Take me back to dear old Blighty....

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London is to Aussies what Melbourne is to Greeks - the proverbial home away from home. One often hears fantastic stories of those who go over and land a plum contracting position in finance, rake in the pounds by the hour while largely dodging the taxman (I still can't figure out how this potential river of gold is not tapped by HM Revenue Service), and then return home pasty and pallid but with a house and no mortgage. I for one think that such tales are only part of the allure for Aussie expats, cos London seemingly has the ability to cater to all types and tastes. Sure, it can be drab and dreary, there always seems to be a strike which threatens to lock down the city, transport costs an arm and a leg, and the sport fans are meatheads. Despite these shortcomings, the undeniable style and pulse of the place ensure that it will always be one of my favourite cities in the world to visit. Furthermore, the juvenile excitement of being surrounded by places made famous on the Monopoly board still hasn't worn off for me after three trips there. May it live on through the ages.

My extended run of abusing the kind hospitality of friends continued in London, where I spent around three weeks with camp set up on the fold out couch bed at Bronnie's place in Greenwich, and then for a few extra days at Anna's place in Vauxhall. God bless Aussies and the rite of passage pilgrimage to London. Having ticked most of the essential tourist boxes on my previous visits to the city, this time around was more about catching up with both the Aussie contingent in London, and also some of the Londoners I have met thus far in my travels. Oh, and making sure that I didn't miss one second of finals footy action for the Maggies.

Not counting when they were stripping me off all my travel funds on the poker table, the crew at Halstow Road, Greenwich - Bronnie, Sam, Lily, Ant, Jac, Luke and Simone - turned on some sensational yet laid back hospitality. In a particularly nice departure from my standard travellers diet of greasy fast food, I was treated to a cooked dinner almost every night and occasionally a cooked lunch as well. Those who have known and understood my friendship with Bronnie over the years will know that it was inevitable that she would one day be slaving over a hot stove for my benefit as I sat slothfully on the couch watching footy replays. Some might say it was fate.

Aside from Bronnie, my other companion at home at Halstow during the day (when the rest of the crew were at work) was Lily. She is one seriously cute baby with an almost permanent smile on her face. Almost permanent in the sense that she thinks she can get some attention with a craftily timed burst of the waterworks. Unfortunately for her however her act is not up to scratch just yet, and I lost count of the amount of times she'd realise the ploy was not working and instantaneously switch back to a big gummy grin.

The Aussie contingent in London swelled even further during my stay, as Northey hit town for two weeks with work, and Rixy came over to wind down before pre-season by working in the London office of Rio Tinto. He and I had planned to turn up to Speaker's Corner one Saturday afternoon with a couple of soap boxes and see who could draw the biggest crowd. Unfortunately, I found that my itinerary wouldn't allow it as I was due to leave London early the following Saturday morning. I would nonetheless have been confident that I could have scored an underdog's victory, having cooked up some wild conspiracy theories and fantastic prophesies of doom in an effort to overcome his more imposing physical countenance.

Activities with Northey (planned and actual) were altogether more conventional eg checking out Camden Markets, walking along the Thames to the Tower of London etc. In one of the most notable departures from standard backpacker fare to date, he and I were taken out to dinner at the Gaucho Steakhouse by Ed Kennan. From the moment we walked in it was patently obvious that it was indeed a steakhouse and a fancy one at that, as the clientele was near enough to 100% male with suits or business casual the standard attire. I couldn't help but feel slightly out of place in my t-shirt, jeans and thongs. Starting with Lobster Tail and moving on to a melt in the mouth sirloin accompanied by a bold shiraz, it was one of the best feeds I've had in recent memory. Equally as enjoyable as the food however was sitting down with a man of good strong Magpie stock and discussing the possibilities that lay ahead for September.

Others I was lucky enough to catch up with in London were Sam (who I met on the Colca Canyon trek at Arequipa), Jesse and Ed (met at Puerto Iguazu and then again in La Paz), Jim (met and travelled with through Nicaragua and Honduras) Lucky Jaguars from Buenos Aires Katie, Rachel and Rowan, and from back home George and Matt who were briefly in town, Fleur, Walshy and Deb, Christina and Trav, and 'Bobby' Cropley. The second meeting with Bobby was completely by chance as I'd arranged to meet Jesse and Ed at a pub in Camden one night before heading to see The Go! Team, and he happened to be standing outside the pub as I walked in. Even more coincidentally he was heading to see the same gig, which just goes to show that London may seem big, but is really just a small town like any other. I had seem The Go! Team before at a Big Day Out, and they seemed to have polished their live show and expanded their range significantly since then. It was an eclectic, energetic and altogether enjoyable show.

While much of my time in London was rather lazy and inactive, I did meet up with Jim and his brand new Sherrin one morning at Hyde Park for a kick. We were tested by the conditions as it was blowing a gale and neither of us had touched a footy for months, but both of us managed to hit the odd target here and there. With the big prelim final clash between the Pies and the Cats looming the following day, we decided that we'd be keen to watch it together. I was especially keen for it as he'd all but written the Pies chances off, and I knew that Mick's boys would give a very honest account of themselves.

The following morning we were in the lounge room at Bronnie's, with Sam and Lily in their Cats guernseys and me with my heart in my mouth for 100 minutes of football. The previous week's win over the Eagles in Perth in extra time had already seriously challenged my nerves and brittle emotional state, and yet again it was another dogfight with neither side giving an inch. When the siren rang I was instantly proud of the way the lads had proven the critics wrong and gone so far in a year they were expected to be a cellar dweller. At the same time however, it was a bitter feeling to know how close we had come to winning a flag. Everybody knows we would also have made light work of the "Power" the following week.

I was due to depart Heathrow at 8:50AM the following morning, and had carefully researched the tube schedule to make sure that I would be at the airport with the required two hours to spare before flying. Jim and I went out after the game and caught up with Rixy and Rachel among others at the Temple Walkabout to make a night of it. All was set to make the flight the following day when the night came to a close, as knowing that I had to be up at 5:30AM, I had turned in at a sensible 12:30AM. Given my meticulous planning, you would then understand the ghastly shock of being woken up by one of Anna's housemates the following morning at 7AM with the words "shouldn't you be at the airport by now?" Talk about a rude awakening. In a panic, I pulled on the clothes I had worn the previous day, grabbed my bag, and charged out of the house. After a nervous 15 minute wait I finally hailed a cab and asked him to get me to Heathrow pronto. Cutting a long story short, I made my flight by a matter of seconds thanks to a high speed 50 quid cab fare, and a very helpful lady at the British Airways check-in desk. I will never again comment on the “can’t do” attitude of British workers, as between the three of us, we somehow made the impossible possible that morning.

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Photos

The heart of it all
Palace of Westminster

Some old lady lives here
Buckingham Palace

High and mighty
Nelson's Column at Trafalgar Square

Peace following lengthy cricket arguments
HJT with Sam from the Colca Canyon trek and a couple of his mates

Working my magic
HJT and Rachael (aka Gibbo) from Argentina

Rixy and me combining our harems
Nat, Steph, Zara, Anna, Rixy, HJT, Rachael and Belinda

The big fella about to make a big move
The Halstow Road poker table

Giving Lily the death stare
She wouldn't let me hear the last of it when the Cats beat the Pies in the prelim