I've started drinking instant coffee at work.
I don't know why it has happened.
On reflection, I think it has to do with one of two things. It could be that I have nostalgic memories of pulling my motorcycle apart with my dad. Confused and overwhelmed, my heart would start to beat faster and my hands would get sweaty. My dad, on the other hand, would always be able to walk away and grab a coffee while working out the latest fault. He would grab me one and we (meaning, "he") would get to work figuring out the problem at hand. Dad's coffee is always instant. I was at his house the other month and he proudly proclaimed that he had some filter coffee when Ange and I winced when offered instant. He pulled out the package. Its best-before-date was August, 2000. We drank it anyway. So, the nostalgic feeling of calm and accomplishment in the face of catastrophic engine failure is one potential reason for me now turning to instant coffee at work.
The other, probably more likely explantion is that I am shockingly lazy. Our offices are in the old servants' quarters of a manor house built in 1856. The kitchen is through a maze of halls and stairs. Getting water from the nearby WC is okay except that the tap leaks horribly. The leaky tap means you have to use both hands to turn the tap as tightly as possible to stem the drip--and even that isn't perfect. Only employing a wrench would really cease the drip permanently. It can actually be quite painful to turn the tap on and off and the torque required means that people really have to put their weight behind it. The consequence is that the sink is starting to pull away from the wall. I know my luck and I really don't want to be the person who actually pulls the sink off the wall. I just can't be associated with that sort of water damage to my place of work. All that to say, water for both the coffee machine and cleaning the pot and wire filter is too far away for regular trips. So, laziness is the second potential reason for turning to istant coffee.
As I reflect and give it more thought than it deserves, I can only think of one thing. I need a coffee. Maybe someone else has mercifully made some filter coffee...
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
Square One
The DVLA. Oh, the DVLA. I don't even know what the hell is stands for. I can work it out though... Driving and Vehicle Licencing Authority? I'm guessing. Someone else can look it up.
I fear we may have taken on a bureaucracy that will smash us with their calous contempt rational thinking. We've had to withdraw our applications for our British licences. We need a letter. Without which, we have to re-test. But they've set up a lovely little Catch-22. We need our British automatic licence to re-test, meaning we can't legally drive a standard transmission vehicle. So how do we get our manual car to the testing site? We still have our fingers crossed that this can be avoided. We have a friend who has pulled it off, so there is hope. I'm living on this hope right now. But this faint hope that keeps my heart from racing 24-7 has been frayed somewhat by the hope that the chain might close on the house and we might actually have bought it.
I wonder if this is a characteristic of the British culture: hope that one day things might go smoothly. I'm too harsh. But Ange did point out that it is feeling like the second Anna goes to bed, all we do is fight a never-ending battle against bureaucracy. Canadin International Tax Office. Getting the right document from the Bank for our Canadian Income Tax. Getting our money back from an insurance company without original receipts for everything. Buying a house (that encompasses so many, you care not to think). Getting a British driving licence. Trying to sign up for online banking with Lloyds (its only been 9 months!). Trying to recover a ridiculous service charge because I can never get to bank during banking hours and they can't work out online banking.
Anyway, back to square one with the licence thing.
I hate square one. I hate bureaucracy. I hate spelling bureaucracy. Someone at Hooked on Phonics should step in on that word. Maybe that is our next fight. The Oxford Dictionary people are in trouble once I sort out getting a licence and can legally drive over to their office to complain.
I fear we may have taken on a bureaucracy that will smash us with their calous contempt rational thinking. We've had to withdraw our applications for our British licences. We need a letter. Without which, we have to re-test. But they've set up a lovely little Catch-22. We need our British automatic licence to re-test, meaning we can't legally drive a standard transmission vehicle. So how do we get our manual car to the testing site? We still have our fingers crossed that this can be avoided. We have a friend who has pulled it off, so there is hope. I'm living on this hope right now. But this faint hope that keeps my heart from racing 24-7 has been frayed somewhat by the hope that the chain might close on the house and we might actually have bought it.
I wonder if this is a characteristic of the British culture: hope that one day things might go smoothly. I'm too harsh. But Ange did point out that it is feeling like the second Anna goes to bed, all we do is fight a never-ending battle against bureaucracy. Canadin International Tax Office. Getting the right document from the Bank for our Canadian Income Tax. Getting our money back from an insurance company without original receipts for everything. Buying a house (that encompasses so many, you care not to think). Getting a British driving licence. Trying to sign up for online banking with Lloyds (its only been 9 months!). Trying to recover a ridiculous service charge because I can never get to bank during banking hours and they can't work out online banking.
Anyway, back to square one with the licence thing.
I hate square one. I hate bureaucracy. I hate spelling bureaucracy. Someone at Hooked on Phonics should step in on that word. Maybe that is our next fight. The Oxford Dictionary people are in trouble once I sort out getting a licence and can legally drive over to their office to complain.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Registry Office?
Anyone! Does anyone know someone who works at a Registry Office in Calgary... or anywhere in Alberta or BC? Can you get in touch?
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
A Trend Not To Be Missed
Quite suddenly, the draw of Berkshire on Canadians seems to have taken hold. It was quite unforseen. However, in the past two weeks there have been three incidents where Canadians have spoken seriously about moving to Reading.
So as not incriminate anyone, I won't use names. A couple of friends from Calgary have been living in the south of England for about a year but a job oppotunity came up in Maidenhead. They are considering the move to Reading and we should know shortly. Another friend, who I met in Calgary many years ago (through field hockey), is interviewing today for a job in Basingstoke. She would live in Reading if it all looks good and the job offer is made. Then, finally, some very close friends from Calgary who are living abroad have been in touch. As it turns out, there is a legitimate work opportunity in Reading for both of them. Suddenly, the unthinkable is being considered. A move to Reading.
So, I think everyone should ask themselves: why am I not moving to Reading? After all, everyone is doing it.
So as not incriminate anyone, I won't use names. A couple of friends from Calgary have been living in the south of England for about a year but a job oppotunity came up in Maidenhead. They are considering the move to Reading and we should know shortly. Another friend, who I met in Calgary many years ago (through field hockey), is interviewing today for a job in Basingstoke. She would live in Reading if it all looks good and the job offer is made. Then, finally, some very close friends from Calgary who are living abroad have been in touch. As it turns out, there is a legitimate work opportunity in Reading for both of them. Suddenly, the unthinkable is being considered. A move to Reading.
So, I think everyone should ask themselves: why am I not moving to Reading? After all, everyone is doing it.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Father's Day
It applies to me! Too crazy. But I am a dad (Papa to some: you know who you are) and Ange and Anna were good to me today. Not surprisingly, we ended up at the daddy of all English castles. Windsor Castle. It was great, but we didn't go in. Not enough time to do it justice and it is a bit dear to get in (£12 each). Still, a lovely day:
Anna and Dad:
Anna and Dad:
Friday, June 15, 2007
Chains
House Update: Still no house purcahse. The "chain" hasn't closed. Ridiculous.
Car Update: The once random occasions where I had to go through the trunk have become regular. I no longer lock the car.
Though I am about as biased as it comes, Anna is just so damn cute. She uses words we haven't taught her. Scary. Today, she pointed out a "puddle" to us. And, because she is as smart as she is cute, it was in fact a puddle.
Evidence of cute:
Evidence of trouble for dad:
Car Update: The once random occasions where I had to go through the trunk have become regular. I no longer lock the car.
Though I am about as biased as it comes, Anna is just so damn cute. She uses words we haven't taught her. Scary. Today, she pointed out a "puddle" to us. And, because she is as smart as she is cute, it was in fact a puddle.
Evidence of cute:
Evidence of trouble for dad:
Monday, June 11, 2007
Svenska Flicka
We've returned from Sweden. It was excellent. On the whole, more Canadian than I ever could have imagined. Less, of course, the Tim Hortons and more of the old stuff. Oh yeah, and a whole lot more money to buy just about anything.
There are some pretty amazing things going on in Stockholm. First, and not surprisingly to many who know me, the history is top quality. Hats off to Swedish restoration projects, which allow sad people like me to drag my family to all sorts of ancient wonders. Of particular interest is the Vasa warship, which sits in a specially built dry dock for your viewing pleasure. There are many amazing things about the Vasa, no the least of which is that it spent 335 years at the bottom of the ocean. It seems that the water around the Stockholm archipelago are just perfect for the preservation of normally biodegrateable substances like wood and leather. This means that the Vasa is incredibly well preserved; so well preserved, in fact, that when they raised it from the bottom of the ocean, it still floated. It actually floated back to the docks!
Now you're wondering why it sank if it floated? The short story is that the Swedish King (I can't remember his name, but it was particularly Nordic.... I think it was Gustav?) wanted the biggest and most impressive war ship in the world. He commissioned a ship expert to design the Vasa. Lacking computer modelling and such, the ship was made bigger than anything else. It had a remarkable 64 gun ports. To the untrained eye (albeit with the decidedly helpful hindsight of knowing it sank), it seemed to me that the lower row of gun ports were frightfully close to the water line. This meant that there are a number of large holes on the lower sides of the ship. Exacerbating the problem of loads of holes in the hull, was that the Vasa was painfully top heavy (again the result of all those canons). To make a long story short, the ship sailed about 10 minutes out and hit a swell and rolled heavily. While the crew managed to right it, the next swell got them and tipped it over heavily to one side. The water poured into the gun ports and like so many bath-tub boats from our own experience, it sank in moments.
Happily, for many of the crew, they still weren't out of the harbour so a number of fishing boats were on hand for the rescue. Of those that did go down with the ship, many were recovered with the boat (300 odd years later) and in a somewhat eerie display at the museum, their skeletons, clothes and personal belongings are on display! They've even named the skeletons and managed to give a small account of the life they led (things like, "Hagar led a hard life, which we know by the bone indication of malnutrition as a child and the worn hip from hard labour."). The ship is amazing. Stunning, in fact. But one can't help but feel the Swedes are particularly confident in themselves, as this is essentially a huge monument to the questionable nature of Swedish naval engineering.
We also visited a number of museums on the history of Stockholm and Sweden. Ange and Claire (our cousin) went to go see the Swedish National Ballet. Claire and I saw the Pirates of the Carribean. I can honestly say that the Vasa has nothing on the Black Pearl, except they both popped back up after sinking. We also spent a lot of time just walking and taking in the atmosphere, which at times was a bit surreal. On a couple of days, there were loads of flatbed trucks roving the streets of Stockholm with dozens of screaming and dancing students on the backs. Some had the most incredible sound systems set up. Mobile, mid-day raves sauntered past us.
At one point the revelry was too much and a young male fell from the back of the slow moving truck. As the rave-truck-unit behind lurched to a stop and the driver got out to pick him up, I thouht to myself how this sort of fun would never be permitted in North America. Apart from the blatant violation of Calgary-like noise by-laws and the public drinking, safety conscious crusaders would cry out against the obvious folly of drinking and dancing on the back of moving vehicles (however slow moving they may be). No sir. This sort of fun would was to be witnessed only outside of our borders. And so we did, especially enjoying the particular Swedishness when some Abba mash-up blared across the speakers.
Anna seemed to enjoy it all. She waved at the various rave-trucks, usually to their great satisfaction. She ran in the parks. She saw a fountain. We went on a boat across the harbour. She used to say "boat," but now she will only address boats by what they say. Boats say "tooooot-toooooot". In the beautiful old town, a wandering group of Japanese tourists appealed to include Anna in their photo shoot of the ancient courtyard. With her blond hair and blue eyes, she was the perfect Swedish imposter. The tourists were none the wiser that they had a Canadian kid as their stereotypical Swedish child!
There are some pretty amazing things going on in Stockholm. First, and not surprisingly to many who know me, the history is top quality. Hats off to Swedish restoration projects, which allow sad people like me to drag my family to all sorts of ancient wonders. Of particular interest is the Vasa warship, which sits in a specially built dry dock for your viewing pleasure. There are many amazing things about the Vasa, no the least of which is that it spent 335 years at the bottom of the ocean. It seems that the water around the Stockholm archipelago are just perfect for the preservation of normally biodegrateable substances like wood and leather. This means that the Vasa is incredibly well preserved; so well preserved, in fact, that when they raised it from the bottom of the ocean, it still floated. It actually floated back to the docks!
Now you're wondering why it sank if it floated? The short story is that the Swedish King (I can't remember his name, but it was particularly Nordic.... I think it was Gustav?) wanted the biggest and most impressive war ship in the world. He commissioned a ship expert to design the Vasa. Lacking computer modelling and such, the ship was made bigger than anything else. It had a remarkable 64 gun ports. To the untrained eye (albeit with the decidedly helpful hindsight of knowing it sank), it seemed to me that the lower row of gun ports were frightfully close to the water line. This meant that there are a number of large holes on the lower sides of the ship. Exacerbating the problem of loads of holes in the hull, was that the Vasa was painfully top heavy (again the result of all those canons). To make a long story short, the ship sailed about 10 minutes out and hit a swell and rolled heavily. While the crew managed to right it, the next swell got them and tipped it over heavily to one side. The water poured into the gun ports and like so many bath-tub boats from our own experience, it sank in moments.
Happily, for many of the crew, they still weren't out of the harbour so a number of fishing boats were on hand for the rescue. Of those that did go down with the ship, many were recovered with the boat (300 odd years later) and in a somewhat eerie display at the museum, their skeletons, clothes and personal belongings are on display! They've even named the skeletons and managed to give a small account of the life they led (things like, "Hagar led a hard life, which we know by the bone indication of malnutrition as a child and the worn hip from hard labour."). The ship is amazing. Stunning, in fact. But one can't help but feel the Swedes are particularly confident in themselves, as this is essentially a huge monument to the questionable nature of Swedish naval engineering.
We also visited a number of museums on the history of Stockholm and Sweden. Ange and Claire (our cousin) went to go see the Swedish National Ballet. Claire and I saw the Pirates of the Carribean. I can honestly say that the Vasa has nothing on the Black Pearl, except they both popped back up after sinking. We also spent a lot of time just walking and taking in the atmosphere, which at times was a bit surreal. On a couple of days, there were loads of flatbed trucks roving the streets of Stockholm with dozens of screaming and dancing students on the backs. Some had the most incredible sound systems set up. Mobile, mid-day raves sauntered past us.
At one point the revelry was too much and a young male fell from the back of the slow moving truck. As the rave-truck-unit behind lurched to a stop and the driver got out to pick him up, I thouht to myself how this sort of fun would never be permitted in North America. Apart from the blatant violation of Calgary-like noise by-laws and the public drinking, safety conscious crusaders would cry out against the obvious folly of drinking and dancing on the back of moving vehicles (however slow moving they may be). No sir. This sort of fun would was to be witnessed only outside of our borders. And so we did, especially enjoying the particular Swedishness when some Abba mash-up blared across the speakers.
Anna seemed to enjoy it all. She waved at the various rave-trucks, usually to their great satisfaction. She ran in the parks. She saw a fountain. We went on a boat across the harbour. She used to say "boat," but now she will only address boats by what they say. Boats say "tooooot-toooooot". In the beautiful old town, a wandering group of Japanese tourists appealed to include Anna in their photo shoot of the ancient courtyard. With her blond hair and blue eyes, she was the perfect Swedish imposter. The tourists were none the wiser that they had a Canadian kid as their stereotypical Swedish child!
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