BEEP! BEEP! HONK! HONK!

Today was my first totally solo UK driving experience and I have to say it went pretty well. I had to travel to another research institution just outside of Cambridge and so I was entrusted(!) with the departmental vehicle and turned loose on the Cambridgeshire roads. (As an aside: why is it that university vehicles are always old tanks? Any feelings of awe that people have regarding the University of Cambridge would be certainly swept aside when they saw my conveyance).

I am very impressed with myself. I didn't stall it once - and this was a vehicle with a MANUAL CHOKE, people - and although I missed one of my turn-offs, I was able to glance at the map out of the corner of my eye and ascertain another route to my final destination without having to actually turn around or, Heaven Forbid, stop and ask for directions. I'm not the best of navigators, even from the relative safety of the wingman/passenger position, so the above is no small feat. I DID get stuck on one roundabout when I missed my exit, but therein lies the beauty of the roundabout: I just kept going in circles until I figured out where I was, and had worked my way from the inner to the outside lane. No sweat!

I do need to add this PS: Dad, you were totally right. To those of you who aren't my dad, what I'm talking about is waaaaayyyyy back a whole decade ago, when I was first learning to drive, my dad bought a little Ford Ranger pickup that was (and still is) a bit of a beast to drive. I HATED that thing, leap-frogging and stalling all over the parking lot as the rest of my family chuckled at me, but Dad swore that if I could just learn to drive the beast, I could drive anything. As with most things, he was right, and as I trundled through town in my university-owned beast today I was very glad of those early lessons on the little Ford.

THURSDAY'S SUCKED-INTO-SPACE ENTRY

Okay, let me try this again. I was going to write about the cold, cold weather, and since it is also (still?) cold on Sunday night as I am repairing this entry, I'm considering the topic at hand to be more than valid.

On Thursday I had wanted to talk about how the first true signs of winter were/are here: the multitude of scarves worn by women about town, the chill in the mornings, the fact that I'm wearing my sheepskin slippers around the house more often then not. The first of the cold winds straight from Scandinavia are coasting through Cambridge and the leaves are quickly turning colour and starting to fall. But the surest sign of winter? Ray and I have caved in and turned on the heat.

Last winter we tried to be tough, mostly because it costs an awful lot to heat a house in this country (remember, "central" heating is still seen as a pretty posh feature here, and many homes, including ours, don't employ any sort of insulative technology), but also because we felt we should experience "Authentic British Cold". And By God we did, and it was rotten, and so we are taking a more sensible approach this year by actually heating the house. We're still not turning on the heat in all the rooms, and only heating it during the evenings and mornings when we're home and awake, but it's a start towards winter sanity.

I feel I should mention one more important - if not THE most important - rite of winter's onset: after I finish updating this blog, and as I have done every night this week, I am going to go upstairs, crawl into bed with my husband, and warm my icicle feet up on his poor, unsuspecting legs. Ah, winter!

PERHAPS TOO MUCH INFORMATION, BUT WHAT THE HECK - WE KNOW EACH OTHER BY NOW

Did you know that if you, ahem, fart in the general vicinity of a laboratory fumehood, the ventilation alarm may start to go off?

Science in action, my friends, science in action.

ONE YEAR LATER

As Ray has taken the opportunity to show you what he's been working on for the past 12 months, I thought I'd jump in with a few reflections on our first year in Cambridge.

That's right - one year down, two-ish more to go. We left Gibsons/Vancouver behind on September 23, arrived in England on September 24 and crashed into Cambridge on September 27, 2004. What a year it's been.

I remember how I cried, 365 days ago, when we first walked into our student flat and saw how old, how dirty, and how without a shower it was. The memory of our wonderful Vancouver apartment and all of our great "stuff" was too fresh. Now I've nearly forgotten that we ever had a soup tureen, a pizza stone, a springform pan and Wedgewood...and have re-learned that between a tablespoon, fork and spatula one can accomplish just about any kitchen task. I'm sure it doesn't hurt that we got the heck out of that flat as soon as we could (took six months) and now live in a lovely, shower-equipped house...

I remember how, when Ray's Uncle Clive came to visit us in mid-October, I wanted to be on that plane back to Vancouver instead of him, wanted it so strongly that I can't remember ever wanting something more. And I remember how Ray gave me a hug, and I told myself to suck it up, and we just carried on in Cambridge.

Those first months were the most difficult of my life - beyond Ray, I didn't know anyone in Cambridge (let alone someone who shared my interests in critters and other areas), I was living in a house I hated, working in a job I hated. We were hemorrhaging money on junk we didn't want, but had to buy - pots and pans, a washing machine, a broom. I didn't know where to buy food, how to keep the electricity on in our flat, or how to find my way around the city.

Twelve months later we are doing fine - in fact, better then fine. I still miss my family and friends like crazy, and pine for the Pacific Ocean, mountains and open space of Canada, but I'm getting used to this wee cramped island. I have learned to take my weight off the seat of my saddle when cycling across cobblestones, that "Y'right?" is a greeting, not a question, and that Tesco can deliver groceries straight to our front door. I have met dozens of amazing people that I can't imagine my life without, and find it hard to believe that I've only known them for months. I have a job that I look forward to going to every day, and through it all, a husband that has been my rock, my optimist, my partner.

I have travelled to more countries in the past 12 months than in the previous 25 years, tried new foods (but still have yet to work up to black pudding) and learned a few words of a couple languages. I have discovered that extra gears really do make cycling easier, that I just can't seem to develop a taste for beer no matter how hard I try, and that the key to surviving winter in England is long underwear.

Bring on Year Two!

A SATISFIED GRUNT...

It's a few (ok, many) months behind schedule, but, for those of you that keep wondering what I do...

I hacked the video below together this morning, which caused a satisfied grunt to be generated by yours truly. What you're looking at is a flame in a very small box - red is burnt, blue is unburnt. As you can see, the flame (which is located where the red changes to blue) starts out smooth and becomes quite distorted; that's because of the background turbulent flow field.

So, to answering the question about what I do... I spent the last several months of my life preparing/running the computer simulation to make this movie! The idea is actually studying the physics of the flame, but hey, the movie's more fun. Oh yeah, and what you're looking it is about 3 seconds of 'real' time, but it took a couple of weeks for the 'big' computer to run the simulation :-D

Flame movie

AUTUMN IS IN THE AIR

I absolutely love this time of year. The days are still relatively long, the air is crisp, and the leaves are turning a lovely colour. Plus, the cooler temperatures mean that I get to break out my favourite Autumn goodies - sweaters and cuddly blankets!

I think what I appreciate most about Autumn is that it is a season of fulfilled expectations. Unlike Spring, the other transition season, Autumn does not mean weeks of grumpy anticipation of warm weather's arrival. Autumn never disappoints; cold and dark winter days ALWAYS show up right on schedule, if not ahead of time.

January 1 is the traditional date for making resolutions to start anew, but I find it so easy for my grand schemes to run amok in a post-holiday bills, grim weather slump. September is the month of folks going back to school, new wooly clothes, and drastically changing landscapes - just what I need for inspiration to get a haircut, start doing sit-ups(!) and finally track down a great yoga class.

And...to finally get my Budapest photos organized!

SPIDERS, IN A MICHAEL-JACKSON-"THRILLER"-VIDEO-SORT-OF-WAY

They are coming.

They are coming, and they are big, and creepy, and hairy, and FAST.

While I am thankful that our problem isn't quite as pronounced as the zombies in Michael's classic video, this comparison was the best I could do when trying to convey what's at stake here.

Last night Tim, Cassandra, Ray and I were sitting in the living room when our gaze was drawn to the dining room doorway...there lurked a large spider and he (she?) was heading our way. Ray immediately vetoed any policy I may have regarding catch-and-release by picking up Tim's shoe and smashing that poor spider to bits. Major yuck factor - the spider was so ginormous that the shoe required cleaning after the incident.

Earlier that same evening I was doing a bit of gardening and found a similar, but even larger (i.e., legspan wider than my hand) arachnid guarding the door to my shed. Nice thought, but I really needed to get to the rake! A quick grab in my part, under the wary gaze of the spider, gave me what I wanted. Fifteen minutes later a second quick thrust of my arm launched the rake back into the shed and I gently closed the door so as not to disturb or incur the wrath of my gatekeeper. Perhaps she (he?) would be so kind as to eat all the smaller spiders that seem intent on finding their way into the house?

I'm thinking the problem is going to get worse - we have fantastic wood flooring but there are large gaps between the planks and about eight inches of open space between the wood and the foundation of the house...in other words, a perfect haunt for creepy-crawlies. Add to this that Autumn is upon us and all manner of bugs are heading indoors to avoid the cooler temperatures, and I am starting to think that we may be facing a critter crisis of unforseen proportions. May be time to rethink my policies, especially as these spiders are too large to catch under a glass...I'd need to get a bigger bowl!

As for the spiders at work, they have been ushered outside by one of my (brave!) coworkers who had tired of going all the way to the other end of the building to use the bathroom. I still don't like going in that room though, because at least one of the spiders, the one big enough to be christened "Bubba", had been in posession of a spectacular web in a good location (read: lots of bug carcasses, and in a climate-controlled room, no less) and I somehow think she'll be back to reclaim her territory. So it continues...

YA TAWK LIKE UH CANAWDIUN

On three separate occasions during the past two days it has been brought to my attention that I have funny pronunciation of certain words. THREE TIMES IN TWO DAYS. People have mentioned "Canadian" words that may creep into my speech and that I manage to work "eh" into just about every third sentence, but this is the first time I've been teased about (thank god it's not abOOt) how I speak.

First there was the dispute over my "baTON" versus the British "baTTon". Cheerleaders twirls baTONs, don't they? I was never a cheerleader so can't be totally confident on this one, but next time I run into one of the UBC Thunderbirds' "Dance Squad" I'll be sure to ask them about it.

Next up was "Fawkes", as in "Guy Fawkes", the fellow who tried to blow up the Houses of Parliament in 1605 and is now burned in effigy every November 5. (As an aside, you gotta love a country that doesn't really celebrate the fact that they are a country - St. George's Day isn't exactly a thrill-fest over here - but dedicates a night to a rebel, promotes partying, burning and fireworks, and even gives it the cool name of Bonfire Night). Apparently I pronounce "Fawkes" as "fox" and this is a problem because the "aw" sound in Fawkes should actually be said as the "ou" sound in ought. I can make the sound "ought" but when I try to apply the same tongue contortions to "Fawkes" it makes me sound like Madonna with her horribly fake British accent.

Finally we come to "egg". How many ways are there to pronounce a one-syllable word? Apparently the British version is a very short sound, while I say it like this: "ay-uh-gg". Hmmmm.

I accept that what is orEgano to me is oreGANo to Brits, and that aluminum may also be known as alumInium. But I stand by my baTON, fox, and ay-uh-gg!

IT'S ALL ABOUT THE MOVIES

I'm getting pretty used to trans-Atlantic flights these days, so used to them in fact that I get bored about 5 minutes after takeoff and have to resort to all manner of diversions to prevent me from going stir-crazy. I often take along a new book, and perhaps a fashion magazine if I'm feeling particularly shallow, but recently I've turned to airline movies to keep myself occupied.

Now. While I understand that unless one is on a plane with individual screens in the seatbacks one must respect that kiddies are probably also on the plane and therefor the movies need to be PG, I fail to understand why they chose such assinine PG films. The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants? The Longest Yard? (Note: don't rent the former unless you are a 12-year-old girl, the latter unless you have inhuman tolerance for Adam Sandler and every insulting stereotype in the book). I know I haven't been out to see many films lately, but if these movies are any indication of what's floating around on the silver screen then I can certainly understand why theatre attendance is down.

The craziest part, though, is what they were showing on my return journey, right in the middle of the flight when most people, myself included, were trying to get some sleep to ease the transition back to GMT. As I drifted in and out of sleep, I caught a glimpse of Clint Eastwood on the screen, followed a moment later by Hilary Swank. Million Dollar Baby? When I am SLEEPING??!! When I just finished sitting through two hours of teenage squealing and angst??!! Methinks there is something just a little bit off in the order of film presentation here.

At least I always have my book to fall back on, if Hollywood fails me. Thank goodness for the printed word!

HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS

I've been more than a little AWOL lately, first due to a tight deadline on a manuscript and then to a trip back to Gibsons last week. But now the manuscript is back with the publisher, I am home in Cambridge, and I have a whole lotta' blogging to get caught up on (including, finally, Budapest!!!)

My trip back to BC was absolutely fantastic - I really really enjoyed visiting with my family and friends. Even just driving around Gibsons and taking the ferry was a great experience after being away so long. My apologies to the people I either didn't see, or didn't even give a head's up that I was coming - I was only back for six days and didn't have much time to do visiting beyond the confines of Gibsons. Ray and I will both be home for two weeks over the Christmas holidays, though, so we'll be tracking many of you down then.

One of the best parts of this trip was the realization that I am starting to think of Cambridge as "home". I still prefer Canada's West Coast to England - to me, there is just no comparison - but England is where Ray and I have built a life. The return flight to England would normally have me nervous and a bit upset, but this time I was flying back to Ray, our nice house, and my enjoyable job. What a difference from nine months ago, when we left Gibsons after the Christmas holidays!

SO EXCITED

Only a few more hours until Amanda's back in England!!!

HUMIDITY!

Well, almost finished another spell of temporary bachelor-ism. Amanda'll be home in a couple of days, and I've almost made it without eating anything too strange. Today it's humid out; so humid and raining at lunch time that I whinged out of a squash game that I had planned this evening. Yes, I acknowledge that being inside the rain doesn't matter, but when it's this humid, well, blech.

Squash being rescheduled for tomorrow night, I knocked off work early with the intention of getting the house cleaned today, and more or less succeed on the bottom half; top half will get done... later. After a bit the rain quit, leading to a bit of an ill-advised venture on my part to go out to get some food. Now, although it was nice and sunny overhead and to the south, it wasn't until I was well away from home that I happened to look north and notice the big dark raincloud rapidly approaching. Fortunately, as often happens, fools are fortunate and I got home mostly dry!

Speaking of shopping, this may be a bit of a bachelor moment... I present the spoils of my shopping trip, roughly a 45min effort:



I'm not sure if it makes it better or worse that this is more or less what I set out for...

Aw well, I like mangos, so what if I bought an extra one?

TIME FLIES WHEN YOU'RE HAVING FUN

Today is my and Ray's two-year wedding anniversary. TWO YEARS!! We can hardly believe it ourselves. It seems like only yesterday we began dating, were engaged, and were newlyweds.

I won't fill up space here gushing all about Ray, because he's already heard it. I don't know if I've ever told him this, though:

The morning of our wedding, when everything else was so hectic and rushed, I was completely calm and happy. No cold feet, no doubts, just joy at the thought of getting to spend the rest of my life with this amazing man. I am a worrier, so if I wasn't worried about getting married I think this says something pretty darn good about the situation I was getting myself into.

Our two years of married life have been full of happiness, adventure and challenges. We've learned even more about each other than we did when we got engaged (and we thought then that we knew everything!) - even though I don't think I'll ever understand how Ray can like stinky cheese. We've grown emotionally and spiritually, and our different careers have allowed us to develop in complementary ways. I still ask Ray about engines, and he still asks me about critters. It's a formula that works for us.

For me, today is also a good time to think back to our wedding itself, and what a wonderful time we had that day. I couldn't have imagined a more perfect ceremony or better party. Thank-you to Mom, Dad, Joan, Alan, Kim, Kyle, Marian, Brian and all of our friends and family who worked so hard to give us our dream day.

ONE MORE CREEPY-CRAWLY POST

I mentioned yesterday that we are having a few bug issues in our house. This, however, does not compare with the bug issue I am having at at work.

The issue is this: the spiders at work, well, they're big enough to throw the big ol' tennis shoe right back at me. Ick ick, gross gross.

One of my work tasks is to keep the animal areas clean and tidy, and this means also keeping the area free of bugs. Originally, the spiders used to catch more bugs than our bug traps, so I let the spiders stay under the same policy as applied at home. I figured that although I wasn't getting rid of all the bugs, on balance the spiders and I were eradicating more than I could alone. The trouble is that the spiders were a bit too successful, and their bounty of bugs allowed them to grow, and grow, and GROW.

These monster spiders seem to be particularly fond of the bathroom, as I found out in a rather alarming incident a few weeks ago. I was cleaning the bathroom and happened to lift the spare toilet roll which was sitting on the floor in the corner of the stall. From behind the toilet roll sprang a very perturbed, very big and very hairy spider, heading at Mach 2 towards my feet. I quickly placed the broom between myself and the spider, only to have him continue around the side of the broom and head determinedly towards my sandal-clad feet. Let's just say I quickly replaced the toilet roll and backed out of the room, holding the broom between myself and spider, until I was safely out the door.

Spiders: 1. Amanda: 0, possibly -1 if we deduct points for sheer cowardice.

I'm not totally sure what to do about them. They run too fast - and towards ME, that's the disturbing bit - to make capturing under a bowl a feasible option. The obvious solution, squashing them under a shoe that I'm wearing (I'm not totally sure at this point, but I don't THINK they're strong enough to throw the ol' tennis shoe AND me back) is not so palatable, however. It's the crunching sound I can't get past. I don't like things that crunch, unless they are breakfast cereal. And I refuse, simply refuse, to get one of "the guys" to take care of the problem, because I AM WOMAN, and I feel the need to be totally capable of all the tasks that befall me at work, no matter how wussy I am inside.

For now, the spiders stay and I've found a different bathroom to use. For the future...can the peanut gallery offer any useful solutions?

SQUISH 'EM

I sit here on my couch and the floor about my feet is littered with carcasses. Teeny, squished, mosquito carcasses. And so the battle begins.

England (at least the southern regions) is blessed by a notable lack of mosquitos. Midges, yes - although I've yet to be bit by these apparently fearsome critters - but mosquitos exist in much lower numbers that one would expect, particularly given the wet, mild climate. When we first got to Cambridge last year, I remember looking at the River Cam and being thankful we weren't living riverside; that slow-moving water and the small fen ponds screamed 'Mosquitos Breed Here!' to me.

Luckily I was wrong in my predictions and we've been able to enjoy days and evenings outside virtually biting-bug-free. However we've recently noticed an increase in mosquito population, or at least in the numbers of mosquitos flying in to our house in the evenings. For the first time we actually have to do a "mosquito check" of our bedroom before I allow us to turn off the lights (note: Ray HATES doing mosquito check but I have pointed out to him that if I don't sleep, he doesn't sleep).

Along with the mosquitos, spiders are moving into our house at a rather worrying pace. We probably have about half a dozen resident spiders at the moment, and those are just the ones that I've noticed and wave "hi!" to in the mornings. The spiders and I have a working relationship: if they catch the other bugs, they get to stay. This means I need to see evidence of a web (located in a prime bug-traffic location; above doorways and windows are good but next to the shower won't cut it) within a day or so of my first becoming aware of a particular spider's presence.

Thus our household bugaboo policy is summarized here:

Spiders: live and let live, unless ye be a biting spider, and then you get the big ol' tennis shoe treatment. As outlined above, all spiders must work for their keep or find themselves subject to the protocol for miscellaneous flying and/or crawling things that don't bite.

Miscellaneous flying and/or crawling things that don't bite: catch and release into the great outdoors, sufficiently far enough from my back door to make it too much effort for said bug to be bothered to find their way back through the door. If I'm feeling lazy, this policy is subject to be altered thusly: catch and release, but "release" means being dropped into the nearest spider web. Hey, nature ain't always pretty.

Mosquitos: clearly the only sensible approach is all-out extermination - hopefully of the mosquitos and not myself. The trick here is to avoid, as much as possible, using my bare hands (because this is just gross); bonus points are allotted to each kill made with a non-standard squisher such as a pillow. Deduct points for mosquito smear left on wall/furniture/Ray, also if said smear is red meaning the mosquito got me before I got it.

Haven't I mentioned before that it's like "Wild Kingdom" over here?

TYPE, TYPE, TYPE......TYPE

Taking a quick break in manuscript revisions to let you know that I haven't forgotten to blog, I've just been burning out the tips of my fingers (and brain cells) on a more serious project. Remind me again why I love academia??

The Budapest entry is STILL in a draft stage, but will be up very soon. I know I've said that before, but you can believe me this time, promise. In the meantime, for Bev who's heading out to Budapest herself at the end of the month, here are some tips you might find helpful:

1. Buy a travel pass - much cheaper than individual tickets and it lets you ride all the public transport as much as you want. This option works great for getting on and off trams multiple times if you get lost, as I did. You can buy the travel passes at the major tram stops/junctions; your hotel should be able to tell you where the nearest place is.

2. People are very friendly and will probably strike up conversations in Magyar. Unless you know Magyar, make sure you know how to say "I'm sorry but I don't speak Magyar" - this was probably the phrase I used second-most-often, after "thank-you".

3. No one in Budapest seems to get up and moving before 11am (shops don't seem to be open before 10ish). This is a great time to grab a coffee or wander some of the tourist-y sights - like the SPAS!!! - before everyone else even gets out of bed.

4. Speaking of spas - I can't recommend them highly enough. Gellert is relatively expensive but SO WORTH IT. Beware the large Hungarian women who give massages (it's a long story) because they could injure you...apparently the gentle massage is not commonly practiced in Hungary.

5. If you can get tickets to the Opera, go! Plan to get really dressed up and spend the extra money to get a box, if you can. The Opera was on holiday while I was in town but I was lucky enough to tour the Opera House and it is truly stunning - the next time I'm in Budapest, taking in a performance will be at the top of my list of priorities.

That's it for now. Bev, if you have any questions please don't hesitate to email me.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOANIE!

Today is Joan's birthday, and her turn to have her qualities extolled in this blog.

My mother-in-law is an amazingly kind and caring person, and I know that she is there for me no matter what. She is very creative and is always full of new ideas on everything from what to do in the garden to how to throw a funky dinner party. She's enthusiastic about heading out on little adventures, and can be counted upon to have everything - and I mean absolutely everything - one would ever need in her handbag. Trust me on this - next time you run into Joan, ask her for something obscure, and just watch and see what she pulls from her Mary Poppins bag.

Years ago, on my first major trip with Ray's family to Missouri, I became very ill and spent and entire night (Christmas Eve, no less) suffering from an allergic reaction to some medication. I look back on that evening as the longest night of my life, but what I also remember is how Joan stayed by my side the entire time, with her cool hand on my forehead and her soft voice calming me. Joan, I don't know if I've ever told you just how much you helped me to make it through that night - but there are truly no words to explain how much I valued (and still value) you being there for me.

It's not just a myth that mothers- and daughters-in-laws have differences, and Joan and I are no exception. But in our case, I think we have both learned to respect the other person's point of view. We have long talks about just about every topic under the sun and I credit Joan with giving me new ideas about how to approach the world. She also encourages me to try new ways of living and to step outside my overly-cautious boundaries and try something new. Her adventurous spirit and her tales of travels around the world when she was my age was one of the factors that lead me to decide to do some travelling myself.

So happiest of birthdays to you, Dear Joanie, today and always!

Love Amanda

PS. She also shares in (and aids and abets) my fetish for pillows, blankets and all things soft and cuddly. This is a quality not to be underestimated!

WANTED: LINT ROLLER, STAT

I noticed a funny thing today as I was taking laundry from the dryer. At first I couldn't understand what was going on, and then I got to thinking...here, let me take you back a little while.

A couple of weeks ago I arrived home from work to a delightful surprise: Ray had bought me a blanket I had long coveted. Those who know me well know that I have a teeny bit of an obsession with blankets, but I digress. It was (and is) soft and warm and snuggly, just the thing needed to survive winter - and, truth be told, spring, summer and fall - in England. Oh, and it was/is green.

Back to today: I noticed that everything I pulled from the dryer was coated in suspicious little green hairs. Suspicious little green mohair hairs. You can tell where this is going.

Our clothes now give the impression that Ray and I are the proud owners of a very hairy, very large, very GREEN cat. One that likes to sleep on our clothes. I haven't yet decided whether to attack our wardrobe with the mother of all lint rollers, or to wear my clothes as-is and use the green hair as an interesting conversation-starter.