Tag: waffle

Stranger in a strange land

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I may be exaggerating. Being a Scot in London should not count as a stranger in a strange land but a couple of questions from colleagues of mine have started me wondering this week.

“Did you get haggis for school dinners?” was the first. It at least came from an Australian colleague during a conversation about bizarre things that the British eat at school dinners. (For those of you wondering, my answer was No. I did however eat, and enjoy, rice pudding and semolina but not tapioca.)

“Do you like cold weather?” was today’s offering. Followed up with “because other_Scottish_person_in_dept. really loves it.” Which of course means that all Scottish people must love cold weather. (For the record, I do but only as long as I can stay inside and enjoy it from there.)

We’re really not all that different, honest! Just think before you ask the question: “In similar circumstances, would I ask an English person this?” If the answer’s no, then don’t ask me either.

Stating the obvious

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Picture the scene: You’re at the bottom of a set of stairs leading down from London Bridge to the Thames Walk pathway. In front of you is a set of about 12 stairs down to the river with the water of the Thames lapping at the bottom couple of stairs. On either side of the stairway is a blank wall. On the wall just to the right of the stairs is a small metal plaque with the words “Access to river only” engraved on it. You know, I’d never have guessed!

If I remember to bring my camera with me to work one day, I’ll put a picture up. I’ll add it to my collection of pictures of really stupid signs, which already includes this one:

Nairn beach

(the sign says ‘Seafront ->’ in case you’re having trouble making it out) and the one that has a “Cyclists dismount” sign at the top of a flight of stairs.

The signs are really just examples of the triumph of logic over common sense in that there are good reasons for them being there despite them being mostly pointless. In the case of the “cyclists dismount” sign, the stairs are leading up to a footbridge that cyclists aren’t allowed to cycle over. A “cyclists don’t get back on your bike yet” sign would make more sense but I can see why they don’t put up one of those. The seafront sign (from Nairn beach) points the way to a section of the seafront that has benches and other facilities, rather than just a section of open sand. And, finally, the sign by the Thames is there to point out that those stairs aren’t part of the Thames Walk, which can be a rather confusing pathway to follow at times.

All of this doesn’t stop me enjoying the occasional rant about the pointlessness of it all though!

Raindrops keep falling on my head

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Or rather, they don’t, which is the problem. In Iain Banks’ book, The Crow Road, he describes it as raining “… with that remorseless West Coast rain, where it’s been raining for several days and will probably go on for several more”. That description really struck a chord with me and helped explain why I mind rain so much more when it rains in London than when it rained back in Scotland. Back in Glasgow, rain was just an accepted fact. It rained so often that you didn’t really bother about it, you just got on with it. Down here, it rains so infrequently (comparatively) that it’s a major imposition when it does. How dare it rain on me. Doesn’t it know that I don’t have shoes that I can wear to work that don’t let water in and that I have no idea where my brolly is. Hmph.

Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings

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I was witness to an adorable conversation on the way to the train station this morning. A little boy walking to school with his mum asked “Are you happy, Mummy?” His mother replied: “Yes, I’m happy.” “Why are you happy, Mummy?” “I’m happy because I’m with you and I love you so much.” They walked a little further on and then the little boy asked another question: “Why are you always happy, Mummy?” It made my day. Long may that be the biggest thing he has to worry about!

Speaking of babes, the second pair of bootees is finally finished and once I’ve photographed them in daylight tomorrow they’ll be ready to send off. Hurray! No more bootees! Just back to the interminable scarf.

Presents!

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Are they still presents when you’ve paid for them yourself and they’re not for any special reason? I think so, especially given that these ones came in the post all the way from the US.

At least, I’m assuming that I know what the postman tried to deliver today. I need to go and collect it because there’s an unpaid fee, which I think must the US customs charge.

I’m terribly excited about these, which is a little pathetic seeing as, if they’re what I think they are, they’re a calendar, a timer and a feather duster!

Allow me to explain. Several months ago, someone mentioned in a forum post somewhere about a system to help organise your life and get your house clean and tidy. Since I was living in a hotel in Portsmouth at the time and only home at weekends, when I seemed to spend the whole time doing laundry and housework, I was very interested. I headed straight over to the FlyLady website, had a poke around and was hooked pretty much straightaway! Don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot about FlyLady that niggles at me. As an atheist, I have issues with the notion of “blessing” my house and her way of referring to inspiration as “God breezes”. Actually, the fact that I’m an atheist probably has little to do with it, more the fact that I object to people bringing faith, which I consider quite a personal thing, into everyday conversation.

Anyway, the idea that I can actually make progress towards getting my house to look the way I want it and keeping on top of the housework and laundry 15 minutes at a time really appeals! I don’t have the system fully worked out yet (she says, realising that she forgot to put on a washing when she came in from work and isn’t sure she has any clean clothes to wear to work tomorrow) but it is making a difference. Steven likes to tease me about it, but even he can’t deny that the house is looking better and, most importantly, I’m happier!

Having been a subscriber to the email list for several months (the service is completely free), I decided I’d give something back and buy some of the products from their shop. This has, of course, convinced Steven that I’ve fallen for their scam. However, given the benefit I’ve already had and the use that I expect to get out of this stuff, I think it’s all well worth it! Mind you, I’m not surprised that he can’t understand why I’d get so excited about a purple ostrich-feather duster, it’s just not really his thing!
I’m going to be really disappointed now, if this isn’t what’s in my parcel!

Homesick

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Well, I had such a good weekend that I didn’t want it to end! What could be better than an evening spent playing games and singing karaoke with old friends (and some new ones!) while drinking champagne? Not much as it turns out.

Getting on the plane back to London was very hard. “Why am I leaving my friends and family behind in a city that I love and miss?” Talking to Steven didn’t help either: “Wah! I’m so homesick!” The response? “Wah! Me too!”

It’s not that we don’t like London, we really do, it’ll just never be “home” the way that Glasgow is, especially given the number of our friends and family that are still there.

It doesn’t help that I really love my new job. If it hadn’t been for that, we’d both have been quite happy to pack up and move back to Scotland next year. I want to stay a bit longer now though and see how this works out. It’s been a long time since I actually enjoyed my work and was interested in what I was doing and I don’t want to throw that way just yet. I guess we’ll just need to try and get back to not thinking about how much we miss everyone and everything. Coming back to London after being home at Christmas is going to be a real challenge.

Trying to do the right thing

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In order to assuage my knitting withdrawal, I decided to take my knitting (more bootees!) with me over the weekend. Aware that there was no way I was going to be able to take 5 dpns on in my hand luggage, I attempted to check my bag in. (Note the use of the word attempted!)

Now, although I arrived at the airport in plenty of time for my flight, I didn’t check my bag in straightaway, since I wanted to work on my knitting while I was waiting. At the last minute (50 minutes before my flight as per the instructions on my boarding card) I took my bag to the fast bag drop. Because it was so close to the departure of my flight, the woman behind the desk had difficulty printing the label for my bag. Calling over her supervisor, he explains how to print the label but then looks at my bag and asks “Is that the bag you’re checking in?” You know when you suddenly get the feeling that things are about to go horribly wrong? When I confirmed that it was, he then explained that if I checked that bag in, it wouldn’t arrive in Glasgow that night. “Are you sure you couldn’t take it on as hand-luggage?” At which point I removed a knitting needle from the bag and explained that I would love to take the bag on as hand luggage but I had four more just like that in there, so if they could explain to the security staff why I had to take them onboard, I’d be more than happy to comply. I also mentioned the expensive, larger-than-100ml toiletries that I had with me that I was not willing to “throw away” (their suggestion). I had only taken them because I knew I was going to have to check my bag in anyway!

The supervisor explained that because my bag was a rucksack with loose straps it had to go on the out-size bag conveyor, which took 20 minutes longer than the ordinary conveyor which was why it wouldn’t make it onto the plane in time (bearing in mind that the flight wasn’t due to leave for another 50 minutes!) I would then have to collect my bag from Glasgow airport the next morning.

Fortunately, the look on my face was sufficient to convince him that this was not an acceptable scenario and he managed to come up with another suggestion, which was to tie the straps of my rucksack together in a complicated arrangement to prevent them getting caught in the conveyor. He very helpfully explained that this was the reason it had to go on the out-size baggage conveyor “because if it goes on the ordinary conveyor, the straps could get caught and then your bag wouldn’t get through and no other bags wouldn’t get through.” That’s all true but nowhere on my boarding card did it say that rucksacks had to be checked in 20 minutes before all other luggage! This done, the label was printed and my bag was allowed to go on the ordinary conveyor.

All the way up on the flight, I was composing complicated plans involving trips to 24-hour supermarkets to purchase enough clothing to get me through the weekend just in case my bag wasn’t there at the other end. Fortunately, I was able to abandon these plans and breathe a sigh of relief when my bag appeared on the conveyor at Glasgow airport.

Lessons I learned (or re-learned) from this experience:

  1. Take the train, it’s just better (and usually only marginally longer)
  2. If you must fly, do everything as early in the process as you possibly can
  3. Airlines are not run for the convenience of their passengers (see item above)
  4. The current security rules concerning liquids and knitting needles are stupid (further details on why they won’t prevent a terrorist attack available on request)
  5. It’s worth paying extra to fly with a decent airline as the staff will usually make the effort to help sort a problem out rather than forcing you to throw away expensive toiletries and half-done knitting projects

And just to prove I had learned my lesson, on the way back, I checked in in plenty of time and dropped my bag off straightaway with the straps already tied up neatly and it arrived at the other end with no hassle or discussion. Of course, I still haven’t finished the bootees!