I’m sitting in a pub on Portobello Road having a gin and tonic — it’s midday. It’s also cold and windy (so I bought a scarf) and a bit rainy as well — but I’m enjoying myself immensely.

Life here is so different, full of many things I dislike — busy, grey and grumpy with more than a healthy concentration of shopping and things commercial. Yet there is also a great deal of energy and vitality here. A pulse that seems to resonate even in the London underground on a cold and rainy day.

Maybe it’s to do with with the large amounts of people, or maybe it’s just the buzz of London. Whatever it is it’s fun and tiring and for me also way too superficial.

My god were are all the Brits. All I seem to have heard today are Eastern European languages. It seems almost every other person I hear talk is talking with some Slavic tongue.

My second G&T was better than the first, the day has brightened and I’m ready to walk that extra mile and see if I can find a bus to take me to Chelsea and the Kings Road.

Sloane Rangers here I come!

This morning, like every morning, I started my day in a coffee shop. It’s become a way of life, a habit if you will. Why else persist with a ritual like this if it isn’t for the pleasure of it or to avoid the inevitable caffeine induced headache if I ever stop.

While on the road, my early morning coffee stops have provided me with a place to meet new people, watch the world go by and to gather my plans for the day. If I’ve the mind, it’s also become a regular moment when I might write some rubbish about LUE (life, the universe and everything)

Today’s LUE is obviously about habit, not just the morning coffee shop type but the habit of a costume – the wearing of a religious uniform.

“Hey, look at me I’m an XYZ god-botherer and this is my hat, or my headscarf or my beard, or my symbol to tell you that I belong to this or that clan. And by the way, you, you who look like a real tosser, no good atheist in your blue jeans and t-shirt don’t (belong to my clan, that is) .”

It’s Saturday morning in Golders Green, London NW11. The time is approximately 08:00 and I’ve just walked the 15-20 minutes from mother’s home to Caffé Nero for my double-shot espresso with hot water on the side. They make a good espresso at Café Nero and so far I’ve managed to down 2 cups on each visit. Three more stamps on my card and I will get a free one, and since I’m of that faith where anything free is worth grabbing with both hands, I am looking forward with consummate delight to that momentous day when I will receive my due and just reward.

The walk from my mother’s home is almost as interesting as a short stroll along the Ganga. There are no painted sadhus here, but there are holy (well maybe I best call them religious) men and women a plenty. Young boys and old geezers alike dressed in the garb of their various religious sects. Some wear broad-brimmed, tall black hats that sit high on the head and look particularly uncomfortable and ungainly, especially on a 16 year old.

Others sport large round fir hats (a streimel) and wear black or white tights and long silk looking coats.

And both have their white tzitzis trailing out from beneath long coats or dark suit jackets..

Some have jaunty skull caps worn on the side. And for the first time ever I saw a few young men wearing baseball hats as they walked to their synagogues for prayer and instruction.

No doubt there are very good reasons why these people parade their religious uniforms. One reason is it’s Saturday and another is probably because they like it. So who am I to nay-say their experience.

Maybe in some way wearing a religious uniform enriches people’s god experience. Maybe these things are occupational health and safety measures spelt out in their scriptures.

On the other hand, maybe they’re nothing more than a habit.

Like many big cities, London has its good and bad bits. One of the nicest of the nicest bits for me has to be Hampstead and the Heath. Lots of awfully posh, well dressed females combine with interesting architecture and more than a modest sprinkling of knotty and misshapen, medieval looking trees.

The posh tossers are relatively easy to ignore, except for their loud voices, their over zealous conversations about litigation and nannies and their annoying way of saying ya instead of yes.

Their nannies on the other hand, aren’t so easy to ignore. They are mostly young aggressive (executive level) baby managers who shove their way on and off buses and into cafe’s with blind arrogance and a superiority that is hard to fathom.

Seated in a cafe on the edges of the Hampstead Heath, I watched a parade of them pushing their charges around the park with firm determination. There was no strolling here. No ambling through life to the soothing tone of a Mozart whatever. These children and these nannies were on a tight, tight schedule and nothing was going to divert them.

Next to my table was a rather cute 3 year old with nanny who was trying to teach her to say arachnophobia.

“Just try it – arach-no-phobia, arachnophobia. Go on, give it a go, your parents will be VERY impressed . . .”

One day the kid will say arachnophobia with the best of them.

“. . .ya, arachnophobia, I learnt that from nanny when I was three. Ya, ya, it’s a cool word. Ya, of course I know what it means. . .”

What I also thought at that arachnophobia moment was the why of all this posh feminine loudness. I decided it’s a throwback to their childhood. They talk loudly because they’re not really sure anyone is there listening. How could they be? Life has always been a bit of a blur for them. From the day they were born the little darlings were hurrying and scurrying around trying to maintain a daily schedule. And then at every quiet moment, their dear old nanny would try and force feed them with an exciting a new word. Something fine and elevating and useful for a 3 year old, like arachnophobia.

Ya, it’s a problem . . .

Life of the road consists of many ups and downs. Good food, bad food. A comfortable airline seat or a poor airline seat. I chose to travel ASIANA Airlines to the UK via Seoul. It was a last minute decision taken because I saw an incredible fare on lastminute.com.au. $1,340 is cheap in any bodies language to fly economy return Sydney to London but when you consider it also included a paid overnight in Seoul (breakfast, dinner and transfers included) plus ASIANA was voted Airline of the year 2009, then I guess, especially if you are a cynic like me, you start wondering what-gives.

I don’t want this sounding like and advertisement for Asiana but mate—so far they’ve been great. And by that I mean, great service, good food and lots of legroom. If you don’t like Korean food, very basic entertainment and slightly longer travel time to the UK (a minimum of + 2-3 hrs) then Asiana ain’t for you. And if you don’t like being offered a free re-hydration face pack carefully applied by the delicate hands of a gorgeous Korean flight attendant, then I’d also say give it a miss. I may have arrived an hour or two later than you, but I’d had a peak at Korea, tasted some delicious food and my craggy old face was soft as a babies bottom.

Sorry for the quality of the photo. Not only did the subject move but the shot was taken on my old Treo mobile

We’d just been on the London Eye and decided to walk alongside the Thames toward the Tate Modern and the Globe Theatre. Blackfriars Bridge is on the way and for me it’s one of the more interesting bridges of London.