So far this year I have taken 23 flights. This means a scary amount of time hanging around in airports, and in particular time spent waiting in the boarder control lines to get back into the UK. I snort laugh in the direction of any panicking Brexiters who continue to proclaim that the UK has no border controls…yes you fucking do.

Normally it is around 45 minutes per trip that I have to spend waiting in the snaking queue surrounded by jetlagged, hungry and confused fellow non-Brits. The worst was a two hour wait where I almost popped a ventricle because they only had three agents on. The best was like winning lotto after a trip to Berlin where there was not a single person in the line ahead of me.

I am normally the one that power walks (read: gallops like a millennial zombie) to the Border line as fast as my jandals will let me, just in the hopes of getting there before whatever plane of foreigners that has just arrived. But with the amount of flying I seem to be doing (and I am about to be in Germany for all of July) I was getting wholeheartedly sick of the hours I spent in that damn line. I’m not even going to start on a rant about those stupid landing cards and the people who forget to fill them out.

So I did what I should have done a year ago and joined the Registered Traveler Scheme. Essentially if you meet the criteria you can pay the government £70 a year for the privilege of using the e-gates (turning your 45min+ wait into a 5min wait). I think what took me so long to sign up is that I still consider it a bit of a rip off, and it’s not like waiting in a line for a bit is going to kill you. But when I only have two days in London between trips I just don’t have the time to waste. Government you win this round.

Anyway since this seemingly ends my interactions with the front line of Brexit, those hard working border control agents who have not smiled in 80 years, I thought I would bring you my most memorable ‘getting back into the country’ stories. Although in saying that, I tried to use the e-gates for the first time this week and it threw up a ‘Seek Assistance’ error and I had to go to an agent anyway. Sigh.

  1. Airport: London Heathrow

The very first time I came into the UK on my ancestry visa, all excited about moving to London, the agent asked ‘Who did you get this visa through’ and I answered “my Mum’s Mum”. “Your GRANDMOTHER” he angrily replied as if he had caught me out in a massive lie, before going on to ask if she was still alive. I said no, to which he said the sentence that still sticks in my brain to this day “Well, as least she was a bit useful then”. Fuck you Mr border control man.

  1. Airport: Stockholm Arlanda

This is still the best thing that has happened to me in an airport. After flicking through my passport for a good five minutes (and me getting more and more concerned about what was wrong) the good looking Swedish man checking it looked me straight in the eye and said “I’ve had you before”. I mean, I always have a good time in Sweden but not so good that I would forget sleeping with someone. After seeing my startled expression he turned bright red and clarified that he had stamped my passport before.

  1. Airport: London Heathrow

On the trip from Berlin mentioned above I was riding high that I got to go straight to the desk (after still having to walk through that snaking line even though there was no one there) but then the agent started quizzing me about my job in detail that I had never seen before. ‘What type of analyst are you’, ‘What are your hours like’, ‘Where are you based’ – I thought it was because I was dressed in a kitten t-shirt and ripped jeans so he was skeptical weather I was telling the truth. Nope, turns out he was incredulous that I was full time employed rather than going contracting. He said I was making a big mistake, and that if I went contracting I would be making far more money and have a better CV. Maybe that’s why the lines take so long, because they are not only protecting the border but also giving out career advice.

  1. Airport: Cologne

It was a late flight and I was feeling rather ratty, when I handed over my passport the boarder agent frowned as he flipped through it. He then called over his manager who joined him in the intense study of the pages. Then his colleague sitting with him in the booth got involved with the flipping and the feeling. At this point I was wondering if I was going to be on the next plane out of there but no, after all that he stamped and handed my passport back to me saying “New Zealanders have the most beautiful passports”. Thanks?

People keep asking me when I am going to move home. I don’t know if it is my advancing years (apparently at 28 I should have kids and an alcohol habit already…I have one of those things), that I have been in London past the 5 year limit or that recent terrorist attacks have made everyone work hard to justify London life – but it has made me really think about why I am still so in love with London.

I don’t know if it is even love any more. I have written time and time again about how much this city gives me life, I’ve written sonnets to its energy and beauty. But now? Now something has changed in my feelings towards London Town, it’s all becoming a little less exciting and a little more stretched out and comfortable around the edges.

I’ve always said that London is a hard city to live in, it steals your energy and your money. Unless you put effort in it is an isolating place to be and don’t even get me started on the practical side of things like rent and windowless bathrooms. Today though, today I think my perspective of easy and hard has changed. I am so time poor these days that I want to be able to experience life and friendship in small intense bursts because that is all I can manage. And my dear London is perfect for that.

Last weekend I had two hours free before hopping on yet another plane. I got the tube to Old Street, had breakfast at Ozone (massive benefit of dining alone is you never have to queue for a table), then wandered through the world of street art that is Shoreditch before heading to Heathrow once again.

In those two hours I got more stimulation, relaxation and felt more like ‘me’ than I used to in an entire weekend when I first arrived. I used to be so concerned about what everyone else thought of my life, that I was doing everything ‘right’ (shout out to my fellow perfectionists), that I got overwhelmed by the city. Now that I have to focus so much more on getting the most out of small bits of life that I have finally played into London’s sweet spot.

Forget trying to do everything. Forget long days traipsing between markets, attractions and halfway across the city to meet a friend you don’t actually give a shit about. London now lets me experience a world of amazing opportunities, just a little at a time. I spent so long caught up in what I was missing out on that I exhausted myself in the attempt. Now I am getting pure childish enjoyment in taking London one bite at a time.

If I was in New Zealand I would wait for months anticipating (hoping) a new brunch place opening up. In London with hundreds to navigate (download my app if you want help!) it was more a ticking off the list exercise rather than relishing the moment.

I don’t doubt that my relationship is going to change time and time again with London, but for right now I have no intention of moving on. This city is still full of likeminded friends, opportunities beyond what I could get in New Zealand, and pretty damn good coffee. And now that I am not killing myself to see it all, I can finally get round to enjoying it.

I never quite know if you are interested in little life update posts or not. For all I know you only come for the raging over Clear Blue adverts and stay for the brunch recommendations. But since you aren’t exactly here to ask…I guess I shall ramble on about where I have been recently (and why the blog has been so quiet).

I swore to myself at the start of the year that I was going to calm down on all the travel. In theory I live in London, which is slightly hard to do when I’m not here half the time. That vow lasted all of five minutes, since March I have spent two weeks in Sweden, two in New Zealand, a weekend in Berlin and I got back from a few days in Cologne last night. Looking at that I consider the vow a total and utter fail.

I know that it sounds like the dream (I would have thought that a few years ago) but when you are traveling for work its long, hard and stressful. No matter how sexy the destinations its pretty much just me in a conference room and then back to my hotel for spreadsheets and Skype meetings. I do however love my job, so I just have to lump the stupid travel. Although I have just brought a felt underlay for my ironing board so don’t say my lift isn’t full of thrills.

Anyway, the whole travel thing makes the blogging thing rather hard to keep up with.

I have actually done something fun recently. Last weekend when I was in town for a couple of days I made it to the Tate Modern to see the new extension. It is still my least favourite modern art museum ever (I find it so hard to find the damn art), but the view from the top is hard to beat. And climbing the ten flights of stairs to get to the top counts as a high intensity workout I’m sure…

So where am I right now? I am in bed in my flat in London listening to the sound of my washing machine while trying to stop this cold before it goes full flu. And what am I doing right now? I have two top secret projects that I am working on at the moment (seriously, my blog is starting to feel like an abandoned step-child) one of which I will announce next week, the other should be mid-June. I know its entirely lame to hint at exciting things. But give me this one – the one coming mid-June I just spent all my savings on so I feel entitled to a little build up.

I am now back for two whole weeks so I am planning on doing some actual London fun times. It is time for me to actually get out and do rather than sit at home and work. Any suggestions for what I should put on my list?

xx

Greg, if you are reading this please stop here and don’t read the rest of the post. Actually if you are anyone who works with me please skip this blog. Look, if you know me in a work capacity just go and look at this picture of a puppy doing yoga instead.

Ok now that they have all gone, let me tell you how utterly stupid I’ve been recently.

I am a stupidly responsible person, I am uptight over most things but in particular being safe and looking after my possessions are my top two. Call it being single and having to get myself from A to B – I am accountable for my entire being. But no matter where this high level of responsibility comes from…I am the one you can give your handbag to when you go for a smoke.

So this is the awkward part…

I don’t know what the hell has happened to me recently, but I have left my work laptop in not one…but two bars in London. You can see why I told Greg the IT guy at work to stop reading, he would have a heart attack if he knew poor lamb.

The first incident was actually at a work function where we all went to learn how to make sushi. I got rather merry and wielded a knife with such artistry that I was named Queen of Sushi. Well, not quite but my sushi was judged the best out of the thirty or so people who were there and I won a sushi making kit.

My plan had been to head home for an early night but after my win the glory and the rice just went to my head. I ended up at an underground cocktail club necking gin and it wasn’t until I got home that with a sinking feeling I realised I didn’t have my laptop. Thankfully the sushi teacher had found it under a table and I was able to make a mad dash to collect it at lunchtime the next day.

I thought I had learned my lesson, I thought this was a once in 28years experience and it had scared me straight. I would never again lose my laptop (particularly not my work one) and I would return to my former responsible self.

And I did, for five whole weeks I did and then came the gin.

I was at the City of London Distillery which is one of my old haunts (it was the bar I went to for after work drinks when I was at my first London job). I made the rookie error of putting my handbag on the floor on one side of me, and my laptop on the floor on the other side of me. Two gins down I happily went on my way to meet a friend for dinner in Shoreditch.

It wasn’t till 1am that night when I sat bolt upright in bed realising I had once again left my laptop in a damn bar. Simple right? I could go and collect it the next day right? Haha what about me makes you think it would be that simple.

I realised the lack of laptop at 1am Saturday morning. I was flying out to Sweden for work on Sunday (where I would seriously need my laptop). The bar was closed on Sundays so Saturday was going to be my only time to pick it up, but two major problems…

  1. This is London and there was a high chance someone would just have walked off with it
  2. I was going to see both parts of Cursed Child (the Harry Potter play) on Saturday….and the only times the bar was open was when the play was on

I didn’t really sleep for the rest of the night, with the choice of missing the Harry Potter play or Greg being disappointed in me going round and round in my head.

From first thing Saturday morning it was a military style campaign of me ringing the bar every ten minutes to see if someone had handed it in. Turns out bars are not open first thing on a Saturday morning. I managed to get through to the bar at lunchtime just before leaving for part 1 of the play; after I ashamedly confirmed that my laptop was a Dell with an Apple sticker on it (don’t ask), they said they had found it!

First problem ticked off. But also who would have thought you could leave a laptop twice in London and people would hand it in?

Anyway the second problem had me running out of the doors at the end of Part 1 and flagging down a cab. Jumping in and shouting ‘Fleet Street’ at the driver is perhaps the most London I have ever felt. I made it to the bar and the lovely bar tender handed me my laptop with one hand and a G&T with the other (I think I was looking slightly harried). Fuelled by the power of gin I made it back to Harry in time for part 2 and to Sweden in time for work on Monday.

Moral of the story: think twice before leaving me with your handbag…maybe staple it to me somehow.