We just got broadband internet. I had no idea how much I would miss not being able to get on line easily. I’ve spent most of the past two weeks watching little balls spinning or getting timed-out/error messages. I feel like my life can resume now…..

The big political news here is that the Labour Party has changed leaders, electing Jeremy Corbyn to be the new Shadow Prime Minister. (One of the cool things about this Parliamentary system is that the opposition party has to name an entire cabinet, who argue their issues during Question Time. Thus there is a Shadow Foreign Minister, a Shadow Chancellor and on and on. If you were paying attention (and it questionable whether anyone does), you would have a pretty detailed idea about the opposition’s policies and what they would actually do if they held office.) The weird thing is that they chose the Shadow Prime Minister (at least in the Labour Party), not by a vote of the Labour MPs or some other inner circle, but through an election in which all members of the Labour Party can vote. I don’t know if this is a new process, but it was apparently new that you could join the Party for £5, so Labour suddenly had an incredible membership increase, which helped Corbyn, the outsider, and hurt all the insiders. The most surprising thing about the election, at least to me, was that the voting closed at noon or something on Thursday and the results were not announced until Saturday morning. If it had happened in the US, the networks would have been falling all over each other to call the race within seconds after the last vote was cast. And it wasn’t close, although in fairness, the media so completely missed the outcome of the last real election, that they might have been feeling a little gun shy. But they all acted like it was a big mystery for about 36 hours. The pace is slower here in some ways.

Corbyn is like that lovable radical history professor at college, who never wore a tie, went to all the protests and said outrageous stuff. Corbyn has been sitting on the back bench for many years (probably not wearing a tie, going to all the protests and taking far left positions). As Krugman pointed out in the Times, he won because the rest of the Labour leadership had turned in Conservative-Lites, agreeing with the Tory and media narrative that austerity is the only answer for the British economy, which was brought down by overspending by prior Labour governments, when actually none of that is true. So the entrenched leadership had nothing much to offer, except to say that the government should be nicer to working people, while generally supporting Tory policies that screwed them. (And the Tories, faced with no credible opposition, has decided to fulfill its wildest wet dreams by launching a sweeping, vicious attack on unions that would make Scott Walker jealous.) So Corbyn was thrust into this void, with a larger electorate who were apparently pretty sick of the old guys and happy to hear from someone who said that austerity was idiotic and that England needs to spend money to help the working class, even if it mean raising taxes on the rich or scrapping military spending. As I understand, it the leadership suggested that he be added to the ballot so that they would have someone representing the Left and probably figured he had no chance. They never knew what hit them.

Now that he is in, the Murdoch-owned media is in full dudgeon, complaining that Corbyn is some kind of wild-eyed radical socialist (he is much further left than Bernie Sanders–in comparison, Bernie is Hillary), who will endanger the British economy, personal safety, it place in the world, etc. Part of the explosive reaction in the press and from the Conservatives is political, but it is also a reaction to the shock of having an outsider win. Everyone who matters was comfortable with the old leadership (except working people and the Labour membership) and they are outraged and perhaps a bit threatened by this change, which also brings a number of other back benchers up to the front bench. (It reminds me a little of the reaction that Jerry and Kathryn and Cary and I got when we were elected to the Town Council. The clique of people who had always run things in Montclair were suddenly out and could not accept it and spent the next four years attacking everything we did. I don’t think it is a coincidence that, having elected the Jackson slate that returned things to the old Montclair ruling class, criticism of the current Council has been nonexistent.) Anyway, it is pretty clear that Corbyn is going to be under continual attack. He was immediately criticized for not naming more women to his Shadow cabinet, even though a majority of the shadow cabinet were women. Today he was criticized for failing to sing “God Save the Queen” at some ceremony, even though he stood in respect. What he is going to have to do in the coming year is win the battle of ideas, assuming he and Labour can be heard over the negative din.

Meanwhile, in Northern Ireland, the government is on the verge of collapse, essentially because the Protestants suddenly remembered how much they hate the Catholics (and probably vice versa). It all started when some remnant of the IRA was connected to a recent murder and the main Protestant Party used it as a way to attack Sinn Fein, which couldn’t see why it should be blamed. It all seems pathetic to me, but it seems likely to bring down that government.

And in the Colonies, the Prime Minister of Australia was ousted. He was the leader of the Liberal Party (which is conservative in Australia just to confuse you) because he was too big a jerk even for the Liberals and his Neanderthal statements on same-sex marriage were hurting the party.

I’m starting to figure out the busses. A whole bunch of them stop at the Liverpool Street Station and I took one to St. Paul’s today so that I could go to the Tate Modern. I was going there to join, so I can see the new Pop Art exhibit that opens next week and because it may be my favorite museum in London. I also went for some personal inspiration. More about that below. On the way back, I strolled through Borough Market which was a bit of mob scene at lunch time on a Friday. There are some interesting cooking possibilities there. Grouse (which I had at a restaurant the other night), quail, pigeon, partridge in the bird family, and things like ostrich, zebra and some other exotic meat. I took a picture of the mushrooms that I meant to take the other day. See right. Then having been inspired by the Tate, I took the bus back to Shoreditch to the nearby art supply store.

I’ve been fiddling around trying to paint. It is all part of my goal to spend some time every day doing something creative. I haven’t really been inspired to write anything in a long form and sometimes the internet is so bad that I can’t even write on this blog, so I end up turning to visual art. I’ve been waiting around for deliveries quite a bit, so I’ve had some dead time (and I can’t watch baseball), so I’ve done two small paintings. I’m not sure that I really like them and I might go back to them at some point in the future (although I don’t really see what I can do to them). Anyway, here they are, for better or worse.

I went to the Commercial Tavern this afternoon for an ale and ended up talking to Barry from Perth. He is over here for a few months and was searching for a good pub in Shoreditch. We exchanged ideas. He was stunned to learn that I had not only been to Perth, but to Margaret River and Albany as well. Nothing earth-shaking, but it was pleasant sitting out on a bench on Commercial Street, sipping a beer, watching the world go by and chatting.

Judie is on her way back from Paris and the European Lawyer’s Retreat. I’m thinking finding an interesting place to eat tonight.

Let’s Go Mets! (Have I mentioned how incredible they are playing? Their sweep of the Nats was probably the best series they have played since the 80s.)

In some ways, this should have waited until we had been here longer and could better appreciate it. Judie and I spent last night at Mansion House and at a birthday party in a crypt at Guildhall. It was a peek into a part of London society that I didn’t expect to see:

It began when we met Phil Saunders at our going away party in Montclair. He came with Jenny Bakshi, a old friend and UU from Montclair whose son, Nick, was friends with Alex. It turns out that she is now seeing Phil, who is a barrister (solicitor?) with the City of London. He had arranged a hot air balloon regatta over London to raise money for the Lord Mayor’s charity fund (you can find it on You Tube) and invited us to come to the reception commemorating the event. Here is a picture of him with the Lord Mayor. (It appears that one of the perks of being the Lord Mayor, besides being able to live in the ornate and impressive Mansion House, is that you get to wear that big medal on your chest for all occasions such as this one.) Mansion House is a fairly gigantic edifice across the street from the Bank of England. It was built in the 1740s to house the Lord Mayor and renovated several times. It is large and, while not exactly beautiful, it does give the intended feeling of power. It contains a lovely collection Dutch and Flemish art from the seventeenth and eighteenth century, which are hung all over the walls. Jenny took us in to see the Egyptian Room, a long ballroom with a high, vaulted ceiling, where major events are held. (There is nothing about it that is particularly Egyptian, but it is quite elegant.) Mansion House is not open to the public, so this was a special treat.

After this event, we were taken to the 60th birthday party of Sir Roger Gifford, a banker who was a former Lord Mayor. Handsome and charming fellow. The party was held in a large crypt under the old Guildhall, which is and has been for centuries the governing center of the City and was once the site of a large Roman amphitheater. Some of the crypts, which we walked through to get there, date back to Norman times, although the one for the party had been rebuilt after it was destroyed in the Blitz. Judie has been told that people in London often throw such parties for themselves and the purpose is both celebratory and commercial, as one invites business associates and presumably potential clients. That seemed to be the case with this event, which was populated by bankers and officials involved with the City government. It reminded me a little of the parties that I would go to while I was on the Town Council, in that everyone seemed to be either talking earnestly or looking around for someone that they should talk to and making sure that they made contact with everyone important. We met one of the City Alderman, a lawyer at one of the big law firms. The City, although small in size (one square mile), is divided into 25 wards, so she represented a district of only a few blocks.

As far as I can tell, the City of London Corporation, the local government, really doesn’t do all that much. The City owns pretty much all of the land under the City’s buildings and lots of property all over London, which it leases (usually very long-term leases) and overlooks. (This is part of what Phil does.) And it has its own police and fire departments and supports the arts at the Barbican. But it doesn’t seem like the alderman are kept very busy. They are elected in a unique way. There are relatively few actual residents of the City (although I think you need to be a resident to be Lord Mayor–or at least you used to), so they have system under which businesses are allowed to vote under a complicated formula according to their size. Thus, Bryan Cave can vote for the alderman in their ward. (I think it is the only place in the UK that does this.) So a lot of the alderman and Council’s job involves lobbying on behalf of the financial institutions and other companies in the City. As for the Lord Mayor, his role seems to be largest ceremonial, involving riding in coaches, dressing up in funny outfits, wearing judge’s wigs, raising money and going to events. There is a ceremony once a year when the new Lord Mayor takes office which includes the receipt of various items representing the tribute that he would once have received from the various guilds that ran the City and would have put his predecessors in to power. This happens during “The Lord Mayor’s Show”, a big parade in which he rides in a gold carriage carriage from the Guildhall, where the City’s offices are, to St.Paul’s to get blessed, to the Court’s to swear allegiance. It is the kid of pomp and circumstance that the Brits are great at and seem to love. The whole thing is televised on BBC.

We met a few people, probably the most interesting of whom were two Sheriffs, one of whom is the subject (or narrator?) of a TV series called “The Sheriffs are Coming”. Their main role is to evict squatters, collect on judgements and otherwise enforce court orders. They had some great stories, including how they went about removing the Occupy people from around St. Paul’s. A lot of their stories involved breaking doors down, which must be easier if you aren’t worried that someone will be on the other side with an arsenal of guns. The evening ended with a nice dinner with Phil and Jenny, who I think and hope we might get to see more of in the coming months. It turns out that Phil is not just the organizer of a fundraiser, he is a pilot (who somehow taught a blind person to fly) and balloon affectionado. (He has been to a similar ballon event in the town in Arizona (Lake Havasu) where the old London Bridge was moved. LBJ Had to personalize approve a small diversion of the Colorado River so that he bridge would have something to go over, we were told.) It turns out that it is relatively inexpensive to have a personalized balloon made and a number of companies have them, just for such events, as a marketing tool. I spoke with a woman from Fortnum & Masons about their balloon and the proper color to get it noticed (not blue or white).

Today, it was back to reality. Waiting for the cable guy.

This is something I may do going forward that would be more in the nature of the New York Times’ Metropolitan Diary.

I was walking through the market near our flat yesterday and thought I heard Frank Sinatra music. I came around the corner and, under a tent there was this old guy with a  speaker set up and a small crowd watching. He was doing his between song patter to the crowd, and he sounded like you’re basic Cockney taxi driver. But then the canned music  started, the Sinatra music began and the accent changed to New Jersey.

We finally got our other four bags from Judie’s law firm, where they had been in storage since July. I pulled out my leather jacket, since it was starting to get chilly. I immediately went from street guys trying to sell me things to people coming up to me and ask me for directions.

Judie and I were eating the best masala dosas we had ever had when my phone rang (this was the first time this is ever happened when Judie wasn’t on the other end). It was Craig Hirshberg, who is visiting her daughter in London, inviting us to have dinner in three hours. So  we walked off the dosas and we ended up having an amazing dinner at a Hunan restaurant in SoHo.  I ordered duck tongue which was delicious, but I discovered, to my surprise that these little duck tongues actually have a bone or maybe it’s a cartilage going right through the middle. Anyway, now I can say I’ve eaten duck tongue. Judie said she was imagining little mute ducks walking around unable to quack.

Judie needed hangers so she could finally unpacked her clothes. So I trudged off to Argo’s to get her some. I’ve concluded that it is Kmart without the charm. It would be difficult to conceive any way to make the shopping experience more miserable. I’ve learned my lesson.

The Interim Minister at our UU Congregation at Montclair recently sent me an e-mail about the British and bureaucracies. The Brits didn’t invent bureaucracies. I’m certain that the Romans and Greeks had them and probably King Tut before that and I suspect that some neolithic cave man insisted that you provide him with two flints and a description of what you were going to paint before he let you into his cave. No, the British didn’t invent the bureaucracy, but they perfected it and, indeed, turned it into an art form.

Our saga trying to open a bank account continues. We tried, back in July to open an account, but were told that we needed a visa. You might ask why our immigration status is relevant when we are just trying to give them our money, but, fair enough, it is an international thing. So we get here Friday, a week ago, with our visas, only to find out that the banks are closed until Tuesday and, not only that, but you can’t just walk into a bank and open an account, you need to make an appointment. And the next appointment won’t be until September 8th. You might wonder why the British make it so hard to open an account. It is the nature of bureaucracy that such questions are unanswerable. As you peer through the fog of paperwork and procedures, you are simply advised that these are the rules that must be followed. No one knows why.

But Judie pulls Bryan Cave strings to get us an appointment on the 1st and we get there and are told that we can’t open an account because, although we have our visas and everything else we need, we don’t have our residence permits (the British equivalent of a Green Card–only here it is pink). Of course, the British government won’t give you the card in the US along with your visa. (I’m trying to come with a rationale for that.) No, you have to pick it up at a post office (and Judie and I are, mind bogglingly, assigned different post offices). They know that we are coming and presumably have created the cards, but for some reason the cards won’t be available until September 4th. We go to the bank with the letter from the Home Office, telling us to pick up the cards on or after the 4th, but that isn’t good enough, so we are yet again out of luck. However, at least they take all of our information, put it in the computer and give us an appointment near Judie’s office for Friday, when we will have the cards.

So today, we appear at the time and place, this time with everything we need, figuring that we can just cruise in and out. Two hours and fifteen minutes later, I stagger out of the branch. We have bank account number (Hooray), but we don’t have debit cards (they will arrive in the mail next Thursday or Friday, but they won’t actually be usable since the PIN numbers will arrive separately, days after that), and we don’t have credit cards (they’ll allegedly arrive in around 10 days) and we don’t have checks (who knows when they will arrive).

I’m not sure that this will interest anyone and all this whining reminds me of Bill Bryson’s writings, but I had to write it down to ease my frustration.

I am trapped in a world of what seems like a decades old internet connection, so trying to work on this is problematic. After today, there is a good chance that there will be no internet in the flat, since Judie may have to return the portable WiFi hotspot to the office. That could mean a two week black out for me, except for taking my phone somewhere with free WiFi. All I’m saying is that if this Blog gets very quiet soon, it won’t be permanent.

More exploring Shoreditch on Sunday. There are so many clothing stores here, it is really hard to believe. Vintage clothing is especially popular. And there are countless street food vendors at every market or open area you come to, selling all sorts of cuisines, from pulled pork sandwiches, to cupcakes, to thai food, to curries, to pasta, especially as you move towards Brick Lane. The best nearby grocery stores seem to be Indian or Bengali, although there is a natural foods store in our building and a mediocre Tesco a block away.

That is one of the strange places about this area. When you look out our window to the West, there is a skyline of big, new glass buildings, as the businesses and money of the City have moved in this direction. Just two blocks west, it is all banks and law firms and corporations. But two blocks east is Brick Lane, with little shops and restaurants, street food, chaotic markets, a different smell. It is like we are on the line between two worlds. I was walking around in the afternoon and passed an Indian wedding. You also hear many different languages.

I found what might be a good wine store. It is nearby and they deliver, which is helpful when you don’t have car. I bought six bottles, which is their minimum order. I was beginning to worry that wine prices would be really high here, but that was just because my initial forays only found tiny shops around Spitalfields Market that also had outdoor seating and small plates. The wine store I found today has prices that seem generally equivalent to NJ prices, even with the currency conversion, although the selection is very different. Not much from the USA, but more from South Africa, New Zealand and Australia and, of course, France. I’m thinking of an expedition to Borough Market tomorrow or Tuesday. It is supposed to be an absolute foodie heaven, so I’ll see what I find there.

Another odd story which may reflect life in London: We really need to get some sort of basic things, like a clock radio and some clothes storage solutions and a few extra towels, and were told that we should shop at Argo, a department store. I looked them up on line and they had a big selection of goods and a store about a 15 minute walk away. So we walked over, but when we got there, there was no there there. No store. Just a place with some computer terminals and pay stations. You could look up want you wanted, pay for it and then give your receipt to a clerk, who eventually brings out your order. This seems to be in line with the quickly emerging theme of execrable customer service here. I suppose that they save some money by not having any employees (fulfilling the Thatcher dream) and they eliminate shoplifting, but they also eliminate impulse shopping and the entire shopping experience. It just seems so wrong to me, I didn’t even want to get anything after the longish walk, but Judie insisted. So now we have a clock radio.

One of the interesting things about Shoreditch is the amount of public art on the walls. It is a sort of beautiful graffiti, some of it quite monumental.  They are really everywhere. A few examples are below. Tried a new pub tonight: the Water Poet. It was on a quiet street, so we were hoping it wouldn’t be as crowded as the ones on the main drag near us, but tonight was a cider and hog fest and the place was a madhouse. It has possibilities though. Ate Mexican across the street from the flat (Boho Mexicana). Good food that is fairly authentic. Kind of pricey. But I guess I just have to get used to London prices. I’ll write more when I can.

Exhilarated, Exhausted, Frustrated. Mostly good, a little bad.

Despite the jet lag, which seemed especially debilitating this time, everything went pretty smoothly at first. We got to the flat (apartment) in time to me the person from the estate agent (realtor). The place is probably not quite as big as I recalled, but it is really nice. I love the view and it will eventually be comfortable as we move in. Photos will eventually follow. The sunset the first night was great. The bed was reasonably comfortable and the drunks on the street below were barely audible. And it is a completely different experience living in a building with a glass elevator and African concierges.

First night, we went to Poppy’s (about a block away and an acclaimed fish and chips places in London). Next day we went to Brick Road (another couple blocks away) for a curry lunch at a Bangladeshi place (pretty good, but I’m expecting better as we explore). It really is an amazing neighborhood. Lots of people wandering around and it is incredibly diverse. It is going to be fun to explore. I found a good hardware store today and it turns out that there is a restaurant wholesale place across the street (it will come in handy), right up from Brooklyn Coffee. We went to the Spitalfields Market and the Brick Lane Market (amazing street food) today. Tried the Commercial Tavern tonight in the beginning of the great pub search. So much more exploring to do. And we haven’t even left a five block radius yet!

As we unpack, we realize that we have brought too much clothes (I’m looking at you, Judie), especially since this flat has not much storage. We are going to have to buy some furniture and clothing racks. And we haven’t even gotten the other four suitcases we left at Judie’s law firm in July! But it is fun to uncover bits of art or other things that we did pack. It is a bit like moving into a hotel room that you are going to live in for over a year. We need to make it ours.

Now for the bad: British customer service is so terrible that it would lead to lawsuits in America. While we just walked into a bank in Montclair and opened a bank account last Wednesday in about 20 minutes, when we got here, we found out that banks are not open on Saturdays and that Monday is a “bank holiday” and that, in any event, you can’t open an account with making an appointment, which you cannot get for at least two or three days. If we are lucky, they might deign to give an account by the end of next week. No wonder their empire collapsed. As for getting cable service or an internet connection for an apartment that is already wired up, we have to wait until the 10th and the 15th, respectively, for a person to show up (and pay for the privilege). In the meantime, we are living without technology here. It may seem like a romantic throwback or something, but it is really just a pain. But this shall pass and in a month it will be an amusing anecdote (I guess).

Much more to follow.