'Little Madam' I Am

My friend Paul called me a 'Little Madam':
NOUN. Snotty, daddy's girl, princess, brat.

At first I protested, but accepted defeat when Paul failed to look convinced.

Last night, my ever-so-considerate flatmate decided to invite his little infantile friends over to see how much nicotine they could inhale before dawn. The flat reeked of smoke. As if that was not infuriating enough, they left the kitchen in a state of disaster and decided to be obnoxiously loud while others were trying to sleep. This kind of blatant disregard for others is not an uncommon occurrence, although perhaps what is most disturbing is the fact that he claims to be the ideal flatmate. Finally, I had enough and knocked on his door to tell them to be quiet. Of course, in typical arrogant fashion of my flatmate, instead of apologizing he met my complaint with his foul attitude.

I do not get angry often. But when I do, run for the hills.

This threw me into a 'Little Madam' fit of rage, and I violently slammed the kitchen door behind me, and then slammed my bedroom door (incase he did not get my point with the kitchen door).

He makes me so livid that I want to toss him out the window and drop a piano on him.

Piano-mania

My teacher hosted a party tonight for her studio from the Academy. One can only imagine the kind of wild behavior that rises out of eccentric pianists representing over ten different countries, all congregated together in one room. We ate foods from South Africa to Turkey to China, and finished with good old apple pie with tea for dessert. We also consumed vast amounts of wine.

So what kind of wild behavior, you ask?

We watched a DVD of Rostropovich and Richter perform the complete Beethoven Sonatas for cello and piano.Trust me, that is cutting-edge wild.

Reminiscent of Winter at Home.

London suddenly became very beautiful overnight. It snowed, which is unusual.

A lane in Regent's Park on my way to school this morning. I love the dove-gray light in the early hours, just as night is about to become day.

Phrase of the Day: "So, how do you want to do this?"

I will never forget my first experience with Russian food. For some time now I have wanted to further my appreciation for the culture by sampling their cuisine. After all, I have nothing but the greatest respect for the artistic outburst of 20th Century Russia, and the spirits of individuals like Shostakovich and Skryabin who stand like pillars of Western music. Add to that the tutelage of Russian teachers to whom I am eternally grateful for their insight and intensity in music-making.

Sitting across the table from me was a sophisticated young man who invited me for dinner in Primrose Hill. He is intelligent, polished, witty, and stylish. He is a composer from my school, and his thorough knowledge of literature, theatre, and music impressed me. From the onset of the evening, his perfect manners made me feel like royalty. I don't know how English men operate, but where I come from, when there is sufficient reason to believe that a man finds me attractive and invites me to an exclusive dinner, goes to the trouble of wearing a jacket and tie, let's call a spade a spade -- it is a date.

We enjoyed wine and pleasant conversation (and Borscht!), and all was well. Until the bill came.

He looked over the bill, then looked up at me and said, "So, how do you want to do this?"

How do you want to do this?! Are you kidding me?

Now, I am a modern woman. But not that modern. For all his social grace, this one detail made him terribly uncouth. Of course, I paid my share of the meal without holding it against him for the rest of the evening. But I went home thoroughly unimpressed. Thank goodness I have a good humour and laughed myself to sleep that night.

Snubbing the Pub.

Let's face it, I am not exactly a pub kinda' girl.

I did pretty well to avoid pubs since living here, as standing around a crowded, loud, smokey, heated bar with lager in hand is not my idea of a good time. Besides, how can I compete with the number of pints the English consume at once -- on a daily basis! I am convinced that all the shops close at 6PM so that everyone can hurry off to the pub after work. Alcoholics!

Tonight, however, I made an exception for my friend Rachel who's leaving for a brief stint in Hong Kong. Her farewell gathering met at a rather pleasant and upscale pub, though I still had to yell to talk to the person beside me and endure insufferable puffs of smoke blown nonchalantly in my face. Standing at the bar, I thought what I would really enjoy is a cold, tall glass of orange juice. But then I looked around the pub to see what everyone else was drinking (alcohol), thought I better be more savvy, and ordered the Pinot Grigio.

I did better this time. The last time I stopped into a pub, I ordered a café latte and the bartender looked at me like I was mad. Not to mention he served me the worst latte of my life.

Frankly, sometimes I just want milk and Oreos, and pubs tend not to have that.

What Every Girl Needs.

Every girl needs a little black dress. And a very gay man.

Grace has Will; Karen has Jack. Rebecca has James.

He is delightful -- perfect company for Sunday brunch, some retail therapy, or dinner and movie nights! James and I like to stroll down the high street arm in arm, and frequent our favourite café for the buttery croissants and handsome waiters. Our vow is to marry each other if we don't find husbands. (Just kidding, Dad!)

***

Spring Term commenced today after the Christmas break. The Academy was a buzz of excitement and renewal. But leaving the flat at 7:30AM makes me want to chuck the stilettos for good! 'Tis the cost of looking chic.

Eat London.

Mela, Indian cuisine: London's selection of Indian restaurants gives the diner many choices. My cousins and I ate supper at this much reviewed restaurant, though reviews have been mixed. I enjoyed the meal for the most part. However, the service was extremely slow.








On another day, we hopped a train to Brighton, England's oldest seaside town. Brighton is quaint and charming, with many tiny shops lining cobblestone lanes. The sea is beautiful, though the winds get violent in the evening. We ate lunch at a traditional pub which prepared a great selection of fresh catches -- tuna steaks, steamed bream and seabass, smoked fish pie topped with creamy mashed potatoes.



Cappucino.



Steamed bream makes Jim a happy man!



Smoked fish pie.



Steak frites, perfectly cooked.