Fifteen years until now.

Steven just wrote this tonight:

I am finding it hard to forgive you
For leaving us in the lurch
So suddenly

Or was it we who did the leaving
Day after day
Out the front door we'd go
Into the Void.
How else could you see it?
How could you know we'd come back?

Now it's your turn.

We miss you, sweet pea.
Epitome of faithful, paragon of friend
Gold-medal homebody
Always here for us
Fifteen years
Until now.

You were not generous with love
You treated it, and us, more carefully than most
And that was your great talent.

Nurse Alice
Doling out doses of affection
Just enough, when needed
Was more than enough always.
You healed all our hurt
With tender nonchalance
And casual furry grace.

Cuddly, not.
Snuggly, barely.
More spice than sugar
Fuzzmuffin, you could sure lash out
More prizefighter than diva
(Though you had the girth for either label.)
Or maybe you were just a type A control freak.

Where could you have learned such behavior?

From a box of sibling rivalry
That Brooklyn day
Out you lept, spidery kitten,
smelling our aromatherapy candles and good soap.
You knew somehow you'd get a good deal.
We got the better one.
And to think I didn't want you or your kind hanging around
That is, until I saw you.

And then?
O adoration! O boundless and effortless love!
Our first and only charge, our little cutie.
Alice Jackson.
A name to accommodate whoever you became:
Cute little Alice
Big fat Alice.

What foresight we all had!

You got your great adventure, and so did we.
We crossed a continent
an ocean
a channel
together, us three.
You made every place into our home
Just by settling in, on the rug.
Kittyloaf.
Anenome Face.

Through it all
Your tastes were simple:
You loved the water
And patches of sunlight
And shady spots beneath the flowers.
And nibbles of lettuce and grass
And tuna juice
The sound of the can opener
And of us coming home.

What was it like
When you were alone
Were you contented, relaxed, napping and dreaming?

Did it still feel like home
Or was the house devoid of comfort
Bereft of its soul?

I remember times in the night
You'd forget we were in the next room
And you'd cry out, a long drawl of a howl.
So sad
So lonesome.

So relieved when we called your name.
Your little chirp of gladness
The thump of you landing on our bed

Gone now.

We still see you out of the corners of our eyes
Afraid to turn our heads and look
Lest you disappear again.

We miss you Miss Alice.
We miss you kitty.
We forever miss you.

Oil & Vinegar

Originally uploaded by sf2london.

Ya gotta give it up to those crafty Catalans: Jerez vinegar & extra virgin olive oil in little grape and olive shaped ampules!

R.I.P. Alice Jackson - II

This picture was taken in October 2005 by Lauren Barr at 6B Penzance Place.


This picture was taken by me on July 2nd of this year on our terrace at 97 Golborne Road during one of this summer's many heatwaves. It might be the most recent photo of Alice.

R.I.P. Alice Jackson - I

Spring 1991 - 24 August 2006





Thanks to Elliot Clapp for capturing the inimitable spirit of Alice in the last four photos (and many more, including video clips, which I will try to post somewhere, some time). She was a good friend, and we are glad she shared her long and happy life with us.

Poor Old Girl

Since we got back from Helsinki (yes, yes, I've got a backlog of photos), Alice hasn't quite been herself. Google said she was exhibiting symptoms of diabetes. Two trips to the vet got us a "high" (but not catastrophic—ta-dum-dum) glucose reading and special prescription food to try for a week or two. But this past week she really seemed to be deteriorating rapidly. Steven & I took her to the vet yesterday, and they wound up admitting her for observation & stabilization. The hospital is full, so Alice will be spending the next couple of weeks with 12 other cats (her least favorite people). This is without question the worst thing that's ever happened to her. It hasn't been a picnic for us either, as we've had to confront the mortality of our friend, companion and "nurse" of 16 years...

Back to normal

Well, at least for the time-being. The weather has turned weathery again. Today it was hot, cold, muggy, drizzly, grey, sunny, blustery, calm, and rainy. I went out to get some milk & juice (had to go all the way to Notting Hill Gate to the M&S Simply Food because it's Sunday and all the closer Sainsburys and Tescos close between 4 & 6). Then—because we needed window cleaner and ironing water—I walked to the Holland Park Tesco Express, which is open 'til 11 every day (that neighborhood is full of people who are used to convenience: Americans with generous expat packages). It was a crap shoot as to whether they'd have what I needed and I lost. Then, waiting for the bus back to Notting Hill Gate, I was caught in a torrential downpour. Holland Park Avenue turned into class 5 whitewater rapids. I switched from the 148 to the 52 and rescued a French family who are spending 2 weeks on our street at number 70. They got here three days ago and know how to walk here, but not where to get off the bus (because where are road connects to the main bus route it's not called Golborne, but Chesterton). An artist, a journalist, and their youngest daughter house-swapping for their place in the south of France.

The plot

“The great problem is that Al Qaeda has moved far beyond being a terrorist organization to being almost a state of mind,” said Simon Reeve, author of a 1999 book on Osama bin Laden and his associates.

Contact info.

So we were in Helsinki for the weekend. On Sunday night we had dinner with one of Steven's clients, and naturally I took advantage of the opportunity to complain about my phone (you know, the disappearing pictures, ringtones I paid £££s for dematerializing into the ether, etc.). She said that Steven should bring it in with him when he went to their HQ the following day. They'd flash it or something, installing the latest firmware, and the was supposedly going to solve all my problems. Turns out they flashed it, allright, and I hear that they erased everything on the phone: pictures, ringtones, contacts, everything. So the consolation prize is that I got a fancy-pants new phone—an N80—but they were supposed to fix that old phone on Monday and now it's Thursday (they said they'd DHL it to London) and I don't even have my own SIM card back.
What this all means is that until I get the SIM card back (whenever that may be), I can be reached on our "guest" number: +44 7914 224 282. It also means that if you are someone whose number I might have had stored in my cell (and possibly nowhere else), I need your contact info. again, thanks! You can either text or email.
Cheerio!

Bankside 1 atrium 07

Bankside 1 atrium 07,
originally uploaded by sf2london.

Just trying out some integration. I'm going to put all my pics on flickr now, 'cuz they can be higher-res than the ones on the blog (for those of you who are interested). I wanted to set up the direct blogging from the cellphone thing, but alas, my combination of handset and service provider currently precludes that. Anyway, here goes nothing!

Mel Gibson

For those of you who don't already know, Mel Gibson is a racist, sexist, homophobic anti-semitic jerk. Don't pay to see his movies. Don't rent his DVDs. Don't do anything that would make this right-wing neanderthal any richer.

.eu

Back in the day I thought all those "MARKATKINSON.COM is STILL AVAILABLE! REGISTER NOW!!!!!" emails were just so much spam. No more. Today I registered markatkinson.eu 'cuz I WON'T LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN!

Oh, yeah... one more thing

A fellow expat pal has reminded me that I am well chuffed to be done with grad school. Handed in my "thesis" (aka long essay) on Tuesday. Now all I gotta do is find a job!

No hat, no reflection, no pee.

So last night Steven & I decided to actually go to our local Indian takeaway. Because it was supposed to be air conditioned. It wasn't. But it was full, which is highly unusual. There was a large table of large ladies, one of whom — Sally — was celebrating her birthday. They seemed like they all came from one of the nearby housing estates (glamorous name they use here for the projects) to enjoy a special night out. At another table was a black (well, they're not African American here, are they?) family, and I think it might have been the little girl's birthday too. Very jealous of her ice cream dessert in a little paper cylinder with a plastic toucan head. When they left their table was taken by a couple of "blokes" who sat diagonally from each other. At first I thought they were expecting the wives or girlfriends. Nope. Steven says if I read "Watching the English" I'll understand. In any case it's feeling very diverse. We get seated next to a table of three white dudes. As soon as we settle in, I notice that the guy closest to me is talking about the film industry. He's got an irish accent. He's Gabriel Byrne.

Oliver Hardy?

Alice's English cousin? Or...
Moustache cat

Vive la France!

If for nothing more than their crazy outfits...

Dam! Dam! Dam!

So Steven & I went to Amsterdam for the weekend. You know how you think living in Europe would make that kind of thing no big deal? Run of the mill? Par for the course? Well, it took us 9 hours to get there. It's 200 miles away. Part of our trip was down the M-something-or-other on a bus from Gatwick to Heathrow. In rush hour traffic. I HATE British Airways! Why are they the world's favoUrite airline? My guess: most of the world doesn't have a choice. Anyhow, we finally arrived and it was fun.

There's more, but I just thought I'd share these for now, since I'm supposed to be writing a 5,000 word "thesis" that's due in 10 days.

Across the street from 2 lesbian bars...


A couple of Alice's Dutch cousins???

Art out of life

Livingroom view

Paris Surprise

Well, Steven went to work on the morning of Friday May 12th. My job was to assemble items for a Eurostar on-board pic-nick, collect Patty & Bill, and get them to Waterloo Station. I managed to hail a taxi right on Golborne Road, the folks were waiting on the stoop of their B&B, there was little traffic, we reached the station by 12:15, and I retrieved the tickets without a hitch. Then I realized I had forgotten my passport at home. Raced to Notting Hill Gate on the tube and hailed a taxi which waited downstairs while I ran inside, then headed back. Got through security just as the boarding announcement was made.

The ride was good. Every time the train went through a tunnel Patty asked if it was the Chunnel. We reviewed some Paris materials I had collected, looked at maps, etc. After checking in to our hotel we walked to Boulevard St. Germain and had an aperitif at Les Deux Magots before taking a taxi over to Au Bon Accueil for dinner with Kath & “cousin” Katherine. The Eiffel Tower loomed over the end of the block and did its glittery thing as we left the restaurant. We were so close we decided to stroll over (and under) before dropping P&B at the hotel and heading to the Marais to meet our friend Kerem (Turkish guy we met in Istanbul).

Bill’s appetizer
Glittering





The next morning there was some drama: Patty’s passport was missing. No Eurostar lost & found on weekends. Ditto the previous night’s restaurant: fermé. The American embassy is also closed on weekends but of course has a 24/7 help line. We found out that they open at 9am on Monday and that it would take 4 hours to get a replacement. The only problem was that our flight to London departed at 10:50am and Patty & Bill’s flight to Glasgow departed an hour later. So we rescheduled their flight to the next day and they were faced with the prospect of a day and night in Paris on their own.

We headed over to Ile de la Cîté and gorgeous Sainte-Chapelle, which elicited appropriate gasps. After lunch at a place across the street (where Bill had a mind-expanding European cultural experience you’ll have to ask him about), we strolled through the flower market, past Notre-Dame, and across to Ile St-Louis (“Ice Cream Island”) for some Berthillon goodies.

Back on the Left Bank we left P&B to rest and took a speedy stroll around the ’hood.

French graffiti

Returning to the hotel to collect the folks for dinner, we learned of the discovery of the passport. In the passport holder. I won’t tell who put it there or who found it. Glasgow flight switched back to Monday. Water under the bridge. We headed to Les Deux Magots for our aperitif.

On the way
“Mosquito”
French EANABs

Our dining mission was to conquer a plateau des fruits de mer at La Coupole.

Deco floor
More floor
The plateau

Exhausted after a nearly silent dinner spent concentrating on the intense labor of using specialized tools to extract various sea creatures from their respective enclosures, we returned to our hotel and collapsed.

The next morning we breakfasted at Ladurée. Insane. Follow the link. You’ll see. Then we walked down to the Luxembourg Gardens and spent a while just sitting before inspecting the toy sailboat operation. After checking out the Statue of Liberty’s Mini-Me, we miraculously found a taxi and headed over to Place des Vosges. After lunch we took a peek at the Pompidou Center, which I thought Bill would get a kick out of (he did).

Li’l Lady
Knife rack
Green broom!
Pompidou





We then had an opportunity to check out an area we hadn’t visited before: sort of north Marais/Montorgueil...

Decorative grill
Patina
Baroque

Dinner was back on Ile St-Louis at Mon Vieil Ami. It was fab.

Veal belly
Rognions
Quack
Coffee
Berries

Au revoir, Paris!

Hotel stairs

More London Miscellany

Here's an overdue miscellaneous London update. Steven's folks are visiting and I'll post stuff from their visit after they leave next Tuesday. We surprised them with a weekend in Paris, and that'll be my next post, coming ASAP!

Westminster Cathedral
Hodge the cat
The Trellick Tower
Wheeled hooligans
Another face building
Out our front window
Strange foreign sign
What's missing?