Postcode bingo

We recently moved and apparently we've gone upmarket.  In updating my new address where I volunteer twice a week, I was greeted with the response of "you've gone posh, then."  Since we'd moved less than 1 mile away, I questioned this observation.  It appears that our new postcode, W11, is vastly superior to our old postcode of W10.  Although a stone's throw separates them, the latter is the Outer Limits of North Kensington, while the former is the fabled Notting Hill.  A lively conversation ensued about the relative superiority of postcodes.  Five years ago we used to live in SW3 - that drew an appreciative whistle - which is apparently only outdone perhaps by SW7.  Another co-worker was pleased to note he resided in W1. Etc, etc.  The really curious thing about postcodes isn't the secret embedded in the first three letters and digits (which denote only a neighborhood), it's the last three consisting of a number and two letters that pinpoint your location with the accuracy of a heat-seeking Sidewinder missile crashing through your living room window. Very clever and very MI5!

Almost there!

This week between Christmas and New Year's is like one long held breath.  You could black out waiting for the old calendar to flip over.  Not much happening here.  The streets feel empty (the buses actually get to their destinations speedily); perhaps everyone's gone to Spain for one final check on their foreclosed vacation homes.  We took the plunge on Boxing Day and went to the mall.  Won't do it again!  Navigating through Westfield's was like a salmon trying to swim upstream and over the Hoover Dam!  And the shop we hit for the 50% off sale looked like Filene's Basement after a bomb exploded in the bins!  The fitting rooms were shut for the day, so it was just shoes and tops for us.  As if it weren't hard enough figuring out my UK shoe size, the shoes are also sized in European ones, which are completely different (like from 36 to 42) and they were literally scattered all over.  We make the mistake of arriving late afternoon after the locusts had fed.  Apparently it was one of the biggest sale days ever. Maybe everyone was just waiting for the after Christmas sales, or Santa delivered a new unmaxed credit card.  

It's Christmas -Anyone There?

Yesterday was the last day of school before the Christmas holiday break.  No skimpy one week vacation here - it's a full two-week asta manana, see ya later hiatus.  It's not just the schools either. Basically everything is winding down and, according to the BBC anyway, the whole country had its Christmas party yesterday, or will do so this weekend.  The upcoming week will be the final shopping frenzy, which we will respectfully decline.  Perhaps we'll pay a visit to the Norwegian Christmas tree at Trafalgar Square or the reindeer at Covent Garden, but we intend to coast gently into the new year.  Unlike my workaholic compatriots, this joint (meaning the whole country and continent) will basically shut down between Christmas and New Year's.  It starts with Boxing Day (nothing pugilistic about it) the day after Christmas,  and continues through New Year's Day (and in Scotland, Hogmanay, the day after).  So if you have any urgent business to conduct, forget about it until at least January 2 or even the 3rd.  Just go ahead and get pissed like everyone else. When the New Year finally rings in, we'll be first!

The other day we were looking for some nuts and dried fruit, but the selection was poor and the packages too small for even a bowl of oatmeal.  So we hopped on the bus to Kensington High Street where there is a Whole Foods.  I remember it was a big deal when it first opened almost five years ago, but we had never actually stepped foot inside. So we venture in and of course it's beautifully laid out with a Cornish pasty wagon strategically placed in the middle of the main aisle. There were three food bars, with all kinds of salads, cold prepared foods and hot food. It was like Hometown Buffet!  We wandered around looking for the nuts and not finding any until we stumbled on the elevator bank and the aha moment when we realized there were three floors to this Whole Foods.  We went downstairs to the bulk food department, grabbing our afternoon snack of kettle chips laid out between the aisles. It brought back memories of having an early dinner on Costco samples.  We found our walnuts along a wall of every grain, nut and seed known to man in large bulk dispensers.  The coolest part though was the scale.  You put your bag of stuff on, press the appropriate category and presto, it weighs it and spits out a barcoded price sticker and off you go. Saves all that hassle at checkout.  In fact self checkout it really prevalent here, but that's another topic for another day. Anyway we have crossed the Atlantic only to become Whole Foodies. Who knew?

Strike out!

The big news yesterday was a huge strike by public employees - hospital workers, teachers, immigration - which today was ruled a dud. It was all about complaints over having to pay more toward their pensions and work longer to collect, something that didn't resonate well with the populace in the private sector who lack the largesse of public pension.   Something like two-thirds of schools were closed so parents took the opportunity to do some early midweek Christmas shopping. My daughter's school was open for Sixth Form, but not for the 11 to 13 year olds.  It actually worked out nicely - she commented on how "stress free" it was without the "little kids" and we had a relaxing conference with the head of Sixth Form.   At Heathrow the passport barricades were manned by "volunteers" from other departments and apparently they did a cracking good job, too, as there were fewer delays than normal! So much for all the anticipated illegals sneaking in.  The occasion couldn't pass without another ornery Brit going off at the mouth.  Top Gear host Jeremy Clarkson riled the BBC audience when he  jokingly or not opined that public sector workers should be executed in front of their families. There's talk now of him getting fired!  Well, that's proof the speech police didn't go on strike!

You can't say that!

Apparently there is no constitutional guarantee of free speech here in Britain.  Actually I have no idea what their Constitution, or what passes for one, looks like or sounds like, but you can't call people names in public, especially racial or ethnic names. Queen PC is the actual ruler here.  There are two cases in point: one is on youtube, entitled My Tram Experience, in which a mother riding the train with a kid on her lap absolutely goes off in a rant on the present state of Britain; the other concerns a prominent football (soccer) player for Chelsea who allegedly used a derogatory racial comment toward an opposing player after a match.   Personally I'm not offended by anyone calling someone a nasty name; it's their problem and I don't feel I have to pass judgment.  After watching the youtube segment, it's clear to me that woman was very distressed and who knows what's going on in her life to trigger such emotion (of course the cynic could argue it was all a put up job to get her 15 minutes of fame on the Internet).  In any event, she's facing charges!  Of being obnoxious in public, I guess.  Curiously, there was no actual violence and no one got hurt. I mean, try that rant on the A train in Harlem and you'd be facing the coroner rather than the prosecutor!  The way I see it, no harm, no foul, but here apparently the State is responsible for protecting people from being offended.  The other case is even more of a hoot. Supposedly Chelsea's John Terry called QPR's Anton Ferdinand a f$*g black c$#t, but Ferdinand didn't even hear him - it was a vigilant member of John Q Public who "complained."  Of course John Q was a QPR fan! Hmm. So now Terry has to undergo a police inquiry!  Can you imagine such a thing after an NFL game? There's be a line outside the police station of players to be interviewed.  Some would call it civility here; I think it's a real negative of the nanny state.

People, people everywhere

Historical musings on the origins of people on this island. The British are usually thought to be so homogeneous, which from a modern perspective is largely true, but over the millennia the original Celtic and Druid people were invaded by Romans, Vikings, Angles, Saxons, and most recently Normans (only 1000 years ago!). Over the years many Continental Europeans showed up and stayed, particularly if they had been thrown out of somewhere else (Huguenots from France, Jews from Spain's inquisition)and in very recent years, thanks to the EU, this tradition has been elevated to an onslaught, a deluge, an avalanche of humanity. Today in London something like a third of its residents were not born here. Go on the bus, shut your eyes and listen to the phone conversations and you might just as well be in Somalia, Ethiopia, Pakistan, Iran, Morocco, Russia, Poland, Ukraine, any of the former soviet bloc, etc., etc., etc. As an English speaker I'm in the minority! Unfortunately, many of these recent arrivals have not brought high level skills or high brow culture with them either. And our neighborhood is very multicultural! That's the euphemism for the debris that Labour under Blair and Brown let flood into the country over the past 20 years for what purpose no one actually knows (supposedly for cheap labor). Now that the EU is cracking up and the "furriners" are seen to be taking all the jobs, the natives are becoming a tad more restless and xenophobic, although it's still politically incorrect to say so! As things become more difficult economically, I suspect they'll become more interesting politically, correct or not. What was that Chinese curse?