Someone found this website by searching google japan for "inside sarah rose"

Last night I rushed into the bedroom and slammed on the light. Craig turned to look at me (blearily, he had been asleep) and I, sodden & dripping, could only press a finger to my lips and turn away, repeating lines in my head.

They really should invent waterproof dictaphones:

‘Don’t you see?’ she wanted to say as his madeline fingers twitched away form her mouth. ‘Don’t you see that choosing to kiss this, the whorls near the tip of your middle finger, is how much I love you? I love each square inch enough to kiss’ but his eyes just looked at hers. His, her ghostly reflection, pale & open. Why then was she the one who felt so translucent?
Simon watched her moth-eyes flicker as she chewed her lip & stared at him, at the wall, the ceiling and back, focussing, on him.
“Claire? Claire please?” It had been three days since her last sentence, at least two since her last word. Simon sighed. She could see it in the cold, pale shafts of moonlight, she saw it settle, grey & potent, on their bed, their photos on their dresser, the clothes she never put away. She felt as though they would be buried, by her silence and his sighs.
A twitch of her head and a curtain of hair fell between them.
She felt Simon turn away and lie back down. ‘Maybe tomorrow’ she thought as she stretched her mouth curiously and breathed into the grey black night.

Ode to the Tate on a Thursday morning in August

Nothing is more perfect than walking into a room, tall & cool & echoing, cavernous as a cathedral, with canvases floor to ceiling.
These windows to other worlds, other times hang silent & stunning.

I enter & pause. Take a deep breath. Here there is no jarring of the senses, no feeling of hours & minutes but years & centuries, no outside world.

I walk through with reverence as though, if I am still & quiet & calm enough, I can absorb the beauty of the world.

This is my church. This is my spirituality, this is my holy writ.
This is my inspiration & hope.

To add insult to injury …

We got egged!

We got Egged!

I’m half mad-as-hell and half impressed because in some improbable act of … physics or something, the egg made it through the top 1/4 of our window (all that opens in the flat-from-hell) which is on the third storey, and it made it all the way down the other side to break on the windowsill.
Craig and I didn’t even notice until the next morning when it had baked in the sun.

AND! there were no other eggs in sight from outside the flat so someone must be a crazy good shot.

This is such a nice neighbourhood. I will be sad to leave it.

p.s. that is our cute new reversible bed spread from Ikea. I’m in love with it.

Plotting our escape …

So Craig and I went to look at two flats last night.

We saw the estate-housing outside of one and sent a message to the agent saying we were no longer interested.

We saw the outside of the other, the one suggested by a friend of a friend & the area and realised that it was perfect. Less than 5 minutes walk from the place Craig is starting at on Monday and unbelieveably close to the Tate Modern. I mean, out the front door, turn right, at the end of the street (which is … fewer than 100 steps away) you look left and bam it’s right there. A block away.

I was certain that we weren’t going to get it. We looked around inside and it’s tiny but it all looks new and pristine and the other flatmate is a girl called Sally who markets haircare products and brings her work home with her. She once had 70 bottles around the bathroom.
We talked and joked and asked about her and she asked about us, told us that there were 8 other people viewing it and that we would know by Friday.
We walked back down the 7 million stairs (on the 4th floor. No elevator). Outside, Craig turned to me and said “it’s perfect. Yea. We’re never going to get it”.

You know where this is heading right?

We walked to the central line tube station at St Paul’s (yes. St Paul’s Cathedral is walking distance. I was in love) talking and talking about how pefect it is. How we were so never going to get it.
It’s in SE1 which is … about as close to the absolute centre of London as you can get. There is no SE0.

As we were sitting on the bus I got the call from Sally.
Craig saw me on the cellphone, peering around the legs of the man standing in the aisle between our seats and trying (failing) to sound cool & calm I eyebrow-ed him as I said to Sally “It’s ours!?!”

It is more expensive than the place we’re living at the moment. But not much more considering we’re moving from W(est)4 to S(outh)E(ast)1.
I’m not even going to tell you the rent because you may make the mistake of converting, like I did. And my head hurt just a little. I have to remember that we’re paying less than 25% of one income for rent. In New Zealand we were paying close to 45% of two. So London is cheaper to live in.
Comparatively.

We’re still living … in the flat of horrors until the 5th of September.
As we walked home from the bus stop (across the park & field where I expect to find a body one say) we discussed how to tell the people we’re living with that after only a week we’re moving.
It was not made any easier by the fact that when we got to the lounge (through the wide-open front door) they were all sitting around playing cards and were genuinely nice & funny & oh gosh I almost feel guilty … almost.