I've just spared you a particularly gruesome pun in this title

After my attempt to say something meaningful in the previous post, I'm reverting to narcissism to completely wig out (hah! you knew I couldn't really resist) over my latest superficial crisis.

In an attempt to achieve the body temperature necessary for survival, I just had my second hot shower of the day. And when washing my hair, I found THIS:

I'm certainly not blonde, and if anyone can provide an alternative explanation that doesn't involve someone else's hair entangling itself with mine (ugh), I'd appreciate it. Because that sure looks like a grey hair. And I haven't even suffered through childbirth yet!

(I blame the horror I experienced at the price of Diet Coke in Britain. Since it decides whether or not I get through a day, why isn't it subsidized?)

This grey hair (ye gods!) is the harbinger of my high-maintenance years, I fear. I am officially the laziest person on earth in terms of upkeep. I'm all for good hygiene (two showers today, remember? AND I floss!), but I refuse to own a hair-dryer. I only get my hair cut once a year, if that. (I let it grow really long, have it chopped short enough for hair shock, and cry for a week. Every time.) Other than experiments with red henna and purple dye years ago, I can't be bothered to colour my hair. I relish waking up fifteen minutes before I leave the house in the morning, and have been dreading the day I need to start putting some effort into hiding the grey, the wrinkles, the pull of gravity. Just a few more years ... that's all I was hoping for ...

Then again, who am I kidding. I already wear jogging pants around the house far too often. Somebody needs to give me a job, before I start watching daytime television! Especially now that the conclusion of the Olympics has left a hole in my life that no amount of home decorating shows can fill.

(And that funny joke about old age you've been planning in celebration of my 30th birthday? Unless there is an ocean between us, I'd rethink it.)

Ah, Mondays.

I find it odd that there is apparently no regulation about providing fire extinguishers here, but that you aren't allowed to have a light switch in a bathroom. Just a piece of string hanging from your ceiling. Reminds me of how, back in my hockey days, the American leagues required a mouth guard (INSIDE a face mask!) but no neck protector. Them's sharp blades, folks! However, my life is full of contradiction lately. Like the fact that the meadows are carpeted with flowers while it still drops below zero at night. If only I had brought a winter jacket. To wear INDOORS. I know, I know, it's minus 200 degrees in Canada, but people insulate their houses there!

This past weekend in Oxford there was a mammoth protest between pro-use-of-animals-in-research activists and anti-use-of-animals-in-research activists. Forgive the clumsy wording ... I'm trying to be diplomatic. I have yet to read unbiased coverage of the event, perhaps because animal rights issues bring out the vitriol in people here. We stayed out of the fray, being conflicted on the issue. (For testing cosmetic products? Nay! For cancer research? Much harder to call, especially when you've lost people to the disease.)

And these are for the few people with whom I've recently argued that the glass ceiling still exists, and that we still need feminism because past gains can be clawed back ...

"In 2006, 30 years after the Equal Pay Act - which followed hot on the heels of the 1975 Sex Discrimination Act - there is still a 17.1 per cent pay gap between men and women. The private sector is the worst offender. In 2004, the pay gap between the sexes in full-time work was 10.1 per cent in the public sector compared with 23.1 per cent in the private sector. According to the Fawcett Society, which campaigns for greater opportunities for women, it will take more than 80 years to close the full-time pay gap." Articles here and here.

And then, this ...
"Clearly, this is a devastating day for the women of South Dakota"

Finally, here's a photo to bring a little springtime into the lives of my snow-bound friends and relations:

Have wheels, will travel. At least to the pub.

Writing cover letters is an exercise in both humility and self-aggrandizement. On the one hand you're essentially begging someone to give you a job, and on the other you're inflating your virtues with "action verbs" (admit it). You don't want to look foolish or desperate by applying to things beyond your reach, but, hey, they may NOT find a person who speaks seven languages fluently, has forty years of experience and an extensive network of industry contacts, and is willing to work for just over minimum wage. Every employer here wants to know exactly what I made at my last job. Which, given exchange rates and cost of living differences, puts me in a tricky situation, because my last salary converts to lower than I would want to make here. And here's a question ... when prospective employers ask for your salary expectations, do you shoot a little bit high? Or does that put people off? To be honest, after this longer-than-intended hiatus from work I don't really have a sense of what I'm worth or what I'm capable of. I've lost my groove! I hope I'm not also losing brain cells watching this much Olympic coverage (er, between writing cover letters).

When did female figure skaters start wearing those disco pantsuits? Good for them. I know I'd feel a lot more comfortable without worrying about the tiny piece of lycra normally constituting the bottom of a woman's skating costume becoming a visible wedgie. (Lovingly zoomed in on by cameramen and inevitably replayed in slow motion.)

The British commentators on the Eurosports channel are endearing and get excited by a good performance no matter which country it comes from. But I did smile at an aside about "the millionaires going home" when both Canada and the US got defeated in men's ice hockey. (But is it really fair anymore? Aren't all the teams made up primarily of NHLers these days?) When I heard the unmistakable Canadian accents of Cindy Klassen and Kristina Groves in an interview I felt a longing for Timbits.

Well, this week I got a library card and a bike. There's no stopping me now!



This is the largest women's bike frame that I've ever seen. I should have put a European car in the picture for scale.

(What, I should go out in the cold and remove the plastic bag just for a photo? That would require putting on shoes for the first time in days! Just kidding, Mom and Dad, I'm getting my fresh air.)

Every day is like Sunday. (Seriously -- I'm unemployed!)

I'm watching "The Cure Live in Berlin" on VH2, my new favorite channel. And I'm realizing I don't listen to them much anymore. I still think they're grrrreat (if you ignore the last three albums), but it's hard to listen to music that so vividly recollects my disaffected youth (smile). I remember sitting in the back seat of the Volvo on family trips or on the way to tournaments, plugged into my walkman in order to be as uncommunicative as possible. Daydreaming about Robert Smith rescuing me from school, sports practices, the suburbs. Or taking the looooooong way home after music theory class just so I could play mixed tapes super loud on the car stereo (you can only crank the volume so high in a split-level house). Or long nighttime country drives with friends, because there wasn't anywhere to go in Kingston when you're seventeen and they're cracking down on underagers at the bars.

I was almost imagining that the VH2 programmers had raided my music collection. Then I realized that I got into all those bands by reading British music magazines, in particular the late, lamented Select magazine. Well, duh. It only makes sense that the programming on the thirtysomething version of British music television reflects my tastes. I'm such a cliche. (The video for "There is a Light" by The Smiths makes me want to wear black-framed specs and ride my bike around Manchester with Morrissey. Sigh.)

I give you my much-missed hometown bedroom (hardwood floors, dontcha know), with posters unchanged since 1994. Yes, those are medals on the bulletin board. I was a decorated athlete in my youth.



So anyway, do they have Cappuccino-flavoured Pepsi Max in Canada? Because I could swear I just saw a commercial for it. Somebody should be fired for that idea.

Still no job, still no bank account, but I now have a Brita water filter which, while too big for our teeny tiny British fridge, will nonetheless improve my standard of living considerably.

Cheerio!

Getting my fix

I've been preoccupied with our new digital cable. Yes, we now have 160 channels. We only ordered about 30, because we're reasonable folks, but they forced six free months of the biggest and most expensive package upon us. To be honest, I'll be glad to go back to a more moderate selection, as long as we keep the Eurosport channel. But it's fun to live beyond our means for a while.

This means I'm now getting my Olympic fix. I can't seem to find good coverage of cross-country skiing, biathlon and speed skating, which are my favorites to watch, but the "snowboard cross" was COOL and I've caught some bobsledding, skeleton, hockey and ski jumping. (And curling ... Great Britain has medal hopes, so it's covered exhaustively ... yawn.) We also get really good music videos on MTV2 and VH2. Reasons not to leave the house when the sky is so dark and foggy.

Other than that, we've had a slow weekend. Last night while curled up in front of the TV I kind of forgot we were in England. I do like it here. But it still feels like a hiatus rather than real life. I assume that will change once I get back into the daily grind of work. Speaking of, I've applied for two jobs, and will apply for another two this week. I'm torn between pressure just to get any job and holding out for one that will feel like a progression. I found a posting for a month-long job moving a university library. Jeff thinks they won't hire a woman because they seem more traditional here, but I've got great credentials for hauling boxes of books.

I keep adding to the list of stuff I should bring back from Canada. Everything you'd buy in a pharmacy is expensive here ... I'm hitting up Shopper's Drug Mart and Sephora and filling a suitcase next time I'm home! And British Gas has just announced they're upping their bills by something like 22% in March. Imagine my delight. They have commercials on TV which basically say "yeah, we know that everyone else offers better rates and service, but it's better to just stick with what you know." Not the most compelling sales pitch. Our landlord didn't give us the chance to shop around, so I guess we're stuck for now. We'll see what the first bill looks like.

Back to the Olympics!

Longing for cheap parquet

I've always liked the colour green in most of its incarnations. I wear a lot of green, I decorate with lots of green, I like landscapes that are green. My blog is green! But all of this may change.

The new flat has a lot going for it. Anyone familiar with our old apartment knows that we will sacrifice a fair bit in the way of comfort and attractiveness in order to be able to walk or bike anywhere we need to go. Well, there's a local pub around the corner, and a gym, grocery stores, pharmacies, a post office and health food store within a few minutes' walk. The flat is also clean and spacious, has good water pressure (yay!), a modern white kitchen area with a washing machine (yay!), and a friendly, professional building owner/landlord (bonus!). It's a furnished flat, but the 1980s upholstery on the barely-used sofa and armchairs is the only real unpleasantness.

But.

What do the British have against a nice hardwood floor? Or an imitation lacquered floor? Or even ill-fitted parquet flooring? Why did every single flat we looked at have nasty wall-to-wall carpeting in obtrusive colours? (One flat smelled of hamster chips, and since it was empty it must have been the astroturf-textured carpeting.) These are not cheap properties, by the way. While our flat was the best of the bunch by far, we have not escaped the carpet curse. Tell me, how does a person rationalize carpeting a BATHROOM? And, uh, it's all green. All of it. Every room (except, mercifully, the little kitchen area). Even better, in the living room the green carpet merges into monochromatic heavy green floor-to ceiling drapery over the front window. We had to replace nice sage-green towels (which I would normally love) because they elicited a violent reaction when hung on a towel bar above the carpet.


Argh!


Cute kitchen, but note the green "accent" mat.

I shouldn't complain. We were lucky to get a decent flat given that we still feel a bit like illegal aliens. Our experiences setting up bank accounts, even with the university's "help", is a funny story. Or would be, if it were happening to someone else. My sense of humour around bureacratic redundancies and administrative inefficiency is ebbing away.

Loving:
Season 3 of "Shameless", sitting on pub patios in February, the walk into town from the flat, how they use the coolest music even on lame family tv shows here (Aphex Twin, Ladytron, etc.).

Missing:
North American banks (never thought I'd say that), Olympic coverage and the Canadian media's obsession with medal counts (how are we doing?), Second Cup, those crisp sunny winter days.

Puzzled by:
The Kaiser Chiefs' sweep of the Brit Awards. They're okay, but, wha?

The sun makes everything better ...

Today was an absolutely GORGEOUS day, and although I am pretty stressed about finding work, I felt lucky to be outdoors this afternoon, and considered a career in landscaping instead of publishing. Sunshine! Such a rare commodity here in winter, and so uplifting. I walked into town along the Thames, watching Oxford rowers practicing and all the swans, ducks and geese (including some Canada geese!). I found a cafe that was actually quiet to sit and read for a bit (it's usually all hustle and bustle and lots of tourists in the center of town). Near the High Street I finally found gluten-free bread for Jeff, which, assuming it's palatable, will provide respite from the ubiquitous "jacket potato," just about his only option these days.

Although walking around the colleges makes me feel old, I can't help but smile at the students running about in navy blue Oxford sweats with lacrosse sticks (do you call them sticks or racquets or bats? What kind of Canadian am I?) and cricket bats, or riding about on bicycles. It seems like a pretty fun place to be at school. The soccer, er, football fields are really well groomed and completely green even at this time of year. I longed to go out and kick a ball around. Compared to the fields we played on in Toronto, these are a dream! If only I could bring the whole Panic squad over. There's a great selection of post-game pubs to entice!

Anyway, today I was glad to be here and to be unemployed. But next week I start applying to jobs, now that I have an address for my CV. I've found a few postings that interest me, though I've no idea what my chances are.

The photos are of the 800-year-old Norman church (mentioned previously) and of rowers on the Thames.

(Happy birthday - yesterday - to the lovely and amazing Sarah Natasha! And to Benjamin, who is now nine months old!)

Getting the ducks in a row

We have a flat! We have a flat! We have a flat! At least, we have a signed tenancy agreement and plans to move in on Saturday. That pretty much guarantees it, right? The fact that the flat is still advertised in the Oxford Gazette today is a bit worrisome, but we have no reason to think we're being taken for a ride.

We both have pending bank accounts now. The bank was incredibly disorganized so we don't have everything settled as we should (they COULDN'T FIND either type of card anywhere at the branch and will have to post them to us). Which means we still can't sign up for phone or internet until next week. I can only get the most basic of accounts and no credit card until I get a job, so hopefully I can upgrade down the road. I refused to get a joint account or to acknowledge any financial dependence, which may have been foolhardy depending on how long it takes to find work, but my pride has been hurting a bit lately.

I went to a get-together for spouses or partners of people working at the university yesterday. It turns out that almost everyone was the wife of a distinguished professor here as a visiting scholar, who won't be working and who participate in garden tours and such things during the weekdays. Nobody was struggling to find accommodation (visiting professors are put up in style, it seems), nobody was worrying about how much everything costs here, nobody was going to be here as long as I am. I'm the same age as many of their children, and the few who looked about my age had small children of their own. And it felt a bit demoralizing that the only question people asked was "what college is your partner at?" or "what does your partner do at the university?"

I miss my life. I suppose it has only been a week. It feels like so much longer ...

Pros and cons

Exciting discoveries:

Cider! On tap! At every pub!

This TV show called "In the thick of it", which I've just seen the once but which is a riot. I think it's about a cabinet minister. Whatever, it's funny.

Used books are cheaper than I expected, given that new books are more expensive than in Canada. Not a bad selection, either.

A nice variety of lunch places around town, which is a relief given my memories of the limited (and expensive!) options in Edinburgh eight years ago.

The village a short walk down the road from where we're staying right now (not exactly central Oxford, as it turns out). It's a perfect little village, with thatched roofs, a couple of local pubs/inns, windy lanes with stone walls and vines, a meadow beyond, an old toll cottage for boats on the river, a school house, and a Norman church that was built in 1175. Get your head around that! 1175! And apparently the outside has hardly been altered. Only a shortish bus ride from the center of Oxford, and there's this bucolic oasis. I'd post photos but I've left the camera at our temporary digs. I am sad that we'll be moving away from the area, because while impractical without a car, it's a lovely spot. Not touristy, either.



Things I dearly miss:

Decent water pressure in the shower. I don't know if it's that I can't get all the conditioner rinsed out, but my hair has been DREADFUL since I got here. I may have to give up on long hair.

My favorite suede boots and shoes. In one of those utterly irrational moments I always have when packing, I thought to myself "enh, Britain, rains all the time, can't wear suede." Then I get here, and not only has it not rained, but the country is in a drought of rather fearsome proportions. Everyone is wearing groovy suede boots.

Being able to access my money without elaborate planning.

Dressing for the weather without feeling spectacularly unhip. (More about Oxford fashions another day.)

Having a plethora of cafes around that are open into the evening. It's all about the pubs here. Not a bad thing, but sometimes you're just in a cafe mood ...

Omens

Well, the past four days have been pretty overwhelming, to say the least. Lots of complications, lots of bureaucracy, lots of catch-22s over setting up (i.e. can't get a flat without a British bank reference, can't get a British bank account without a British tenancy agreement and utility bill ... I tell you, it's almost a joke ). And my god, the jet lag! I have been taking combinations of pills and neocitron-type drinks to knock myself out each night, and it just doesn't work! Anyone have connections in the area for horse tranquilizers?

We've applied for a flat even without the standard references, just cobbling together what we could to show we're responsible and reliable, and we're desperately hoping we get it. I don't want to say more right now because I've become very superstitious since arriving. I don't know why. But until we get a flat, nothing else can really fall in place, including the all-important internet access.

Perhaps superstition is just in the air here. I was charmed by a column in Saturday's Guardian sports section called "Omens", in which they evaluate the implications of world events on match outcomes. From this past weekend:

"Stephen Harper will be sworn in as prime minister of Canada on Monday - a mixed blessing for Midland sides. West Brom have drawn on the Saturday closest to the appointments of the last four Canadian prime ministers to take office during the football season, while Aston Villa have won three and drawn the other. Around the last five such appointments Manchester United have won four but the other game saw them thrashed 6-0 by Ipswich in March 1980."

Mixed blessing, indeed.

Is it really so strange?

We wandered around Oxford last night, and at first it seemed that everything closed at 6 pm. Being used to the all-hours conveniences of my neighborhood in Toronto, I started to wonder how I'd survive here. But then I saw a Borders bookstore with a Starbucks. Finding a place for evening book browsing (and chai lattes) gave me the first teensy little reassurance that I'd be okay.

The only car we saw with the music cranked up and the windows down was playing "How Soon Is Now?"


(Hugs 'n' thanks to Derek 'n' Jess for giving us the phone ... it's been a HUGE help!)