It is absolutely horrible. My worst nightmare, in fact. Distressing, unnecessary and offensive. Unaesthetic, ill-judged and just so utterly wrong. Naturally. I'm talking about the return of the cardigan as a hot fashion item for men in the UK this Summer/Winter (it's pretty hard to tell what season it actually is). The fashion in full is pointy shoes, skintight jeans, a Polo shirt, or white tee-shirt and a cardigan. Fortunately, no-one is making me wear this apparel, as I am too old, but I still have to look at it.
Sorry, I meant to write that immediately after returning from Canada, Nel was home for a day, went to Italy and is due back tomorrow. The cats are desperate for her return, Calli was trapped up a tree for most of last night (again!) after apparently trying to race a pigeon to the top. Tosh has taken to sleeping on my head and the apartment looks like it looked just before I spent six hours cleaning it last week.
I visited a two (at least) thousand year old long barrow last Sunday and was enthralled, and spent a very pleasant afternoon listening to BBC Radio Four(which is like Radio One on CBC in Canada, only much better). Accused of British bashing recently, I have to say that if British politicains wanted to claim something a s"Best" then The BBC would have to be a legitimate claim. Especially the Round Britain Quiz.
Thursday, 30 August 2007
Friday, 24 August 2007
Day Penultimate: Go to Panic Mode ........
Quite how the house got to be such a tip, I have no idea. For a start, I have'nt been here for most of the time Nel has been away, and when I have been here, apart from today(of which more in a different post), I have made a cup of tea, or cracked open a bottle of Old Speckled Hen, then promptly gone to bed to visit The Land of Nod.
Anyhow, its time to go into Urgent Panic Mode (see photo of cat gym above), so I crack on and make a list:
FRIDAY:
1. Tidy House
2. Complete Tax forms
3. Pay bills
4. Change pedals on bike to accept new cleats.
5. Write blog
6. Look for new job
7. Go for pint in Pave (as reward).
8. Phone mum
9. Get groceries.
10. Dissassemble cat gym.
This is a daunting list, so I revise it:
FRIDAY:
1. Tidy up bedroom and kitchen only
2. Leave cat gym in place so Nel can see how cute it is
3. Get groceries
4. Write blog
5. Go for pint in Pave, as reward
Monday:
1. Take Nel to airport
2. Do'nt tell her about uncompleted tax forms and unpaid bills, and do this after she's gone.
3. Groceries
4. Go for long bike ride as reward.
It has however just occurred to me as I'm writing this blog that I've actually started on neither list, apart from item 5 on the first list, and item 4 on the second. Also, I cannot complete Item 1, because it will disturb the cats.
I'll let you know how I get on.
Saturday, 18 August 2007
Day 8. A Very British Train Journey
It's 19.38, late summer by English standards, and I'm in full wet weather cycling regalia returning from yet another eternally long day at work. I have full panniers, one size is a bag of catfood, the other a couple of beer for Match of The Day, a television institution ( a bit like hockey night in Canada, only not hockey, and not Canada) in the UK. I'm also carrying the Darth Vader doll that I was awarded for coming third in the penalty shoot-out during our company away day - proof that Dick is not only brilliant and creative, but has a hilariously ironic sense of humour as well. Every time I remember to throw it away I am in work and do'nt want it found in a garbage bin by some keen eyed manager (Managers get enthusiastic about the strangest things) so it has travelled the 7.33 (delayed) and the return train for the last week or so.
I'm reading Sue Fox's Watching the English, which is a "whimsical and ironic" (what else in England?) examination of, specifically English, manners, and "what it is to be English". The first thought that crossed my mind when my friend Mike offered me this tome, was that if they do'nt know after two thousand years, there's little chance of blinding revelations now. However, I still feel a little displaced here, and any clues as to why may be valuable, so it is my current train read.
My book gets unpacked, and I settle in my seat dipping into WTE, a little impatiently now as Ms Fox's book, as Mike reported, is a bit repetitive. Her findings mainly seem to be that the English are terribly polite, reserved, and do'nt like talking about sex. Any typical social interaction, according to Ms Fox, is ruled by an innate politeness, with a dash of self-depreciating humour, and a peculiar type of reserve that avoids "scenes" at all costs.
My attention is drawn away from my book by the mixed smell of very strong cheap cologne and fading beer. I look up and an early thirties Englishman who is supposed to be typically reserved kicks my bike, and repeats the question he had apparently addressed to me, "Wha'y're reading that? This yours?" indicating the bike, "Oh, sorry, mate, is this your bike? Looks good. Cost you loads? Did'nt mean to kick it, like". His pal launches into another series of unrelated, comprehensible-only-to-a-drunk questions "You beating the system? hull, isit? you rise de ya, an all? no offense, mate,we're f**kin pissed just got divorced y'no warra mean? no offense, mate wyreya readin' tha, I'lltell ya whas English", he leans over and snatches at my book.
Next, the other lad starts rambling in a similar vein, except now he starts discussing with his pal his apparent long-standing desire to posses a good bike, and maybe he'll just take this one. He's leaning in close by now, hand on the back of my seat, pathetically attempting intimidation I think, and obsessed in a way that only drunks can be, by this one idea that he's going to somehow take my bike when we arrive in Hull.
This conversation is not going the way Ms Fox promised it would. According to Ms Fox, the most conversation I could expect from a stranger on a train is a desultory comment on the weather followed by perhaps a rather pithy remark about the lateness of the trains and how bad the tea at railway stations tends to be. I still have'nt contributed to the conversation, and feel it is my duty to do so, but I'm a bit out of my depth. The last time I experienced a similar situation was before we left for Canada, and I think I was more attuned to English ways at the time. I consult the index of Ms Fox's book - perhaps there's an appendix titled "By the way, there's also a sub-culture of arrogant Dickensian proletariat for whom normal rules of behaviour are as lacking as the word 'share' is in a cat's vocabulary ". Alas, no such appendix exists, so I have no recent reference with which to formulate a response.
But old, tired habits die hard, and automatically, the default setting kicks in "Piss off and leave the f**kin bike alone. I've been graftin all day and I wanna f**kin get some sleep. No offense lads, but just f**k off". This by the way is a complete act on my part, calculated bravado, but rooted in experience. It is an unfortunate fact that where reasoning would fail, appeals to common decency would fail, attempted chuminess would probably have failed, and cowering would definitely have failed in securing a peaceful train ride, in England a strong regional accent - particularly Scouse or Glaswegian, succeeds. The same sentences, delivered in a different regional accent, even that of our boys home town, would have only extended the intrusion.
With my accent it is different. The boys back off, sit down, express solidarity with the working man, tell me how Liverpool are the best football team, how they've been to Liverpool, got "hammered" and had a great time, and love Scousers. "No problem, mate, just havin a laugh". I respond gracefully "Yeah, whatever", close my book, close my eyes secure in the knowledge that my reputation for being tough will now protect the bike, and I dream of little puddy tats all the way back to Hull. It appears that I do know what it is to be English, after all.
I'm reading Sue Fox's Watching the English, which is a "whimsical and ironic" (what else in England?) examination of, specifically English, manners, and "what it is to be English". The first thought that crossed my mind when my friend Mike offered me this tome, was that if they do'nt know after two thousand years, there's little chance of blinding revelations now. However, I still feel a little displaced here, and any clues as to why may be valuable, so it is my current train read.
My book gets unpacked, and I settle in my seat dipping into WTE, a little impatiently now as Ms Fox's book, as Mike reported, is a bit repetitive. Her findings mainly seem to be that the English are terribly polite, reserved, and do'nt like talking about sex. Any typical social interaction, according to Ms Fox, is ruled by an innate politeness, with a dash of self-depreciating humour, and a peculiar type of reserve that avoids "scenes" at all costs.
My attention is drawn away from my book by the mixed smell of very strong cheap cologne and fading beer. I look up and an early thirties Englishman who is supposed to be typically reserved kicks my bike, and repeats the question he had apparently addressed to me, "Wha'y're reading that? This yours?" indicating the bike, "Oh, sorry, mate, is this your bike? Looks good. Cost you loads? Did'nt mean to kick it, like". His pal launches into another series of unrelated, comprehensible-only-to-a-drunk questions "You beating the system? hull, isit? you rise de ya, an all? no offense, mate,we're f**kin pissed just got divorced y'no warra mean? no offense, mate wyreya readin' tha, I'lltell ya whas English", he leans over and snatches at my book.
Next, the other lad starts rambling in a similar vein, except now he starts discussing with his pal his apparent long-standing desire to posses a good bike, and maybe he'll just take this one. He's leaning in close by now, hand on the back of my seat, pathetically attempting intimidation I think, and obsessed in a way that only drunks can be, by this one idea that he's going to somehow take my bike when we arrive in Hull.
This conversation is not going the way Ms Fox promised it would. According to Ms Fox, the most conversation I could expect from a stranger on a train is a desultory comment on the weather followed by perhaps a rather pithy remark about the lateness of the trains and how bad the tea at railway stations tends to be. I still have'nt contributed to the conversation, and feel it is my duty to do so, but I'm a bit out of my depth. The last time I experienced a similar situation was before we left for Canada, and I think I was more attuned to English ways at the time. I consult the index of Ms Fox's book - perhaps there's an appendix titled "By the way, there's also a sub-culture of arrogant Dickensian proletariat for whom normal rules of behaviour are as lacking as the word 'share' is in a cat's vocabulary ". Alas, no such appendix exists, so I have no recent reference with which to formulate a response.
But old, tired habits die hard, and automatically, the default setting kicks in "Piss off and leave the f**kin bike alone. I've been graftin all day and I wanna f**kin get some sleep. No offense lads, but just f**k off". This by the way is a complete act on my part, calculated bravado, but rooted in experience. It is an unfortunate fact that where reasoning would fail, appeals to common decency would fail, attempted chuminess would probably have failed, and cowering would definitely have failed in securing a peaceful train ride, in England a strong regional accent - particularly Scouse or Glaswegian, succeeds. The same sentences, delivered in a different regional accent, even that of our boys home town, would have only extended the intrusion.
With my accent it is different. The boys back off, sit down, express solidarity with the working man, tell me how Liverpool are the best football team, how they've been to Liverpool, got "hammered" and had a great time, and love Scousers. "No problem, mate, just havin a laugh". I respond gracefully "Yeah, whatever", close my book, close my eyes secure in the knowledge that my reputation for being tough will now protect the bike, and I dream of little puddy tats all the way back to Hull. It appears that I do know what it is to be English, after all.
Thursday, 16 August 2007
A cautious whiff of optimism
I have never posted on the beautiful game before on this blog, perhaps because the most succesful club in the history of English football have been rather disappointing over the last few years (apart from a fifth European Championship in 05 and runners-up in 06).
But watching the first two games of the new season, I think every English, and European club should be very afraid of Liverpool Football Club this season.
There, I've done it, I've made a prediction. Now all I need to do is persuade Nel to let me gamble the proceeds from our house sale on Liverpool success this year. It's a sure bet, a dead cert.
But watching the first two games of the new season, I think every English, and European club should be very afraid of Liverpool Football Club this season.
There, I've done it, I've made a prediction. Now all I need to do is persuade Nel to let me gamble the proceeds from our house sale on Liverpool success this year. It's a sure bet, a dead cert.
Wednesday, 15 August 2007
For Sale: No really, I mean it this time...
For sale: One 17lb barn cat, plus One small 5lb Ontario barncat. 5lb cat likes to climb trees, in fact enjoys most aerial pursuits, and has tried flying. Practically non-vocal, except when confronted with closed door at 11.35pm. Given to chasing much bigger cats (especially large black Tom cats) and springs. Estimated annual upkeep $6000- $25,000.
Will accept Grasshopper's offer to house on following terms;
1. I get world's cutest Bunny
2. You get one 17lb barn cat, one 5lb barn cat, plus two free carry cases, neither of which 17lb cat will fit into.
3. I will pay £359,453.00, plus airfare, plus annual vets bills, plus royalties, intellectual copyright and any other ludicrous claims.
Am willing to better this offer to anyone who can promise more immediate closing of deal.
Will accept Grasshopper's offer to house on following terms;
1. I get world's cutest Bunny
2. You get one 17lb barn cat, one 5lb barn cat, plus two free carry cases, neither of which 17lb cat will fit into.
3. I will pay £359,453.00, plus airfare, plus annual vets bills, plus royalties, intellectual copyright and any other ludicrous claims.
Am willing to better this offer to anyone who can promise more immediate closing of deal.
Tuesday, 14 August 2007
For sale: The Final Straw
Right, that's it:
For sale (I will pay well), to anyone. Anywhere. I will accept reverse charge phone calls from Ulan Bator.
One large 17lb Ontario barn cat. Disobedient, destructive, vocal, kind of pink-coloured with unattractive habit of walking all over computer keyboard during crucial e-mails and grooming nether regions. Interrupts crucial negotiations over sale of real estate by tearing down curtains because not getting enough attention. Will not listen to commands.
Has enormous appetite, tendency towards diahorrea and spoilt by female co-owner, but nothing that good spell in the Army would'nt correct. Attacks his very cute little sister, balding male heads, and puts paw up nose of humans at 6.00am. Bites elbows.
Free Cat carrier provided.
For sale (I will pay well), to anyone. Anywhere. I will accept reverse charge phone calls from Ulan Bator.
One large 17lb Ontario barn cat. Disobedient, destructive, vocal, kind of pink-coloured with unattractive habit of walking all over computer keyboard during crucial e-mails and grooming nether regions. Interrupts crucial negotiations over sale of real estate by tearing down curtains because not getting enough attention. Will not listen to commands.
Has enormous appetite, tendency towards diahorrea and spoilt by female co-owner, but nothing that good spell in the Army would'nt correct. Attacks his very cute little sister, balding male heads, and puts paw up nose of humans at 6.00am. Bites elbows.
Free Cat carrier provided.
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