Fiancé is sick
Fever, aches, chills - a big mess
Ginseng Pills. I’m well.

I keep meaning to write, but I really have nothing exciting or interesting to say.

But I got sick of seeing the Fiber Bar entry, so here is a boring, uninteresting update.

Read on if you dare…

Because I have no kids, and don’t know too many people who do, I was completely oblivious to the fact that March 15, 2008 is the first weekend of Spring Break. So plans to have a wedding at a destination resort that day were firmly thwarted. The weekend following that is Easter. Of the remaining March Saturdays we’ve decided on the 29th. So a year from today we’ll be gettin’ hitched. Kookookachoo.

I’ve enlisted the services of a professional resumé writer, and used the past week as time to get my portfolio together and get a bunch of other long-overdue errands done. I still don’t like being at home all day, but I am getting used to it.

We’re hosting the 2nd annual Cinco de Mayo fiasco. Hopefully with slightly less hostess-experienced fiascos this year. That said, if you were invited last year, check your email inboxes (or the spam folders - it was sent through evite). If you somehow didn’t get an invite this year, this is the one occasion I open my house for all and sundry to partake in the debauchery and tequila. Comment or drop me a line if you’d like to join us.

Today I’m also playing Florence Nightengale. There’s some sort of flu-like thing going around and Neil has it. We also had his youngest sister over last night, and she sounds pretty sick too. So far I’m calling it the Watkiss Death Rattle, and popping ColdFX like there’s no tomorrow in an effort to ward it off. Then again, Gill has it too, so perhaps it’s some kind of Nerd Flu.

See. Told you life was boring ’round these parts. Anything exciting up with any of you?

Update (5:26pm): I am feeling snotty, and a wee bit achey. This does not bode well.

Every now and again I’m sent products to review. The latest of these are a new granola bar product, the Fiber One Chewy Bars - Oats and Chocolate (made by General Mills - I’d link to a product site if they had one).

I haven’t personally eaten a mass produced chewy granola bar in years. Now I remember why. They just taste like cardboard and glue, and these bars were no exception. Bland starchy ingredients, held together in an amalgam of high fructose corn syrup and confectioner’s shellac. Oh, and some chocolate drizzled on top. THAT CHOCOLATE FOOLS NO ONE!

But I did eat the whole box (5 bars) over a period of a couple weeks. What can I say - they were in my desk drawer, and sometimes my hunger is only rivaled by my laziness. But they were obviously not that bad if I didn’t throw the box away upon the first bite - and I’ve been known to do that with stuff I’ve paid for myself, nevermind stuff that came to me for free.

I had a whole laundry list of pros, cons and ingredient horror stories about the bars once I saw the whole box - but then I saw the review up at Fitness Mantra, and realized it was far more inspired than mine ever would be - so I suggest you read it instead to get a better idea of the product.

The bar has what amounts to 1/3 of your daily requirement of fiber. I eat a pretty high fiber diet anyway, so the extra wasn’t noticeable to me - however the box did come to me with a disclaimer:

As you may be aware, health professionals often recommend gradually increasing fiber intake to help reduce gastrointestinal discomfort that initially may be experienced by some people when more fiber is added to their diet. Note that each Fiber One Chewy Bar has 9 grams of fiber—about 1/3 the Daily Value. If you’re not used to eating a high fiber diet, you may want to begin with just half a bar and gradually work up to a full bar as your body becomes used to the fiber.

Olestra-style anal leakage anyone?

Bottom line about the Fiber One bars - If you’re going to eat a chewy granola bar anyway, maybe hate your body a smidgen less, and get one that has some extra fiber in it. Because god knows if chewy granola bars are a diet staple of yours, you can probably use all the help you can get.

If you’re not a chewy granola bar eater, then just keep passing these on by like you would any other chewy bar. General Mills might not thank you (or me for that matter), but your body will.

Two loaves of homemade whole wheat bread (no, I don’t own a breadmaker).
One batch of brownies.
Two loaves of banana bread.
Two sparkling bathrooms.
One 90-minutes-of-prep/cooking Moroccan feast for two.
Countless loads of laundry.
Hours of happy dog walks.

Three-point-seven-five days of unemployment.

Five job openings sitting in open browser tabs, waiting for me to apply to them.

And I’m stuck.

I look at my resume and hate every line. I look over the umpteen cover letter formats and styles I use, and see everything but inspiration.

May I introduce to you my friends Rock and Hard-Place?

I am mostly miserable and hate being at home all day. But I also loathe submitting applcations for jobs.

I certainly don’t mind networking, have a sick love for interviewing, and can generally write circles around things - except when it comes to my own damn resumé. But then, my best work comes out when I’m excited about the subject matter. And instead of excited, I’m mostly annoyed, and more than a little intimidated.

I WILL NOT BE CONFINED TO TWO MEASLY PAGES!

Although I suppose I should save that particular rant for after I manage to get a single satisfying sentence down on paper.

So here I sit. Trying to devise things to do that are both satisfying, and a good way to procrastinate.

Baking and cleaning have, thus far, been completely unsatisfying. (I imagine that anything but some success in the job-hunt will have much the same result.)

But then, so has the application process.

And I seem to be fresh out of mojo.

So today is the first day of the rest of my life. Or something like it. In any case, last Thursday was my last day at the former job, and after a lovely long weekend, today is the first Monday in a while that I’m at home with no idea when I’ll be back at work.

Hopefully it’s sooner rather than later.

Those who know me well beyond this blog know that one of my worst nightmares is to be a “stay-at-home” anything. I don’t begrudge anyone else their choice to not work outside the home or even “work” at all in the traditional sense (because holy hell, children and some academic pursuits are serious work), but that lifestyle is certainly not for me. I really enjoy having a job, contributing to a team and creating something at the end of the day that helps an entity outside of my four walls succeed and prosper.

But I don’t have that right now. So I’ve made a list of things that, in addition to looking for something outside these walls, will make a bit of a difference inside them.

I have a friend (who will remain nameless) whose domestic partner didn’t work outside the home. While I’m not sure if he ever said these words to her, he told me that he didn’t mind bringing home the bacon, as long as she optimized her time at home to do two things:
1. Keep the house clean
2. Keep herself hot.

He figured that some quality time at the gym and with the vacuum should be easily accomplishable with the 8-10 hours/day available that she’d otherwise spend at work - and that arrangement kept him perfectly happy.

I’ve set the same standards for myself.

Now that I’m back to 100% after the jetlag fiasco, I’m going to attempt to get back to working out daily. I feel far better when I do it and have all this extra time on my hands - so no excuses.

There are a bunch of things around here that nether Neil nor I enjoy or make the effort to do: Cleaning inside and around appliances (goodbye mystery slime under the crisper drawer), cleaning out the junk drawers (goodbye four-month-old pizza receipts and dead pens), take down the outside Christmas lights (goodbye white-trash balcony), etc. There are also a bunch of things I’ve been meaning to sell (books, dvds, sporting equipment) that I couldn’t be arsed to before - I may as well do it now.

And then of course, there’s that whole “finding a new job” thing. That one will probably take up most of my time and effort, and I hope it pays off and I’m working outside my home again, long before I get to “scrub the floor behind the toilets” on my list.

One year and one week ago I had sworn off dating all together, and was looking forward to my upcoming trip to the Carribean, where I planned to get into all sorts of trouble in the name of being single and awesome.

One year and six days ago one of my best friends told me that my Ridiculously High Standards had inspired a single male acquaintance of hers to inquire about a date with me.

One year and two days ago I got an email in my inbox containing the following:

I’ve been reading your blog for a while — Chris might have mentioned
it at work once, and it has a memorable URL that makes me giggle, so
I kept typing it in. I always enjoy reading your posts, but the ones
that make me laugh the longest and hardest are the ones about your
disastrous dates. I love them! I love the detail, and the
storytelling is spot on.

So anyway, the whole RHS topic made me think: I wouldn’t stand a
*chance* with you! I’m awful to date. Then I started laughing,
because at least I’d be able to read about it and laugh at how awful
it was from *your* point of view….

Well. There we are. I phoned her tonight to ask how to contact you,
and she gave me this email address. Perhaps you’d like to phone me,
and we can arrange a blog post of our own?

One year ago tomorrow I went on my last date. I had no idea it would be the last one at the time. I only agreed to go on the pre-vacation date at all, because I figured it would NEVER work out, and would at least give me a bit more blog content before I left on a jet plane (which I never actually did write about - ironic, non?). How firmly convinced was I that nothing would come of the date? I didn’t even wax my eyebrows. There’s a picture hanging in our bedroom taken the day after that date reminding me of such, with my horrible eyebrow stubble.

And now, one year from today, we’ll be husband and wife. How cool is that?

Happy Anniversary Baby - I love you like mad, and can’t imagine life any other way.

I always knew there was a reason I liked tax accountants.

Neil was a bit… delinquent… in his taxes and hasn’t done his 2005 return yet. Considering the deadline for 2006 is now coming up, he sucked it up and called an accountant to deal with filing it all. He had some capital gains/losses and real-estate transactions that spanned the years to deal with, so it made sense to have a professional go through it all to make sure it was all tickety boo.

But thus far, the best piece of accounting service we’ve gotten is some advice on a way to move some money around that we already have and make thousands.

I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that we’ve put a deposit down on a condo that’s supposed to be completed sometime this summer.

Well we figured that because Neil has already owned a home, we don’t qualify for the New Homebuyer’s Plan to withdraw up to $20,000 from an RRSP, tax-free, for part of the down payment.

We were wrong. “We” don’t qualify - but “I” do. Each person on the deed for a house may contribute individually from their RRSPs, up to $20,000 to be repaid over 15 years. So if “We” qualified, we could each contribute that much (if we had it of course).

Since the initial deposit on the condo, Neil and I have been furiously dumping money into a high-interest savings account over the past year in order to minimize the amount of mortgage we’ll have upon completion and cover closing costs. Thanks to some shrewd finanacial management on both our parts, it’s a sum nearing the $20k mark.

Conveniently, thanks to my compulsive need to be employed, even when said employment didn’t yeild enough income to contribute regularly, my RRSP allowance had more than enough room to contribute that amount.

So, with 72 hours to spare before the 2006 contribution deadline, Neil and I wrangled together a bank draft and RRSP account, and moved our money in the nick of time.

What did this accomplish?

Instead of my usual $1000 tax return again this year, I’ll be getting a cheque from the Canada Revenue Agency for a whopping $6000+. The conditions of getting that money into the house, along with qualifying for the plan, are just that the money must remain in the RRSP for 89 days (no problem there) and the bank will have to write a cheque for the amount directly to the sellers of the property, to ensure it’s being used for a home purchase.

Of course it’s not all sunshine and rainbows and frolicking in large piles of cash. That extra $5k will be used for some significant expenses, including going back into the house account, so we can meet our savings goal if emergencies come up, or my unemployment lasts any significant period of time.

In the meantime, though, it’s nice to be able to use one of the government’s RRSP borrowing programs for a significant benefit. I had no idea the program could be quite as beneficial as it has been to us this year.

And we very nearly missed it - if not for a poignant question about our financial planning and some great advice from our accountant.

Tax accountants. Not only are they useful, they are also (from my limited experience working in a firm) HIGHLY entertaining when intoxicated.

I just wanted to interrupt your morning to gloat about the whole Daylight Savings thing.

I think it’s AWESOME!

Normally I’m a surly cow about the whole “losing an hour of sleep” thing - but that was before jetlag!

Since we got back, I have NOT been able to sleep past 4:00 or 5:00am (including the weekend). I was completely crashing out around 8:00pm. Naps were powerless against the jetlag.

And now? Last night when I was getting sleepy, the clock was well on its way to 10:00pm!

And this morning? I woke up mostly refreshed and ready to spring to life at 6:15am (which is when I normally wake up anyway).

Perhaps I should schedule some debilitating sleep deprivation before the time change every year!

You may now return to your regularly scheduled Monday.

Remember that post I wrote before I left, in which I said I wanted to not gain weight on my trip? Let’s see how that went, shall we? Oh, and this is loooooong, you may want to take a bathroom break before settling in.

Bring workout DVD and clothes. We’ll have a computer to play them on, so there’s no excuse for not getting in a 30-minute workout in the mornings after Neil’s gone to work.

Ok I did pack all those, however they didn’t come out once. Not to say I didn’t exercise and wasn’t active - I didn’t have a single day that didn’t involve a lot of walking.

Try out the litebook elite to combat jetlag. I’ll let you know how that goes. If it does work as promised, It’ll certainly be worth its weight in something moderately heavy and semi-precious.

Oh I got jetlag. Bad, bad, BAD jetlag. I generally do. Did the lightbook help? Not me. Mostly because it was completely impractical to use as recommended. In order to re-set my internal clock, the lightbook site has a scheduler of when to avoid direct sunlight and when to use the lightbook. Avoiding daylight, when arriving at 11:30am, is pretty darned impossible. Not only when arriving in the airport, but even on the airplane when everyone starts opening their windows to let the glaring sunshine in. The people at lightbook do sell some daylight-blocking glasses, but I didn’t figure that bit out until far too late to acquire a pair.

Then there’s the issue of actually using the lightbook during the timeframe in which one is supposed to subject one’s self to direct theraputic light. When I’m on vacation, I don’t sit still. I get to the hotel, dump my stuff and walk around for a while. The last thing I want to do after being on an airplane for 9 hours is be still. Yet the lightbook scheduler recommended I use the appliance for TWO FULL HOURS. I have better things to do with my time.

Perhaps those who travel often for business, go directly from airport to office, and have a place to be still and something upon which to prop their blue box would benefit. I used the lightbook when I could in the recommended range, and first thing a couple mornings, but it didn’t help any. My jetlag was just as bad as it’s always been - probably compounded by the stress of knowing that shit was about to hit the fan at work (I got an email while I was away to set up a meeting immediately upon my return) once I got back, affecting what little sleep I was already getting.

Eat “real food” for breakfast/lunch when at all possible. That means no processed, fast food junk. If I can get to a market and grab some bread, cheese and fruit, I think that’ll serve me better than most takeout I can find. Besides which, I need to save the calories for carry away vindaloo for after the pub.

I have three words for you: Full. English. Breakfast. In its most basic form, this includes eggs, bacon, sausage, toast and baked beans, and is often accompanied by juice, fruit, cereal and hot tea or coffee. In our fancy-schmancy Oxford hotel, it also included yogurt, pastries, bread with deli meats & cheeses, and black pudding.

This is what you get, rather than a continental breakfast in England.

Normally on weekends I absolutely RELISH the chance to gorge on bacon, eggs and toast - however something in England saved me: my abnormally sensitive sense of smell. Something about the smell of the eggs in England just sent me over the edge and reeling into waves of nausea each and every single morning. It’s probably just the style of farming - it took me a very long time to adjust to the stronger smell of organic, free-range meats (especially chicken) when I started eating those instead of regular battery-farm product. Now non-organic, non-free range meat tastes like cardboard to me most of the time. I suspect it’s a similar issue with the eggs. I do eat free-range organic at home, but these just smelled “farmier” and “gamier” and “eggier” to me.

So my days usually started out with steeling myself for the experience, downing as much of my breakfast as I could before the urge to spew totally took over, racing back up to my room to lie down and pant through the waves, willing myself not to ralf, then carrying on with my day. I never did manage to get much food in on most mornings. I’d only managed to work my way up to one whole egg, 1.5 slices of toast, and 3/4 of a rasher of bacon on our last day.

I spent most of the trip pretty nauseous though, thanks to stress and jetlag, so I picked at pretty much everything that was set in front of me and probably didn’t consume anywhere near enough calories on a daily basis.

No fish and chips. Period. Apparently only tourists eat that shite nowadays anyway.

Success! Though I certainly didn’t eat anything all that healthy in its place. Unless Sunday Roast (complete with yorkshire pudding and a plate swimming in gravy) and creamy curries are in fact healthier.

Dancing with myself. The best place to make a fool of one’s self is in a foreign country. A prime example is Norebang (karaoke) in Korea. I shall go to the clubs and dance like I’ve never danced before. As long as (like in the Norebang incident) all photo/video evidence is destroyed.

I never did make it to any clubs. Lots of pubs - but no dancing. I didn’t realy suss out a “get down, get funky” vibe from the English. Of course, I was too busy downing pints of Strongbow to look much further than the end of the bar.

Water, water and more water. Along with helping me fare much better when it does come time to drink, it should keep the rest of my body’s systems functioning at optimal levels.

I tried to maintain my hydration levels. It did not work. I got ice water everywhere I went, alternated regular water with alcoholic drinks, and even forked out for bottled water when I was roaming around. It did not help. I still ended up with a horrible urinary tract infection once I got home. Boo-urns.

Walking is the new black. I walk a lot when I’m home. To the bus for work, down the street for lunch, home from the bus, out with the dog, over to the store to get milk. I need to find reasons to walk. Fortunately Oxford is supposed to be a beautiful city to do walking tours of - I just need to find other excuses to walk when we bid Oxford adieu.

Oh my hell did I EVER walk. Walking tours of Oxford. Walking along the Thames in Henley. Walking through museums. Walking from pub to pub. Walking through Hyde Park on Sunday morning (officially one of my favourite moments).

Our biggest walking day was the Saturday we spent in London. We first tubed to the Tower of London and spent 2.5 hours doing the Beefeater tour and exploring the rest of the grounds of the tower. We then walked from the Tower of London across Tower Bridge and down the South Bank of the Thames to Borough Market, stopping briefly for some market-stall lunch, then to and around the Tate Modern. After that, we ventured across the Milennium Bridge and past St. Paul’s, and let our weary feet rest over a cup of tea. From there, it was back over the river to check out the London Eye, then across one more bridge to see the Parliament Buildings, Big Ben and Westminster Abbey. We headed through St. James’ Park to go past Buckingham Palace just after dusk. Then we wandered over to China Town for dinner, then to the closest tube, because enough with the walking already and back to our hotel. Overall we figure we walked for about 9-10 hours that day. It was awesome - and I actually mean that totally sincerely!

Join the “mile high” club. Sex burns calories, right? And what better way to liven up a 9.5h airplane ride? Perhaps I’d better save this one for the flight home though - just to ensure our return tickets aren’t revoked.

Between the onset of my UTI, the fact that I hate airplanes at the best of times, and Sir Screamy McToddler who Screams a Lot All The Time And Giggles About It Because It is Fun and his parents, the King and Queen of Ambivalence and Lazy Parenting in the Kingdom of Tune the Child Out, or Pass Him Over the Seats to His Other Parent was sitting directly in front of us, it was all I could do to not commit crimes that would have me strapped down in the galley by a sky marshall - nevermind getting hot and heavy in the airplane bathroom.

Who brings a 2-year-old on an intercontinental flight anyway? I don’t know any children that age who can be inoffensive for 9 minutes, let alone 9 hours. Sure there were lots of other kids between 0-6 on that flight, but he was the only one who felt it necessary to shriek like a banshee the entire time. The primary source of his outrage seemed to be the grave injustice that was the airplane seatbelt he was required to wear when we were taking off, landing, or going through otherwise bumpy patches of sky. My only solace comes from the fact that his parents seemed only too willing to give in to his tantrums and remove the seatbelt - but the flight attendants wouldn’t let them. If they’re so permissive, perhaps they are just as negligent in their private vehicle, and Darwin will take care of their tiny terror for me.

ANYWAY.

Looking at all the things I did, I had no idea if they would balance out for a net gain or loss. Only the scale could tell.

And tell it did!

According to my cheap bathroom scale at home, I went from 135lbs at departure to 128lbs by return. Seven lbs lost. Hooray!

Except losing them wasn’t exactly pleasant. I’m sure a week of sleep deprivation and constant nausea were what contributed most heavily to the situation, and I wouldn’t recommend them to anyone.

Besides which, it’s once again Roll Up the Rim to Win time - and I’m sure my coffee and tea (with milk and sugar of course, and maybe a doughnut since I’m there…) habit will contribute to gaining back what I lost in a hurry.

No, not for a man. I’m not that old yet, and I happen to quite like the one I’ve got.

For a job.

I figured the layoff was coming - as time’s gone by the writing on the wall has become clearer and clearer and more client work has never materialized. I thought I might have more warning than I did and had put some steps in motion to start the hunt in earnest once I returned from my trip. But the boss did month-end, looked at the books, and it was the first thing I got to deal with upon returning to work Tuesday morning.

So the hunt is on.

I’ve worked mostly for small businesses, non-profits and startups. That is NOT where I want to go next. I did find that taking the risk working for them led to a lot of really great experiences taking on projects I’d have had to wait years for otherwise in larger organizations. Ultimately though, I suffered with a lack of useful direction, guidance, critique or feedback. I did get it from other sources (clients and other invested parties acknowledging the success of the work I’ve done), but rarely (sometimes never) from those signing my paycheques. Until I leave, or am laid off - when I’m finally told that “hey, you were doing a great job, I’m sure you knew that.” I even suffered the indignity once of both my direct supervisors not even acknowledging my resignation or departure. I know it’s not what the cool kids are after these days, but I want a boss.

I want to work for a company that’s proven its success through growth. Not a big government dinosaur either - I’ve also put my time in with those, but any of BC’s 50 best employers would be fantastic. I don’t want to report to the president or CEO. I’m certainly not at VP or Director level for the kind of company I want to work for. I want a company who recognizes the value of what I’ve done so far - taking some risks in my career choices and gaining some great experience along the way rather than slaving away as a cog for years, trying to “work my way up” - and is ready to take a chance on me. A pure meritocracy where my successes are celebrated, my career growth is nurtured and my mistakes are learning experiences and chances to blow their expectations out of the water (in a good way) next time.

I know these places are out there. I have to believe they are.

Without posting my entire resume online, because I’m paranoid about posting my complete work history for the internets, I’ll paste some skill summaries from it here after the jump, and perhaps if anyone in blogland knows of or works for a great company like the one I’ve detailed above, you’d be kind enough to email me (jen [at] thisdomain [dot] com) and let me know of an opportunity to apply for, or someone to chat with.

And heck, if you work for that kind of company you’re probably entitled to some sort of referral bonus as well, and I have a very good interview:job offer ratio.
(more…)

I suppose I said I’d share the details of the trip, and fast-fading as they are, now is as good a time as any.

However I am still tired from the jetlag, further compounded by some various and sundry other illnesses that I picked up on the plane. So a brief summary will have to suffice. (Oh, and the pictures are all here.)

Stuff that was done in Oxford:

Stuff that was done in London:

Impressions of Oxford
Spending time there, it’s a beautiful town with incredible architecture and history. The longer I stayed though, the more my jealousy grew. Amazing scholars have been gracing those hallowed halls for centuries, producing some of the finest writing, and most significant math, science and economic breakthroughs in the history of higher learning. Watching the students, it seemed to be everything I wanted my university experience to be, but never was. I want a do-over. I wish I had the grades and finances to pursue a graduate program there.

Perhaps it’s the academic intimidation factor (most college grounds aren’t open to non-students/faculty, and have large iron/wooden gates and signs to tell you so), but I felt very much like an uneasy tourist there. I actually found that the entire town had a very “fuck you” feel about it. Most people were oblivious, and those I encountered in customer service were ambivalent at best. I distinctly understood why Canadians are perceived as so friendly. Not that anyone was unfriendly - but having to interact with us, offer assistance, or (heaven forbid) do their job (even the cashiers at Sainsbury’s and Boots) came across as a huge chore. Everyone just came across as very… sour.

Impressions of London
The insistent and haphazard mix of centuries old buildings with ultramodern architecture was disconcerting to say the least.

Charing Cross Road is now devoid of traditional pubs, with a slew of US and UK-but-modeled-after-US franchises, like TGI Friday’s, O’neil’s, and some now-forgotten but ubiquitous steakhouse. The iconic Spirit of the West song has now been ruined for me.

Everyone I’ve spoken to who’s been to London in the past 6 years has said that “wow, the scaffolding over St. Paul’s was already up when I was there…” Not exactly a model of restoration efficiency or effectiveness.

The one tourist thing we paid for was the Tower of London. The Yeoman Warden (Beefeater) tour was really entertaining, and while I couldn’t bring myself to believe that the jewels in the Crown Jewels were the real ones (having heard too many times that the ones on display are fakes), the artisanship that went into creating those pieces is still extraordinary.

The London Tube is the least accessible public system I’ve ever encountered. Stairs everywhere - very few escalators and lifts, and even those that do exist only go to street level, and not between lines in a station. Example: you can get from a far underground tube station up to street level, but to change lines, you’ll still need to hike 3 flights of stairs up and over tracks to the other platforms. Highly inconvenient for those who are burdened by wheelchairs, strollers or (like ourselves) luggage.

With the notable differences of modernization and obvious indicators to which trains are on which lines (for the slow and jetlagged, like myself), and the fact that the London Tube had significant service problems while we were there, it’s very similar to the Seoul subway system. I think that for the relative size and age of the city, Vancouver is doing just fine in terms of providing accessible, relevant and cost-appropriate transit systems. What we need now are longer trains and more frequent (and further reaching) service. Also, we need turnstiles and RFID chip payment cards. Seriously. Whoever decided against those is a first-class idiot as far as I’m concerned.

Another tidbit in terms of being a “world-class city” - I didn’t find any shopping in London or Oxford that I couldn’t have reasonably done at home (different store of course, but essentially the same merchandise is available). I did pick up a few things at H&M and Dorothy Perkins, but again comparing the size of the cities, Holt Renfrew and Robson Street offer exactly the same shopping opportunities as Selfridges and Oxford Street. Except popular London fashion is about 6 months ahead of what’s being worn in Vancouver, and (as everything except beer is in london) about twice as expensive.

Even though we had a great time chatting with both Neil’s colleagues in Oxford and family in London (proving certainly that the Britons can be great and friendly people), and that we were treated to a fantastically beautiful Saturday during which to wander the banks of the Thames, I never felt welcome in England. As a tourist I was merely an entity to be tolerated. The history, the beauty, the significance of the Empire and its role in the shaping of the world seems entirely wasted on the English, who would rather sneer at those of us who come to admire it, and adop0t an unexplainably sour disposition the rest of the time.

Perhaps after another 600 years of history and tourists, Vancouverites will seem just as bitter and jaded, but I certainly hope not.

Then again, perhaps I shouldn’t expect too much from a people who have collectively managed to completely bastardize, assault, and otherwise ruin the noble sandwich.

Safe and sound, and busy!

Things improved vastly after my online hissyfit, and pictures and stories will be up sometime tonight - if the giant mountain of laundry doesn’t eat me first.

So we’re sitting at an internet cafe in London, because so far, the city kindof hates me.

We asked the friendly concierge(s) at our Oxford hotel and the Oxford-London bus guy where to get off to get the tube to Paddington station. They sent us about 8 tube stations too far away, when the bus actually stops in a few places that are WAY closer. Thanks.

So we make it to the tube. With 3 suitcases, two of which are very large and heavy. No lift (at least not that we could find). One suitcase paid the price of its extendo-roller handle halfway down the stairs. Of course, of the three suitcases, it’s the one we borrowed from someone else.

Then the tube breaks. For twenty minutes.

So we finally make it to our hotel. We figured things would obviously be different now that we’re not staying on the company dime, but holy hell. The neighbourhood is nice. The hotel is clean - but it really is a complete shitbox. With no internet - hence the cafe.

We’re also in cash-panic mode. Despite settling the skimming thing, and having it confirmed (twice) that I would be using my debit card to take out cash in the UK between Feb. 23 and March 5, my card’s been cut off. We had to resort to a cash advance from my Visa, because we just had no more cash, and don’t really want to have to do that again. Especially since we put a whole lot of cash into my bank account, specifically for taking out during the trip.

So that lands us at the internet cafe, checking my vonage account for whether the bank tried to call me (they did) and if I had any voicemail messages. I do, so now it’s back to the hotel to rack up some lovely international calls to try and sort this mess out.

Also, it’s raining. Uncharacteristically Hard. And my umbrella gave its life valiantly in a windstorm in Henley.

On the plus side, there is an H&M here, and the ethnic food is fabulous! I just wish the British would figure out how to make a damn sandwich properly.