TOILET PAPER: A CAUTIONARY TALE

At first I found the teeny portions that everything in Britain comes in charming. As in: “Aw, cute! Our fridge is so small that the largest jug of milk we can buy is a pint”. Note: a pint of milk is exactly adequate for three bowls of cereal; two bowls if you use some of the milk in your tea. The frequent trips to the grocery store necessitated by the small portions are not that big of a deal, unless we are feeling particularly lazy and don’t feel like running out, or unless we forget that everything comes in small packages and that we’re likely to need replacements soon.

Because I love you all dearly, and actually get a bit of a kick sharing even the unsavoury details of our Brit existence with you, let our experience serve as a cautionary tale: WHEN YOU CAN ONLY BUY FOUR ROLLS OF TOILET PAPER AT A TIME, YOUR FOURTH ROLL WILL RUN OUT LONG BEFORE YOU THINK IT POSSIBLE.

Now if you have grown up in North America, where everything comes super-sized (including the toilet paper, sold in 24-packs), it is easy to see how one could observe the near-empty toilet paper roll in the evening, and not think too much of it because, of course, there are at least 23 other rolls of toilet paper in the storage closet. After all, you just bought toilet paper last weekend. Except that you are now in England, and there are exactly ZERO rolls left in the storage closet, and by the time you figure out this very critical point any store which may sell toilet paper has long since closed for the evening.

Let me conclude this tale with a final, very important fact: paper towel – even if charmingly illustrated with little flowers – is NOT an acceptable substitute. ‘Nuff said.

THE NUTELLA CALENDAR

This morning as I opened my THIRD jar of Nutella hazelnut spread (to dip my croissants in – yummy!) I realized that either

a) I have a rather unhealthy rate of Nutella consumption, or
b) we have been in England for a respectable amount of time, thus making it reasonable that I have had the opportunity to consume two whole jars of Nutella.

I am going to tell myself that Option B describes the situation, but in my heart of hearts I fear that Option A may be closer to the truth. Thank god for my rabbit-fast metabolism.

DON'T FIGHT WITH A CAT IN A BAR

More about today's blog title later, for now indulge me while I relate the two days' activities leading up to the cat in the bar.

First, let me muse a moment on the promised insight from our trip to Norfolk. The more we move about the country (admittedly, have not been far at this point, but a trend seems to be emerging), the more we discover that British people tend to be, by and large, a tremendously friendly bunch. There does exist a certain cautious exterior, but once it's broken through - usually by relating that we are students from Canada - the people are welcoming, helpful and downright charming. For example, the woman who drove us from Great Cressingham to Thetford was a lovely gal who chatted the whole ride and gave us a great history on Thetford Forest and suggestions for places to visit during our next trip up there. It is a good feeling to be spending time in a country populated by wonderful people.

After we arrived back in Cambridge on Wednesday night we went out to a formal dinner at Clare Hall with people from Ray's office. As always, we enjoyed getting dressed up and the dinner was very nice. Following on from my musings above, it shouldn't come as a surprise when I tell you that the people we dined with - Ray's coworkers and some new people we met at the dinner itself - were a terrific bunch and it was an evening very pleasantly spent.

Thursday was a generally sleepy day as we "recovered" from our holiday - I think being constantly cold (see blog entry describing the temperature of the B&B) tired me out a bit. Really cranked up the heat when we got back to our flat!

So now we arrive at the cat. Friday night saw us at yet another pub, celebrating Rob's birthday (Rob is an officemate of Ray's). The Cambridge Blue has the distinction of being one of only two non-smoking pubs in all of Cambridge (out of over 100 pubs), and I must admit that it was nice to go out without getting all smokey. The place was absolutely PACKED but it did contribute to the friendly community pub atmosphere. But what made the atmosphere truly complete was the Bar Cat, who sauntered out from the kitchen after last call and hopped up on a bar stool to sit calmly as if waiting for his pint. Think I'm joking? We too at first thought his appearance was a result of the free-flowing ale, but we have photographic evidence:



Thank-goodness for the new-fangled camera cell phone of Ray's!

As you can (sort of) see, the cat was a large handsome fellow, and it should be noted that he did not particularly appreciate being disturbed while he waited for his drink. Upon us plying him with "Here, kitty" and other disingenious ways to catch his attention, he gave us a baleful look, hopped of his stool and stalked back to the kitchen. Clearly, we'd breached the Bar Cat Protocol.

AND NOW...WHAT WE'VE BEEN UP TO

I've finally had some sleep and have a chunk of time available to sit and write. So you're in for a whirlwind of catching up here.

Before we get on with the story, I'd like to point out that although some of these pictures don't show us in the most flattering light (funny facial expressions, etc.), I've included them all for the sake of journalistic (blogalistic??) integrity. I'm assuming that if you are reading this blog, you adore us enough to love us, funny faces and all.

As I alluded to in earlier posts, this past Tuesday and Wednesday Ray and I went up to a little B&B in Great Cressingham, Norfolk. It was the first time since I started working here that I had two consecutive days off, so we decided to not let them go to waste. Our journey started on Tuesday morning when we set off in a light drizzle to the Cambridge train station, and bought ourselves tickets to Thetford (a mid-size industrial town in Norfolk county). Hopped on the train and we were off! As Ray has a particular fondness for trains, he was especially pleased by our mode of transportation.



After a short ride and one change of trains - which we actually managed to do without getting ourselves lost - we arrived in Brandon, the village nearest Great Cressingham with any sort of train access. As you can see, the train station at Brandon was not exactly a thriving centre.





In fact, we were the only people to disembark here.

Being hungry, we hiked from the train station to the local watering hole - The Ram Pub - where we dined on traditional English fare such as a cheese omlette (me) and a tuna sandwich (Ray). Couldn't be helped because the menu was limited; all of the typical food one might expect had sold out the previous Sunday and not yet been reordered for the week. It seems that Brandon does not see much traffic, or diners for that matter, midweek. Here is Ray relaxing after lunch at the pub, while we waited for our cab to show up:



After a short cab ride - about 12 miles - we were dropped off at The Vines B&B in Great Cressingham. Remember what I mentioned a few days ago about "The Street"? It's an accurate description because truly, there ain't much else in Great Cressingham. Makes me curious to see Little Cressingham. In any case, the B&B was lovely and I have to say it was really interesting to stay in a newly-renovated, 400 year-old house. Quite the mix of old and new.





And, I got the opportunity to gloat as my stumpy height (5'5 on a good day) proved perfect in our suite, because Ray had to duck to get under the beams in our ceiling. This is not trick photography, his head is actually touching the beam.



We did discover one downside to an English B&B in November: it was FREEZING COLD. Do you have any idea just how long it takes a 400 year-old house to warm up?? We spent a lot of time hanging out in front of our radiator, until the rest of the room warmed up.



(Note the sweater, scarf, sheepskin slippers, and hands wrapped securely around a mug of hot chocolate!)

Once we did warm up, we spent a lovely evening relaxing and simply enjoying being somewhere new. In the morning, I must confess that my shower dreams were thwarted by the lack of an actual shower; alas, I had to content myself with a tub with a shower attachment. Still, it was nice to rinse my hair under running water in the morning, and a nice appetizer to all the showers I can't wait to take when we're back home for Christmas!

We enjoyed a traditional English breakfast, minus the black pudding - neither Ray nor I were brave enough to go there - and were soon on our way again. The trouble was, there was nowhere to go in Great Cressingham; the only pub was closed and there were no shops etc. Would be perfect on a summer day to have a jaunt through the countryside, but at this time of year it's rather cold to spend the day outside in the drizzle, so we called a cab and got the heck out of Dodge. Here's Ray on The Street, walking down another road (from which The Street branches off to one side) to meet the cab, and a view of the misty farm fields nearby:







As we left a bit earlier than scheduled, we took the cab to Thetford (instead of straight back to Brandon), which took us through Thetford Forest. It was a beautiful drive and we're looking forward to seeing it again in the summer, and perhaps taking some jaunts in the forest. One of the really interesting facts about this forest is that it is partly ancient (oaks and such) and partly human-planted (scotch pines). I guess this is one way to have a working forest (the scotch pines are harvested and replanted) while making an attempt to maintain the integrity of the native stands.

Arrived a bit early in Thetford, so we waited at the train station for about an hour.





Thank goodness for heated waiting areas! Ray was bored so he took a picture of the tracks; the notable feature being that the railway ties were concrete instead of wood:



After a short train ride back to where we had started, we were Home Sweet Home. Spent the afternoon relaxing some more in our (warm!!) flat, before getting dressed up and heading off to a formal dinner at Clare Hall. Still more to tell, but I'm getting sleepy (seems to be a recurring theme these days) so will finish my update tomorrow.

(I actually have some interesting stories and thoughts to relate about our trip, but they, like the rest of the update, will have to wait. Patience, Grasshopper!)

THE TIRED BLOGGER

So much interesting news to report, yet I am too tired to tell you all about it at the moment. I thought mini-holidays were supposed to make you less tired, not more, but I think I spent a little too much time doing/exploring and not enough time relaxing. We did have an excellent time in Norfolk though, and attended a very nice formal hall last night at Clare Hall (another college). Didn't get home from the formal hall until after midnight, which could account for today's sleepiness...

So now I'm off to bed!

THE MUNCHIES

Do you ever have those days when you could eat just about anything - and everything - in sight, and still hunger for more? Today was one of those days for me.

I'm not sure what alignment of stars leads to having an Insatiable Stomach Day, because they never seem different from any other day in terms of activity level or any other obvious culprit. But today I was ravenously hungry when I woke up, breakfast barely made a dent, and all I could think about for the rest of the day was food, food, food.

It's funny how I can be involved in other tasks and suddenly my stomach speaks up: FEED. ME.

NOW.

When one spends their day folding clothes, with not much occupying their mind, it's amazing how difficult it is to drown out the stomach voice. Humming Christmas tunes along with the store soundtrack is barely up to the task. Dancing to the Christmas tunes works slightly better but tends to elicit worried glances from the shoppers.

Most days - in fact, about 95% of the time - I thank my lucky stars that I was born with the metabolism of a hummingbird. I sure love to eat, and dread the day when I have to start counting calories. But the flipside is that on the days when the munchies strike, I could eat everything in the grocery store, including the carts. I am ashamed to admit that today's munchies lead me down a sordid path to Burger King, where I furtively feasted on a Whopper Meal. The whole experience can be summed up by one of yesterday's new words: manky. And I was still hungry afterwards!

Amusing anecdote: when I was a little girl, Dad had me convinced that my huge appetite was the result of a "hollow leg". For YEARS I secretly wondered which leg was hollow! Funny how you can look back on your childhood and remember these weird thoughts you used to have.

You won't see a new entry for a couple of days now as Ray and I are off for a mini-holiday in Norfolk tomorrow and Wednesday; we are staying at a B&B in the teeny village of Great Cressingham. (We think it is called "Great" Cressingham because it has a street with a name: "The Street" - truly I am not making this up - and "Little" Cressingham doesn't appear to aspire to those dizzying heights of urban development). Promise to take lots of photos and tell you all about it when we get back!

THE 34 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS

Despite the retail sector having declared "let the shopping begin" some time ago, it was tonight that the Cambridge city council made their own declaration of sorts that the season is apon us with a day of entertainment culminating in the lighting of the market square. Now, Christmas lights are among my favourite things, so I made sure that I was downtown at for the lighting, which was planned for 5:00. Turns out quite a large crowd had gathered, and the festive mood in the market was palpable. They actually made an afternoon of it, with various bands playing as darkness approached - from what I hear (I was only able to get there shortly before 5), they had a good mix of bands. Shortly after 5, the crowd was led in a countdown: 10 - 9 - ... - 2 - 1... nothing. A flurry of activity near the tree, and the count began again - this time starting from 5. Things went better the second time around, and the scene soon looked like this:


Seeing as the market had stayed open late for the occasion, and Amanda didn't get through work for another hours, I grabbed an eggnog latte and listed to the bands/choir for awhile and wondered about the stalls. It seemed very festive indeed, and has me seriously excited to see family and friends back home over Christmas. Let the season begin!

LINGUISTICS FOR BRITS

Kate suggested that I talk about how Brits talk, so that those of you who haven't been to the UK get a sense of daily conversation here. Some of the particular phrases and words that stand out:

"Are you alright/okay?" - I think this is equivalent to Canada-speak "How are you?". All my coworkers greet me this way and it took me a week or so to figure out that they weren't concerned for my health, they simply wanted to say hello.

"Cheers" - I've mentioned this before; used in place of "thank-you".

"Luv" - a semi-affectionate term used by many people over here, not necessarily reserved for just family or very close friends. Several of my coworkers use this term frequently, as in "Are you alright, luv?" and I actually quite like this usage. Makes me feel like I have friends already, even if this term doesn't denote any particular endearment.

"Taking the piss out of" - a less savoury phrase, used in the context of "I saw him taking the piss out of Rob" and meaning either to yell at or tease someone. I have yet to either use or carry out the task implied this phrase - after all, I am a friendly Canadian.

"Manky" - haven't actually heard this term in use, but I think it is a very apt word for what it means: something disgusting or icky. It's just fun to say, and I urge you to roll this one around on your tongue.

It is worth mentioning, for anyone that plans to someday shop in the UK, that Brits use different words for common articles of clothing. I've had a few embarassing mix-ups at work over these ones:

"Pants" - no these do not mean the lower article of clothing with long legs. Over here, "pants" mean "underpants". Very awkward when I ask someone if I can bring them another size of pants and they get all flustered. If you want to talk about what Canadians call pants, then over here you are talking about "trousers".

"Gillets" - pronounced "gil-ay" as for a french word; this is a vest.

"Jumper" - no, not what babies wear, a "jumper" is what we would call a sweater.

"Polo-necked shirt" - is a turtleneck. I don't know how they came up with this one, as North American polo-necks are fashioned after the actual shirts used in polo.

So there's your grammar lesson for today!

Non-sequiter: was recognized as a CANADIAN today by a lovely customer, who was in turn delighted that she'd correctly ascertained my geographic origins. Seems that I am recognized for a Canuck by Brits who have either lived in Canada themselves, or work with Canadians (today's customer was of the latter variety). Not five minutes later, I had another customer tell me that I "must be from Chicago" because of my distinctive accent. Clearly not someone with a lot of exposure to my fellow countrymen. Sigh. The idea of getting a maple leaf tattoo - or perhaps wearing Canada-themed underwear - is getting more and more attractive.

CATCHING UP FROM CAMBRIDGE

I haven't been online much these past days, due to working late into the evening. By the time I get home and have dinner, it is after 10pm and then all I want to do is sleep. That must mean I am getting old!

Thursday's big news was the snow. Yes, you read correctly - it SNOWED here:



On Thursday morning while I walked to work I had been composing that day's blog entry based on a theme of "a good day to spend outside - if you are in Bali". In other words, it was stinking cold here. Undoubtedly Kim (who lives in Edmonton) is chuckling at my complaint, but I am an English wimp. Ray, of course, was thrilled with the white stuff and as of today (Saturday) I can confirm that it has remained cold and if we get any precipitation tonight it will probably fall as snow.

Nothing too exciting to report from Friday so I will take the opportunity to talk about my "new" oven. Yes my friends it has arrived, but it is a mixed blessing: the thing works (big improvement) but it is only slightly larger than an Easy Bake Oven (major pain in the butt). The oven capacity is literally 12 x 12 x 18 inches, making each of its two shelves capable of holding one dinner plate with no room to spare on the sides. My hopeful visions of conquering the country with homemade buttertarts are growing dim and I am barely hopeful that I will manage to make enough tarts for Ray and myself. With an oven this tiny, I will only be able to bake 9 tarts - at most - at a time. At the rate I eat those little puppies, it's almost a losing venture from the start.

It's also worth noting that it did occur to me, with Christmas around the corner, that it's a good thing we're heading home for the holidays for yet another reason: there's no way I could fit a turkey into this teeny oven. Optimistically we are looking at a chicken; more realistically, a cornish hen.

Today (Saturday) was great because it was my first Saturday off in a month, meaning we could leave the alarm off this morning and sleep in. Didn't wake up until nearly 10am so I must have been tired! We spent a lovely, relaxing day at home and wandering about town. On today's jaunt, I finally remembered to take some more pictures of the mysterious "chicken duck" that I mentioned a month or so ago:





As you can see, this bird is like a chicken on land but swims like a duck. The folks who first named this species apparently had little more imagination than I; it is known as a Marsh Hen. Entirely appropriate, but you'd think that if you had the chance to name a species, you'd come up with something more creative. I will keep this thought in mind if the opportunity ever arises for me! In any case, the marsh hen is one cool fowl.

While stalking the marsh hen, we came across many of Cambridge's mallards and geese:







These birds are VERY FAT and are not at all afraid of people; in fact, any time a person stops near ducks or geese in Cambridge they can expect to be accosted by the cheeky beggars as they frisk you for food. I get a kick out of this personality trait when I'm not trying to get through the flock on my cycle!

THE AMERICAN GIRL

At least that's what I'm known as at work.

My coworkers have at least remembered, through repeated tutoring, that I am CANADIAN - a North American of an entirely different breed. But when customers are asked at the till, "Who helped you today?", they reply - "The American girl".

It's interesting being the odd one out for a change. Ray and I are getting a taste of what so many Vancouver residents experience when they immigrate to Canada - different accent, different traditions, all that good stuff. People at work tell me they love my accent, and it seems silly to me. What accent??? Looking at the situation from a different angle, I've already stopped noticing everyone else's accent - it sounds totally normal to hear people in the shop and on the street. I'm so assimilated that I don't even notice the children's accents anymore, which I thought would always stand out to me.

But fear not, friends back home - I am not becoming pseudo-British, like Madonna. As far as I can tell, I still sound like a Canadian (or an American!!) and have yet to get a mullet.

Speaking of mullets, and rambling on in a barely coherent manner (just got home from work late tonight)...had an amusing experience at work today regarding my appearance. A girl a few years younger than me was walking around the store, handing out brochures (note: I did not see that she was handing out brochures). On her way out, she passed one to me - what is it that makes me automatically take those annoying scraps of paper from just anyone when they are thrust towards me?? - and I saw that it was an advertisement for hair and makeup services. Clearly, the girl thought I was in need of her professional help. Does she not realize that now that I work at a quasi-trendy shop that I am far, far too cool for such things? And just what is wrong with the way I look???

BRITISH MONEY

Odd dealings with currency and such over here.

Of course, it could be that I am odd - not the currency - but I prefer to think it's the former situation. Let me illustrate my reasoning. For example, why is the British 10 pence piece nearly identical (in size, shape and heft) to the Canadian quarter? Who designed theirs first? (I somehow expect that the UK beat Canada to the punch on this one). This particular coin has caused me numerous troubles when trying to get out the correct change. I grab a handful of the 10 pence pieces, and am shocked when the cashier regards me dully and demands more money. The ironic thing is that with the currency conversion, 10 pence is worth very close to 25 Canadian cents.

I am getting used to UK denominations, albeit slowly. For my friends and family back home who have yet to experience British currency, you might find it interesting to note that they don't have quarters; rather, they have 50, 20, 10, 5, 2 and 1 pence pieces. Still have yet to find a truly useful way to spend the 2 pence coins, and Ray and I are in negotiations as to whether 2 pence is a "tuppence" or simply 2 pence. I have a feeling that Ray is correct on this one but musn't let him know that yet!

Aside from simply figuring out the coinage here, I have been bank account-less now for 6 weeks. This is particularly annoying as I get the feeling that without a bank account a person is a non-entity here. I have also developed a theory that the extreme difficulty in obtaining bank accounts and other essentials such as electricity/gas/telephone accounts is a ploy to minimize the amount of immigration into the UK. Truly, without Ray - who, because of his student status, gets a head start on all the paperwork - I would be penniless, without power and a way to telephone anyone to help me out.

Today's entry is a rant-ish sort of post. Couldn't be helped after yet another appointment with a bank as I try to set up an account, only to be told that they "lost" all of my original paperwork. Erg!!

I'M BACK!

Well, back on my feet after a day of horrible cold sickness, that is.

Now that both Ray and I have been sick and recovered, I'm hoping we have had our colds for the season and that the rest of the winter will be clear sailing. Unless we've had the UK cold and are facing a bout of the Canadian Cold upon our return home...

But it will be worth it!

ON DEMAND HOT WATER

Hi all! Since I've been having fun reading all of Amanda's entries whilst I sit back and relax, it seems time for me to contribute something. By the way, Amanda says 'hi' to all, but as you may extrapolate from her last post she's not up to much writing at the moment. This morning I was especially struck by the U.K.'s seemingly inconsistent approach to energy conservation. In general, I'm really impressed with the care that's gone into the development of many appliances here (by 'here' I suppose I mean Europe as much or more than the U.K., which may explain why it seems inconsistent). In any case, the appliances that people purchase here. For one, the washers are really cool - they are front loading and have clear windows, so if you're like me you no longer require a television as watching your clothes being washed is about as much fun as ET. Better yet, they use very little water. They also do a much better job cleaning clothes than the top-load flavour, so the use of detergents is minimized. In a similar light, rather than keeping a tank of hot water available, we have an 'on demand' water heater. Basically, when you turn on a tap there's a 'woosh' as the burner turns on and presto - hot water. It takes a bit, but not so as you'd notice it taking longer than to purge the lukewarm water between your tap and a reservoir anyway. The same unit also supplies radiators in each room with hot water - these are individually controlled, so you don't need to keep the kitchen as warm as you might want the bathroom, for instance. I could carry on, but you get the drift... systems are built for efficiency. I imagine that in a large part this is driven by cost - our electricity is controlled by this nifty little box:

To get electricity into the flat, this little beauty is happy to munch on prepaid tokens - Amanda's written about our adventures with them before. So as for cost, electricity here is 7p (about 16 cents) per kWh. Go ahead, find your last hydro bill and work out what it would have cost at that rate... Sorta explains why people are willing to pay a bit more for efficiency. I'm scared to get our first gas bill! I started out on the inconsistencies in energy conservation, so I will tie it in to finish up. Basically, insulation here, at least in our flat, bites the big one. The window in our bathroom is (like they all are) single-paned, and has a vent in it that can't be closed. This means that the efficiency of zone heating is somewhat offset by the heat lost to the outside; additionally, it means that it’s very difficult to get our bathroom to a state you might refer to as warm. The upshot: this morning, after waiting for 10min for the tub to fill, I had a super quick bath in tepid water, 'cause despite filling it with straight hot water, by the time it encountered the near zero porcelain of the tub, the water wasn’t nearly so hot. I even filled it slowly to get hotter water from the continuous flow heater! Combined with the freezing draft coming in the window, it left me shivering as I washed and contemplated the oddities of energy conservation in England...

I AB ALL STUBBED UP (SNUFFLE, SNUFFLE)

Oy. Nothing worse than a head cold, complete with runny nose, when you spend your day bending over folding clothing. At least my cold is a sign that Christmas is on its way.

Today was stunningly sunny - particularly in contrast to the usual grey weather - and when Ray and I walked around the downtown market at lunch we noticed more than a few people out with their cameras. I wonder how many tourists' photos we will be in by the end of our sojourn here? Still being relative newcomers, we took advantage of the great weather to pay tourist ourselves and snapped a few shots of the marketplace. The market has been taking place in downtown Cambridge, in more or less the same form, for hundreds of years.





In the third picture, note the huge draft horse that was downtown today (as in, right in the market square) - not sure why he was there or where he came from as we saw him being led in through the streets, but the nearest farm is a considerable distance away. In any case, this occurence qualifies as a GENUINE CAMBRIDGE MOMENT. Where else would you find a draft horse calmly led through the middle of a busy urban centre?



ADDENDUM TO YESTERDAY'S POST

Those of you who found yourselves chuckling over our oven misadventures - you each owe me a big, oven-cooked meal.

As for how the oven saga ended, it looks like we can still use our stovetop...so we will not starve as originally feared but our cooking options are definitely limited.

LIFE WITHOUT AN OVEN

Perhaps a more appropriate title for this blog, because our oven is about as useful as our non-existent television set.

I can't remember if I wrote about our first oven (over here it's called a "cooker") problem, so will tell you about it now. If you already know this story, bear with me.

When we first moved in, we noticed that several of our stovetop burners appeared to be very worn. Knowing that our stove was inspected - in theory - before we moved in, we shrugged our shoulders and turned it on. Trouble was, when our metal pot made contact with the burner we were rewarded with spitting, arcing flames. Almost had to use the fire blanket conveniently fixed to our kitchen wall next to the oven (hmmm...perhaps this is not the first such incident). Had I been home alone the consequences could have been disastrous but luckily I am married to an engineer who has a finer appreciation of how electricity works and instead of grabbing the metal pot, he simply turned off the power to the stove.

Our burner was replaced. One would think that this was the end of our Cooker Ordeal, but no.

About a week later, I was ambitiously trying to cook a dinner of roast beef and potatoes/carrots for Ray and Warren, when I noticed that dinner was taking awfully long to cook...suspiciously long. I chalked up the experience to the British Cooking Curse and with Ray and Warren swooping in to creatively save the day (i.e. judicious use of microwave) soon forgot about the whole thing. Until a further week down the line, when I attempted to bake biscotti for our Halloween party and noticed that the oven seemed awfully cold for supposedly being 325 degrees. Turns out that the element on the left-hand side of our oven was burnt out (along with the stove lightbulb), hence the inability to attain temperature and to distribute what heat was generated evenly. Despite all these impediments, I must report that I managed to churn out some pretty good biscotti - it just took 2 hours to bake instead of 40 minutes!

We filed a report with the college and crossed our fingers that we would soon have a new element. It took several days for someone to come 'round and confirm that the problem was not that Ray and I were too stupid to turn on the oven, but rather that the element was indeed broken. Another few days for a repair guy to show up with a replacement element, only to discover that our oven requires a "non standard" element, so we were told that they would need to order one in.

Our third potential repair guy showed up today, armed with two elements for different ovens - turns out that our oven is so old that they no longer make replacement parts. Why am I not surprised by this development? While Repair Guy decided to see if these other parts would work for our purposes, Ray and I were working in the front room (i.e. living/dining room) of our flat - recall that the kitchen is at the back of our flat down a long hallway. About five minutes after the repair guy got to work, a BRIGHT FLASH of light whoomped down the hallway and into the living room. Silence. (But luckily no accompanying sizzling sound). Repair Guy calls down from the kitchen, "Say, do you folks have a fuse box?". Indeed we do.

Round two with the oven and I think Repair Guy is a bit more cautious this time around - no flashes of light. But the upshot of this visit remains the same: the oven cannot be fixed (and has been rendered completely un-useable by this most recent visit) and they must order a new one in for us. Which will be great news when the new and improved oven actually arrives at our flat...but given the speed at which things happen over here I suspect it will be weeks before that happens. My visions of Christmas baking are rather abruptly dissolving.

To add icing to the cake, as it were, we just turned on the stove burners tonight in the hopes of cooking dinner and it appears that the entire unit has been disabled by Repair Guy, not just the oven. THIS IS NOT GOOD NEWS.

So now I am writing this blog, sucking on wine gums, and contemplating what in the heck we are going to do for dinner tonight. Sigh.

ANOTHER BIRTHDAY - THIS TIME IT'S MOM!

I'm missing another big birthday today - my mom's. It's on special days like today that I especially wish I was home with my family to celebrate. But, I am celebrating in spirit from over here and will soon be home over the holidays to party in person.

Mom, I am sending you EXTRA BIG HUGS today - so many, in fact, that I would be a pest were I in Gibsons with you. Like Muffin (my mom's cat), only bigger and with opposable thumbs. :-)

On this side of the pond, the beautiful weather continues and it is truly starting to feel like winter. I daren't go outdoors without my mittens (new ones from Joan have come in very handy!) and scarf. Am teaching myself to knit because that seems like a useful skill over here with respect to increasing my scarf collection, and it gives me something to do on these winter evenings when stuck at home without a gogglebox.

I'd also like to take a moment to acknowledge today as Remembrance (Armistice over here) Day, and all those who have given their lives for Canada. "Never in the history of mankind have so many owed so much to so few." - Sir Winston Churchill

WINTER IS HERE

It is freakin' cold today, the downside to finally having a sunny day. Joan mailed me a pair of mittens the other day and they are certainly coming in handy!

Spent my day off work indulging in a little retail therapy and boosting the British economy. No, I can't tell you what I bought - it is the time of year to be secretive. I can tell you that I had fun spending my pounds and pence. And with the beautiful, albeit cold, weather, it was a perfect day to be cycling around Cambridge running errands and going from shop to shop.

Another good thing about this weather: the tourists have left town. I am much less likely to run them over in the mornings as I cycle to work; however, the ducks are still around and just as eager to leap from the Cam in front of my bike. Still have managed to avoid impact though!

THE 46 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS

It's official - the Christmas season is upon us. Three main indicators have shown up this week:

1. It is Circle Craft Christmas Fair week (the big craft fair held at Canada Place in Vancouver, where Joan and Alan sell their pottery each year)

2. I am fighting off a cold

3. Yesterday, the music soundtrack at work was switched from an annoying disco mix to holiday tunes

(Sorry about the all the lists lately)

My second-favourite time of the year is starting! Now I just need to get my oven fixed (heating element is burnt out) so I can get going on my Christmas baking. British folks, by and large, have yet to experience the CANADIAN BUTTER TART, and I intend to give them an education on this culinary delight. Mmmmmmm....

GOOD THINGS ABOUT RIDING A BIKE

Seems like a fitting topic to talk about, considering how much time Ray and I spend cycling around Cambridge. We are, of course, car-less here which can be a pain at times (for example, when I need groceries that the local store doesn't stock, and the store that has them is an hour cycle away) but most of the time is perfectly suited to life here.

Good things about riding a bike:

1. We are now eco-friendly travellers, so we are storing up green karma to make up for flying back and forth across the Atlantic

2. We fit into the local scenery, especially me with my ancient red flyer type cycle with it's 3 (count 'em) gears and wicker basket

3. We whiz by all the traffic stuck on the causeways during rush hour

4. We save money, because repairs to our cycles, while relatively frequent, tend to be cheaper than replacing car brakes/transmissions/engines, and we don't pay for crazily-expensive petrol

5. We get exercise, which helps counteract the abundance of fat in the food in this country

6. We can enjoy the beautiful (okay, nice when it's not pouring rain) autumn weather as we cycle through the greenways

7. And related to #6, many of our cycle routes take us through cow pastures, which, if you are me, is always a good thing

So all in all, I am enjoying our new cycling lifestyle. Perhaps not enough to completely forsake my future dream car, but definitely enough to plan on buying myself (and using) a bike when we move back to Canada.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KYLE!

My baby brother is no longer a baby!

It's Kyle's 20th birthday today and I'm still having a hard time processing that the wee boy with the crazy blonde hair is now a handsome, responsible young man. I think there never was a truer adage than "time flies". And with that little boy all grown up, what does that make me?

Today's blog is dedicated to my amazing brother and sister who I miss terribly from our nest on the other side of the world. It being his birthday, I'll talk about Kyle first, then Kim (heck, he who is born last should get to go first once in a while).

Why Kyle is cool: He is over 6 feet tall, for one. Remember last month when I talked about how tall my kitchen cabinetry is? Well, if you are as tall as Kyle - no problemo! Kyle is well-rounded: he's taking a wide range of courses at university in order to explore a bunch of different subjects that he finds interesting, and he's involved in sports such as ultimate. He has a nack for cleaning and organization - a closely guarded secret from his family members - and has worked his butt off in summer jobs to support his way through university. He is a lot of fun to hang out with, and can always be counted on to plot up some prank or another. But, Kyle can also be tough: for example, he acted as a bouncer during my and Ray's wedding when some unsavories showed up to crash the party.

Why Kim is cool: In the size category, thankfully she's closer to me (otherwise I would be the short freak of the family!) and so I can borrow her clothes. Speaking of clothes, Kim has a great sense of style and can always be depended on to be my fashion consultant when shopping. I have to admit that since I've been in Cambridge, when I've gone to buy something to wear, I find myself thinking "what would Kim think of this outfit??". Like Kyle, Kim is involved in a variety of activities including academics - go PhD!!! - and sports such as ultimate and rock climbing. Kim is braver than I and has convinced me to try some things that I would have been to chicken to do on my own - and I am a better person for it. And, she is a compassionate and insightful sounding board when difficulties arise in my life.

Everyone should be so fortunate to have siblings like these two great people. And of course I am being more than a little bit tongue-in-cheek above; as wonderful, complex people, it is impossible for me to capture the intangible "Kim-ness" and "Kyle-ness" that is at the heart of what makes them so fantastic. You'll have to trust me on this one - they just are.

So Kyle, thank-you for having a birthday and giving me the opportunity to wax poetic about you two. And have the happiest of birthdays!!!

BAD BLOGGER

So, I wasn't actually so distressed by the results of the US election that I was 3 day's worth of speechless, it's just that the Blogger site has been down and I haven't been able to post. But, I have been folding a lot of clothes at work in the interim and therefore have lots of interesting little tidbits to report.

FROM THURSDAY: THE MOST BRILLIANT FOOD DISCOVERY

We actually made this discovery earlier in the week, but I forgot to write about it until now.

When Ray and I first arrived in Cambridge, we had absolutely no food beyond the care package that my aunt Iris had sent with us - basically some milk, bacon, butter, and about four loaves of bread (and during our first week, we were amazed at just how long we could subsist on this small amount of grub). We were stressed out and tired on our first night here, so we went to a nearby Indian restaurant for dinner - and discovered curry bliss. Yum yum papadams and chutney, then naan, curry and rice, washed down by beer. The only catch is that while the meal is a feast, it is £10 per person, making it about $22 CAN (must stop converting!!). So we were happy to discover awesome food, but recognized that at that price, it would have to remain a special treat.

Until this past week, that is, when we discovered our favorite curries (Rogan Josh, Bhuna, Dansak) come in glass jars - like pasta sauce at home - at the grocery store. We decided to give them a try, and were pleasantly surprised to find that they were exactly the same as what we've been enjoying at the restaurant (they must buy the stuff in bulk). So...just add some basmati rice and naan, and we can make the same thing for less than £5 for the two of us. Score one for us in the culinary battle!

FROM FRIDAY - MISSING STARBUCKS

I am almost ashamed to admit this, but I truly miss Starbucks. We do have a Starbucks here in Cambridge, but the baristas just aren't perky (that poor customer service ethos rearing its ugly head again) and the coffee is even more expensive than in Canada, if you can believe it. My favorite drink, the tall white chocolate mocha, is £2.60, and then you need to add 30p for whipped cream and another 15p if you want to sit in Starbucks (rather than take it out)...when I add it up, it works out to a depressingly $7 CAN for ONE COFFEE. Ouch. This is why one musn't convert.

But more than the coffee itself, I miss my UBC routine of disturbing all my officemates mid-morning with a call of "Java-java?" and a clandestine run through the construction zone to our own little Starbucks, replete with perky baristas and expensive-but-not-exhorbitant coffee. Where are Nicole, Cathy, Frances and everyone else when I need them??

I think I was feeling a bit homesick today because I had the day off and was working by myself at home on research job applications and leftover work from my UBC days, and I had time to reflect on silly things like missing Starbucks. So while I am now at a 95% satisfaction level with our life in England, there are some things that I will yearn for no matter how long we are here. It goes without saying, of course, that I yearn for our family and friends the most!

FROM TODAY (SATURDAY) - PARTICIPATING IN CAMBRIDGE TRADITIONS

Last night, after a day of wallowing in "missing Vancouver pity", Ray and I got all dressed up to attend our first formal hall at Darwin College. Formal Hall is held twice a week and involves the men wearing suits topped by formal academic gowns and the women wearing cocktail dresses. I love this last bit because I have a killer dress that I didn't get to wear nearly enough while in Vancouver! The dinner itself was great; started with a sherry reception, then the butler called us to the dining hall which was candlelit and formally set (had to remember which cutlery to use when!). A gong was rung, grace was said by the Master, and then we enjoyed a very nice three course meal served by formally attired staff. After dessert, the gong was rung again, we gave thanks and then retired to the sitting room for port, coffee and chocolate. Aside from the great atmosphere and the fun of taking part in a centuries-old tradition, it was a wonderful opportunity to meet students and learn about their cultures and courses of study. I think I am addicted to the atmosphere of academia.

It was also Guy Fawkes day yesterday; Guy Fawkes (am I spelling that correctly??) apparently tried to blow up parliament on November 5 about 400 years ago and so each year on that anniversary the British burn him in effigy and also take the opportunity to set off thousands of fireworks. I think the celebration spills over onto the weekend, because we've still heard a lot of fireworks tonight. Next year Ray and I plan to attend the festivities for ourselves; we had thought about going last night after the formal dinner let out but the thought of walking across town - on cobbled roads, in my three inch heels, in the dark - was not appealing, so we just went home. I have discovered the advantage of being here for three years is that we don't have to worry about cramming absolutely everything British into our first year here, and we can take the time to savour what activities we do participate in.

And now, Blogger had better not suck this post into cyberspace or I will cry!

AMERICANS: WHAT DID YOU DO??!!

I am speechless tonight.

LIVING IN A HAUNTED CITY

The great thing about working in a low-brainpower job is that I have a lot of time to think of witty blog topics to write about; the bad thing about working in a low-brainpower job is that my brain is atrophying and I forget half of the witty things I meant to write by the time I am home in front of the computer.

Last night's sucked-into-cyberspace entry went something like this:

I was musing about how many lives have been lived in this relatively little city, and in particular how many people are buried here. Ghoulish thoughts no doubt, but given the proximity to Halloween and the rather spooky weather we had yesterday morning (swirling mists and such), they seemed fitting. Of course I know that most populated places in the world have seen millions of people live and die there, so England certainly doesn't have a monopoly on that topic. But while this isn't my first experience living in a city built practically on top of burial grounds (I am sure Vancouver is built over many Native sites), it is the first time I've been so aware of this issue.

Cambridge is chockablock full of churches, and almost all of them have their own graveyards. In the last several hundred years, the city has been built up around the churches and, in many cases, on top of the graveyards; in fact, many paths go right through (on top of?) them. And it's not just paved areas: apparently the large sports fields just to the west of where Ray and I live is one of the largest Anglo-Saxon burial grounds in the world. This intrigues me and I must remember to research this further (for example: was a great battle held here? is it a mass grave for victims of the plague?)

The practical implications of so many burial sites is that the city is bound to be full of spirits. Yes, I am a scientist, but I do believe in energy remaining from those who have passed on, and I do believe that living people interact with this energy from time to time. Such as the ghost at work, for example: her name is Nancy. Apparently Nancy is a benign spirit who lives upstairs in the storerooms, and no one has ever seen her - she is more of a presence that is felt when people are working up there alone. Working well into the night on Halloween, my coworkers were so convinced of Nancy's existence that they refused to go upstairs by themselves; I have to admit I was almost tempted to check it out myself, but came to the sorry conclusion that yes, I am a chicken. Whatever the truth of the matter, you have to admit that it does make for an interesting story. Apparently there are a lot of other spooks in this city too and Cambridge hosts a ghost walk at this time of year; Ray and I just missed it but we'll be sure to go sometime before we head back to Canada.

I KNOW that I had plenty of other interesting stuff to write about today, but can only recollect bits and pieces; hence the rest of today's entry will be structured as such.

Random Thought #1: Why must I always go to the butcher's when the children are just getting out of school? There is an elementary school in our neighbourhood that gets out sometime around 3ish - can never recall exactly when - and many of those children visit the butcher shop after school because he has a nifty little candy store at the back (which I have been known to indulge in from time to time myself). Yesterday, while trying to purchase some free-range sirloin, I was surrounded by a pack (flock? gaggle?) of children all clamouring to pay for their sweets. If I pretended that they weren't pushing and shoving each other about, it could have been a rather Norman Rockwell-ian scene: the kindly (and he really is kindly) butcher patiently selling sweets to the little children. But, given that they children WERE pushing each other - and me - about, and that I just wanted to get home with my sirloin, I found myself wondering the question I posed at the beginning of this paragraph.

Random Thought #2: Why is customer service so poor in England? Why do the British put up with it? The people I've talked to certainly realize they are being treated poorly, they just don't seem to know what to do about it or to vote with their feet. North American companies that open shop over here apparently do very well based on their North American standards of customer service - you would think the local businesses would catch on. Funny example of where poor customer service doesn't make sense: I bought new shoes the other day, because my feet were killing me after standing all day, and Ray practically had to get the shoes himself for me to try on. We went into several stores where the salespeople just stood there looking pretty, but not offering to help even when I picked up a shoe from the shelf and looked around obviously for its other half. Of all clothing retail industries, shoes are particularly not self-serve; the stock is not available to the customer and you are REQUIRED to interact with a salesperson just to try some on. Hmph.

This brings me to Random Thought #3: My nifty new shoes. I will post a picture once I've figured out how (may take a while due to the aforementioned brain atrophy). Basically, I have fantastic boots for daily wear but they have heels and so aren't great for 8+ hours standing on a hard floor. I wanted to get something more comfortable but any footwear for work must be "fashionable"; I decided to go with a running shoe (for comfort) made of PURPLE SUEDE (for fashion). Pretty good compromise, if I do say so myself. Wore them for the first time today and I am pleased to report that my feet are much happier. Have one blister on my heel but that is to be expected when breaking in any new pair of shoes - it's nothing a band aid won't fix.

Second-to-last Random Thought: Am I a scary salesperson? I was helping a mother in the fitting rooms today and I (kindly, I thought) greeted her daughter, who was about 8 years old. She looked TERRIFIED of me, and at first I thought - good grief, am I THAT scary?? Then I remembered how afraid I was of unknown people when I was a wee sprite, and I felt a bit better about myself. The girl's fright probably wasn't personal - at least I hope not. The funny thing about my fearfullness when I was smaller is all the clothes I (well, Mom) bought that I didn't really like, but didn't want the salesgirl to be mad at me if I didn't like what she brought me. (Sorry for all the "didn't"s in that sentence!) Isn't it silly what kids think sometimes? And the consquences are often equally laughable - in this case, I recall a particularly horrid Mickey Mouse sweatshirt that I bought from Cotton Ginny (I did not like Mickey Mouse, nor sweatshirts) that I then had to wear for the next year or so. Sigh. And I'm positive the feelings of the salesgirl would not have been hurt (which seemed very likely to 10-year-old me at the time), nor would she remember me, had I turned that sweatshirt down. Seeing as this experience is seared into my brain, I wonder if today's little girl will one day recall the time the scary saleslady helped her mom at the Gap. I hope not!

Final thought to ponder: The butcher (see above) specializes in all sorts of meat: free range chicken and beef, which is great for me, and more exotic cuts such as crocodile tail and kangaroo. Now I ask you: what they heck would you do with kangroo meat???

Seeing as it's Britain, boil the bejesus out of it?

Whew! And now it's off to bed. Much love to you all.

ARG!!! COMPUTER ATE TODAY'S POST

Had a wonderful entry all typed out and then it was mercilessly sucked out into cyberspace. As I've been writing lots of emails tonight I am all typed out and will not attempt to reproduce today's intended post; check back tomorrow for our latest happenings.