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?

Missing turkey

Here it is, the day before Thanksgiving and no news coverage on BBC of massive lines and delays at the airports or miles of snaking headlights of cars trying to beat the holiday traffic. Of course, here in London Thursday is just another day; no turkey, no stuffing, no yams, no cranberry sauce, and no football. Perhaps we'll go to Sainsbury's tomorrow and get a turkey breast or even a cutlet, but it will be a pale imitation. Nonetheless we'll give thanks for our health (more or less) and being together on this adventure we've embarked on, while wishing all the best to our family and friends around the globe. Now just to get through Christmas and New Year's unscathed!

Visit to the Doctor

I wasn't feeling well since yesterday. Every time I moved or lay down I felt vertigo. It's happened before and the culprit is usually a viral ear infection, which resolves on its own.  But this was a bit worse than normal. Anyway, my point is not to moan about my ailments; rather I thought it would be an opportunity to describe a visit to the doctor, NHS style.  First of all, everyone has to register with a local GP; literally local within your post code, no going cross town because you want to.  So as I wasn't feeling well, Martin called first thing at 8:30 in the morning and I got an appointment for 10:30. This is a relatively new practice and not oversubscribed, so it's usually easy to be seen on short notice.  I arrived, notified the receptionist and sat down.  That's it. No insurance card, no co-pay. Just sat down.  A few minutes later Dr. Brannick pops his head out of his office and calls me in.  No sitting expectantly for 20 minutes in an examination room waiting for the doctor to breeze in! Fortunately our doctor is young and very personable and he laughs at patients' jokes.  After a brief chat he says I've got benign paroxysmal positional vertigo, which is some inner ear crystals getting loose and causing havoc.  "There's medication you can take," he said, "but it can make it worse."  I replied, well, that's a real strong ad slogan - "here, take this and you'll feel worse!"  Dr. B leaned back in his chair and had a long laugh at that, no doubt appreciating the irony.  He then explained there was something called the Epley maneuver that might help, so up on the table I went for that. (It's on youtube, if anyone's interested.)  A few minutes later, we were done. Off I went, still feeling dizzy, but reassured that it should resolve on its own.  Of course, the NHS isn't all hugs and laughs, but I'll save those stories for later.

Lazy weekend

We've been taking it easy this weekend as we are partially housebound while temporarily fostering a dog from the Weimaraner rescue. Benji, aka Damien the Devil Dog, is an unneutered, ill-mannered 2-year-old from a chaotic household with a new baby.  He has pulled Martin down the street on his lead (not an easy task) and chewed the remote control, which triggered a loud outburst from the resident keeper of the remote. He has perfected the hit-and-run eat and run of anything left unattended for so much as a millisecond on the counter and he has tried to have puppies with every member of the household, including Martin (which is definitely not a pretty sight!) Surely our dearly departed Bentley would have been mortified to be of the same breed as this deficient canine who just can't seem to learn.  Sadly it's not his fault. The people who had him never bothered to train him properly and, in fact, shouldn't have had him at all. The ex-boyfriend bought him from a pet shop of all places (probably after a fight) and once he moved out, no one could manage him.  So on Wednesday he is off to rehab, or the funny farm as we call it, with a behaviorist in Essex who will have him for an indeterminate period of time until she can retrain him.  Then we shall be free again to leave the flat without wondering what's being destroyed in our absence!

More on British food

If television is a barometer of society, then the Brits are cooking up a storm!  All day and all night there are shows that revolve around cooking or local foods. Masterchef (professional and celebrity), Come Dine With Me, The Great British Food Revival, There's No Taste Like Home, and my favorite (yeah, I spell it the American way without the "u"), Hairy Bikers' Best of British - these are just a partial list of shows extolling food from its sources to its final presentation on a plate.  Not to mention the ubiquitous Jamie Oliver!  One prevailing theme is the apparent peril of native fruits, nuts and even livestock in danger of being swallowed up into the belly of history by the suburbanization and financialization of the island.  Another is the distinctly Continental and even Asian influences, which are a good thing. Pity the poor guy on Masterchef who had the nerve to prepare a simple fish pie for the food critics! He's gone.  And the professional tasters! How are they not the size of houses? Having to eat all those dishes in the space of an hour (I know it's filmed over a longer period), but it just doesn't seem fair. Try that at home! Since I'm not going to any of these Michelin star restaurants (the bill must be the size of a small weekly wage), it's good vicarious fun to watch. I suppose therein lies the appeal in this recession-wracked economy as well!

The Impetus of the British Empire

My opinion of what motivated Britain to spread its empire around the world has long been a standing joke at cocktail parties, mostly in the States where it is universally well received, but not here in London (as I haven't been invited to any parties yet).  Having first visited England in the 1970's as a college graduate, my palate was unsophisticated enough to eat whatever was on offer at whichever pub I stumbled into - usually steak and kidney pie or bangers and mash - or  whatever was available in a greasy newspaper wrapping from a corner chippie (although I didn't call it that at the time).  I survived just fine, venturing occasionally into an Indian or Chinese restaurant.  But the old cliche was not lost on me; namely, English cuisine was simply an oxymoron.  Later on, after marrying my English husband, I came up with the riposte somewhere in California (maybe in a jacuzzi with a glass of wine) that the reason the British Empire expanded to conquer the world was simply because they were in search of a good meal! After all, how else would there be so many Indian and Chinese restaurant in London? This line always brings a good laugh in the States, but I haven't had a chance to try it out yet here in London (haven't been invited to any parties!) Lately it has occurred to me that those early Brits were also in search of a good tan!