Matt Sullivan

Time flies here in London; it's not that the speed of life moves any faster, it just seems there there is less time. I consistently feel like I'm missing two or three hours out of my weekdays. Running on a 21 hour a day clock is no fun at all.

And I've developed a bit of a Facebook fixation (curse you, web 2.0 social networking web sites!), which means I have a ton of stuff on there now (including more photos than you can shake a stick at ... )

It's been a month since last I wrote, and what a month it has been: moving to London, starting a new job, settling into a new flat ... It seems like I landed in Heathrow only yesterday, and yet it seems like I've been living here for years. Strange how the mind adjusts , and in some respects does not, and time stretches and compresses depending on one's mood.

Well, it has been a hectic few weeks, with lots or organising, running about and general mayhem, without any real productive work done.

And the reason is that I'm making a move back to London. Yes, a return to the Big Smoke, a place that I lived in for three years back at the turn of the century, and a place that I prematurely swore I would never live in again (I had a one and a half hour tube commute each way at the time); but a place that I came to realise that I missed, for a multitude of different reasons.

I was walked back from work at, oh, about 7PM in the evening, across O'Connell Bridge when, while waiting at the pedestrian crossing, an American gentleman turned to me and said, 'Excuse me, sir, but can you tell me who this O'Connell is?' gesturing at the large statue of the man at the head of O'Connell Street.