I told my bearded friend, nope, I'm Canadian. To which he tisked and observed that Americans were tighter than Canadians, and in general we were a sincere community of people. However, he was much agrieved by our treatment and clubbing of the seals, who in his mind deserved a better fate. I could not counter his point but offered that this did not represent the interest of every Canadian countryman.

He then remarked that from Northern Scotland and Inverness one could see the energy sparks fly every time a seal was clubbed in Canada. I had to conceal a smile, but could imagine the bright flare as he described it.

As a result he told me he had not bought Canadian produce since. I wanted to ask him what manner of Canadian produce he had managed to buy in the UK, but instead decided to wish him well and was on my way again with new copy of the Big Issue.

Note: My blog is moving here, please bookmark.

As a woman in her thirties I am very concerned by the potential of this attitude becoming the norm. As the Guardian article goes on to point out in this kind of atmosphere, women are the losers, as post-pregnancy we are either depicted as neglectful for returning to work straight away, or 'soft' for staying home longer.

While there are some signs that our dilemma with the planet is leading some successful suits and ties to downscale their lifestyles for fear of the typhoons which may be coming, I can't help but wonder whether this new wave of enviro-asceticism and philanthropy is just a blip on the screen. How long will people be willing to forego their fast cars and worldy comforts, until they start missing the tug of silk at their necks?

And is there a relationship between our concern for the planet and the health of feminism and women's rights? I can't help but think that in some strange way, the inevitable backlash to eco-cities and greenism is somehow tied to the status of women. Somewhere in the ritual of blame our destinies seem connected. I hope I am wrong.

Please note I am moving my blog here and will be making the move permanent by the end of July.

It's been three weeks in the making (first conversation with Thomas M while I was still in Tanzania trying to get a steady internet heartbeat) and lead-up to doing a talk on 'structure vs freedom'. I barely just finished early this morning/last night after recording a podcast with Nicole Simon yesterday.

Here's hoping I can bring something worthwhile to an already crowded and dynamic table at Reboot10. Other speakers include Joshua Kauffman & Gwendolyn Floyd of Regional, Pedro Custodio, and many others...

Please note, lovely readers, I am moving my blog to a new and improved site toweringflat.weebly.com

My other story of Africa is connected to my last night in Tanzania. We sat waiting in the airport to board our plane back to London via Amsterdam. All of us were tired, dusty and ready to find our way back into our own trusted beds. Suddenly a cry cut through the stillness of the small waiting area. 'Can somebody help us. We need a doctor!' A young man in an orange shirt was scouring the crowd of tourists for some immediate help. His father was having a heart attack. I looked around. The airport staff looked dumbfounded and reacted very minimally. The first burst of energy came from the tourists who recognized the urgency in the young man's voice and posture. Our plane began to board and many felt confusion over whether to stay and watch the crisis unraveling or to board the plane. I boarded not feeling that I could help. Eventually I heard that an ambulance did finally emerge but that it had no equipment. One oxygen didn't work, and the second had no oxygen. The cardiac patient was treated with the defibulator from the KLM airplane. He survived, but one can't help but wonder what would have happened without the intervention of the airplane. And don't the people of Tanzania and Africa deserve better healthcare services?

In two weeks time, I will head to Arusha Tanzania, but not before I try to force myself to remember (please remember FB) to take my malaria pills. Even now I am debating whether I should be immunized for Yellow Fever, however my team mate who is coming along for morale and logistical support has decided that the lack of a serious outbreak means we should be ok. Because I have the knowledge of a gnat on Africa and Tanzania, I will eye every insect as a possible predator seeking to make my life miserable with contamination. I have never liked bugs, but this takes it up an extra notch, or ten.

The preparation and organisation of this workshop have been unlike any other. Sometimes electricity goes down in Tanzania, and we don't hear back from our contacts for a day or two. Email is the prefered mode of communication as some of the folks at the Ngurdoto Lodge in Tanzania do not speak fully conversational English. My client seems to disappear into the bush for weeks at a time. The complexity of our interactions has quite nearly made my colleague, who has been helping me out with logistics, run for the hills and leave me to sort out the intricate communication mess. It is not anyone's fault really, it's simply to be expected when 24/7 21st century highly neurotic, constantly connected caffeine charged creatures from the north engage with our more rural and relaxed counterparts in the southern hemisphere. Nevertheless, I will be happy to see this project complete. My head can only handle so many adventures, and I would rather experience them in the wild than from behind my desk.

So I sit back, feel the sun on my face and hope faintly that the magic carpet ride will eventually get me to within an earshot of where I need to be. Nah. That would be too easy, helpful, some might say courteous, and not very English. As I slip out the back door I am blinded by the early morning sun. I am a bat coming out into the white slash of daylight. We Londoners are not accustomed to sunlight, so I can feel my skin recoil, and I hiss like a vampire being betrayed by an open curtain.

Today Oxford street is back to its old commercial glory. You wouldn't suspect there had been a stabbing yesterday early evening. I walked out of work with my colleague and regular vent buddy, and when we hit Oxford street we noticed a line-up of double deckers stopped dead in their tracks. Accident? asked my petal colleague. I didn't answer her, but shook my head no. It felt more like high noon being reenacted in downtown London instead of its regular backdrop in the wild west or spaghetti western Spain. There was a strange silence in the air instead of the usual air fighting between horns, and cyclists swarmed in like buzzards taking advantage of the human distraction. Later, while waiting for our trains, which were running late and inducing invisible spasms in stressed out commuters (this is London after all) we noticed on the scrolling news, but never on the actual site in question, that a man had been stabbed. Just another day in London.

Upon returning home to London, I picked up my first copy of Bill Bryson's escapades in Europe. I have heard readings of Bryson's work and laughed aloud in good company, and I distinctly remember spotting my sister Cristina cavorting with a copy, so I am not sure why it took me so long to pick up one of his books. His books are absolutely hilarious. It is the first book I have wanted to read aloud to Rob (aside from the really schmalzy romance detective novel his couusin lent me), because one gets the feeling Bryson's books are intended for out-loud readings.

His views on cities also made me smile given I work with engineers and architects:
"I have nothing against novelty in buildings - I am quite taken with the glass pyramid at the Louvre and those buildings at La Defense that have the huge holes in the middle - but I just hate the way architects and city planners and everyone else responsible for urban life seems to have lost sight of what cities are for. They are for people. That seems obvious enough, but for half a century we have been building cities that are for almost anything else: for cars, for businesses, for developers, for people with money and bold visions who refuse to see cities from ground level, as places in which people must live and function and get around".

I couldn't have said it better.

I must admit, that I am not sure whether the ease with which I write the stuff comes from my love of writing, or the fact that my editorial filter is quite light on the criticism, and all of the slippery content is shlock. For now, it doesn't really matter, since all of this writing will only live on a wiki, and never see the light of day (beyond potential product and service development. this is how it works in the private sector) Either way, I never imagined this would become one part of my day job :) Bring on the phantoms!

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Luckily I don't have cable.

And for you:

Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.

WH Auden, Lullaby

Green is making a splash on the consumer scene in a big way. An article in a February issue of the Guardian newpaper in London highlighted its appearance in the fashion retail segment, but it is likely to grow in transport and travel as well. Bonzai!