The red ghost

As the days were getting shorter, little Tommy noticed that it was starting to get dark outside before his daddy came home from work. He sat at the kitchen window of their flat, looking down at the streets, waiting for his daddy.

It was a particularly rainy day, and his mummy was stirring the sauce for the chili sin carne. As their little kitchen didn’t feature an extraction fan, the windows were steamed up and the whole flat smelled of feel-good food.

Little Tommy had used his sleeve to wipe a part of the window and had his nose pressed against the surface. His mummy was humming a pop song, when Tommy suddenly turned round to her, his eyes wide with shock.

“What is it?” Tommy’s mummy asked.

“ I saw a ghost,” little Tommy whispered. “A Red Ghost.”

His mummy put her spoon down and walked over to the window. “Where is it?”

“He’s gone,” little Tommy said, “he was on a bicycle.”

“Well, if he’s gone, we don’t need to worry about him, do we?” his mummy said. She picked some rosemary, which was growing in a terracotta pot in the windowsill, and returned to the cooker.

As Tommy’s father was waiting for the lift to get up to the third floor, he took off his red poncho. In the lift, he rolled up the poncho and put it in a bag.

“Daddy, daddy,” little Tommy ran up to his daddy and hugged his legs. “Did you see the ghost too?”

“A ghost?” his daddy lifted an eyebrow and kissed his wife

“Tommy saw a red ghost on a bicycle, just before you arrived.”

“Why are you home so late, daddy? Was the ghost chasing you? Are you okay?”

The daddy smiled, lifted Tommy on his lap and confessed that yes, he had seen the red ghost. And yes, the ghost had been chasing him, but little Tommy needn’t worry, as daddy was so much faster the ghost would never be able to catch him.

As it was autumn, the next day was equally rainy. Tommy had opened the window and was leaning out so that he would be able to spot his daddy sooner.

“Mummy, mummy, come quickly,” he begged.

His mummy rushed over. “What is it, darling?”

“It’s the red ghost again,” Tommy said, pointing at his daddy’s poncho. “And I don’t see daddy anywhere!”

Relieved, his mummy started laughing. “Don’t worry, silly,” she said, “you know your daddy is quicker than the ghost! He’ll be here any minute, I promise.”

Tommy couldn’t understand why his parents weren’t worried about the imminent threat of the red ghost. When it rained yet again a third day, Tommy positioned himself at the window even before his mummy started cooking. Tommy was waiting and waiting, and feared that the ghost had caught up with his daddy. When he spotted the red ghost, he leaned out of the window even further, and recognized his daddy’s bicycle – but there was no sign of daddy. Little Tommy decided there was no time to call for his mummy. He reached for the terracotta pot with the rosemary plant and dashed it, with all his might, at the red ghost down below.

The rosemary hit the ghost right on the head.
But Tommy’s daddy never came home again.

Lycra

During my daily commute on my Bianchi bike today, I was dodging buses and police cars in Oxford Street. At the traffic lights next to Marble Arch, a Cav lookalike pulled up next to me.
"Got to respect a lady in heels and Lycra," he said.
I looked him up and down, from his lightweight helmet to his cleats.
"Guess what," I said, "I shave my legs too!"

Money money money...

Time for another Sponsored Post. As you may remember, it was nigh impossible for me to open a British bank account because most banks would only accept bank statements and council tax or phone bills as proof of address – though obviously, I wouldn't need a new current account if I already had one and I wouldn't have been able to pay those bills without a bank account! One of the banks that didn't want to give me a basic current account, even after I showed them the contract for my new job, was Barclays.

I don't bear as much grudge against Barclays as I do against Santander – they made me go through the signing up process THREE times, promised to get in touch as soon as they knew whether I was accepted or declined every time, and never called. What's more, they couldn't even tell me what had happened to my previous request when I returned to the branch and made me sign up again. Very frustrating.

I actually think Barclays has done a very good job investing in the Cycle Hire Scheme in London. Though I think the sticker activists are witty and do have a point, I like the idea of being able to hop on a bike to get to the other side of the city centre quickly. It's like a capitalist version (aka a version that might work) of the Provo's Witte Fietsenplan. I've almost forgiven Barclays for not allowing me to open a current account because of the Cycle Hire Scheme.In fact, if they hadn't launched an utterly stupid online game, I wouldn't have given it a second thought. The game is called 56 Sage Street, and contrary to the Barclays bicycles, it's free. That is, if you don't believe that time is money because, in their own words, it's "an addictive free game in which players roam a vast city finding work, or places to stay, meeting new challenges and picking up contacts to help players make it to the top." Sounds like they expect their younger audience to invest a lot of time in the game.

I've had a little play around and I reckon the objectives are to educate players so that they won't fall for scams, encourage them to take any job even if it is to carry coffins into a council estate (!) and to make them think Barclays is the only trustworthy bank. It's supposed to be cool because you can save your achievements to your Facebook account – though, to be honest, I don't expect my friends to think I'm subzero for posting ads for a bank on my wall without getting paid for it.

I admit that I've got a soft spot for the accent of the voice over but honestly, that's the only thing I like about this campaign fortunately, I don't see why the game is addictive. Do you think I'm not doing the game justice? Go ahead, try it out for yourself at http://www.56sagestreet.co.uk/ and tell me what you think.

Finances when studying abroad...

Before I left, I applied for a lot of grants, so that I didn’t have to get a job in London. I was sponsored by the IB-Groep, the Van Haersoltefonds (LUF), the Curatorenfondsen, The Outbound Study Grant and I got the Study Abroad Award from the Leiden University Faculty of Philosophy.

I made a calculation of how much I could spend in a day on average. In England, I have always asked for a receipt, and written every purchase down in a little notebook. Sometimes, I couldn’t help but overspend my daily allowance, for example during my work placement in Central London. But by keeping track of how much I’d spent and on what I’d spent it, it was easy to compensate the next week.

Life is expensive in London. For example, to get from the Brunel Campus in Uxbridge to Central London and back by tube costs seven pounds. There are corner shops everywhere, but they are terribly expensive. Everyone told me Tesco’s was the cheapest supermarket, but this was anything but true. Sainsbury’s sells more expensive brands, but also has a range of ridiculously cheap products called “Sainsbury’s basics”. The slogan on their bath soap (20 pence for a litre) is “less bubbles, still a good soak”.

I saved a lot of money by getting a bicycle (yes, the flash Bianchi on the left!). I didn’t always have to take the tube anymore, and I found out that I could get fresh, cheap fruit and vegetables on the markets in Ealing and Acton, which are boroughs between Central London and the Brunel Campus.

One thing I never had to cut back on was my cultural nourishment: there are over 240 museums in London, and most of them offer free entrance!