It's a few days shy of Christmas and in a few more than that the year of 2010 will pass the arbitrary delineation mark and become 2011. We're deep into the era which shall be remembered in the future as the turn of the century. It's an odd time and I hope a good one to be living in. When I look back, later in my life, I hope I'll remember still keenly the oddness and the alien aspect of the feelings and experiences I've felt since I've landed here. I'm sure I wont; we never do.

So now that I'm living here in London, actually living here (linger on that thought for a moment and measure it's full weight and meaning) it makes sense to not just record the schedule of my days, but rather the ephemera - thoughts, feelings and oddities.

I suppose giving a chronological list of my daily activities over the first few days in London gives me a series of touchstones or bookmarks in my mind that I can file sensations behind; for say, when I think of St. Paul's, I'll recall a sense of majesty and awe that I could never express in words. This is both a failing in the value of words and also in my ability to wield them effectively.

I came across this thought walking through central London today by myself; perhaps the first time that I have done so. I have the feeling still that I could get hopelessly lost in this city. I've never felt so swallowed up in a jungle of buildings before. It's a feeling that I could so easily get lost, but never a fear.

I got off at St Paul's station today. The footpaths are still icy in the centre of town, but most of the ice has been ground into salty mud, a brilliant kind of slippery mess that destroys shoes so effectively I'm sure it must be a ploy of the shoe companies. The day was chilly, but the pace I set soon had my forehead sweating under my warm, furry hat (8 quid at H&M - bargain!). I set a path and wandered with intrepid determination through unknown streets.

Call it a new passion - wandering around unknown streets in a new and, this is important, interesting town. There are so many wonderful surprises to find whether they are odd shops or odder architecture. But the real pay-off is the feeling of discovery; as though I am some explorer charting new territory. And that's when I miss everyone back home the most.

For, what is the point of discovery when there's no one to share it with? I'm so happy to have Kristen to bring my discoveries to, yet sometimes I find myself thinking, 'so and so would love this!' and I can't wait to tell them... Only they're on the other side of the world.

I think I've digressed enough, so here are some specific examples of the things that struck me as odd initially. I'll start with supermarkets, which have evolved into an entirely different creature in the isolated environment of Britain. I don't know how to follow that statement up. Perhaps an impression of my first experience of the M&S food hall, in which I wandered around like a stunned fish trying to take it all in. It's just different. German supermarkets are no problem, they're just like New Zealand ones. I find myself at a complete loss as to how to quantify the difference so I'll move on.

Another phenomenon, this one completely inexplicable and like some dark secret never mentioned beyond this country's borders lest it invalidate the legacy of the greats like the Beatles or the Rolling Stones and bring eternal shame: Pop music here is rank, rotten and fetid and walking around in the daylight like some kind of abomination. They say pop is dead, but really it's a zombie and it's here to eat the brains of the British public.

People here are obsessed with Cheryl Cole. I had no idea who she was until I spent a few days here, listening to all the awful music playing in the high street stores. The Wanted. Take That. JLS. They're not only around, but they're topping the charts. Luckily I still have the ability to access good music.

I also have to wonder why every bathroom here has a light switch on a string from the ceiling.