In a bid to gain a few more “culture cells” in my body, on the weekend the man and I went to check out a pop up art gallery just down the road from us in Greenwich village. In the last year or so I have gained an interest in art, and the collecting of pieces. Whether they be paintings, prints or sculptures I’m keen to get on board with collecting pieces that make me happy.
We checked out the Fine Art Gallery housing oil paintings by the Royal Institute of Oil Painters. We were especially interested as all of the paintings featured landscapes and scenes from around Greenwich – where we live and first met. We’ve always said we’d love to buy a painting/print to take to New Zealand one day that encompasses where we found each other and lived in London. Triple cheese, I know.
While I enjoyed a lot of the paintings, sadly I didn’t love any. I’m a firm believer in falling in love with a piece of artwork, no matter the price, as you’re likely going to have to look at the damn thing every day – much the same as picking a partner. If on first sight one thing really annoys you about the painting (or your partner), it never going to improve! It’s always going to be that lemon in an open cut or tiny stone in your shoe that pisses you off. We will keep hunting, we’re only new at this, so really should see as many pieces as possible before plunging our house deposit into an art collection (my other half is far too sensible and would never let me do this).
Feature painting source.
A big part of my new job, in a new department and new building, is attending breakfast meetings to discuss resources. Do we have enough people? Are they the right people? Should they be perm? Should they be temp? It’s endless. The best part about these breakfast meetings is the chance to chill and enjoy a freshly brewed coffee and a croissant provided by the business.
I swear the powers above and those running the meetings book breakfast slots on purpose. I have no reason to complain, they don’t start until 9:00am – you’d think they’d be cracking the whip to get us in for 7:00 or even 8:00. This morning’s meeting ran over by 15 minutes, but I found that I learnt a lot from the MD hosting it.
Another thing I discovered, yesterday, was our large open deck flooded with sunshine on the 15th floor where we can enjoy our lunch and the 360 degree views of London’s city landscape – it’s stunning! One of my colleagues said to me after I recoiled him on my adventure to find the sunny spot; “there aren’t many perks to this job, but that’s one of them“. I thought to myself that he should do a week in the trenches of HR, then he’d be thrilled by his suntrap lunch spot.
I’m currently in London “living the dream”. Only, I don’t think I am still living the dream. Sure, when I arrived four years ago I loved every minute, every bustling commute, every new sight and was even fascinated by each rude individual. But now the rosy tint has definitely worn off. This could be age, this could be the fact I’ve had enough of the fast pace and want to move on.
Recently I started a new job and I thought it would propel me back into the excitement I first experienced in London, be the Band-aid to keep me here. Don’t get me wrong, I love London. But I feel like I’m in a rut and I’m very keen to start the next chapter of my life; house buying, baby making… settling down.
I have these conversations with my partner regularly, well really I just throw questions at him: when can we move? How much longer do you want to stay here? He’s British born, but not from London, so while he’s eager to move to NZ (having fallen in love when I took him at Christmas 2015/2016), I feel he’s also more apprehensive than me. He’s also more of a grown up than me, setting us savings balances to meet before we can move there. He’s right, we’ll never earn the same money there as we do here. But I no longer care. I just want to stamp my foot and pout until I get my way. Kids nowadays get away with it, so why can’t I?
This blog will be aimed at the changes that go on with entering ones 30s. Changes in lifestyle, friendships, family, body and ultimately the view gained from hitting another decade. Stick around for more on the dirty thirties.
Follow my blog with Bloglovin