I received a sub-standard item in the first place.

Please provide me with some indication of my options. I appreciate your time and assistance.'

If you had to ask me next time you bought a laptop computer I'd have to say - 'Don't buy Acer - it isn't reliable. You're better off investing in a brand you can trust.'

14 Jan, 2007 (Thursday) London, Westminster

Looking up at Big Ben
1456 (London Time) 18 Jan, 2007
My first day out sight-seeing and it is windy. The buildings seem to be shifting and I'm in fear of being picked up and blown away. Only a step out of Westminster underground and I'm looking up at Big Ben and the House of Parliament . As I gaze up and watch the clouds drift by it looks like ol' Ben is swaying against the wind. Wish I had a camera today.

It's 3pm and Big Ben tolls his greeting to the hour. I trundle up the road, the traffic chugging away to my left - compact black cabs and white mini-vans. Locals power through the wind, heads down, pea coats buttoned. Tourists aren't thick on the ground, but you can recognise them by their cameras.

To get a better feel of the scale of the building(s?) I walk around and can't help but be gobsmacked by the scale of it all. Hundreds of slit glass windows, intricate carvings adorning every ledge and cornice, slate tiles. The whole structure is so big - hundreds of metres long and towering. I wonder how many levels are inside? Is it made up of offices or just big open auditoriums? I guess they must like stairs... good for the calves.

Ten squid
I leave the flouro and black garbed bobbies behind and cross the road to Westminster Abbey. The Abbey sits paler, but no less imposing than the Parliament Buildings that it neighbours - stained glass and Gothic towers carry a certain majesty, even when they're layered in grime. Apparently the Abbey is the traditional burial place of English monarchs, but today none are in evidence.

A gaggle of tourists stream by, even with the gale-force winds. I briefly consider going in, but the inner miser wins out - 10 pounds to wander around a big church? I'm still adapting to London prices and the asking price seems a bit steep.

Instead I walk south along the banks of the Thames. It begins to rain. The wind returns, buffeting me about. Not far off I spy another large structure. It looks like a huge mausoleum, or perhaps... a museum? As I get closer I mark it as Tate Britain. My feet slog on with renewed vigour now that I have found a place of refuge.

Meeting Tate
Tate Britain is the national gallery of British art, dating from the 16th century to today. It's big, with high ceilings and lots of glass. Kind of reminds me of the Art Gallery of NSW back in Sydney.

Inside it's quiet and contemplative. I've arrived late enough in the day to avoid the school groups. Now it's just older folk, university students, pensioners on day trip, travelers hiding from the wind.

The museum has some great works on display - strong and vital sculpture and vivid paintings. I've always favoured older, more classical pieces, and there are some fine examples to admire. I start with EC Burne-Jones' 'King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid' and move on. The afternoon passes with the interplay of light and shadow, the held movement of scenery, ripples on canvas-water.

I've read more than a few times that galleries are a good place to meet cute girls. Despite enjoying my wanderings I'm still waiting...

14 Jan, 2007 (Sunday) London, Chiswick

London Lingo
2145 (London Time) 14 Jan, 2007
One thing I haven't missed is coming home in clothes that reek of cigarette smoke. It's something that I'm apparently going to have to adjust to now that I've arrived in the UK.

We had a drink at Waxy O'Conner's Irish pub. A multi-leveled monstrosity that, after the second flight of stairs down, has you feeling like you're descending into the bowels of the earth. The interior is decorated with bits of an old cathedral, with a tree growing through the middle. We tried to enjoy our drinks while a trio of fishnet and short-skirtted floozies cavorted to the jukebox. Not a very attractive crowd, but the barmen atleast seemed to have real Irish accents.

The Porterhouse beer pub was our next stop. It boasts an extensive collection of brews from around the world. Inside it was crowded, loud and just a wee bit smokey. The house draught was easy drinking though, and very much required in our little corner. (They really should really rename the place the Boilerhouse if it's always that hot.) Three pints and a few hours later and we were out to catch the last tube before midnight. The curfew for drinking establishments is a lot earlier here in the UK. Megan was telling me that they reduced pub hours in the hope of reducing drunkeness. Unfortunately patrons compensated by drinking faster. It's not uncommon for work people to go out and get totalled early in the week.

Catching up
Today I woke up relatively early to meet Wendy for brunch at High Street Kensington. We used to work together while at Telstra and have kept in and out of touch. Wendy has been in London for about 9 months and in that time she's done pretty well for herself, recently scoring a role in HR with HSBC and living with her boyfriend, Will, in Bayswater (a swanky neighbourhood).
Tonight I met up with Justin a Tottenham Court Road. Back in the day we went to High School together, running into each other during university and then having lunch every so often once we started wearing suits. Unfortunately both the Central and Northern lines were closed where I wanted to go, so it took 5 line changes to get there - leaving me half an hour late. Love the tube. Love the tube. Love the tube. We had dinner at a Japanese noodlebar in SOHO. It was great to talk about old times and hear about his adventures in London. Funnily enough he's actually living in the next suburb down from Chiswick.

Translations:
Tube: Slang for the London subway. The tube is infamous for being unreliable and circuitous. Tonight I can vouch for this, changing lines 5 times due to unforseen closures.
Oyster: Despite the name it isn't an exotic contraceptive device or fashion accessory. An oyster is a magnetic travel card used to on the London subway. Oyster cards require a deposit of 3 pounds and can be either timed (day, week, month pass) or charged with credit.
Heathrow Injection: Refers to the weight gain new arrivals stack on when they first arrive in the UK. I'm waiting in hope for mine.
Chips: Wedges of fried potato. Often thicker and holding a closer resemblance to the original potato than North American french fries.
Crisps: Potato chips. Walkers is the brand to buy.
Walkabout: Chain of pubs run by South Africans but full of drunk Australians. Apparently they now serve beer out of plastic pint glasses as it helps reduce injuries when bar fights break out. Apparently.

So I'm doing my best to adapt to the culture here. Tonight I'm sitting in with my cup of tea and chocolate digestives (McVities of course!). It's all about drinking tea and being agreeable. The guidebook says so!

13 Jan, 2007 (Saturday) London, Chiswick

In Chiswick
1238 (London time) 13 Jan, 2007
For all of you out there it's pronounced Chis-sick. To further clarify, it's a surburb of London, a little South-West of the city core on the District tube line.

The last few days I've been living on Megan's couch in their spare room. It's a nice little fold-out number. No stray springs or inconvenient lumps. I get the room to myself and I've been doing my best not to spray my belongings across the room. Although the longer I'm here the more difficult it becomes.

In the past few days I've started the 'getting set in London' routine. Yesterday I got my mobile phone SIM and did basic grocery shopping at Sainsbury's. Today it was the agency appointment to set-up a bank account and initial arrival advice. The two guys from the bank tried to be amusing, but between the inane questions from my fellow new-to-the-UKers (how do these people find their way out of their countries? It baffles me!) and slow pace I just wanted to up it and run!

Arrival of Lauren
Lauren arrived in London today. She was waiting for me at Oxford Circus Station in a pink sweater and black boots. She's looking good, with that same cheeky grin. We went coat shopping, then walked up and down Oxford Street while I tried to find the agency office. The agency meeting was rivetting. I sometimes wonder how these people find their way out their front doors, let alone out to another country.

Sloppy Guisseppe's
I finally met Elliot, Megan's boyfriend tonight. We had a few drinks at the O Bar in SOHO, and found our way to Pizza Express, which turned out to be better than expected. He's very charming young chap, bright and relaxed. A self-confessed IT geek I quickly warmed to him. It also helped that he was impressed that I could remember what was on his pizza from a glance at the menu (Sloppy Guisseppe - named after the chef who first made the pizza by mistake, tomato base topped with beef, green peppers and mushroom. I'm so talented!).

10 Jan, 2007 (Wednesday) London, SOHO

In London
1340 (London time) 10 Jan, 2007
I've arrived in London. It's cool here, but not as chilly as Toronto. The streets feel older somehow and there is a different kind of bustle. Oxford Street at midday is crowded!

Flight AC848
Despite leaving an hour later than originally scheduled, the flight across wasn't too bad. Economy seats are inevitably cramped and I had an aisle seat, but the 6 hour flight passed relatively quickly. My only real complaint was that there wasn't a lot of time to sleep between the dinner meal and breakfast. Customs and immigration gave me no trouble at all. It was a pleasant surprise.

After gathering my huge pile of luggage (skis, boot bag, backpack, suitcase, laptop bag) I made my way to the subway. Unfortunately I didn't think to differentiate between the Heathrow Express and the Piccadilly subway line - so I ended up paying 15 pounds for my train into Paddington, when I could have paid just 3.80. Ouch!

Left Baggage
All my luggage is currently resting at the Left Baggage counter at Paddington. They charge 6 pounds per piece of luggage so 24 pounds is highway robbery. An expensive day. Nevertheless, I've got the freedom to wander without worrying about it.

So right now I'm typing away at a little cafe just off Oxford, drinking a huge cappuccino and telling myself that 2 hours sleep is plenty. I'm looking forward to getting all my things to Megan's this evening and starting to set up. So far I've visited two banks to inquire about setting up an account. They want to know my employment details and place of residence. It's a bit of a catch-22 situation as usually employers and prospective landlords want to know your bank details before committing. Will have to think on how to approach this one!

First impressions:
- London is an expensive city to live in. I can tell that it's going to take a little while before I get my head around the real value of money. Right now I'm trying to convert to CAD / AUS using a rate of between 2 - 2.5. Expensive!
- The girls aren't as bad as Benita described - they're not all buck-toothed, pimpled, units. Go London!
- Londoners are in a hurry. Not exactly the type who are going to stop you in the street to chat.
- London accents are... different. I'm still trying to decide whether I like it or not.
- You have to pay to use public toilets. It costed me 20p. At least they were kinda clean.


A narrative
After 2 hours rest on Air Canada flight 848 I arrived in Heathrow at 9am. Dazed and confused I lugged my 70kgs of luggage onto the Heathrow express (€15) and found myself at Paddington. The luggage was stored (€24) and I was soon enjoying my first breath of crisp London air ( ).

I wandered South and East, enjoying the newness of it all around me. Oxford Street was a mass of midday humanity, out in worship to the retail goddess. I soon escaped the crowds by ducking into the back alley ways of Soho.

Sucking in the atmosphere like a diet coke addict guzzles nutrasweet, I surveyed some of London's nightlife gems in daylight - wood fronted pubs and sleek bars. It was comforting standing there, the local denizens sauntering by and the grey clouds raining upon my head.

I walked on. The roadway was tight and sinuous but I soon found myself dumped out in Leicester Square, amongst billboards advertising The Lion King at the West End and the new Bond flick (Odeon - €12 tickets). Dodging through Chinatown behind a pair of bobbies I tried to remember to look right and then left, avoiding the black cabs (registered. Requires 2 years training to qualify for a license) when the green man was being reticent.

Piccadilly Circus: a long street of designer shops circling clockwise. I followed Piccadilly and then Regent, before heading due West out of Marylebone. White-washed house fronts and a school girl with a big blue backpack, the temperature started to drop with the sun.

It was past 5 by the time I arrived back at Paddington. My mass of baggage waited. So did three flights of stairs to my tube platform. No better wayto meet Londoners, right?

09 Jan, 2007 (Tuesday) Toronto, Pearson AIrport - Departure Lounge 145

A list of my favourite airlines
2037 (Toronto time) 09 Jan, 2007
I'm sure that many Canadians out there would be shocked to hear that Air Canada is not one of my favourite airlines. Being the superficial little bastard that I am it might be because last time I flew with them they charged people for sandwiches, or perhaps it is the poor choice of inflight entertainment. Then again, it's possible that I just find their selection of air hostesses to be pedestrian - what's wrong with a bit of selectivity? There are lots of pretty Canadian girls out there to choose from. I know a few if you want a shortlist.

But no, I'm afraid that my general dis-satisfaction runs a bit deeper than that. It has to do with their backward approach to customer service, their ability to make sure that every flight I might possbly be on is delayed in some way, shape or form (refer to: cargo door open over Brisbane, 3-hours in the air with a glass of water incident), the fact that they can stick me on a flight then forget to tell me that the boarding gate has changed. The absence of an attempt to apologise. Am I flying budget?

Perhaps I've just had a few bad experiences that have jaded me. In fact, I'm almost positive that I've experienced a few anomolies and the airline in fact functions with minimal turbulence. Am I jinxing myself by writing this all before I board the plane for my second experience? I'll let you know somehow.

The fact that they are paging people one-by-one to change their boarding passes, yes that's pissing me off a little. The fact that they have two aeroplane loads of people sitting in this space looking hungrily out at the 763 flying out to London is too. But then, that's me all over - easily irritated and wanting my seat (29C) so that I can kick back and close my eyes for a while.

PS - No pictures. Sorry, I left my camera in Scottie's car earlier in the week... and only got a call tonight once I'd checked through security that it had been recovered. Hopefully it will arrive in the next week or two.

09 Jan, 2007 (Tuesday) Toronto, Pearson AIrport

Farewell TO
I'm leaving Toronto. It feels strange to be flying out of this place - almost like I'm leaving home again. I think I've been in a state of denial this past week. Denial is a safe place to stay. Reality will probably only reestablish itself when I finally pass through immigration at Heathrow. Maybe not even then.

Since moving out of 18 Oxford I've been crashing on Benita's couch at her new apartment. It's strange to be couch surfing again after so long of being settled. My own personal limbo. But I haven't really spent that much time at the place - I always seem to be out. I've seen quite a bit of the Jersey Giant pub and the subway. Still don't know any of the street bums by name.

Scottie came by the apartment complex at 4pm and drove me to the airport in his sporty 4-door. Clem and Laura jammed themselves in with my skiis. It was cosy. The farewell was brief. I gave a round of hugs. Clem did a round of photos. We promised to stay in touch. Then we did a square dance. No. Really.

08 October, 2006 (Sunday) Toronto, Canada

(Picture: Clement, Laura and myself @the Jersey Giant, across from work, one evening)

Late night rationalisations
The hour is past midnight and I've just returned home from another lot of back-to-back shifts at the Hot House. It was a long day, starting at 10 and working through to close (almost 11pm). I think I had a day off this week... Wednesday perhaps? But it went by so fast with errands that I'm not sure if I can really count it.

My inner sado-masochist
Why do I do it to myself? A big question to be asking at this hour... but looking at my hourly rate this week ($9.71) against the amount of time and effort I'm putting into the place (too much - I swear I've shrunk a belt size with these stupid hours) I'm wondering if maybe I shouldn't ease back. Attempt some of those things on my list; see Toronto, get regular sleep, get a dental check-up, work options for Europe, sift through traveling photos etc etc. Exciting I know.

The HH has almost become like a second home. (Some days I don't know why I don't just bite the bullet and move my sleeping bag in there. I could sleep in the back section of the library. I'm sure nobody would mind.) I like the people there. I enjoy the madcap pace sometimes. I feel like I understand how it works. But the last few weeks it just hasn't been paying it's way. The hours are long and the rewards questionable. I need to get some balance back into things.

Learning to wait
Meanwhile I'm almost through server training. Eight shifts (4 doubles) following senior servers around and trying to run a section. I'm learning to more effectively multi-task and prioritise on the fly. Useful life skills. Sure. My tray skills are improving (yeah, you try unloading a laden tray without flipping the lot!). I've so far managed to only spill one drink on a customer (thankfully water!) and screw-up returning change to another table (they said it was fine). My plastic grin and Crocodile Dundee accent are getting a work out. It's all about the good times.

I'm going in again tomorrow to do some shadowing and I've got my test (377 questions on the menu, bar and opening hours) on Wednesday. Can't hardly wait! Maybe I should have turned on the bravado and lied about how together I feel with my serving skills when I spoke to Michael the other week. Honesty knows no timing. Should know that by now.

18 September, 2006 (Monday) Toronto, Canada

It's 11pm on a Monday night and wonder of wonders I'm not carrying heavy plates across a busy restaurant. Instead I'm here at home, enjoying some down time. (It does happen now and then.) In the world outside Winter is coming. I can feel it already - there's more of a chill in the air. Tonight it is raining. Drizzling. The air feels cleaner for it.

Anyway, at this moment I'm somewhat removed from the rain - I'm slurping my way through a styrofoam bowl of beef congee (a chinese rice porridge). I didn't feel like cooking tonight, despite having shopped yesterday, so I asked my housemate Benita (she's full of answers, from international relations to the best place to buy snow peas) for take-out recommendations. Unfortunately, by the time I got out the door most of the places were closed. I ended up at the infamous Kom Jug Yuen (think about it... pronounced Kum), looking through their take-out menu.

Kom Jug is located on Spadina, just across from where I live. The place is open late most nights, 4am over the weekend. I hear it can attract quite the crowd. It's a ramshackle little place, with a counter bearing peeling stickers and faded yellow walls decorated with cardboard posters advertising menu items "Spring Roll special $1.00##". There's a big couldron resting on a flickering gas stove in the main room, puffing clouds of steam.

As I sat and waited for my take-out I was entertained by the proprietor (at least I assume hs is), a little chinese man with a black visor who was chopping away at a duck that had moments before decorated his front window. A steady stream of local denizens passed in and out while I waited; a handful of young chinese folk who quickly ordered and left, a few weather beaten caucasians with matted beards, and one or two other randoms.

When I paid for my dinner the old man cautioned me on my bag carrying technique - too much swing spills porridge. We started to chat and after complimenting me on my fine choice of meal, inquired as to my heritage. I gave him the simple run-down and he cackled cheerfully, explaining ethnic preferences when ordering Chinese take-out: White guys like noodles and Black guys like big hunks of fried meats. He concluded by introducing himself as Ping, as in "Ping Pong". Seemed like a nice old guy. For my part, I laughed dutifully before bidding him a good night. It was still raining outside.

14 September 2006 (Thursday) Toronto, Canada

Lauren called me today. It was good to hear her voice after so long. She's back in Brisbane working as a manager of a gym or some such. Anyway, she has plans come January - she's headed to Europe and apparently we're going skiing. Skiing in the French Alps. No ifs, no buts. It has been decided. We're in. Lauren, Precious and I. Like old times. Well, like March anyway.

I sent my visa application for the UK through on Friday. Next step is to start working out my options. The resume is looking sleeker, so hopefully I'll be able to land something nice.

Meanwhile, the sale of the Jeep fiasco continues. I thought I had a buyer last week. A cheque came in the mail made out to me in $USD. But no, it was post-marked Ghana which means I'm a victim of an Internet scam.

09 September, 2006 (Saturday) Toronto - Virgin Music Festival

The Virgin Music Festival, Toronto Island. Two days of quality bands on two stages. 20,000 people. Beautiful city views. A last hurrah to summer. An outdoor extravaganza. Tickets were $60/day, or $117 (including tax) for both days. My expectations were high.

Things started falling apart when I first heard rumours that Massive Attack, the second-day headline act, had pulled out due to visa problems. Warning bells started to sound. There were sirens in the distance. But I hadn't seen Toronto Island before and I was music starved. Half-crazed from living at work the past few weeks I decided to go through and see it all.

My experience? All in all, it was probably the worst organised music festival that I've had the pleasure of attending. Perhaps I've been spoilt by my Australian experiences at the Big Day Out (1 day of musical mayhem for $150) and Homebake. Yes, Virgin was smaller, with only two stages - but there was more to it than that.

Distances: The two stages were too far from each other - ten minutes walk between stages isn't cool when you're going from act to act. I understand the need for traffic control with large groups, but it could have been handled more intelligently. Lanes could have been made or the stages could have been better situated.
Poor scheduling: Scheduling was nothing less than abysmal. Good bands overlapped (Star Sailor got robbed!). The main stage fell half an hour behind.
VIP areas: The various VIP areas (FutureShop, Nokia, Virgin VIP) seemed overdone and almost token. A covered area for customers or special ticket holders walled off from the rest of the plebs. Nice one.
Promotion: A lot of promotions, not a lot of alternative entertainment. While I got three AXE gift packs and a spin of the energiser wheel, there wasn't a lot else happening. Were they saving it for the second day?
Merchandise: Merchandising was pure amateur hour. Half the bands obviously didn't think to bring merchandise other than a few crusty EPs. Each stage had about 4 band t-shirts, most in black. Innovative.
Closing words: The Flaming Lips, the first evenings feature act, cut their set short after a huge build up. Four and a half songs in their lead singer, Wayne Coyne apologised because they had to finish up - other bands had taken too long and they were done. The band packed up. The crowd booed. It was pretty disappointing for a headling act to last 20 minutes (when they were scheduled for an hour) and then be booed off stage.
Better management would have just shifted things along as the day progressed, five minutes off this band's set, rush the setup. Event management should have expected some slippage. It happens. But it's not that hard to build a bit of flexibility in the schedule / contingency plan.

Am I done yet?
Well, here's how I felt that night:
I know it's bad when the headline act (Massive Attack) cancel 2 days before
I know it's bad when people are booing.
I know it's bad when the merchandise tent only holds 4 different t-shirt designs, all in black when there are 8 bands on the stage

Thoughts for next time
People have high expectations when they pay close to $70 (including taxes) for a ticket. They expect a full experience which justifies their expenditure. They expect it to be well planned an fun. They expect to have some options and to be able to see some great music.

The two day could have conceivably been done in one day over three stages. It could have crammed a lot more quality in there rather than trying to stretch it over two drawn-out days. The overcast weather probably discouraged quite a few punters, but putting on a poor show doesn't just affect fans, it affects reputation and branding.