Honesty, told live, without notes.

A few months ago, a new night got started in Manchester. It's called Tales of Whatever, and it's based on The Moth. It's true stories, told live, without notes. Personal stories. I'm a Moth addict. I usually listen as soon as a new Moth podcast magics into my phone. There's something overwhelming about hearing strangers' private stories told to the world.

I thought this was *ideal* for me, as everything I write is a vaguely true story anyway, so back in December, I went along and told a little tale.

Here it is, if you're interested.

Tales of Whatever is a beautiful event, a lovely evening. The organiser makes sure there are booked storytellers, and also leaves one short slot for a spur-of-the-moment open mic storyteller. Like any open-mic, it's hit and miss. But then you consider that these are real people, telling their own actual personal stories to a room of strangers. And there's that overwhelming feeling again. It's a little staggering to think about the honesty that could happen on that stage.

When I tried to go last week, the back room of the Castle Hotel was so packed, I found myself straining to hear from the corridor! Turns out, they've had some great press coverage lately, in the Manchester Evening News and the Metro newspaper. If those crowds keep up, though, Tales of Whatever's going to have to get a new space.

It's definitely worth going to. Just get there early to snag a spot in the room, and if you're feeling adventurous... if you're feeling honest... take along a tale of your own to share.

The City Is A Valley

I've never felt very much for London. It's always been a place that I like visiting. I like all the cultural stuff that goes on, I like all the opportunities to have fun and the bustle of it. I like some things. The Tube. Sitting on the pavement eating bagels and arepas on Brick Lane. But I guess I've always seen it as a place that I wouldn't want to live in. Like there are too many little nooks of it, and it would be too easy, in the busy days of normal living-there life, to never venture further than your tiny little neighbourhood. Like even though you're in the most vibrant exciting city on earth, you wouldn't do any of it, because everything too far on the Tube and expensive. Because maybe you'd get lazy...

Just visiting is wonderful, of course, because you don't worry so much about money, and you have heaps of time to waste on the Tube criss-crossing the city. But living there always seems daunting. Like New York.

But lately, I've been visiting London a lot. I did a work experience with a fantastic independent production company there called Whistledown in November, and this past weekend, I visited to attend a free radio training day at the BBC.

When I visit London, I stay with my beautiful, lovely, generous friend Deepali. I feel really lucky to know someone like her, she's always offering a glass of wine after a long day. And I have to be really honest and admit that visiting London is a lot less stressful because of her. She is just so kind.

Mark is also in London now, working as a paralegal at a property company, so this past weekend, we got to spend loads of time together in the city. On Saturday, we visited the supercool London Transport Museum, where you can sit in old horse trams and old steam Tube trains. It was a brilliant museum, so fascinating. The thing is, the London Underground was such a breakthrough, in so many ways. The map alone is a brilliant story.

It's in a gorgeous old building, with beautiful modern glass windows

They had the old trains done up to be historically accurate, so they had old archival ads in them. Here's one for PUNCH magazine:

And an old map, before they took on Harry Beck's schematic map, and before the Underground was as big as it is now.

Mark loved sitting in the old horse trams and underground trains, even though they featured awkward old animatronics and mannequins wearing strange period clothing.

And I loved it, too, because I am a total dork about civil engineering, design, cities and anything that makes them better. I've always been a city girl, almost every story I've ever written is about cities. And as Mark and I were wandering around on Saturday, we stumbled on this.

It's an art exhibit by Robert Montgomery at KK Outlet. The sentiment and the warmth of the presentation are perfectly matched. And the fact that it's about the loveliness of cities, and that I found it just walking through a city that I wasn't entirely sold on... made me feel so excited and thrilled, and truly warm there in the fire of everyone. I'm a total sucker for citylove.

It was freezing cold, and it snowed all night. Deepali lives in a part of town called Borough; Dickens mentions it in Little Dorritt and his father was in the debtor's prison there. And the strange thing is that when it snowed and we looked out Deepali's window... it really looked Dickensian. Snow-covered rooftops and pavements... dark and dreary and cold and grim. I liked the snow. I liked being in a place that can still sometimes feel like the place it once was. A literary place. It was wonderful.

On Sunday, Mark and I went to Brick Lane for bagels. It was very cold, and also treacherous to walk through the streets, because of the snow and ice, and we ended up huddling in a warm pub. Great weekend.

My radio training day was fantastic, too! I met loads of new people and spent time with some that I'd already known a bit. I learned a lot as well. It was a gorgeous day, sunny and bright. Here's the view outside BBC's White City building.

I don't know that I've completely changed how I feel about London, even after all this loveliness. I don't know that I'd want to live there, at least not for long, or that I like it as much as I like Manchester. But a few more lovely weekends like that just might do the trick..

The MSF Podcast: LIVE!

This is the inside of the quietest room in Europe, Salford University's anechoic chamber. I got to visit it during the 2011 Manchester Science Festival.

As y'all might know, I've been volunteering for the Manchester Science Festival for quite awhile now. It keeps me busy, I enjoy doing science-related things, and I've met some lovely people through it. Overall, it's been a lovely experience.

I've been producing podcasts covering last year's festival highlights. It's exciting because I'm trying to get a job in radio production, and this kind of work will hopefully help!

The first episode is about a Microbiology and Art exhibition, a sort of weird art show. Give it a listen:
It's right here. Please leave comments, tell me what you think of it– I need feedback!

Also, I wrote some blog posts for them last year, and I don't think I mentioned them on this blog!

The Environment Is A Cup

An Elephant Packed Into A Cell?

Out of This World

Majestic Fragility

Beautiful Bacteria, Visual Viruses, Fascinating Fungi

Firsts

First off: I have been officially told off for neglecting this blog. Beloved Allen Wallen let me know, in no uncertain terms, that this blog is how you all hang out with me, and you have come to expect it, and going for more than a month without an update is NOT OK.

Message heard. Super long post ahead. Enjoy.
----

This blog, in its three-or-so years of life, has documented many firsts for me. First transcontinental move. First foreign work visa. First Giant Lily spotting.

First summertime Christmas

This past holiday was an exciting one for me. For the past 3 years, I have been overseas for the holidays. And before that, I was usually at Craig's family house for Christmas, largely because my family never did a big Christmas dinner or anything. We tended to visit my family on Boxing Day.

Which is all to say, I have not spent Christmas with my family for about 10 years. And to be fair, our version of Christmas is a decidedly secular affair, mostly about drinking nice tea and giving presents.

So, this past December, I went home for a week. I spent time with my family over Christmas, for the first time in 10 years.

Highlights:


1. 
The kids are still kids. They are 7 and 9, but they are still kids. They love bizarre made-up-on-the-spot games and they are sweet and sincere. They just wanted to hang out with me and play games and be weirdos. I keep fearing that one day, they will be too cool for school, and they will not be impressed with my presence or my jokes, but so far, my fears have not come true.

2. 
The kids are awesome little dorks. At one point, I was so exasperated with them for not getting out of bed, I put my hands over my face.

"What are you doing?" they asked.
"Um... ?" I said, unsure of what to tell them.
"What are you doing?" they asked again.
Inspiration struck.
"I'm hiding," I said.

Chicky (a nickname for my niece) started poking my shoulder.
"No, you're not!" she laughed, "I can see you!"
My nephew joined in, "We can see you, Nija Masi!!"

Masi, of course, means "aunt" in Gujurati, and more specifically means, "mother's sister."

I kept my hands over my face, saying, "I can't see you, though! So you can't see me!"

My nephew backed off, thoughtfully, and said, "That statement is sometimes true."

What a dork.

3. 
Before my flight, I was racking my brains for something special about British Christmas celebrations, something I could take home. Mince pie. Sure. But that's not all that fun, is it? It's just tasty.

I didn't think of it until just before my train left for London... Christmas crackers! 

See, we don't do crackers in the States. In fact, until I moved to Australia, I'd never even heard of them.

Yes, I do question what the point of our revolution was exactly, if we weren't going to keep the cool things like Christmas crackers. As a child, if the choice had been put to me directly, I think I would have taken "crackers" over "lack of Queen."

We had a blast with the Christmas crackers! The kids loved the little crowns and toys and even the wonky jokes. Next year, even if I can't make the holidays, I'm going to send some crackers along in my stead. They are such a lovely tradition, I can't believe American kids grow up without them, especially considering how much America loves things that explode and gunpowder.

My parents and sister and brother-in-law enjoyed them, too, and I was really happy and honoured to have brought home such a winner!

Chicky enjoyed them so much she did a school report on them, and ended up learning that they do crackers in Korea, as well. Hmmm. The happy side of colonialism, I guess.

So Christmas crackers were a first, too... for my family, at least, if not for me!

4.
I spent loads of time with my sister. She's an amazing, giving, caring woman, who often cares about people more than they deserve. We got to know each other even better, and we reminded ourselves how much we really miss each other. We talked, and then something happened that also felt like a first: we didn't just say we loved each other. We promised to make efforts to show it. Feels like good progress.

I spent loads of time with my mom and dad. My dad even let someone get a picture of me kissing his cheek! My mom made loads of my favourite foods, and packed my suitcase full of Indian snack food. There are some things about those two goofy Indian people that will always make me giggle happily. I enjoyed their company.

5.
There was a huge thunderstorm while I was there. Lightning and wipers flying away! I missed those. It was wild.

6. 
I also had a lovely time catching up with friends. Jeremy and Katie held a little party at their beautiful home in Grant Park. Lemuel and Allen (and her Lance) and Superman came along as well. I felt so lucky to still be in touch with these amazing people, to still be close to them.

Jeremy and Katie are such wonderful people... they are such grown-ups. Their house was all Christmassy, they had a fully decorated tree and loads of presents beautifully wrapped under it.

They always remember to send birthday cards on time and they had already done their Christmas cards. They have their shit together. But more importantly, they are truly skilled at being good friends. They know how to keep in touch with people, they know how to care. Every time I think of them, I think... I need to learn to treat people the way they do.

(look they've even got a nativity scene set out!! like real grown-ups!)

And their cat is awesome. Terzaghi Varner, in his second appearance on this blog. He's so dramacat.

Lem is an inspiration. He knows what he wants to do, which is "be a drummer," he's dedicated to it, he works at it, he's single-minded and focussed. He practices all the time so that he can kick ass all the time. I wish I was like him.

Superman! Thus nicknamed because he looks sort of like Superman. I mean, he's so tall. I really appreciated him coming out to this party, because he'd never met any of these folks before. He's that amazing sort of person who can walk into a room and be comfortable, around anyone.

And then, of course, dear Allen. The most awesome and fabulously supportive neighbour/friend a girl could ever hope for. She, like Lem, kicks ass all the time. She's brilliant, strong, smart and funny. Really funny. Like leave you speechless on the floor laughing so hard you can't breathe funny.

Her new fella, Lance, seems to keep up. Which is hard. I can't keep up with Allen. I know a lot of people who can't...

And dear Christopher sat in a coffeeshop with me and illustrated my holiday cards for me. I don't have a picture of that. I wish I did. He just yesterday got out of the hospital with a concussion after a car accident. He's ok, don't worry, just send your happy healing thoughts his way, please.

It only took one week in Atlanta for me to see that I have friends and family so wonderful that words will never live up to them. That was not a first. I am a lucky person, and so I get to see that often. I always treasure it.
---

New Year's was spent with Mark in Glasgow at a friend's flat, and it was a nice night. There were super fun remote-controlled helicopters. I texted Craig to wish him a Happy Birthday, and he wished me a happy New Year. Another first happened that night: I drank Gin & Cava. That is a first I will not be revisiting.

But most of the week, we were in Prestwick with Mark's family, who are lovely and welcoming. And the weather, well, it was winter in Scotland. Which is to say, it was not a funny joke at all.

One night, during a nasty storm, Mark and I drove down to Prestwick beach to watch the waves. The waves crashed over the promenade, the waves were caught mid-air by the wind, and the wind hurled the waves across the coast. It was astonishing. Definitely a first.

The next morning, as we walked along Prestwick Beach with Mark's parents, we saw enormous chunks of driftwood on the beach, looking like the sea had spat them out.

Just a few days before I got to Prestwick, Mark had been offered a job in London! He's already moved down there now, and he's staying with his brother at the moment. It was very exciting that he got the job after so long trying and waiting. But I am a little sad that I won't be visiting Prestwick or Glasgow again for a while. I was beginning to see something really wild, dramatic, exciting and beautiful about the West Coast. The weather, the coastline, the islands, the forests. I'll miss that.

---
Other updates:
1. I am still looking for work. Trying to claw my way into radio production. My claws are not looking so hot these days, because I have been working my arse off.

2. My dear Manchester-based friends Joe & Gem are going to be in NY for three months, because Joe got the coveted Hype Machine internship this year! I'm so excited for him, it's less than he deserves, but hopefully it ends up being more than he'd ever dreamed for! Wish Joe luck! Wish Gem the fortitude to not buy everything she loves in those NY vintage stores!

3. I will update this week! Even if I have nothing to tell you and no pictures to show you! I will update!

Clock Tower, Clock Tour

Last Friday, I went on a strange sort of walking tour. It was mostly vertical.

Manchester's Town Hall is a neo-Gothic beauty, built in 1877 by Alfred Waterhouse, who also designed the Palace Hotel just minutes away on Oxford Rd. The Town Hall serves as the film double for the Houses of Parliament, so if you see The Iron Lady this holiday season, you'll see it. Hmm, it doesn't quite feel right, does it, Thatcher and the holidays?

The clock tower hadn't been open to the public for years, but they've finally put together tours of it.
This image is from the BBC, it's a detail of the clock face that I could never get a shot of with my regular camera:

The tour was fascinating. Over the whole tour, we climbed over 170 steps up a tiny spiral stone stairwell. It was a fairly harrowing climb.

Here are the ropes for pulling bells that were used more often before automation. Town Hall is one of only 25 secular buildings in the world that has a set of bells like this. I love this town.

And this is the 19th-century clock mechanism that runs the bells every half-hour and hour. Because Manchester was the first city to have a timetabled passenger train, the clock had to be extremely accurate. Like Big Ben, the Manchester Town Hall's clock is kept to within one second of GMT. George Bradshaw, also from Manchester, developed and published the first timetable compilations right here in Manchester soon after the railways started up: Bradshow's Railway Companion.

On the half-hour, we got to see some of the gears tick over and various parts rotated, and the bells rang out. It was lovely.

There is also an old Carillon that can run the bells to play music, and it still uses paper music rolls!

The Town Hall has loads of music rolls: God Save the Queen, various national anthems for visiting dignitaries, the wedding march, etc.

I was really excited to see the back of the clock face, but we were only able to see parts of it. The clock doesn't have any numbers on it, just fleur-de-lis and little rising suns, because it was inspired by some European clock towers– maybe Dutch or Flemish? Can't quite remember.

Then, we continued up some more stairs to see Great Abel, which is the Great Hour Bell. It weighs 8 ton and 2 cwt. What is cwt, you ask? It's 112 lbs, in Britain. The bell is named after Abel Heywood, the Mayor at the time of the official opening. Abel's a great character. A radical and a Chartist, he was unliked by the royalty and the establishment because early in his career, he published a super-cheap rabble-rousing newspaper, called The Poor Man's Guardian. A guy like that couldn't help but get elected in a town like Manchester back then, I suppose.

Great Abel rings out the hours, and it's such a huge bell, it doesn't move at all, so it doesn't work with a pendulum like a normal bell. It's struck by a hammer; the pendulum on Great Abel is there to absorb and reflect vibrations.

This radical city elected a radical Chartist for its mayor, named its bell after him, and inscribed this line from a Tennyson poem onto it: "Ring out the false, ring in the true." I love this town. It has other inscriptions, too, such as far more boring "Teach us to number our Days," from some Psalm.

From above, you can really see how triangular the Town Hall building is, and that there are two little internal courtyards. I love Mr. Waterhouse for his clever use of space.

And from this great height, nearly 85 meters above the city, the view from the parapet around the clock was amazing, especially because all of Manchester's holiday fairy lights are out.

In this one, you can see City Tower, which marks out Piccadilly Gardens:

And the Palace Hotel is in this one, if you look carefully:

Lovely Beetham Tower, the lonely skyscraper.

And the Albert Square Christmas Markets, from a remarkably quieter vantage point than the crowded bustle to be found on the ground. The big red bulbous thing at the bottom of the image is a lit up Santa that presides arrogantly over Albert Square. Check out this post to see what it looks like on the ground.

A fantastic tour. You should go.

Back in March, I saw more of Town Hall's interior, just wandering about. It's an astonishing beautiful building on the inside. Check out this photo album from that visit. When the Clock Tower Tour ended, I managed to snap a photo of something I'd missed last time I went: the mosaic bee floor tiles.

The bee is the symbol of Manchester because it was the hive of industry, and because this city witnessed the birth of the worker bee class. The other mosaic floors feature cotton flowers, because of the importance of cotton to Manchester's wealth at the time.

By the time I post this, I'll probably be in Atlanta, ready to celebrate my dear sister's birthday and the holidays with all my family and friends. Writing this, I can't wait to see everyone, to see Atlanta, but strangely, I also can't wait to see Manchester again and discover more of its beauty and history. I just love this town.

West Coast Wintertime

Recently, I spent a week up in Prestwick with Mark, and this time, we had access to a car. Which meant we were able to see some of the beautiful western coastline I'd heard so much about.

We drove up to Loch Lomond, where we hoped to get in a nice hour-long-or-so hike... but the marked walks were only about 5 minutes each.

That was slightly disappointing, but it was really way too cold for a good long hike anyway. We wandered around the Loch a bit, with its gloomy gray sky and dramatic, cold, blackish water. It's a beautiful place.

It would be a gorgeous spot for a wedding, but so cold! The bride, I imagine, was wearing a white, fur, full-sleeved, floor-length coat for a dress...

The tides were coming in as we walked around the Loch, and the water was clearly overstepping its bounds.

I enjoyed bashing the ice off this bench...

And when it was cleared, I felt rather triumphant.

This quartz wall– and the strange football sculpture in the first image– were both parts of a public art project around the Loch. The wall was constructed of locally quarried rock.

I actually kind of like being outdoors in the cold. What has happened to me?

Mark and I also visited the Kelvingrove Museum in Glasgow, a beautiful building with gorgeous old chandeliers. What I like about these chandeliers is that though they were clearly made before electrical lighting, they have been electrified using small lightbulbs. The end result is this: a chandelier that rains lightbulbs.

We also drove up and around the Argyll Forest. It was a snowy, coldgray day, so the forest looked foreboding and sinister and creepy and lovely. A Tim Burton set.

So, I was happy to finally catch some of the famed beautiful Scottish landscape... but I also caught some of the famed Scottish weather. One of Mark's favourite places is a cemetery in a town called Dunure. It's at the top of a hill that rolls steep down to the coast. It was a little rainy when we got out of the car, but only when we were in the cemetery did the wind suddenly pick up and the rain turn to sting-your-face, destroy-your-eyeballs hail. Our umbrellas were well and truly destroyed.

The next day, it was nearly impossible to leave the house, the wind was so bad. In fact, the wind was bad enough to shut schools, and Scottish people used the collective power of social media to name the weather pattern "Hurricane Bawbag." Hooray for twitter! (For those interested: baw is Scottish vernacular for ball. And that is as much explaining as I will do on this blog, because my parents read this, for goodness sake.)

Keep an eye out this week for plenty of posts to keep you warm, dear reader. Like a hot spicy mulled wine on a chilly night, the things I have been up to will warm you, make you drowsy, convince you to hit on that hot mess you see across the room there, and leave you with a cracker of a headache in the morning. I might have taken that metaphor too far. Or maybe I didn't? Read on to find out!