Project Marmite

2007-10-30T13:56:00.000Z

For our latest trip, we rented a house in the south of Spain, on the Costa del Sol. The house belongs to the parents of a woman with whom Jo works. It was a townhouse style home in a holiday development area. Overseas properties are popular here in the UK as people seek nice weather using the strong pound.

Part of staying on the coast was the need to rent a car. This was the first time that either of us had driven a car in eighteen months. We had a Volkswagen Polo, which is the next size down from a Golf. In Spain, they drive on the right, which is to say right, side of the road, so there was too much adjustment there. There were a couple of issues though.

Instead of intersections the Spanish, as most places in Europe, have roundabouts, rather than intersections. These are a little confusing at first. You have to dive in, whip round to your exit and try to get out. Or whip round again and try to catch the exit next time. Fortunately, the local people are most helpful offering a toot of the horn or some directions called out of the window as they pass by. Some even indicated that our driving was number one.

Once we were on the AutoVia (highway), there were signs that said “120”. I interpreted this as a speed limit until we were quickly strafed by a Grandmother in a Fiat. It turns out that the sign was more of a floor than a ceiling. In Spain, not much is done in an unhurried pace with the exception of driving.

We drove up into the mountains to a town called Casares. It was founded in the sixth century by people from north Africa who invaded the Iberian peninsula. The town was built at the top of a mountain with a mosque and a castle looking down on the town. The buildings are all square and white. They look like sugar cubes stacked on the side of the hill. In the Arab tradition, all of the streets are narrow and winding. There is very little access for cars and most of the streets are not even wide enough for cars to pass along.

Making friends... everywhere.

No trip to the Costa del Sol could be complete without a trip to the beach. We were lucky with the weather on the day we picked for the beach. The beaches in Spain are all public and there is access to the beach from the main street in the town. The beach was sparsely populated as it was a weekday in October. We took a picnic lunch and sat looking out at the ocean in front of us, with the mountains rising up behind us.

Gibraltar was our road trip on the Thursday of our holiday. We couldn’t drive the rental car into Gibraltar. We drove as close to the border as we could and parked the car in an underground lot. The customs had a walk-through lane. Once you walk out of the customs the road and the sidewalk pass across the only runway of the Gibraltar airport.

The top of the rock is accessible by cable car that whisks you right to the top. When you get to the top of the rock, the views are spectacular. To one side, the azure ocean and resort hotels. To another side, a view of Spain and the harbour in Gibraltar. Off in the distance, when there was a break in the clouds, you could catch a glimpse of the coast of Africa.

On the top of Gibraltar there are free range Barbary apes. These are a medium sized monkey looking creatures. They are native to the hills of Gibraltar. As they are constantly exposed to people, they are accustomed to people being around. This does not mean that they are tame. One of them pushed his way past Joanne and snatched a plastic bag out of a woman’s hand. They associate bags with food and will grab them.

Gibraltar is still a British protectorate, which has led to a great deal of uneasiness between Spain, Britain and Gibraltar. The culture there is noticeably British, as opposed to Spanish just across the border. There is a fusion of British and Spanish to the point that stores take British pounds and Euros, returning your change in Gibraltar sterling. Which is usable nowhere else.

Ronda is another ancient town in the mountains we went to see. This town is way up in the mountains. The road to reach Ronda is 49 km of twisting two-lane carved into the side of the mountain. The road is populated by the usual mix that you find on roads like this. Tourists that plod along, local people familiar with the road who clip along and the trucks that easily double the speed limit.

Despite this, the road was amazing. We came around a corner and saw flock of Kestrels soaring on the thermal currents coming up from the valley far below. Kestrels are large birds, like a falcon that have a wingspan of six feet. The road often turned and open up a wonderful vista of the mountains and the fields in the valley below.

The old part of Ronda was also built in the sixth century as a walled city. It is built next to a gorge that is 300 feet deep. When the Christians invaded and conquered the Arab founders, they expanded into what is now the “new” town on the opposite of the gorge. This was in 1485. There are two bridges in the town than span the gorge, making for dizzying views.

Spain seems to ahead of many of the places that we have been in terms of wind-generated power. From the balcony of our house, we could see as many as twenty wind turbines on the ridge of the mountain. It seemed that there were turbines on top of each of the mountains. We drove past a wind farm that had no fewer than four dozen windmills.

About the only thing that we had go wrong was my allergies. I do suffer from a bit of hay fever, but nothing too big. Usually, I have about a month of having to take a bit of Sudafed or similar. Whatever I am allergic to was in full force in the

Spain

. In fact, I think that there was some of it there on vacation from other countries.

We sat watching the Rugby World Cup on Sunday evening and my allergies were so bad, Joanne appeared from the kitchen with an ice pack in her hand. I had to spend the evening holding these to my face to be able to breathe. Attractive.

2007-10-22T15:57:00.000+01:00

October 4th was our fifth anniversary.
Because I love her, I got Joanne this for her anniversary present.

2007-10-10T11:38:00.001+01:00

We did not know what to expect when we moved here. We were fully ready to have to wait until we got home to see any of our friends and family. Since we have been in London, we have had more than just a few visitors form the old country. Some, like Toni and Sarah were visiting London as a trip and some, like Drew and Peter were passing through on the way to somewhere else.

The latest visitors to London were George and Sharon. They were in London as part of their travels around the UK. We met them in central London on the Thursday of their visit. Dinner was at a restaurant near the Baker Street station called Giraffe. They were accompanied by their cousins Allan and Anne.

It was nice to see family again. We had a good visit with them and caught up with the goings on back home. They brought pictures of some of the new arrivals and news of the family.

Their schedule meant that we could only catch them for dinner that night. They were in London only for a few days and then off to the Midlands to meet more family. Visitors are always welcome here in London!

2007-10-03T17:23:00.000+01:00

Hello,

Well, I haven’t put anything up here for awhile. Up until the end of last week, I was working away in a tough situation. My job has been circling the drain for a while now and the office finally closed last Friday.

The company that I was working for was bought by a larger company. As with so many situations in business, the big fish eat the little fish. The result was that the new owners decided that there would be a benefit to moving my business area to Preston, north of Manchester.

Past of the plan to move the business involved most of the staff, myself included would spend time at the new office training and supporting the new team. I had agreed to spend three weeks there. The last week ended up being split into two part week stints.

The first time I arrived at the hotel in Preston, there was, appropriately, a large drain cleaning truck with a large stainless tank on the back. This, in retrospect, should have been a harbinger of things to come. As it turned out, there was an ongoing drain problem that resulted in the bar and the parts of the reception area in the hotel being rather smelly. This problem had existed before my stay there and was noticeable on the day that I finally left.

The process of training and support was not as smooth as you might have expected. This was due in part to a short time line and insufficient planning. Claims management was a new business in an office that is entirely a call centre. This provided an entirely new set of challenges for the business. It also led to an entertaining discussion one day between me and the new Team Manager that quickly exposed the core issues.

It all came to an end and I was more than happy to leave. I am now unemployed again. The last time I was unemployed was when we arrived here in England. That was a time of enormous upheaval. Being out of work was a part of all of the stuff going on at the time and getting a job was integral to starting being settled. Now, the next job will be a little better considered and hopefully will be that last one I need to look for here.

One of my unemployment projects will be to bring you up to date on some of our goings on over the summer.

2007-07-01T21:37:00.000+01:00

Happy Canada day! We changed the page on our calendar this morning. Starting our second year here. There were Canada Day celebrations at Trafalgar Square in central London. These were put on by the Canadian Consulate, which is right beside the Square. There was a concert with the likes of Montreal’s Sam Roberts. Oddly, though, this all happened on Friday, the 29^th.

We have been laying low the last little while. After last month’s trip to Italy we have been hanging around London, aside from some day trips around the area. We had yet another visitor to London in June. Our friend Peter, who is working his way around the world stayed over for a few days. Brave man, camping on our floor, but he claims it wasn’t too bad.

When I think that Jo and I travel, we pale in comparison to Peter and his wife Tennille. They have been travelling through Africa, the Middle East and Europe. They have been out on the road for seven months now. They stayed anywhere from five star hotels in Egypt to camping out while on safari to hostels in Europe. The photos on their blog are breathtaking.

The three of us went to Rochester, which has a castle and a cathedral. The cathedral is the second oldest in England. It is the midpoint between London and Canterbury. It was founded by the Romans in the first century AD. The foundations of the wall around the church yard remain from Roman construction.

We also travelled to the seaside at Dover. The attraction at Dover is the white cliffs and the castle. We explored the castle which dates back to the early 1200’s. It was an ancient hill fort for Celtic tribes before the Romans used it as a shipping port. We also had a tour of the tunnels in the cliffs. These were a wartime command centre and were only recently opened to the public.

Dover, the town, is somewhat less interesting. Or should I say, interesting for a different reason. I reckon that the busiest man in town is the one-eyed tattoo artist. Yikes, Dover is scaly. When fine dining is considered Subway, you are in Dover.

When we first said we were moving to London, everyone said that we would have wet gray summers to contrast the wet, gray winters. Well last year was none of that. The summer was hot. Hot like a Toronto summer. Well, this summer has delivered on the UK promise of dull weather. I haven’t had to water the garden for what seems like weeks now. We’ve had two kinds of weather; rainy and very rainy. Jo and I have been caught out in the rain at least three times in the last month. Wait – four, she just came in from the laundry cursing the rain.

There have been two instances of car bombings this week. One was attempted here in London and the other was in Glasgow. To allay your fears, Jo and I weren’t at the Tiger Tiger night club, so there was little danger from the car bomb that was found in London. As for the one in Glasgow, the terrorists were apprehended by onlookers. I don’t know what you know about Glaswegians, but I’ll bet they were wishing to be back in the fire. Sounds like disorganized crime to me.

2007-06-24T19:43:00.000+01:00

In the six years I races motorcycles, about six corners are etched in my mind. These are the ones that caused eye-widening, sphincter-tightening, dry-mouth fear. The decreasing radius turn two at Tillsonberg, turn two at Welland with that diabolical dip and the entire, monstrous, stock-car track in Florida I raced on. Those are etched in my memory due to the fear that they inspired. It must be something about being nearly paralyzed with terror.

June 24th, 2007. Today marks the first anniversary of Jo and I in London. It is hard to believe that it is a year in more than one way. It's gone so fast. It's been so long.

Today, to celebrate our anniversary, we walked back to the neighbourhood where we stayed when we first landed. Walking along Belsize Park felt like we had stayed there about a week ago, not a year.
We walked along Haverstock Hill and it was entirely familiar as if I had walked down it every day. The Budgen's supermarket, Costa Coffee and Pizza Express were all exactly as I remembered. As we walked along up to the high street, Jo remarked she remembered going up the hill to the Tube station more than once to job interviews. It is all so clearly etched in our memory.

Taking stock, we have done pretty well I think. Jo is happier at her job than any other place that I've seen her working. Her boss called her in and informed her that they were happy to keep her full time beyond the end of her contract in August. I've had two jobs. One was good. The other, well, let's say not so good. But I can see the end of that one.

One of the reasons we made this move was to travel. To that end, I feel we have succeeded. (In fact I really, really must blog up about Italy). We have seen lots of places in both the UK and Western Europe. If you've kept up with the blog, you know what I mean. If you haven't, have a look back. More than a trip a month, which is not bad I think.

We carried on to Camden Town which is the place to go for, oh let's say - alternative culture. Motorhead t-shirt? Punk Rock clothing? Body Piercing? Tattoos? Camden Town has got it all.

In the stores and boutiques of the Camden Road, Jo got a new bag. Nothing is better than adding a new bag to the collection. Oh, right. And some shoes. And a bracelet. Life is good here. Things have worked out well. Good jobs, reasonable (if tiny) flat, some new friends. We've done alright, I think.

So the point of my opening to this blog? I remember all of it. Beginning to end. I promise that I won't, but I could tell the story in real-time. In terms of scaring myself, this beats all that came before. But measured on how rewarding it has been, that's off the scale.

2007-06-11T21:29:00.000+01:00

If I had read The Canterbury Tales by Chaucer, I would open this entry with a clever tie in. But I’ve never read any Chaucer. I have no segue to lead you into this piece. And, let’s be honest, I’m not really that clever. So I’ll start by telling you we went to Canterbury on the train the other weekend. This is a story of some stuff we saw.

Canterbury existed as a settlement before the time the Romans controlled Britain, so there have been people on this site for at least two millennia. It has been a centre of the Christian faith since 597AD when the Pope sent some Augustine monks to convert the Saxons. It was chosen as the seat of the first archbishop.

Upon exiting the rail station, you cross over a foot bridge and find yourself on the medieval wall that surrounds the city. The current wall is likely built on foundations laid by the Romans. It is quite a sensation to walk around the guard towers of these walls and look down onto a four-lane ring road, a Renault dealer and a night club.

As you walk to the centre of what was the centre of the city you find a pedestrian area. It features the usual selection of touristy tea room and souvenir shops, but in centuries old buildings. It is easy to imagine it as the centre of daily life. Instead of a chain shoe store, a cobbler and a butcher with carcasses hung in his window instead of the Cornwall Meat Pasty store. There are buildings wobblier that a traghetto ride which form narrow alleys and passageways

There is also a worrying number of shops dedicated to the slacker lifestyle. Their stock in trade is studded dog collars, Iron Maiden t-shirts and hookah pipes. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, just strikes me as an odd contrast to the usual businesses that you find in a town that features a UN World Heritage Site. There also appears to be plenty of slacker customers to be seen, well, mostly standing around. Although some manage to summon the energy to do a few ollies on the skateboard .

Looking at the outside of the cathedral it is easy to see the various pieces that have been built and modified over the years. The brick work differs showing areas built at different times and the style of the arches is not consistent around the entire building. The original stained glass windows were smashed during the Civil War of 1640. These windows have, of course been replaced and some as recently as 2000.

During the second world war, because Canterbury is close to the south east coast of England, it was heavily bombed. The cathedral’s library was destroyed by air raids. Teams of watchers patrolled the roof of the cathedral at night to deal with incendiary bombs dropped by the Luftwaffe.

For people who claim not to be religious, we do seem to go to quite a few churches. When you read the Italy entries that will soon follow, you will follow us into even more still. The link that they help provide to the past makes them worth exploring.

2007-06-03T18:35:00.001+01:00

Football is more than the national sport here. It is a passion and an obsession. A recent study revealed that West Ham United fans thought about their team 87 times a day. Entire families can be seen on the Tube wearing their team’s colours and scarves. The players, managers and owners are celebrities. Even the wives and girlfriends are famous.

I reckon that football is the biggest business in England. I read in the paper that the English football club’s salary looks to be €1 billion over the spending of the teams in the rest of Europe next year. They just opened Wembley Stadium five stops up the Jubilee line from us. It is the biggest and most expensive stadium in Europe at a final bill of £753million. And it is only used for World Cup and Championship games.

But it’s not all sunshine and giggles. The fans are an utter mob. If you are caught standing up at Upton Park, home of the West Ham United, you can loose your season ticket. The opposing team’s supporters have to be kept separated or they will kill each other. English fans have been all but banned from Europe altogether. Sadly, all of the players on England’s World Cup team last year have churned forth autobiographies at an average age of 26, as have many of the orange-skinned accessory wives. And there is another, deeper, more troubling problem.

The game is deathly boring to watch. I’ve tried, I have. We purposefully watched Liverpool FC contest AC Milan in Athens to be the champions of all of Europe. You’d have though it was the 3 metre springboard event at the Olympics there was so much diving. If the field were less than a kilometre long, there might have been a greater combined total of about eight shots on goal. I woke up in time to see Liverpool lose.

So what can be done? What are sporting-starved hockey fan Canadians to do? Well there is hope. That hope, is Rugby. This now, is a game played by non-diving, hard-hitting, fast-running men. Not just men, but Men. The size of Coke machines. All played with no padding save a little tape to hold the ears on.

It has been said that the war was won on the Rugby fields of Eton. Snooty posturing, perhaps, but arguments could be made. To get to the grounds, a free bus was put on from the Tube station in Richmond and supporters of both sides file in together without the inevitable donnybrooks of football fans. Once inside, supporters of both sides, and new fans like us sat and enjoyed Guinness and the world’s worst hot dogs (although the wrapper says The World’s Best Hot Dog). It seems Rugby can even do irony well.

As this was the championship game, we expected a SuperBowl atmosphere. There was, instead, no marching bands, dancing children or military fly-over. The announcer welcomed the fans, introduced the teams as a group and the ref blew the whistle to start the game. The epitome of understatement.

On the field, the Leicester Tigers were looking to add to their championship totals over Gloucester. The game was contested in weather that ranged from weak sunshine to heavy rain. Alesana Tuilagi, the enormous Samoan thundered down the field three times to lead the Tigers to a 44 – 16 win and the championship. The game was great to see live, the crowd of 56,000 was boisterous and the beer was, well, lukewarm. All as it should be and all good reasons to become Rugby fans. Somebody mail us Rugby Canada shirts!

2007-05-09T22:08:00.000+01:00

Easter, as you know was this past weekend. Here in our little island nation there are two days off work for Easter; Friday and Monday. This, as you have already deduced, gave us a four day weekend. That’s almost like having a week off!

Friday was a day off, so Friday was like Saturday. It was an exciting day for us. We have had visitors to see us here. Uncle Roger has been the World’s Tiniest Flat on a couple of occasions. Our friend Drew stopped to see us on his way through to Dubai. Friday we had visitors again. My niece Sarah and my sister-in-law Toni were here on a school trip. They had a few hours free and we were lucky enough to be able to meet up with them.

Good Friday was as sunny and warm as one could ask for in London in April. After a long day spent flying to London using the global circumnavigation route, Toni and Sarah were surprisingly fresh. Nobody feel asleep in their lunch which is a triumph as they had been awake for about 24 hours, by my count, the day before. As an added bonus, Louise Colozza, one of Jo’s favourite teachers from high school was on the trip and joined us for lunch.

We had lunch in a pub called the Sussex that is between Leicester Square and Covent Garden. Traditional British Fare for most. Looking around the table saw Pie n’ Mash, Bangers n’ Mash and Salmon. Along with pints. [Note for Cathy – Diet Coke for Sarah].

We legged it out to Covent Garden for a few minutes of souvenir hunting before having to high-tail it back to Oxford Circus for the arranged meeting time with the rest of the school group. The parting was a little emotional, but not too bad. It was great that we had a chance to see Toni and Sarah and they seemed to be enjoying their time in London. They were headed to the Canterbury and then to France. Jo was genuinely touched to learn that Sarah arrived home with no fewer that four new handbags. She is so proud!

The next visitors were Elaine and Paul on the weekend after Easter. Joanne and Elaine go way back. They stood up at each other’s weddings. It was great to see them here. They travelled here first class all the way and stayed in a nice hotel. Elaine and Paul were in London for the tourist experience, starting with pie and mash at a pub just off Oxford Street through a ride on the London Eye to the hop-on-hop-off tour bus.

We headed off to Windsor Castle on Sunday. It is a short train ride from Paddington Station, through Slough to the castle. Elaine was, to say the least, gobsmacked by the castle. I’m not sure what was more impressive, the castle or Elaine’s expression at seeing it.

The Queen herself was in residence on the weekend when we were there. We spent most of the day doing the walking tour of the castle in. The tour took us through some impressive displays of the spoils and weaponry of the halcyon days of the British Empire. There were treasures from all over the world. We also saw some fabulous banqueting facilities and sumptuous interiors.

All in all it was great to have visitors here. Hopefully everyone enjoyed their visit as much as we enjoyed seeing them. I was worried that after seeing everyone, I might be a little homesick. The fact that I wasn’t reveals that, for now this is home. We are, for now, Londoners.

2007-04-25T21:43:00.000+01:00

The great thing about the Easter break here is that it is a real break. Both Friday and Monday are holidays, one ends up with a four-day weekend. All rather civilized. As the weekend had two different themes, I’m going to break it up into two blogs. Here then is part two. Part one will follow later.

With a long weekend spread out before us, we had to plan something other than watching Scrubs on our 12” telly in our 18” flat. Where better than the seaside? I had been to Portsmouth for the day on business and although it had been a little raw and cold, it seemed quite picturesque. Our day trip back was on a warm sunny spring day.

As this was a long weekend, we didn’t get up too early and left Waterloo station at reasonable o’clock. As for being civilized, I would like to cast my vote for a ride on the train with a cup of coffee and a Sunday paper. There are three rail stations in Portsmouth. The last one on the line lets you out right by the Historic Naval Dockyards.

We bought the all-inclusive pass to the Dockyards and wandered in to look around. As at was still fairly early by tourist attraction standards, there was only a few seniors milling about. The first attraction was the catamaran tour of the harbour. (Mum keep reading – it was a smooth ride). Nobody had lined up for the first tour of the day, so off we went.

The harbour in Portsmouth is a main base for the Royal Navy. We were quite lucky that weekend as a large portion of the fleet was in port, so there were many Naval ships to see. There were three aircraft carriers, some destroyers that had served in the Falklands and a training ship.

We toured around the Warrior. It was the finest and most formidable warship of its time. It was launched in 1860. It had a steel plated hull that was impervious to the armaments of the day. The Warrior also featured both steam and sail power. This was a first and allowed a speed of 17.5 knots. It was restored at fabulous cost and is a very interesting tour. The guides on board, in period costume, are very knowledgeable and help you imagine what it was like living and working on the ship.

The newest attraction is the Portsmouth Tower. It was recently opened and boasts the world’s fifth largest glass floor. Two questions; does that include the new balcony over the Grand Canyon and who keeps track of this stuff anyway? It does cut an impressive figure over the harbour, shaped like a spinnaker sail.

We stopped in for lunch in a little pub near the mouth of the harbour. It was located on a little spit of land called Spice Island, because that is where the Spice Girls are from. No – actually it is called that because it is where the spice ships used to unload. Lunch was lovely and we watched the ferries pass back and forth on their way to the Isle of Wight.

After lunch, we walked along the Millennium Parade that has been recently completed. It follows the coast and gives a great view of the Isle of Wight. We carried on and walked along the Clarence Parade that was a favourite of the Victorians. It has a great carnival atmosphere. We dodged the kids on the bouncy stilts and wandered along through the portly crowd. There is a fun fair with cheesy rides, win-a-teddy games and every kind of food you can imagine but deep fried.

Along the Clarence Parade is the Southsea Castle. It was originally built by Henry VIII in the early 1500’s to defend England from the French. It was enlarged in the 1700’s. After going to some glitzy attractions with slickly produced presentations, Southsea Castle was, in a way, refreshing. It has the most ghetto “walk through history” area featuring mouldy old mannequins, bad lighting and, at one point, a smoke machine. So bad it was good. The castle itself was interesting and afforded great views of the harbour. As it was kind of late in the day, we had it to ourselves almost.

We walked up from the sea shore through the town centre. We arrived at a different train station than the one at which we arrived. Handy to have the choice.

2007-04-22T10:52:00.000+01:00

/rant on.

As kids, probably 30 years ago, there was a recycling program in Richmond Hill. I can remember cutting the lids off of the tin cans and gleefully squashing them with my feet on my mother's linoleum floor. These along with glass bottles and bundled newspaper were then taken to a barn on the edge of town where, who were most likely hippies, ran a volunteer recycling program.

Not that I am the most environmentally friendly creature. I've left the car running all night because I knew I was going out again in the morning. Hey, I think nothing of flying across Europe now just because it's cheap. However, you can see that the urge to separate waste was ingrained early. I will even make the odd purchasing decision for the packaging, not just the shiny label on the box.

So maybe my ire is out of place, or I'm making mountains out of molehills. Or maybe I'm relying too heavily on metaphors. But my recycling box has been stolen. The recycling box that took two attempts and two months for the local council to finally deliver is gone. Vanished on recycling day.

So, as you would, I investigate. By that I mean ask the neighbours. It turns out that, instead of leaving the green box just inside the gate, where it doesn't block anyone's way, it is supposed to be left on the sidewalk. This is in spite of the instructions on the Camden Council website. We were apparently warned the week before with a cheeky note left by the muppets that pick up the recycling.

The punishmennt for my transgression is that I no longer am allowed the privilege of participating in the recycling program. This in a time when the lead story in the free newspaper, that gets thrown away by the millions, everyday is about global warming. The TV news falls all over themselves to terrify with stories of climate change and the internet is clogged with websites that allow one to calculate one's carbon footprint.

I am currently writing a stiffly worded note to the local authorities to bring my green box home. And I have a good mind to write it on an old style styrofoam Big Mac container. At least I would be recycling it.

/rant off.

2007-04-09T20:07:00.000+01:00

Those who do not learn from history, it has been said, are destined to repeat it. After almost habitually starting our trips at stupid o’clock, this one was different. We started our journey as usual, up at some reasonable hour, quick breakfast and on the Tube. This time it was to the Heathrow Express at Paddington Station and a British Airways flight to Nice. Landing in Nice brought the usual smile to our faces. A new city to explore, new things to see. We were greeted by 19 degree sun and palm trees. Some of our favourite things.

We jumped on the local bus at the airport which took us to the centre of the City. The bus travelled along the Promenade des Anglais which overlooks the Mediterranean. There are no tall buildings in Nice. Everything is 6 stories or less. We strolled along the Promenade des Anglais and the stony beach all afternoon. Nothing like the sea and warm sunshine to soothe a traveller’s breast. A little slice of Heaven!

Although we were soothed to be in the sunshine our tummies were soon telling us that it was time to eat. There is, without question, a definite Niçoise style of cuisine. There is a common theme of ingredients. One can expect to find white bread, cheese, tomato, fish and, alarmingly, some parts of the sheep best left unmentioned.

One thing that caused no bother at all was the lovely, tiny cups of delicious espresso. From the coffee cart on the street to the high street restaurants, espresso is a work of art in Nice. The café au lait in the hotel was some of the best I’ve ever had. Warm milk and coffee with a strong taste that envelopes your head cannot be beat.

It was easy to tell the locals from the tourists. One way is that the tourists, like us, were enjoying the sunshine in our t-shirt sleeves. The locals were still swathed in their fur coats and scarves. French women have such style! We found some dinner in a restaurant near the hotel. Our high school French served us well once again and a nice thin crust pizza (no one has really heard of multi-grain in this country) and salad was served.

Our second day started with a lovely breakfast in our hotel. Including, of course, a lovely cup of coffee. Another very warm day and we placed ourselves among the tourist with our shirt sleeves and sunglasses. The locals were still unsure so fur coats for all of them!

We walked to the Matisse museum only to find it closed for renovation. This lead us to the Archaeology Museum and some very interesting Roman ruins. We immediately recognized the Roman baths and the same construction we found in Bath, England, which we visited in February. We explored a Roman amphitheatre and village ruins. Some of it dates from before those in Bath. The later additions are clearly similar to the construction in Bath.

There were signs around Nice advertising the Paris to Nice Bicycle Race and today was the finish. We stood near the finish line for an hour only to watch the pack fly by in about 10 seconds in a final sprint to the finish line. The race was won by Alberto Contadore from Spain. We were caught up in the spirit of the race and it was a very exciting finish. Our day ended with a tiny cup of the delicious dark elixir.

On the third day, we look the train to Monaco. The rails run along the edge of the ocean providing magnificent views. You travel high on the mountain looking down on the beautiful colour of the ocean.

Monaco is just like the pictures you see in books. Built up the mountain overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. A 3 room flat would probably set you back a few million Euro, if you can prove yourself worthy to own property in Monaco. Monaco can prove to be a bit tricky to navigate. There are public elevators that take you up to the top of the mountain and attractions are not terribly well marked. I guess they like tourists, however only a little bit. We visited the Oceanographic Museum which was very interesting. The whale skeletons were my favourite. There was a very interesting aquarium and an exhibition of expeditions to the Arctic Circle by Prince Albert I in 1906 and Prince Albert II in 2005. These expeditions were in the name of exploration and conservation.

I can confirm that Monaco also serves a delightful tiny cup of espresso. We walked around the old part of the City, toured the Cathedral where Grace Kelly and Prince Rainer were married and now buried. We also saw the Palace which overlooks the harbour which houses some of the biggest yachts in the world. We visited the casino in Monte Carlo which was opulent, but we were in over our heads there to be sure.

The French just ran the fastest train in the world. Five hundred kilometres and more an hour. Turns out that while the spirit is willing, the flesh is weak. On the fourth day, we intended to visit Menton which is a village by the sea. We purchased our ticket from the kiosk and presented it to the conductor. We were informed, in monosyllabic fashion, there was a strike! Lots of other trains seemed to be working, just not the one that we wanted to go on. Little in the way of explanation, or trains.

Plan B involved a visit to the Modern Art Museum. Modern art is not my favourite thing and this simply confirmed it. Packing tape stuck to a red canvas and lumpy burlap cloth bound with string just isn’t something I can wrap my head around. Anyway the day went by quickly enough and before we knew it, it was time to gather our things and head for home.

We have learned to plan something for our last day on any of our journeys. Too often we have found ourselves with nothing to do on the last day but head for the airport so we have taken to ensuring that there is a plan of action. This morning we were off to the Chagall Museum. What a treat for our last day. His work is an explosion of colour. It is exhibited in a wonderful modern space. Chagall specified that the paintings be displayed with no glass or barriers to allow the most unencumbered access to his work. It is a wonderful museum.

We hopped back on the bus and headed to the airport. Another successful journey and another page in the adventure book.

2007-03-08T12:29:00.000Z

Often attractions are billed as a trip back in time. Experience history! the brochures say. It usually doesn’t live up to the billing. Bath was different. It really was a trip back in history.

The Roman Baths are at the centre of Bath. They are built around a natural hot spring that feeds the baths with over a million litres a day of 46ºC water. When the Romans invaded

Britain

in 43AD, the local tribes treated the site a holy spot due to the rising hot waters.

To get from the street level, as it exists today, to the level the original baths were built on, requires one to descend some 15 meters. There is a very real sense that you are descending into the past. Looking up from the main central bathing pool it is possible to see some of the Georgian buildings that characterise Bath and the Abbey.

The section of the supporting arch of the roof that was found during the excavation is amazing. It is made of tile and mortar and demonstrates the vast arch of the roof line. The roof was made of hollow tile to be light and insulating. The roof soared the equivalent of five stories over the main bathing pool.

One of the most amazing things about the baths is the level of technology. The floors were heated to make a sauna-type room that was so hot that metal-studded sandals were required. The lead lining of the main bath is intact and holds water perfectly. Even today, the baths are in a condition that I could clearly picture what they must have looked like when they were in operation. Full of people bathing, socializing and being massaged and scraped with a strigil.

Our next stop, after a traditional lunch of Pie n’ Mash with craft-brewed ale, it was off to the Bath Abbey. The Abbey has been the site of a place of worship for at least 1400 years. The first king of England was crowned there in 973. The Abbey that is there now was founded in 1499 and completed in 1611. It was restored in the 1860’s. And again after it was bombed in 1942.

The abbey has no fewer than 86 windows. We were there on a day that was a little overcast. Even with limited sun, the interior was bright and airy. It has an absolutely gorgeous fan-vaulted ceiling that soars overhead. The interior is of light stone that adds to the open feeling. Standing in the main aisle gave me pause. It is a beautiful space that is awe inspiring. I contrast it with other of the old churches like Notre Dame that by comparison seem dim on the inside.

On leaving the Abbey, we walked away from the centre of Bath to an Irish pub called O’Neill’s. One of the things we have discovered in England is Rugby. Football has not caught our attention. But Rugby, that’s for real men. The 6 Nations Rugby tournament is on now and it was England v. Ireland. Suffice it to say, the crowd was cheering the Irish side. At the end, the home side went down to defeat, to the delight of the crowd present. It turns out that a Rugby game lasts exactly four pints of Carling or three Magner’s ciders.

Sunday morning arrived sunnier than Saturday had been. We checked out of our B&B after a breakfast of Styrofoam muffins and twig-and-gravel cereal and headed to the Museum of Bath at Work. The point of the museum, as presented by the staff member behind the desk, was to show a contrasting side of Bath. It has been a resort town for two millennia, since Roman times. The museum shows Bath as a city of other types of industry.

The curators of the museum were able to clean out a factory belonging to J.B. Blower. It had stood in Bath from The early 1800’s until 1969, making brass and cast iron supplies, fizzy drinks and a slaughter house. Strange bedfellows to be certain. They cleaned out the factory and laid it out in the museum exactly as they found it. Complete with all the tools, equipment, machines and junk left lying around. Recreated exactly as it was when it was in use.

As much as the Roman Baths, this was a trip back in time. All of the old belt driven lathes, milling machines and drilling tools. This was an insight into working in from a bygone era. The museum has half a million documents including unopened junk mail from the Victorian era. I could imagine people working in the office, laid out exactly as it had been with a gas lamp over the large partner desk and stick of wax for sealing documents.

The museum also has on display one of the few remaining examples of the Horstmann sports car. Built after the turn of the last century, it is a lovingly restored example of early motoring. The car was designed and built in Bath and produced an eye-watering 8.6 horsepower.

After a traditional lunch of Pie n’ Mash, we joined a free walk put on daily by the local council. The walk took us around Bath, highlighting the Georgian architecture. Many of the buildings in the old section of Bath was built in the 1700’s and early 1800’s. These show a departure from the random, unplanned Elizabethan buildings. Georgian buildings are planned, symmetrical, and feature columns surmounted by triangular pelmets.

The walk took us by both ordinary residences and grand rows of townhouses, all in the Georgian style. The townhouses were built in large, sweeping crescents. The facades were built to be identical and remain so to this day. Houses on the Bath Circus, laid out in three curving rows forming a circle the same diameter as Stonehenge, command £4 million.

The guide was a volunteer and had lived in Bath for most of his life. He had an extensive knowledge of the city and the two hour walk took us to areas that we would not have seen had we just stumbled around by ourselves.

All to soon, we were back on the train, headed back to Paddington Station. Bath is a beautiful city and steeped in history. It was a pleasant surprise to find a place so close to home that was so far back in history.

2007-02-18T22:39:00.000Z

The great comedian Tony Nuno told me the following joke. “I said to my doctor; I’m tired, I have no energy, I don’t want to do anything”. So he runs a battery of tests. Two weeks later he gives me the results. Doctor says “You’re lazy”.

The reason I start with that is I keep meaning to write about our trip to Brussels. But I haven’t. Until now. So for the next little while, Jo will have to watch CSI without me as I let you know about our trip to

Belgium

Brussels is the home of the European Union government. This means a few things. There has been a lot of money spent in Brussels over the last few years on the infrastructure. The exterior of all of the buildings are clean and there has been quite a bit of new construction. There is a large population of European Union bureaucrats or “Eurocrats” there through the week. On the weekends, they all disappear back to their respective countries.

Brussels is famous for a few things other than the ruminations on Constitutional Legal challenges. Traditionally, it is the home of rich chocolate, intricate hand made lace, refreshing pilsner and, of course the Belgian Waffle. But more on most of these later.

First, we had to get to Brussels. In the past, I have bemoaned having to get out of the gate at stupid o’clock on these trips. Better then to light a candle than curse the darkness one finds early in the day at this time of the year. So with a little later start and a tummy full of coffee, we boarded the Eurostar at Waterloo station. Looking out of the window of the train car, through the glass roof over the platform, you can just catch a glimpse of the London Eye.

The train shimmered out of the station for what should have been a normal trip on the train. But as with most endeavours, it is the characters around you that make it memorable and interesting. To whit: behind us was the keyboardist from Dead Can Dance on the make and beside us was a couple that proceeded to consume a gallon can of rice and goat plus five bananas for breakfast.

Once in Brussels, we went a few stops along their clean, efficient Metro to our hotel. As it happens, a city that has a plethora of Eurocrats during the week, enjoys a dearth of them on the weekend. The result is that the hotels, being empty, offer great deals on the weekend. In terms of the place we stayed, we were definitely punching above our weight.

Our hotel was located on a street that likely teems with activity during the week, just steps away from the old part of the city. But on Saturday morning, we were the only ones on the street and, save the clerk, in the elegant lobby. The room was two floors. Two floors! Lounge downstairs, bedroom upstairs. Quite posh. If you are in Brussels, stay at the Stanhope.

We set off on foot to explore the old part of the city. It is very clean and elegant. There was a building boom in Brussels in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s and as a result, there are many buildings in the Art Nouveau style. So popular was the style, that many older buildings had their facades updated to the Art Nouveau style during this period.

Brussels features some of the finest luxury goods. Not just the usual row of shops that one finds in the tourist areas – Hermes, Gucci, Prada. In an arcade, off of a narrow cobbled street we found a company called Delveaux. These fine folks specialize in finest quality, hand-crafted, leather bags. I think the picture describes the reaction better than my words ever could.

Brussels features one of the most beautiful town squares The Grand Place. It is found by following the signs along the cobbled streets. The effect of emerging from a narrow, twisting street into the huge, bright square is very impressive. Most of the buildings that line it were originally Guild halls that brought Brussels much of its wealth originally. The main building was the town hall and survived wars, bombings and hundreds of years.

Around the square are lots of gastro pubs that brew their own beer. It could be fair to say that Brussels has something for everyone. At least in our little family.

Sunday morning we had; wait for it – waffles for breakfast. Smothered in Belgian chocolate or strawberries and cream, depending on one’s preference.

We then took ourselves to a concert at the Bozart, or Beaux Arts Centre. It is perhaps a clear sign of your onrushing age when you enjoy a recital of Liszt on a Sunday morning. Quite nice, it was! The interior of the concert hall followed the popular Art nouveau theme and featured a beautiful skylight designed like a giant leaf.

Brussels is the birthplace of the comic strip. It is also the birthplace of one of the longest running comic strips – Tin Tin. As such, many buildings are decorated on the outside with large comic strip murals, rather than the ubiquitous graffiti that you find many other places.

All too soon, Sunday afternoon arrived and we had to head back to London. I would have liked at least two more days there. It is a city that warrants more exploration. If the list of places that we want to go ever gets any shorter, I can see a return visit to Brussels.

2007-01-24T22:57:00.001Z

If you recall, in an early instalment, I complained bitterly about the amount of stuff that we had brought with us. You would have thought, reading my bleating about lifting the voluminous bags, that there was nothing that I had left behind. Well I discovered this morning the one thing that I left at home. It seems I have no toboggan. Today, I could have used it.

We awoke to snow this morning. Snow. About an inch of heavy, wet, white snow. The kind of thing that, if it fell in Toronto in January, it wouldn’t warrant a moment’s attention. Not enough to really stay on the ground. I tried to build a snowman and he ended up the size of a jam jar.

Winter here is, as you would expect, is not really cold. It’s just kind of chilly, wet, windy and a bit glum. Snow is a little known component of the overall milieu. But today had the proper winter feature of a nice coat of snow.

I found that as I walked the four minutes to the train station, I had a little spring in my step. The snow made it feel like it was truly winter. The nice clean coat of snow twinkled in the gathering light and also hid some of the dog poo on the pavements of West Hampstead.

The antipodeans at work were amazed by the snow. Coming from a warm climate, this was a new experience. They told stories of carefully picking their way over slushy sidewalks, not knowing how much traction would by afforded by this alien surface. Snow can be enjoyable especially if it’s new to you.

The Tube system, however did not enjoy the snow so much. It seems that snow is the kryptonite of any Tube signal. Every line was massively delayed due to “signal failures”. The Evening Standard, in its understated way, reported chaos and called for the heads of the transit system to fall on their knives.

By the time I got home this evening, it had, as you might expect, all melted. So please, spare me your offers of toboggans, shovels and snowshoes. It’s back to gray, cold and rainy. The real winter’s over.

2007-01-08T21:40:00.000Z

PRAGUE PHOTO ESSAY

As there was so much to see in Prague and we shot so many pictures, herewith projectmarmite presents another photo essay. This is another sampling of the beautiful city.

The classics never go out of style.
This is an old CZ 175 single that
still gets daily use.

The photo above shows a monument

dedicated to victims of Communism.

Even the public transit in Prague is a little
different than other places. Below is one of the trams.
Above and to the right is the funicular railway that comes down the slope from the castle.

Some more examples of the variety of beautiful buildings that make up Prague's Old City area.

Prague is a city built into a hill. The streets and sidewalks are a maze of stairs. At the bottom of these steps, a local woman asks Jo for directions.

2007-01-01T11:37:00.000Z

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

In general, I avoid any New Year’s celebration. It’s only in the last few years that I’ve even been coaxed out for dinner with friends. It has long been this way and I’m quite happy with it, thank you very much. But, this is a new city, so new rules apply. As a pair of newly minted Londoners, what better away to celebrate than to go to the annual fireworks display.

We took the Tube to Waterloo station, on the south side of the Thames. The Tube is free on New Year’s and runs all night. Which is unlike Christmas, when there is no transit at all. There was a company that gave out stickers a few years ago for the Tube on New Years. You wrote the name of your stop on the sticker and put it on your coat. That way, if you passed out on the train, your fellow passengers could wake you at the right station.

We stood on Waterloo Bridge, looking at the London Eye. We could see Big Ben through the centre of the Eye and just off to the left of that Jo and I could see the spire of Westminster Abbey. The only way to be more cliché would be to watch from an old Routemaster bus.

After the fireworks we stopped halfway across the bridge and stood looking down the Thames. The river was filled with boats hosting parties and enjoying the fireworks display. We talked about the year that has passed, the good and bad things and how we are starting to feel settled here.

At the end of the year, a little reflection is in order. This has a been a year encompassing a lot of change. Christmas marks six months that we have been here in London and this has been a great time. It has been a lot of hard work, getting started here, but looking forward at the opportunity presented to us, it has been well worth it. Joanne and I are looking forward to the adventure that 2007 will bring.

Travelling home on London's Central Tube line.

2006-12-25T11:20:00.000Z

MERRY CHRISTMAS

Best wishes for a happy and healthy holiday season.
We miss you and our thoughts are with you.
Here's to a prosperous New Year.
Peace and Love.

-Joanne & Martin.

2006-12-24T20:26:00.000Z

As Christmas approaches, what better place that Prague? The city with a square named after Saint Wenceslas, of the Christmas carol. Cold enough to make it feel like the holiday season and beautiful to look at. So here we were, off to Prague.

Prague is less than two hours away by plane, and our flight on Czech Airways was without incident if one ignores the pale ham on white bread sandwich that was presented to us as our in-flight meal. Its accessibility and the strength of the pound versus the Czech koruna (or crown) has made this an increasingly popular destination for Britons. Prague has become the chosen destination for stag weekends and hen nights. Mercifully, December is the low season for this type of celebration. Yet another reason to go now.

As with the cities we have visited before, Prague grew up straddling a river, in this case, the River Vltava. As with the other cities, as the city grew, so did the number of bridges. Prague has a eight of bridges from ancient to modern. The most famous and perhaps most striking is the Karluv Most or Charles Bridge. It was begun in 1357 and remained the only connection between the two halves of Prague for 400 years. On each of the piers, there are statues of saints and martyrs. The bridge is amazing for the view that it affords of the river and the city.

The old city, or Staré Město is the oldest portion of Prague. It was first settled as early as the tenth century. This area is a tangle of cobbled streets and. There is no grid street system here. From the stairs that approach the back of the castle, you look out over this area of the city. The buildings are five stories tall and feature red clay tile roofs. It is easy to get lost in the maze of lanes and streets.

The centrepiece of the old city is the Starometske Namesti. This is the old town square. It is a magnificent place that features some incredible pieces of architecture. It features an astronomical clock, a monument to the Czech Nationalism and the Tyn Church. The square was all done up for Christmas with a giant decorated tree and stalls selling crafts, gifts and the most delicious sweet doughy treats.

The astronimical clock is a marvel. It was constructed at the beginning of the fifteenth century. It tells three different types of time. Central European Time, the standard local time. It also tells Old Bohemian Time and ancient Babylonian time. All handy to know.

In 1490, figures were added that put on a performance when the clock strikes the hour. So impressed with the work of the man that installed the figures, that he was immediately blinded by the city fathers so he could not recreate this work for anyone else.

Prague is dominated by the Castle that overlooks it from the hill on the left bank of the river. It is likely that there has been a castle on this site since the ninth century and since then, whoever has had control of the castle has had authority over The Czech Republic. We approached from the rear of the castle the affords a great view of the old city.

The castle gates are topped by a pair of statues called Battling Titans, figures set to deliver fatal blows to their opponents. The guards that stand watch in, ceremonial uniforms, perform a ceremonial changing each day at noon.

Passing through the first two smaller courtyards takes you to the St. Vitus Cathedral. The cathedral takes up most of this courtyard, to the point that it is difficult to get a proper perspective on it. It was begin in 1344 and not finished until six hundred years later. As a result, the building shows a number of different styles. It is mostly in the Gothic style, with a Baroque spire resting on a Rennaisance stone parapet.

Prague is serviced by a Metro and a tram system. The Metro was soviet built and this is the area of the city that I found to be the most obvious place to see the Soviet influence. The stations are huge open spaces lined with big slabs of marble tile. The oddest feature, or lack thereof, is the absence of advertising. Despite the vast open platforms, the escalators are a bit of a free-for-all and alighting from a train is followed by a scrum to get out of the station. The tram system, similar to Toronto’s streetcars. They are plentiful, efficient and a great way to get around the city. There is indeed something civilised about a city with a tram system.

We spent our last morning in Prague in the Museum of Decorative Arts. It was founded in 1885 and its collection centres on the Art Nouveau movement, something for which I have a fondness. I would have happily paid the admission charge just to walk around the building without any exhibits. It was staggering. The interior is decorated in marble, stained glass, carved wood panelling and trompe l’oeil painting. Dad, if you saw this, you would spend all day in just the entry stair well. Sadly, photographs are not allowed, so you will just have to go to Prague to see this one yourself.

Despite the food there being a little dire, Prague was a beautiful city. It is unique in its history and architecture. It has been untouched by war and natural disaster. People that have travelled more than we have, say it is possibly the most beautiful city in Europe. We will continue travelling to prove that this is true.

2006-12-07T18:47:00.000Z

TORNADO HITS LONDON!

In a bizarre weather twist today, a tornado touched down in North-West London. It caused extensive damage to the neighbourhood on Chamberlayne Road in the borough of Brent. Trees were uprooted, roofs were ripped off and several houses were damaged to an extent that they may have to be pulled down. Fortunately, there were only six injuries and almost all of them minor.

The storm hit around 11:00 in the morning and brought not only high winds but driving rain and hail. Links to the news reports are HERE, HERE and HERE.

The street in question is only six blocks from the WTF (Worlds Tiniest Flat). The weather was indeed dire all over the area and I felt it out where I work in the east end of the city as did Joanne who works in downtown. I thought that winter here was supposed to by grey, cold and rainy. So far it has been almost none of those things. The surprises continue here in London.

2006-12-05T21:42:00.000Z

I was never a star-gazer. Part of the reason is that I grew up in Richmond Hill. Aside from meeting Kim Mitchell in Cosmo Music I never really saw too many famous people. Unless you count the drummer from Platinum Blonde, but then you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who hasn’t met him.

Things have changed since we moved to London. If you look back, you will see that I saw one of the blokes from Oasis when we had been here about a week. The sightings have continued and the purpose of this entry is to bring you up to date with our latest.

The other night, we crossed the High Street on our way home. Two men in long black coats were crossing the street going the other way. One of them was Pete Docherty, who is a musician. The thing that Pete Docherty is most famous for, besides being Kate Moss’ boyfriend, is being famous.

He is constantly, I mean constantly, in the daily newspapers that given away at the entrance to the Tube. Pete Docherty is forever being banged up for drug use, drug possession and hijinks whilst high. Apparently, he was in a band called The Libertines that made precisely one album that precisely no-one except a handful of critics bought. He has a band called Babyshambles that never seems to play anywhere.

This week, it became painfully evident that my hair needed cutting. I can tell when it’s haircut time because people’s eyes travel up when they talk to me. So off I go to the barber shop on my nearby High Street, The Men’s Lounge. They have a plasma screen Nintendo to play with and free beer while you wait for your barnet reduction.

There was a commotion and all of the barbers rushed to the window. I was able to see Rachel Stevens crossing the road to get her hair done in the salon opposite where I get my hair cut. It seems that the most popular pass time for celebrities is crossing my High Street. Rachel Stevens is a pop star here in England. I must confess that I haven’t heard any of her songs, but I don’t have a radio. The barbers were suitably impressed and it brought out all of the bumping into Paul McCartney stories.

Sunday, Jo and I hopped on the Tube. We were headed to St. John’s Wood, the Tube station nearest the Lord’s Cricket grounds. We were out for some more on-foot exploration of the neighbourhoods of Maida Vale and Marylebone. On the Tube with us was a man in a flat cap and winter coat. As we passed by him at the station, Jo identified him as Ewan McGregor.

Ewan McGregor was in such movies as Trainspotting, Star Wars III and Long Way Round. The latter is a documentary where he rides his BMW motorcycle around the world. He is also a handsome devil, or so I am told.

So as you see, our brushes with fame continue. It is all part of living here in London and it seems that even people who are recognizable just walk the streets like us plain folk. We will keep our eyes open and when there are more sightings of the famous or infamous, we will record them in this space.

2006-11-26T21:44:00.000Z

One of Joanne’s colleagues recently asked her why we had moved to the UK. This is a question that both of us have answered quite a few times it the last five months. Jo told her that one of the things we wanted to do was take advantage of the inexpensive travel. “So,” replied the woman “you moved to Britain because of the RyanAir website?”

Blunt, yes, but in an odd way true. In fact, not long ago, I was on the RyanAir website and they were having one of their periodical sales. “Anywhere you’d like to go?” I called into the next room.

“What about Glasgow?” was the reply.

Sure enough, there was Glasgow, on the sale list. Fly from London’s Stanstead airport to Glasgow, Scotland for one pence. That’s like two cents Canadian. Plus the taxes, of course. So in an instant, we were booked to go on our second visit to an ancestral home.

As seems to be necessary with these adventures, we roused ourselves at stupid o’clock to catch our flight. We left on time, had lots of leg room and, most importantly, found the greatest advancement in commercial aviation. The seats don’t recline! No more fat man doing the lean back into my lap.

I was prepared for a different place than the one that I found. I was ready for the rough, industrial, coal-choked city that featured in stories of my Father’s youth. Instead Glasgow is a vibrant, clean, vital city. The older buildings that are of sandstone construction appear to have been cleaned and restored for the most part. There is a noticeable amount of newer construction and much of that hip, modern designs.

Large areas of the downtown have been turned into pedestrian shopping spaces. These were inhabited by throngs of people. Shopping is a major tourist attraction. There were many coaches that had disgorged their tourist contents onto Buchanan Street. It is the full retail experience.

At the south end of the Buchanan Street shopping district is the Gallery of Modern Art. We walked in, not just because it was raining. It was a welcome change from the retail environment. The art in the gallery ranged from modern painting and sculpture from artists of some note to pictures of Elvis done by local children. This is the kind of modern art I can get behind. The King as rendered by eight-year-olds.

Glasgow is a city that grew up along its river. The river is the Clyde. We walked east along the Clyde from the centre of the city. Like all cities built along a river, Glasgow has many bridges. The bridges span not only the river, but in a way, time. During our short walk, we were able to spot some built in the 1800’s through to ones built quite recently. There are notable differences in the method and materials of construction over the years.

Our walk along the river brought us to Glasgow Green. When entering from the west gate, youpass through McLennan’s Gate, moved there in 1922, off of Saltmarket Street. Following the path, there is a monument to celebrate Admiral Nelson’s victories. (It predates the one in London’s Trafalgar Square by 30 years) Past that is the People’s Palace and Winter Garden.

The People’s Palace is a museum of local history. The Winter Garden is a proper Victorian glass house. It is heated by big, fat steam pipes that run around the perimeter. It has palm trees that soar to the roof, three stories above and cactus gardens that thrive in the warm sandy soil. This is the centrepiece of the park. Walking outside, we were greeted by the yeasty smell of the brewery right across the river. If I had to pick one reason to go back, it would be to spend more time there.

If you look back to the post of August 10^th, you will remember that on a trip to Cambridge, I was able to find the house where my mother grew up. On this trip, I went looking for my father’s house. Armed with the address, my memorized map of the area, and a caution that it would probably have been demolished by now, we set out for the North-East corner of the city.

I knew that we were going the right way due to the increasing number of Celtic banners in the shop windows. We found the neighbourhood and got close to the street. The next part was a unique Glasgow experience.

I stopped a man walking his dog and asked if he could point us to the street we needed. “Aye” he responded “right doon thar’. Wait.” He then turned to another passer-by and confirmed the directions. Having taken information from two independent sources, we set out in the prescribed direction.

Sure enough, we found the house. On a wide street, just beyond a neighbourhood of newly constructed houses, there it was. I was a little surprised as I was prepared to find the house gone. There it was, though. This is surprising as the houses were designed to last 20 years when they were put up in the 1930’s. Two for two.

During times of the reformation, most of the medieval churches in Glasgow were demolished. The shining exception is the Glasgow Cathedral. We walked into the church and, except for people setting up for a concert that night, there were few people in the building. I found it much more accessible and interesting if not quite as imposing and intricate as Notre Dame in Paris.

We attended the commemoration of Remembrance Day at George’s Square. The square extends out from the front of the City Council building. There was all branches of the armed services and, as you would hope, a pipe and drum band in full regalia.

In the downtown area, Sauchiehall Street is the bar district. It is the territory of gangs of singing young men, girls dressed inappropriately for the weather and women out on a Hen night dressed inappropriately for their age. We were able to find a very nice dinner at a restaurant called Scarlet. Despite the weather, our trip to Glasgow was over all too soon. I could have stayed much longer and kept exploring. It is a compact city that lends itself to being a tourist on foot. I would like to go back, perhaps with warmer weather, or as they say, when the sun is splitting the rocks.

2006-11-21T21:55:00.000Z

Back in September, London held its annual Doors Open Event. If you refer to the entry from the 26^th of that month, you can re-cap our trip to the British Library. While we were there, we got tickets to a talk by Robin Hanbury-Tenison. The talk was on a new book just published by Thames & Hudson called the 70 great journeys in history. Given our current adventures, it seemed appropriate to go.

Thames & Hudson publish a series entitled the 70 greatest whatever. Each title explores achievements in human history. The 70 sections in the book have been written by 54 different authors. The section authors are explorers and accomplished travellers in their own right.

Robin Hanbury-Tenison is a member of the Royal Geographical Society and an accomplished traveller. He has travelled and researched all over the world. He is also an outspoken conservationist. The most arduous journey of his was the land crossing of South America at its widest point. He has also lived to lecture and write books about it.

The book does not cover the classic British fly and flop to Ibiza or a coach tour of Paris. It deals with legendary stuff. Ancient world travels like Alexander the Great and Hannibal crossing he Alps with his four elephants. Renaissance explorers like Sir Francis Drake, Cortés and Samuel de Champlain. It also covers some of my favourite modern explorers like Thor Heyerdahl and the astronauts that have been to the moon.

The talk was good. It was not great, just good. The editor, Mr Hanbury-Tenison, was quite dry in the most appropriate British sense. He did suffer from what I perceive to be insufficient preparation. There were times when he looked over his shoulder at the slides on the screen almost in surprise. That said, he came across as being passionate about the subject of exploration.

The author put forth the notion that there may be a genetic link to the desire to travel. It is not proven. It is a theory based on the distribution of this genetic peculiarity along the migratory paths of early humans. I cannot speak to the science of the human genome. In reading the book, it occurs to me that what all of the travellers have in common, from ancient Muslim Pilgrims going to Mecca to Hillary scaling Everest, is the opportunity and desire to travel. It seems like that is all you need to have your own adventures

2006-11-14T21:43:00.000Z

My Nana has often said, when someone invites you somewhere, you should go. Sage advice. Jo called me the other day from work and asked would we like tickets to Little Britain. I said “When someone invites you somewhere, you go.”

If you are not familiar, Little Britain is one of the more popular shows on the BBC. It features Matt Lucas and David Walliams and is a sketch comedy show featuring a host of recurring characters. The first time I saw the show, I could not believe that they were allowed to even put it on telly.

So popular is this television show that the performers have taken it on the road. The entire run has been sold out for a year in advance. The usual reaction that I got when I said that we were going to see the live show was that the tickets were printed on unobtainium. If you didn’t have them a year ago, you weren’t going to get them. So we were quite lucky.

The show is on at the Hammersmith Apollo in the west end of London. To get there, you just have to grind and rattle to the end of the Hammersmith & City tube line. The Hammersmith Apollo stage has been graced by such luminaries as Iron Maiden, Eddie Izzard and David Bowie. The hall features in the title of Motörhead’s 1981 live album no sleep ‘til Hammersmith. Johnny Cash played there in 1966 and Neil Young played there and lit part of it on fire!

The characters include Daffyd, the only gay in his little village in Wales There is Andy in the wheelchair and his condescending carer Lou and Vickie Pollard, the chav from the council estates. The Prime Minister has a gay assistant, Sebastian, who is obviously jealously in love with his boss. There is the two most obvious cross dressing men and a woman who projectile vomits if she is shown anything the least bit foreign.

I know that if you haven’t seen the show, then my description does no justice. I wondered how they would translate the sketch comedy TV show to the stage, but as the show is so heavily based on its characters, they were able to carry it off handily. The two main performers are adept at both the characters and at ad-libbing. The can carry the script and when the unexpected happens, such as a false moustache coming adrift mid-sketch, they can take off in very good ad-libs.

The strength of the show is the way the characters are written. Some are cringe-worthy, some are sad and some are disgusting. The thing that makes them good is that the writers use them to skewer our prejudices. Under each of the characters is a piece of everyone, as reluctant as you might be to admit it after seeing them.

There seems to be an endless choice of lavish and stage shows in London. Dirty Dancing is playing now (Nobody puts Baby in a corner!) as well as the usual selection of tourist trap musicals. I wish to see none of them. Little Britain was funny and well worth seeing. Jo and I are glad we went. Nana is right.

2006-10-15T22:53:00.000+01:00

Eleven years ago, I arrived in Paris by train with only a backpack and a guidebook. This time, I arrived by rail with a backpack and a guidebook. And, of course, my beautiful wife. Last time was a week, this time it was a weekend.

As with so many other vacations I have been on, this one required getting up at stupid o’clock. Once we arrived at London’s Waterloo station the stress decreased, though. Travelling by train is much more civilized than air travel. Arriving at the station twenty minutes before travelling is all that is required. A quick check of passport and ticket sees you aboard the train. None of the scrum, line-ups, polyethylene hand luggage and invasive searches of flying. I did see a drug-sniffing dog, but it was an old Sheppard with bad hips.

The Eurostar train takes under three hours to get to Paris in smooth comfort. There is a 1930’s feel to the train. The bar car even has a great Art Deco look. For all the cheap flights that are available, the train still wins for short trips.

Our first stop was the Louvre. It is possible to arrive on the Metro and enter from the concourse without venturing outside. To do so would rob you of the experience of seeing I.M Pei’s pyramid in the main courtyard. The great glass pyramid is like Marmite – you either love it or hate it. There is no middle ground.

It is hard to know where to start in the Louvre’s collection. It covers a span from ancient Egyptian burial to 19^th century statuary and the apartments of Napoleon III. We started in the gallery of statues from the 1800’s and wandered through the Italian paintings section. We did go in and see the Mona Lisa. It was small, kind of dim and, as with so many things like this, less spectacular than it’s hype.

There is a tiny gallery off one of the rooms called the Tactile Gallery. Famous statues from around the Louvre have been replicated so that blind and vision-impaired people can experience the statues by feel. Descriptions of the pieces in the gallery are in Braille books.

The apartments of Napoleon III were added to the former palace in the mid 1800’s and are, to say the least, lavish. There is a salon with thick carpet, velvet sofas, heavy curtains and lavish decoration. There is also a large formal dining room. Jo commented at how many people it would take to fill it. As she said that, I was counting the chairs. There were 18 on each side and two on each end. I had to point out that if the whole family attended Thanksgiving at my mother-in-law’s, every chair would be filled.

Leaving the Louvre, and walking out the “front door” pointed us up the Champs Elysee. This takes the pedestrian past the obelisk at the Place de la Concorde. The Champs Elysee is a big, broad and busy avenue. In the intervening ten years since I was In Paris, it has been improved. It has had the shops go a bit up market. The ubiquitous blight of the McDonalds has been hidden in a location that is below ground. The car dealers and stores seem to have improved their facades.

We walked through the Jardins de la Tullerie. In contrast to the wild overgrown English style of gardening, the French like their gardens neat, precise, orderly and symmetrical. There is also a different style of street food. In Paris, you can get crepes and powerful coffee from stands on the street.

Turning off of the Champs Elysee and walking down the Avenue George V took us past the nice shops. You know, Louis Vuitton, Givenchy and the likes of Collezion Armani. Nice shops.

It was now about nine o’clock. Continuing along Avenue George V took us across Pont de l’Alma, one of the many bridges across the Seine. The bridge affords a wonderful view of the Eiffel tower.

In fact, there are few places in Paris that do not afford a view of the Eiffel Tower. Paris feels like it is truly built on a human scale. Many of the buildings are on the order of six stories high. Seldom do you feel overwhelmed as you might in the vast canyons of somewhere like New York. The Eiffel Tower, although not very tall, is plainly visible at most times.

We arrived at the Eiffel Tower at night, when it is bathed in the orange-gold glow of sodium lighting. At ten o’clock, it is further lit up by strobe lights all over it. It is a wonderful structure with it’s Victorian-Era iron work. For me, part of it’s appeal is the dichotomy. Approaching, it looks light, almost delicate, with more space than structure. Up close it is plain to see the massive iron beams held together with an infinite number of rivets. The Eiffel Tower well deserves the iconic status it enjoys.

By now it had been a long day for us and we headed for our hotel on the Paris Metro. The Paris Metro runs on rubber wheels as opposed to the steel wheels and rails of the London Underground. Paris’ Metro has a smooth comfortable ride, the likes of which could never be found on the juddering, constantly delayed Hammersmith & City line here in London.

This concluded Saturday for us. We arrived back at our tiny hotel room quite ready to call it a day. The room was clean and comfortable, but small enough to make our little flat seem, well, bigger.

I think that I must take a moment to speak to the pervasive rumour that Paris has a dog poo problem. They actually have crews of men in green overalls that go around and Hoover up any turds from the pavement. Contrast that with my neighbourhood where I managed to trod in a landmine outside the world’s tiniest flat on Friday before we left. Final score would be: Paris – 0; London – 1. When it comes to dog leavings, like golf, a lower score is desirable.

Sunday morning brought about another beautiful and sunny day. Just perfect for exploring! We found ourselves another cup of that deliciously strong coffee and a nice pastry for breakfast which set us nicely for the morning. We took the Metro back to the Eiffel Tower to take in the views from the top. We walked from one end of the Champs du Mars towards the Tower. Like all the other tourists we took pictures of the Tower, each other standing in front of the Tower, the park around the Tower. The line up to take the elevator to the top was 2 hours long so we decided that we would just have to return another time to go to the top of the Tower.

We walked along the “rive droit” or right bank of the Seine. There were booths selling pictures and paintings. The one that caught my eye was the one selling plates from Babar the Elephant books. Babar was a favourite of mine as a kid. I could quote the attending text that went with most of the pictures.

We had our lunch at a café alongside the river. Not the least amazing part was that all of the ordering was done in French. Successfully. We didn’t end up with a flaming tennis ball in a shoe.

In most situations, our transactions were completed in French. I don’t think we offended anyone and I am confident in saying that we didn’t fool anyone! Luckily we didn’t have to offer our opinion in French on the Gothic architecture.

We wandered along the Seine all afternoon, passing by the Petit Palais, the Louvre, Musee D’Orsay and St.Germain des Pres. Our wanderings brought us to the Cathedral de Notre-Dame. You could spend a day outside and one inside trying to see all of the detail. The stained glass windows are massive. The arches soar 50 feet in the air!

If you go around behind the Cathedral, there is a lovely little park that allows a different perspective on the fantastic building. It is also not visited by many people so it provides a bit of a relief from the crowds out front. Continuing through the park, there is the Monument de la Deportation. This is a monument to the victims of the Holocaust, especially those who were taken from Paris after the Nazi occupation.

Alas, this brings us the end of our time in Paris. It was time to make our way back to our tiny pied à terre in West Hampstead. The train ride home was as smooth and comfortable as the one there. Just one weekend is nowhere enough. We have been bitten by Paris. We will be back to cover more of this enchanting city.

2006-10-09T23:08:00.000+01:00

Jo and Martin wish you a Happy Thanksgiving!

We are thankful for:

Family and their support (and understanding) and help.
Our friends, who, to a person, have encouraged us in our adventures.
Everyone who has enjoyed the 'blog. Pass it on.
The skills and abilities that allowed us to get jobs.
Light motorcycles with large engines.
Everyone here in England that has accepted (and humoured) us since we arrived.

But most of all, we are thankful for the great opportunity that all of the above has afforded us.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!
Get Well soon, Nana.

2006-09-26T22:32:00.000+01:00

As with many places there is a “Doors Open” event here. It encompasses buildings throughout the

United Kingdom

. The website lists nearly 300 sites that are opened to the public during the event. We narrowed our choice down to two. The British Library and The Institute of Cellular and Molecular Biology. A pretty obvious combination, I know.

We chose the British Library because it was somewhere we have wanted to visit and this provided the requisite prod. The second building, although it sounds like an obscure choice, you will see that it would be interesting regardless of its purpose.

The British Library is the largest publicly-funded single building project in England. I had expected an old, almost gothic, dark, musty library. What I found is a huge, modern open space that feels like it was designed for people to enjoy. It features a sunlight-filled atrium, a café, study areas and of course, a vast collection of books.

The central feature of the main public area is the King’s Library. It comprises a collection of books bequeathed to the public by King George III. They are housed in a four-storey, glass walled, climate controlled vault. The books of the King’s Library are available to be read by those in possession of a reader’s card. Most of the books are hundreds of years old.

The Library also has an impressive exhibition gallery. Currently there is a display of historically significant newspaper headlines. The display covers such events as England’s last World Cup victory, both of the wars and the introduction of decimal money among others. It is interesting to see the change in styles of the newspaper, the writing and the reporting. The improvement of photographic reproduction is also obvious.

Just an aside, looking at a headline from the last English world cup victory, I noticed the following. English football fans have waited longer for a championship than Maple Leaf fans (1966 vs 1967). And with Tie Domi bringing his cubic cranium to a TSN broadcast near you, can any sort of a Leaf victory be possible? I think not. As they say on Leaf Talk; “Put the “C” on Domi”.

But back to the civilised. We were able to take a tour conducted by one of the architectural engineers who had designed the building. He showed how the four-story deep basement had been dug into the London clay without disturbing the surrounding buildings, Tube lines or Services such as water and sewage. The guide gave a wonderful tour showing all about the design and construction of the building.

The tour also allowed us into a reading room, something not normally accessible without a reader’s card. Books are brought by request from the basement. Only employees are allowed in the basement. The reading room we entered was from Asian Studies. This encompasses the records of the British East India Company and birth records for people born in India to employees of the Company. On one wall of the reading room is the original coat of arms for the British East India Company that dates to the mid 1700’s.

The Library is another place that will join the V&A Museum and warrant repeat visits over the course of the winter.

The next choice is not, perhaps, so obvious. The Institute for Cell and Molecular Science is across from the Aldgate East Tube station. It is directly behind and affiliated with the Royal Hospital. It is a very interesting, über modern building. The photos tell the story much better than my words can.

The building is used as a medical, research and university building. The hospital demanded that the laboratories were grouped on one floor. The architect determined that they should be all on one level, underground, to encourage communication amongst researchers. This left the above ground parts for services, meeting rooms, a lecture hall, offices and the like. A key part of the design was to make the building semi-public, inviting children in so that they could experience real medical research taking place.

The exterior is two low, coloured glass blocks. The design although strikingly modern, matches the scale of the surrounding buildings. It allows an inviting open space between the two blocks The centre of the atrium has 'floating pods' that turn the place into a circus exercise. The pods, aside from being almost surreal in appearance are functional as class rooms, lecture halls and meeting areas. There is a 400-seat lecture hall that is entirely green. Everything; ceiling walls, carpet seating; everything is green. It is meant to be make you feel like you are in a forest.

By attending the Open House event, we had a great time indoors on a sunny London Sunday. And as I write this, I see from the first picture that it is time for another haircut.

2006-09-16T20:35:00.000+01:00

I have been guilty of two things. The first one caused the second. You can guess that the second thing is the fact that the "blog has not been updated in over a week.

The first thing that I was guilty of was working two nights of overtime at work this week. Normally I would politely excuse myself, but everyone else was staying. Add to that I am still the FNG around there. I stayed a little late.

Add to that, our excursions have been a little more mundane. Last Sunday, we took the Tube to the London Bridge stop and spent most of the day walking along the south side of the Thames. We has a lovely view of the skyline of London.

One of the amazing things about London and, I would guess all European cities, is the mix of the very old and the very new. Standing on the south bank of the Thames, one can see City Hall, the Swiss Re building (also known as the gherkin and other less polite things) Tower Bridge, London Bridge and the dome of St Paul's Cathedral.

The prior week we had two outings on our High Street. One was good. The other, well, I wish I had my two pounds fifty back.

We went to the free comedy night on Wednesday. It is in a little basement bar up the street from our flat. It is interesting to watch skilled comedians try out new material. It is painful to watch wannabes flatten the crowd into cringeing silence. The hit of the night for me was a man named Ray Prestone. He was about eighty years old. In fact, his closing joke was "I've got to go now, I've got another show in December." He told every old hairy manky million-year-old joke you've ever heard. The whole audience knew every punchline. And he killed.

Last Thursday, we went to a talk at an independent book store by two local authors. Both had just released books, one about the bridges in London and the other about the old London Routemaster Double-Decker Bus. I wished to be back watching the wannabe comedians. For people who make their living with words, they couldn't think of many interesting ones for their live talks. Perhaps their books are better...

As there is not much more to tell, I leave you with a photo essay from some of our recent time spent walking about in London.

London is a classy place. The buskers sing opera. This is from Covent Garden.

Us at the Victoria & Albert Museum. This is a part of London that we will be re-visiting. It is a spectacular museum with seemingly limitless displays.

The pedestrian walkway along the south side of the Thames. This area was at one time a docklands for ships coming along the river. The old warehouses have been converted into lofts
and shops.

This was taken on the south side of the Thames.
Tower bridge in the background you will recognize.
The glass egg on the right is London's City Hall.

Trying to outrun the police = bad idea. Their radio and their
car are both faster than you.

We happened across a fashion shoot.
The metaphysical result of the act of photographing a photographer while in the act of photographing caused a large rip in the space-time continuum. My bad...

The caption from an outdoor photo exhibition of photos taken in
Japan by Hiroji Kubota.

2006-09-05T22:22:00.000+01:00

The Wingates of West Hampstead have had a week that took on a distinctly Spanish theme. Wednesday night, we saw the new movie “Volver” with Penelope Cruz. Our Sunday was spent at the Regent Street Festival, “A Walk Through Spain.”

The movie Volver was very good and worth a look. It is in Spanish with subtitles. It is the story of a woman whose life takes on events that re-occur in seemingly concentric circles. It also had the same added benefit for me of any subtitled film. By the end of the film, I don’t realize that I am reading subtitles and feel that I can understand the film’s original language.

The festival closed off Regent Street between Oxford Circus and Piccadilly Circus. Regent Street was a project of urban renewal in the early 1800’s. It was commissioned by the Prince Regent, later to become King George IV. It runs from the Prince’s residence at one end to Regent’s Park at the other. Regent Street has become the home of many flagship stores for the likes of Habitat and Hugo Boss. Mmmmm Hugo Boss.

At the exit from the Oxford Circus Tube station was a woman doing what can best be described as religious busking. She was standing in the middle of the pavement (here in England, the sidewalk is called the pavement) preaching through a speaker. According to her we should all forsake our pointless lives of blind consumerism and go to the Lord. She hadn’t gained any converts that I could see and would appear to be fighting a loosing battle amongst all of the fancy-shoe-and-handbag shops.

But to the festival.

The Street Festival highlighted the 14 different provinces of Spain. There were large tents showing off jewellery, artwork and artisans, local cooking and tourism for each region. There were also dancers and performers in traditional Spanish costume. I suspect that the traditional costume is more for festival performance and less for, say, running to the market for a packet of crisps (here in England, potato chips are called crisps).

There was an engaging, high energy performance by a toreador and his mariachi band. The bull fighter demonstrated to movements required to fight the bull albeit in a very comical fashion. The demonstration ended with a member of the crowd assisting by playing the toreador to the performer’s animated performance as el toro. For those concerned, only humans were harmed.

The most spectacular demonstration was of the human tower. The performers constructed a tower that was five people in height with a tower four people in height on either side. The lightest people, obviously, were on the top and in the towers we watched in the afternoon were topped by children that seemed to be no older than six years old!

All in all an enjoyable day that ended with a curry (here in England, a delicious Indian meal is referred to as a curry). For those who visit us, remember that you want to go to the Masala Zone with us, although that might count more as a sub-continent rather than Spanish theme.

Jared was so inspired by the performance,
he decided to start his own tower.

2006-08-28T19:43:00.000+01:00

Well, we have been busy over the last week. This entry will cover a few outings that we have made, so get a tea and make sure that the boss is in a meeting, or in other cases, reading over your shoulder.

There was a period when I attended the Toronto Animation Festival every year. What was likely to be there was not of the standard Saturday morning fare, but creative, artful animated movies from all over the world. As you might imagine, when I saw the listing for the London International Animation Festival in my morning commuter paper, the decision to attend was already made. One of the benefits of attending animation festivals is that these are the only venues that you are likely to have to see films of this nature. We set out Wednesday night for Piccadilly Circus on the Tube.

Piccadilly Circus is probably best described as London’s version of Times Square in New York. It is in the heart of tourist country, lit up with bright flashing lights and surrounded by chain restaurants designed to comfort and lure the out-of-towner. It is also close to the West End Theatres and Cinemas. Piccadilly Circus is a five-minute walk from Leicester Square, as featured in the last entry.

We watched the first half of the animation festival. It featured films from all around the world. Some were eerie and disturbing such as the first one. It was a dark claymation that was rife with biblical references. There was another film from The Czech Republic that told the story of a woman having a baby that was done in wide, joyous colourful washes.

Then, disaster, of an animation festival scale, struck. The host, who I believe was the organizer of the show, had the unenviable task of informing the assembled crowd that the second half of the program was jammed in the projector and would not play or come out. Who knew animated films suffered from performance anxiety?

Fortunately the folks that attend these type of things are not the folks who attend, say, an Alice Cooper concert. There was no rioting, chanting or throwing of chairs. Just the low groan of mellow art students that were probably already depressed anyway.

In order to make reparations, we were given a ticket for the next night’s presentation. This was the programme devoted to abstract animation. You may imagine that you heard the low groan of Joanne. The idea of abstract animation may have depressed her. Abstract animation you say; how bad could that be?

Actually, not all that bad. If you assume that the films at an animation festival will not be standard fare anyway, then it is not a huge leap to guess that the ones reserved as abstract will be a little out there. They were hit and miss, to my mind. Some were rather like free-form experiments of colour, light and sound but lacking any discernable narrative. There was a beautiful film that used only black and white stripes to show an entire undersea world. There were two that set their animation to pieces of music. One an Art-Deco inspired joy and the other a scratchy mess. There was a short piece called “Collision” that was a comment on the current clash between religious ideologies that used only three shapes: Crescents, five-pointed stars and six-pointed stars. Another successful experiment created a dark dream world of images that took on changing forms using grainy black and white lines. In all, there were more successful pieces that I had anticipated and it made up for the half programme we had missed the previous night.

Friday night, to celebrate the Bank Holiday long weekend, we had dinner at a lovely restaurant on the high street called “J”. It features Italian food and seems to be family run. It mixes good service and better food. Now that we are working (and earning) it was a welcome treat for us.

Saturday was an exploration walk. We got off of the Tube at Westminster station which is just on the north side of the Thames, near the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. Our walk would take us along the south side of the river past some very interesting places.

As you might imagine, this is again tourist country. As we crossed the bridge, it was easy to pick up snippets of conversation in French, Spanish, Slavic and American. Everyone was taking the tourist photograph of loved one in the foreground with a recognizable building in the background.

Walking east from Westminster bridge took us past the London Aquarium, the Millennium Bridge, the Tate Modern museum and Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre.

We stopped to watch a street performer. He had gathered a large crowd and was not too far into his act. He was disturbingly double-jointed and used this to pass his entire body through a regular wire coat-hanger. He then went on to escape, in under two minutes, from a straight jacket fastened on him by an audience member. A very entertaining performance!

Our walk ended up in the area of the London Bridge Tube station. This is an area of the City that we have not explored until now. Unfortunately, the shadows had gotten a little long and much of it was closed. There is the very interesting looking Borough Market, the Coffee and Tea museum and the Southwark Cathedral. The latter has been a place of worship for over 1400 years! This is an area we will be exploring more in the future.

As this is the August Bank Holiday long weekend for us in England, there is an annual tradition in London. The Notting Hill Carnival! It is the celebration where everyone gets to be from the islands for a weekend.

As London’s population was becoming more diverse in the 1950’s, large numbers of people from the Caribbean settled in Notting Hill. At the time, it was an area of low-rents with most of the terrace houses having been split up and rented out as flats. There were race riots in the late 1950’s between the working-class that lived there and the immigrant population that was settling there.

Notting Hill has only recently become the des res (desirable residential) area in the last few years. Its elevation was aided in part by the rubbish movie of the same name. There is constant moaning by the long-time residents that their neighbourhood has been usurped by the trendy and well-heeled, causing skyrocketing real-estate values.

There are many residents who leave the neighbourhood during Carnival and many businesses post signs telling that they are closed, reopening on Tuesday. It is common practice to board-up front windows in the busiest areas, even for shops that remain open.

No doubt, Carnival is busy. Crazy. Mobbed. Nuts. And it is a lot of fun. The parade runs right around the neighbourhood. The floats, bands and masquerades just keep passing all day. There is also the endless food stalls and sound systems.

The food stalls were amazing both in quality, variety and sheer number. There were a huge number of families that had setup their front yard as food stands. They were selling anything from Jamaican Meat Patties to Jerk pork and chicken to fresh fruit and juice to Red Stripe beer and rum punch guaranteed to add to your enjoyment of the Carnival. You could also use their loo for a quid.

There were entire streets that were set up with one food stand after another. All Caribbean dishes. Rice and peas, goat, ackee (salted fish), curries, fried plantains, Brazilian doughnuts, spring rolls and chow mien. Everywhere you looked, there were queues in front of stalls smelling of delicious barbeque smoke. The split oil drum is the cooking appliance of choice.

There are sound systems located all around the carnival area.
These are impromptu stages set up with gigantic towers of huge speakers. The MCs shout unintelligibly over booming, bass-heavy reggae tunes. The music is infectious and just walking past makes everyone want to dance. There are large crowds pressing up against each of these stages, all singing and dancing and jumping in unison.

The parade that circumscribes the Carnival area is amazing. There are huge steel bands that ride past on big, open trailers. The costumed dancers follow in huge groups. Everyone from groups of kids to local committees to vast groups in elaborate costumes writhing in unison to booming sound systems.

The Carnival is a fantastic event. The neighbourhood comes alive, everyone, old and young, joins in and it is a terrific party. Not what I expected to find in London, but as I am learning, this is a very diverse city and at every turn is richer for it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Some notable birthdays to post:

Happy birthday Gary Nurse! He's 29 again.

Happy Birthday Alex van den Berg. Arrived Aug 18th 2006. Looks cute as a button in the photos we received. Congratulations Heather and Dave!

2006-08-21T20:45:00.000+01:00

At some point in the playoffs, Don Cherry will tilt his head to the right and put out his hands as if to stop Ron McLean in his tracks. “It’s good for guys to play a little tired. LetshearitforDouggie GilmourgoodCanadianbo yfromKingstonreallytoughguyalwaysplayedal
ittletired.” And he is right about that.

On Saturday, Joanne said to me that she thought she was getting a cold. Sunday, she proved her point. She had caught a roaring cold. Joanne spent Sunday doing two things; throwing the Kleenex in the wastebasket like Meadowlark Lemon and expressing her displeasure at catching a cold just a day before her long-awaited starting day.

As you have probably experienced, it is hard to sleep when you can’t breathe out of either nostril. There was tossing, turning and sweating but not much sleeping. Sunday morning found a very tired Joanne dragging herself perpendicular to the floor. All of this was due only to having a roaring cold.

Today was the long awaited day. Jo started her new job. When she left for her new job today, she didn’t notice the poppy seeds between her teeth from breakfast. After lunch, not seeing the spilt food down her shirt, she used the washroom and walked out with her skirt tucked into the top of her nylons that by now had a ladder down the left leg. None of this was noticeable as she had snapped off the heel of her right shoe and was limping on her split level footwear.

Of course, none of this happened. She had a great day and probably due to being a little tired and under the weather, there wasn’t a lot of nerves. Her first day was spent in orientation and tomorrow is her first day at her desk. There is a very happy Joanne here tonight she had a great day at work and is eager to dig into her job. And her cold seems a little better.

2006-08-16T19:54:00.000+01:00

This Sunday did not dawn hot and sunny like last. It was grey, rainy, overcast and cool. In fact, it alternated between bright sun and heavy rain all day in roughly equal proportion. More like we expected to find in London. Our trip this week was not as far-flung as last. We went into the City to Covent Garden. For an added dimension, we took the bus.

The decision to eschew the tube was made to get an above-ground view of the City. Our intention was to see how the various areas joined together. Taking the Tube is somewhat faster but you loose the sense of what is between point A and point B. Descending into the station in West Hampstead and emerging at Charring Cross leaves the impression that all that is between looks like the inside of a train.

The buses has changed here over the last few years, but the one that we took was still a double-decker. We sat on top and got a bird’s eye, or tourist’s eye, view of the places between where we live and Covent Garden. More about the buses in the future.

We are realising how close we are to the centre of the City. Our bus ride took us past the Abby Road studios, Baker Street with all of the Sherlock Holmes exhibits, Oxford Circus, Piccadilly Circus and the Strand. All in about forty minutes which is about a third longer than the Tube.

Covent Garden is the sightseer snare, the visitor ambush, the tourist trap. It started out as a market where farmers and merchants brought their wares. Now it is what can be affectionately called the acre of tat. It is a place to get you name in Japanese in a frame, wallets made of something called Laether for three pounds and vintage pottery made last week.

There are buskers to entertain the crowds. We watched an acrobat doing uncomfortable looking manoeuvres between two chairs. There was also a juggler who elicited some sarcastic applause from a group of kids during his warm-up.

We walked out of Covent Garden and past some of the theatres. There is a production of Dirty Dancing on now. Based on the movie starring Patrick Swayze. Who is in town starring in Guys and Dolls. I wonder if the high point in the musical Dirty Dancing is the song “Nobody puts Baby in a corner!”. This would be important if I was interested in lavish musicals.

Tucked in near Leicester square are about three streets that comprise London’s Chinatown. I was surprised that in a city as diverse as London that Chinatown is so small. Although it may just be put out in place for the tourists.

In between rain showers, we walked to Leicester square which, after seeing some of the beautiful squares laid out in London, is quite unremarkable. It is surrounded by cinemas whose claim to fame is that they are the earliest to open the first run movies. The only features are plaques in the ground that tell the distances to the capitals of the Commonwealth and a less-than-life size statue of Charlie Chaplin.

The number 139 bus was good enough to bring us back home after all of the walking around. Despite having to duck into stores a few times to avoid some heavy rain, another good day out.

2006-08-15T22:08:00.000+01:00

Late last week, the authorities shut down London airports due to the terrorist plot of which you have no doubt heard. It has, as course, been widely reported worldwide and as much or more here in London as anywhere. The reaction, overall has been to me, somewhat peculiar. In a lot of ways the reaction has been exactly not what I expected.

It is difficult to cover something that didn’t happen. The story refuses to develop. The focus of the news has to be the back story. The news focus was then two pronged. Delays in the airport and those arrested. There were pictures of stranded tourists waiting out in the rain and blurry High School yearbook photos of alleged terrorists.

The coverage started on the front page on Friday and by Sunday had slipped off the front page. Granted that it was a four page section that was almost a pull-out. The focus shifted after the first day. It is hard for the news to cover something that didn’t happen. The story refuses to develop.

The papers were full of pictures and quotes from the airports. Stranded travellers sleeping on the terrazzo floor and close ups of clear plastic bags that are now the carry on bag de rigueur. The stories featured pull quotes from frustrated people who had lost sight of the fact that they were still around to give quotes.

The Daily Star newspaper today made clear its editorial stance. They ran an article on page 4-5, complete with quotes from marginally official people, that felt profiling would solve the congestion problem at the airport. They were clear that, to them, the blame rests with the Muslim community. Division and segregation is the solution. To put the Star in perspective, as if perspective is necessary, they run a picture of a topless girl on page 3.

In conjunction with this the coverage centres on the young men arrested. They are from the East end of London. I think that my train stops at a station near where many of the arrests took place. The underlying message seems to have an element of “they” to it. As in “How could they try to kill us”.

The air carriers have been ordered to cut flights in and out of British airports by 30% until further notice. There has been publicly aired backlash from the air carriers. Cheap airfare is almost viewed as a birthright. The biggest insult does not seems to be that terrorists tried to explode planes. The biggest insult is that travel is not convenient right now.

Letters to the Times have run to topics such as the image of England and the effect of the cutback of air flights. One writer was appalled that a flight containing a New York based symphony orchestra had to be cancelled. An Olympic level rowing team was unable to reach England in time. “How will the world view Britain?” the writer asked. We turn back orchestras and rowing teams. Is there no civility?

There is a saying that all politics is local. It would appear that these events seem to bear that out. Despite the enormous issues that an event, or non-event, like this raises, people seem to see the effect as far as the end of their day. The question raised should not be so much how does this affect me, but how do I affect the world?

2006-08-12T17:37:00.000+01:00

Now that I am working, I thought you might like to see a picture of me at my new job.

Click HERE to see me.

I am just to the left of the centre of the screen, in a white shopcoat carrying a clipboard.

2006-08-10T21:02:00.000+01:00

Sunday was bright, and sunny and in the height of the day, just a touch too humid. With the recent calming of tensions in the Wingate household, a reward was in order. What better than a trip? It was decided that Cambridge would be appropriate and on Sunday, we went to King’s Cross station and we were off.

A point of interest, for fans of the Harry Potter movies. Harry boards the train to Hogwarts from platform 9 ¾, I believe, which we had to pass to get to our train.

Cambridge, named for the River Cam which arcs around the town, is an area that is steeped in history, both great and small. It, like so much of England, can trace its history back a long way. The road that passes through the centre of town was built by the Romans in 2 or 3 A.D. The churches, colleges and houses are tangible guides through history.

It is a popular pursuit for people to proceed to punt in Cambridge. Punting is done on the river in long, rectangular wooden boats. The punter, using a pole to propel the punt, places himself on a plane deck at the posterior of the boat. With a push on the pole, your punt proceeds.

There are two choices, within the purview of punts; you can be taken down the river by a guide who is proficient in the sights and history as well proper punting procedure. Or you can plump for a DIY punting adventure. For those on the river, professional punters provide the proper perspective of the proceedings. For those of us standing on the shore or one of the plentiful bridges over the river, tourists not properly proficient with protracted poles and even longer punts are positively the more entertaining of the pair.

One of the things for which Cambridge is famous is the bridges over the river. There is the bridge that crosses from the back of St John’s college. It is made as a replica of the Bridge of Sighs in Venice, Italy. There is the mathematical bridge that crosses from the President’s Lodge of Queen’s college. Rumour also has it that the wooden bridge was designed and assembled by such that it was held together without using any bolts. They were only required after less talented builders dismantled the bridge for repairs. Sadly, also false.

Cambridge is, of course home to Cambridge University. The University is not located on one campus, but is made up of many colleges. There are 31 colleges and each is a separate institution and are governed by the University. Some of the colleges have been recently established, but some, such as King’s college and Pembroke college date from the 14^th of 15^th century.

Although the colleges are still in operation as institutes of higher learning, they permit visitors in to the grounds. It is felt like stepping back in time to walk around the immaculately manicured grounds of the colleges. It’s amazing what a few dozen generations of lawn maintenance can accomplish.

We also walked north, up the road through the centre of town.
It changes names about five times and brought us to a side street that led into a neighbourhood. There we found the house in which my Mother and my Uncle grew up. It was an interesting connection with my past, and I could picture my Mother riding her bicycle up the hill, home after work.

The train ride home took about an hour. The way home always seems shorter as was the case on Sunday. Despite the short length of time it actually took, it seemed like we were coming back from the past.

2006-08-04T22:16:00.000+01:00

We are learning that there are many ways to spot a Londoner. For instance perpetual use of mobile phones and a guerrilla attitude to walking. A Londoner can also be identified when you spot The London A-Z Guide in their hands. It is the essential map book in the City. We were discussing a particular neighbourhood with my uncle, a lifelong Londoner. He reached behind himself and conjured up an A-Z that was literally falling apart to determine the streets in question.

Left with little to do in the evenings, Joanne and I took to looking in our A-Z Guide and picking a place, route for our walks. Just owning an A-Z makes us feel like we belong in this city. Often we would aim our feet towards parks within walking distance of our flat. When you are unemployed, that can be a large arc.

One of the places we ended up was Primrose Hill Park in the North West. The greatest feature of the park is the spectacular view from the crest of the eponymous hill. From the summit, you command a sweeping view South. You look down the hill, over the park full of picnickers and games of pick-up football.

Past Primrose Hill, across Prince Albert Road is Regent Park. Visible over the tree tops is the green copper roof of the monkey house and the netting of the aviary in the London Zoo. The canal with its brick tow paths leads all the way to the Camden High Street and beyond. Here, inside the concentric ring roads, Shakespeare is performed in the Open Air Theatre. This is where we saw the memorial ceremony for the victims of the 7/7 attacks.

Beyond Regent’s Park is the London skyline. What is clear is the contrast between the old and new. The dome of St Paul’s cathedral was built after the Great Fire that destroyed vast areas of London in 1667. It can be found amongst the modern counterpoint of the Swiss Re building (also known as the gherkin) and the London Eye.
[The gherkin can bee seen in the very centre of the picture. It peeks out through some non-descript office buildings.]

We put together a picnic lunch on our last Sunday of unemployment. We sat in the shade of a huge plain tree in Primrose Hill Park. With our sandwiches and Sunday Times and London spread out, it was just the place to be. As you can tell, this was written earlier and was going to be posted through the week. Larger, more pressing news elbowed its way past however. London is great city full of surprises like the ones this week.

[You can click on any of the photos to enlarge them.]

2006-08-02T21:13:00.000+01:00

I love baseball. It may not surprise you to learn that I have thought out the reasons why. In my opinion, the World Series is the most exciting sporting championship. At its best, baseball is as much a chess match between two managers as a sporting contest between athletes. And the main reason is that any game, even one that seems lost, can change with one stroke of a bat.

Yesterday morning, Jo and I walked up the High Street, got fresh bagels from Roni’s bakery, picked up a Times newspaper and coffees from Costa coffee. The weather was warm, pleasant and sunny. We stopped, looked in shop windows, pointed at cafés where we would like to eat and decided to go to a lecture at the used book store. When we got home, we traded sections of the paper and ate our breakfast. It was very relaxed, very pleasant and very unemployed.

We were deciding what we would do to fill the day when the phone rang. It was the employment agency with whom I had been dealing. I had interviewed for a position in a claims department last Friday. They had been impressed with my interview, and could I start on Wednesday? Well yes, I suppose I could do that.

With that, I had a job. I started today in the claims department of a large insurance company.

I returned from my first day at work to find none other that my beloved wife waiting for me at the train station. Never one to let the grass grow under her feet, Jo hugged me and reported that she had gone for a second interview at a large law firm in the City. And landed the job that she had really wanted out of all of the interviews that she had done.

With that little turn of events, we are both employed. Jo and I agree that that last, large piece, having jobs, has really made us feel settled here in the U.K. We celebrated with a bottle of wine from the store on the High Street and a plate of spaghetti. I daresay that today was a home run!

2006-07-29T20:14:00.000+01:00

There is a cat burglar in our neighbourhood. Last night, he broke into our flat. Fortunately, Joanne was able to scare him out of our house.

I would guess that we live in a house that was built around 1920 or so. It was built using that marvel of British engineering, the wooden sash window. Ninety years on, a smooth operating precise fitting unit it is not. The ones that haven’t been painted shut can be persuaded to open all of about eight inches if correctly wobbled in their frames. They are also devoid of that other marvel of engineering the screen.

The windows have been open most of the time including at night as we have been in the midst of a heat wave. What that means is that it is about the same temperature as we are used to in Toronto, just not quite as humid.

This morning, Jo informed me that in the middle of the night she had heard the blinds rattling and for some reason, knew what was happening. I heard nothing of the sort and had no problem sleeping through the entire incident. Joanne, however, sprang into action.

She fearlessly leapt from bed, ready to employ her perfect karate if required. She went in to our front room to find the neighbour’s black cat standing on our dining room table. I can only imagine the stand off between the two. The cat knew he had been caught red-pawed and immediately beat a hasty retreat.

I can draw the following conclusions from this incident:
1) We are sleeping with the windows shut.
2) We will not be unlocking the cat flap on our door.
3) I am no longer head of security.
4) Those police on horse back do little to deter a first-story feline.

2006-07-28T10:30:00.000+01:00

Welcome home! It seems that the hard work has been done and we are now in our flat. It feels great to be able to unpack the suitcases and get organized and settled.

Our flat is part of a larger house with three other flats in it. The house in West Hampstead in the North West of London. Everyone here tells us that it is a good neighbourhood. Not chosen, just ended up here by luck.

As is often said, location is everything. We appear to have lucked out where that is concerned. The Tube is a 3 minute walk from our door. The main road (or High Street in the vernacular of the locals) has restaurants, cafes, wine bars, bakeries, delis, a used bookshop and a bookie. Everything that we need. There is even a Yamaha dealer, should the need arise.

The main road is West End Lane which, if you carry on south from us, turns into Abbey Road. At number 3, the Beatles recorded the album of the same name. We walked down to look at that piece of musical history, but there isn't much to see. We also managed to resist the temptation to recreate the album cover, which was photographed right outside the studio.

I have taken to calling our little place our pied a terre. As you can see on the left, we have a little patio. You would be free to sit on the bench at your own peril because it's as rotten as an Italian football match. As we found it, there was on old movie poster on one of the walls that featured either James Cagney or Sean Connery. It had been out there a while and it was hard to tell.

The garden retreat had not suffered from the heavy hand of anyone's maintenance for some time. Until now. We have been gleefully hacking and slashing back the growth so you can at least get to the door without feeling like Indiana Jones. It gets sun for most of the day and is a little brighter now that it is less overgrown.

Once inside, I think that the most charitable description is an economical use of space. This is not a big apartment, but then we had expected this is what we would find. The overall size seems to be about 400 sq.ft. according to my lazer measuring vision. The ceilings are high though. They are high enough that I get the sense that we live in a tube. We might almost have more room if we could lay the flat on it's side.

Despite being small, it is clean and furnished. Furniture! Included for free! O.K. not the best furniture. Or the most furniture. But everything is serviceable and the little love seat is somewhat better now that it has been shored up with bits of cardboard and styrofoam that we found.

The kitchen is a galley style but it has everything that one would need including what they call a fan oven. The fan oven is hotter than the fires of hades. It has to be set 30° lower than a regular oven. The kitchen even has a washing machine. Not bad at all.

If I do say so myself, we have gotten ourselves set up quite well here in England. Nice quiet neighbourhood and the police even patrol on horseback. (Seriously - I'll try to get a pic.) Satisfactory flat with everything we need. It's good to be home again!

2006-07-24T21:34:00.000+01:00

Monday the 10^th of July, it rained in Toronto. It rained a lot, apparently. Enough that my brother received a call from the storage facility saying that a 5 inch drain pipe had split and some units had gotten wet. Ours being one of them. **sigh**

The initial report that we had was an e-mail from my dad titled "Soggy Self Storage". I can assure you, if you harbour any doubt, that is not the title you want on an e-mail. The e-mail only contained the little that was known at the time. . Added to the stress of having moved countries and been unable to open a bank account, I for one did not want to envision my sofa and chairs floating away like gum wrappers in the gutter.

As it worked out, only a couple of items were wet and the damage was minimal. It could have easily been a lot worse and I sympathize with people who did have their units flooded. Things that are stored must, for that reason, have some value, either financial or sentimental. If nothing else, it creates a horrible mess to clean up and probably much worse.

I am left wondering at the end of this about the true value of possessions. The weight of stuff we brought with us would win an Olympic bronze in the Clean-and-Jerk, if you could lift all at once. I carefully packed, boxed stacked and shelved everything else that we own. I have referred to the packing of our storage unit as the capitalist jigsaw puzzle. Monthly I render unto storage man that which is storage man’s. Despite all of my efforts, possessions, can ever be maintenance free.

People have asked about all of our stuff when we told them of this move. I tell them; sold the car, sold the house, heck, sold the rollerblades. Many people’s reaction is that it must be cleansing. And they’re right to the extent that everything is gone. Those items that remain still apply the same amount of pressure as any other time that I owned them. Maintenance is the real price you pay for your possessions.

The other thing that is blatantly obvious, yet again, is the value of support of family. One reason that everything was so carefully stored was so other people would not have to deal with our stuff or the problems that having stuff creates. My parents and brother have spent several days and a summer Saturday chasing my saturated belongings around. There is no price that can be put on that. Thanks Mum, Dad, Steve and Wendy.

2006-07-21T21:36:00.000+01:00

So here we are, housed, fed, clean and jet lagged. With the exception of the jet-lag, the necessities of life were covered. This left quite a bit of time to explore our neighbourhood, our new city and our situation. Perhaps a bit too much time.

Our first Sunday in London, we acted like the gringo tourists and headed for Trafalgar Square. We had seen on the news that there was a Dutch inventor was demonstrating his self propelled walking machines. He had designed has creations on either a Commodore 64 or Atari 2000 computer and constructed them out of the cheapest material available, namely PVC conduit. They had been tested against each other with the successful ideas being transplanted to improve less successful. He referred to it as "evolution". I would call it trial-and-error engineering. Very complex and clever.

There is a scene in the second Austin Powers movie in which Mike Myers as the eponymous hero gets a golf cart stuck in a corridor while attempting a "K" turn. He can go about two inches forward and backward, colliding with the wall each time. Bear this in mind as I tell you about our first week in London.

We had arrived with a little money to get us started. It had been brought over in the form of two bank drafts drawn on a British bank. It seemed to be a reasonable way to transport our funds. The thinking being that an account could be opened close to us at any High Street Bank.

It turns out that you only need two things to open a bank account according to the Bank of England rules. 1) Proof of Identification. Valid passport or driving licence is entirely sufficient.
2) Proof of Residence in England. Utility bill, bank statement mailed to your home address.

Chicken? Egg? We may never know which came first. Not important. Address? Bank account? Well this is a little less theoretical and more thorny practical problem. As you can plainly discern, without the bank account there would be no residence with which to open a bank account. The mind does not necessarily boggle, but it goes round and around. A lot.

We had rented our short-stay accommodation for two weeks and it was a very acceptable temporary living arrangement. Key word = temporary. There did not appear to be a solution. The nice people in the bank were very sympathetic. "You understand, Mr and Mrs Wingate, we must be wary of people trying to launder money." I'd be lucky if I could launder a sock at that point.

This stumbling block - no, brick wall - left Joanne and I very frustrated. We also had, as I said, quite a bit of free time. In that free time we walked around from bank to bank trying to open an account with no luck. We were working on the old try-to-catch-them-napping theory. The rest of our plentiful free time we discussed our situation and tried to find a solution. Those were some very circular conversations.

When you have something that is weighing on you it's bad enough. When you have LOTS of time to sit around and think about the problem, the stress increases logarithmically. There's no apparent solution so you and the problem just sit around staring at each other. Sometimes all night long. Not fun.

After a week of this we decided the solution was to just go and get what you would call an apartment. Here it is called a flat. If you live in Oakville, what we got is called a closet. We walked into a letting agent on the High Street near where we were staying and told them we were new in town and needed to rent a place to live.

A letting agent is like a real estate agent, but they concentrate on rental accommodation. London has more letting agent's offices than Hamilton has Tim Hortons. Must be a lucrative business.

The salesman makes his commission by selling. He took us around to a couple of flats and we decided to rent the one we could afford. After much negotiation (read whinging on our part), we had a deal. Then came the action that anyone takes in a jam. Out came the trusty credit card and we charged our way to a solution.

The fine folks at the bank took our tennancy agreement as proof of residence. Somewhat hesitantly, but again, my negotiation skills saved the day. Bank account opened, money deposited, heroes relieved.

2006-07-20T21:44:00.000+01:00

Hello!
We are back online and have settled in a flat in North West London. At last! Move-in date was the 8th of July and the stability of having permanent place to is an immense relief. As the next few days go by I will colour in that picture.

However, for now, I give you the First Exciting Thing to happen.

Monday the 27thwas gray and rainy. This is what I had expected of London weather. It was a break from 32°C, sunny, humid weather. Perhaps it was the Toronto weather that I brought with me making my suitcase so heavy.

I maintain the following to be true. Our first Monday in London was my first celebrity sighting. Oh yes. Now, other than Liza Frommer from City TV who can hardly be called a celebrity, I have never made a celebrity sighting. That is, until our first English Monday. As I walked from our digs down to the high street, I passed what we would call a private school. It was about half past three, the parents were picking up their seeds and I walked right past Noel Gallagher from Oasis. Dead sure. I checked on their website and Oasis finished a tour in May of ’06. And according to the fan chat boards, Mr Gallagher, or Noel as I call him lives in Marylebone, a neighbourhood close to the school. Hey! Pretty cool, no? Not that we had anything that you would call an interaction. And despite saying that I am dead sure it was him, what are the chances for real? But I maintain I saw Noel Gallagher from Oasis.

I was there. You weren’t.

2006-07-11T12:01:00.000+01:00

Hello everyone!

Just a quick update. We are moved into our London flat.
For now, we will not have access to the internet on a regular basis until next week.

More updates will be posted next week once we are up and running again.

Watch this space for the further adventures of....

Jo & Martin.

2006-07-07T16:02:00.000+01:00

By looking at the post code for a place in London, you can tell approximately where it is located in the city. For instance, EC indicates East Central, SE tells you that area is located in the South East portion of the city.
We arrived at the Belsize Park tube station at 7:30 Saturday morning. Belsize Park’s post code is NW3, so it is in the North West of London.

Belsize Park is a leafy, somewhat upscale neighbourhood that is made up of large mansion style row houses. My guess would be that they date from the late 1800’s, but I could be off by a few decades. Think Mount Pleasant and Eglinton in Toronto, but older.

Right across from the Belsize Park tube station is the wonderful, non-historical Bagel Stop café. Wonderful because we were finally able to build a fort out of our mountain of luggage, sit down and decompress. After waiting until they opened a half hour later, Jo and I fortified ourselves with toasted bagels and strong coffee. It was a relief to sit down and not have to lift luggage for a few minutes.

After eating and collecting the keys for our short-stay accommodations, we walked down Belsize Avenue, cases in tow, to our flat. The flat is located in a converted mansion. What the English call a mansion block. Essentially a formerly grand house cut up into lots of little flats. Think Parkdale.

I ran in, unlocked the door and came back out to the sidewalk. “Is it horrible?” Joanne asked.

At that moment, I could see by her face that if I had said yes, she would have likely dropped everything, turned around and gone back to Canada. Fortunately, it was ok. Small, Spartan and clean. With a contained kitchen and bathroom. Heaven! We now had a start on getting settled.

2006-07-06T21:12:00.000+01:00

The test came the next day when we had to navigate the Tube with all of the stuff that we brought. We ended up on the train away from the airport, the Gatwick Express, at half-past five in the blessed AM. At that point, the fun was just beginning. Dragging our cases through the airport was just the warm-up. After all, it’s an airport. People are supposed to arrive there with suitcases of varying sizes and portability. Here there’s a ramp, over there an escalator, once in a while a lift. All intended to aid the movement of the weary traveller.

The Tube, well there’s a different kettle of fish. For those taking notes, the Tube is also called the Underground. Cleverly enough, because that is where it is located. The whole system is rather old. The best method devised at the time to get people in and out of it was built was lots and lots of stairs. If you recall from just paragraphs before, we were moving the equivalent of the average-sized dead body. A poor combination to be sure.

Last year, in July there were terrorist bombs detonated in the London Underground. This has led to, as you might imagine, a heightened sense of awareness in and around all of the transit systems in London. There are no litter bins anywhere. There are constant announcements over the public address system that bags left unattended would be subject to seizure and destruction. I imagine a dozen transit workers gathered around a small pit on a Friday afternoon exploding my seized bag.

This left us with two options: first, take one heavy bag in one hand and an even heavier bag in the other hand and walk either up or down a set of Victorian era stairs. Second, try to get four bags down the stairs using two people and never leave any of them unattended. Kind of like the brain-teaser with the fox, the chicken and the bag of grain that you have to get across the river in a boat one at a time.

We finally ditched option one. It proved almost instantly too frustrating to carry on that way. We took to taking cases up or down flights of stairs part way one piece at a time. Never out of sight, but occasionally out of reach for a few seconds. If I was to pick a sound track, the music from Benny Hill would have been fitting.

Part way through, there had been enough lugging of cases that had one of them been seized for destruction, my protests would have been meek at best. Add in to all this, our arrival at the Embankment station to find the construction blocking our access to the platform we needed. The less than entirely helpful workers pointed out where we could get the train we needed. Back down the stairs.

By this time, we had gotten off of an overnight flight, hustled onto the express train and had been humping 12 stone of luggage up and down stairs. Add to, or perhaps more correctly subtract from, this situation that we had not had anything to eat since the airplane dinner night before. When we finally arrived at our end destination, Belsize Park tube station, we were hot, tired, hungry and cranky. We were also relieved, as we were ready to start getting settled in our new home.

2006-07-01T22:39:00.000+01:00

There is a line in any Lonely Planet book that warns you to lay out your clothes before you leave, look at them and then put half of them away again. For anyone travelling and lifting their own bags, this is sage advice. While it may seem unnecessarily minimalist, a week or two of slugging a portly bag is apt to convert you.

In light of that it must be remembered that we are not holiday makers coming for a week or two. We had spent a considerable amount of time trying to devise the least amount of clothes for the move. We tried to carry as little as possible and make it as versatile as possible. In a way that is what we accomplished, but still ended up taking rather a lot of stuff. In all, seventy-six kilos of stuff. If you are filling out your scorecard, that is 167 pounds of clothing. I foresee a new requirement for those intrepid enough to visit. They will be required to mule some of our excess stuff back to Canada.

For a moment, put eighty-five pounds in perspective. That is like dragging around a fourth-grader. Not that I advocate dragging any school children about. Bear in mind also that it wasn’t just a quick lift in the airport and a push in the cart. We had to get these boulders across London when we got there.

We checked in with the nice people at MyTravel airways and found out what we suspected. Our cases were overweight. Way overweight. Way, way overweight. In all, we were sixteen kilos over the limit! At a penalty of $16.00 per kilo, that worked out to a hefty tariff. The counterman was good enough to reduce the penalty to $160.00. We do not travel light it seems. On the other hand, in the realm of moving, we do move light.

Despite having to labour under the added bulk of our belongings, the plane managed to groan into the air. Our flight was perhaps the smoothest one that I have ever been on. There was what amounted to no turbulence. Really. None. Smooth as glass. Jo and I sat in first –class and enjoyed the nice meal, bar service and T.V. The upgrade to first-class was worth it in just the added legroom alone. There must have been a favourable wind because we arrived at 4:30am, which was about half an hour prior to schedule.

So, a little bleary-eyed and worse for wear we were on the ground in our new home. It is tempting to say “The adventure begins here”. But that would not be accurate in light of all the work that went into getting to where we were. It could be fair to say, however, that at this point, the heavy lifting begins. Watch this space and follow as we traverse The Capital.

2006-06-30T20:36:00.000+01:00

Enormous is a word that does not lend itself to contraction or poor pronunciation. The accent on the middle syllable seems to make it, with good reason, the most prominent word in the sentence. The Titanic and the Empire State building are big. The Great Plains and the Atlantic Ocean are enormous.

This is the adjective that most comes to mind when I think about Friday June 23^rd. This was the day we departed for England. It describes the magnitude of what we were doing and the emotions that attended the day.

As our flight didn’t leave until half-past four in the afternoon, we spent the day doing some final packing and weighing our cases. It was a day that is best described as a Chinese Water Torture. We got more and more tense as the morning wore on. I for one couldn’t have the limo come for us fast enough. The part that I was dreading the most was that I knew that I would have to give my Mum a hug, tell her that I loved her and then that would be it. I would be making, in my mind, the final break.

When the moment came, it was just as hard as I had anticipated. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to do it or don’t love my Mum, it was just the enormity of the situation that weighed on me. It was so emotionally charged. Perhaps I am happier to shy away from those situations. We got in the limo and pulled away, I was relieved somewhat to be headed for the airport.

I do not think that we spoke a word in the car on the way to the airport. It was better that way, so as not to let the emotions flood out at a moment when focus on keeping moving was more important.

As difficult as it was getting to the airport, there were challenges once we arrived. Watch this space to find out why Fit Club is not just for celebrities.

2006-06-27T20:49:00.000+01:00

Hello everyone reading this! It is Tuesday evening here for us.
This will be our first post from London. We have made it here in one piece and are doing some of the heavy lifting required to get up and running.
This will be a little short in terms of all that I have to tell. Over the next few days I will try to capture our travels here.
To be sure, we are well and finding our way.
Watch this space for more.
Cheers!

2006-06-17T00:27:00.000+01:00

The legend in my family that I have heard my mother tell on numerous occasions. In May of 1970, on the day that they moved in to the house they still occupy, my father stood at the top of the stairs and proclaimed "We are Never. Moving. Again". So far he is true to his word. This week I found out why he made that proclamation thirty-six years ago.

The sale of our house was final on the 15th. Which means we are now unemployed and homeless. Nothing says success like being thirty-eight years old and living in your parents basement. Just for a week.

It has been said that the stress of moving is second only to the loss of a loved one. I'll agree with that. The entire experience of packaging all of my posessions in to boxes and ramming a storage unit full to bursting had me in a frenzy. I never want to move again. Oh, wait.

Fortunately, the counterpoint to my day of hyperventilation was Joanne's contstant reassurance that it would all be O.K. Which it was. We finished moving out of the house in plenty of time, left the keys on the counter and walked away. Walked away because we have sold the car.

One week left in Canada and then we are off to London.

2006-06-03T13:01:00.000+01:00

Sometimes the universe sends you a sign. Sometimes, but not often, the sign is in the form of a TV show. Tends to be much easier that way. Last night I watched an episode of that old show "Around the World in 80 Days" by Michael Palin of Monty Python fame. The show was, on one level, unwittingly comical. Palin seemed to have an underlying sun-never-sets-on the-empire British attitude. There was an element in his presentation of bemusement with all of the "savages" he encountered. Then again, the message that resonated with me, He seemed to be trying to immerse himself in the indigenous culture. He seemed to be genuinely trying to be a traveller not a tourist. This is the lead that I would like to follow.

I mark this show as appropriate as yesterday was my last day at work and Wednesday was Joanne's last day at work. We are now unemployed, as we had planned to be. For me this will be the first time since I was about twelve that I don't have a job.

It was easier than I thought it would be to finally walk out for the last time. I will miss all of the people that I work with. Everyone was supportive and gracious, as I expected. But getting home and sitting down I didn’t feel that there was any change, any emptiness, anything missing. It is at this moment, some hours after the end, not as troubling as I thought it might be. There is more looking forward than looking back.

So now the packing begins in earnest. The house closes on the 15th. Before we can begin in England, Canada has to be closed up. But first, we’re taking a taxi to the Bingo as soon as the pogey comes.

2006-05-20T14:53:00.000+01:00

This is less of a blog entry and more of a thank-you note. Last night we were treated to a wonderful dinner by eleven of our friends. It reminded me that in the rush to start a new adventure, we must remember the foundation that our past provides.

It was a great evening. One of those stellar nights where there is no gap in the conversation and time seems to evaporate.

Thanks to Marsh for organizing it. and Thanks Gary for inviting Chris and Claire. Thanks to Tennile & Peter, Michelle & Darren, Wendy & John, Michelle & Gary, Claire & Chris and Marshall for making it a fabulous night.

If I was on the ball, I would have had a camera with me and then posted a nice goup shot here. But I'm not and I didn't and there isn't. The lesson to be learned is to remember the value of friends. And to take their picture.

2006-05-09T01:35:00.000+01:00

Say that a pile of steel, wood, glass and concrete appears in a lot near you. The question that comes to mind is "What are they going to build here"? Until the building finished, or at least well underway, it is not clear what it is going to be or at least how the finished product is going to fit into the neighbourhood. One thing is certain, whatever is to appear will only do so with a lot of hard work.

So today, I have picked up the hammer, or more appropriately, the shovel. I quit my job. Joanne has already made the leap and quit her job. Having already sold the house, we are now set to be unemployed homeless people.

We are moving to London England for a life adventure. What lies ahead? Who knows. But watch this space to see it unfold.

The finished product may be the Louvre Pyramid, or more akin to a concrete fascist housing block. In either case, we will own it. The adventure begins.