Return of Sorts

Walking down Southbank last February, never in my mind could I imagine that I would someday return. I thought of 2008. Southbank in 2008. Quick steps with one stop to look at the Thames. A day at the Tate. A night at the National Gallery. Days of workshops and sandwiches at Soho. When I returned home, I held onto some kind of hope of going back.

Of all the schemes conjured in my mind, never did I once think that I'd return this way, for such a reason. The best plot I could come up with was snaring some Commonwealth scholarship to do my MA in Applied Theatre (which I did attempt, but didn't get). Or maybe free AirAsia tickets (a faulty plot as I've stopped entering contests since I was 12).

God writes the best plots, that's all I can say :)



Dream #3465 fulfilled. The Globe. I sat and smelt the oak. Imagined how awesome it'd be if I could see a play (shows don't run in winter). It looked like how it was taught in class, but obviously much better (you can't smell the oak in the lecture hall). That cement pavement was paid for by somebody named William Shakespeare as part of fund-raising to restore the playhouse.








Chinatown, Leicester Square and a pretty nomnomnom Gregg's sausage roll.


What an amazing birthday gift from a very amazing person. Uh-may-zing.

(I'm looking at the rest of the photos and thinking that it'll take forever to put them up, recollect, write - so much to dwell on, so much to say)