It’s all about the jacket…
One of the first things we noticed in our initial few weeks in England, was that everyone seemed to own a waterproof jacket. Now, I don’t know about you, but not being the outdoorsy type, I had never owned a waterproof jacket in my life. Or a pair of wellies. For a while, we resisted the waterproof jackets (because they’re just so freakin’ ugly) and tried to use umbrellas. Yes, well, there’s a reason people don’t use umbrellas in Cambridgeshire, where it tends to be quite windy (read: you will be blown sideways several days per week). So, after we had turned not one, but three Ikea umbrellas inside out, we succumbed to the lure of the waterproof jacket. And after we had been up to our knees several times in mud and horse poo on the walk to school, the wellies also came into play.
Oh, but how things have changed on the jacket front. These days I own several waterproof jackets in varying degrees of warmth, length and cuteness and am now even on to my second pair of wellies (the first pair were destroyed in a freak Husky sledding accident — don’t ask. I can, however, highly recommend Norwegian hospitals if you ever need one).
We have obviously come a long way on the understanding the weather thing, because when Aussies come to visit us now, there is much sighing between us when they do not have Appropriate Clothing. Such as waterproof jackets. And wellies (I mean, really, how can they not know?). They do things like look at the sky at 8am when it’s sunny and say, ‘Oh, it won’t rain today, it’ll be warm! It’s May for goodness sake! I’ll just wear a long-sleeved t-shirt. And my sneakers will be fine,’ (fools! Fools!).
Anyway, this morning, after three weeks of solid rain, the sun came out. I must have officially turned English, because I went outside to the flower meadow for a romp (though, come to think of it, I’m probably still holding back a little. A real English person would have stripped off to the waist…). While I was down there, I took a pic. of the new wellies. Cute? I think so…
Nature, you suck.
Oh, but I was so excited two months back when one of the pairs of swans in the area began to make a nest right below our little Juliet balcony. I watched their progress several times a day and Googled to see how the swan nesting process works (as it turns out, the female lays an egg every day or so for a while, before sitting on the nest full-time for around six weeks or so). We went away for the school holidays and, when we got back, the swan (Hildy? Maybe!) was sitting on the nest all day every day. I couldn’t wait to see those little fluffy grey cygnets emerge from under her and started counting down the days until they might hatch.
Until now, that is. Wah! Because it’s flooded. Several times over, in fact. The first time the water came up, the swans panicked. For 24 hours straight, they carted sticks to and fro, building up the nest. We watched, amazed, as they managed to turn the eggs over with their beaks and push more sticks under the eggs themselves (swans — they’re smarter than you give them credit for). The water began to recede and we thought the eggs might be okay. Sure, the nest would soon look like a penthouse apartment, but at least there would be cygnets. Then, yesterday, the water came back up again. Further, this time, to the point where our road has been blocked off by the police…
The swans began working furiously once more, building up the nest. This time, however, they might have started building too late. Because, this morning, it seems the female has abandoned the nest. Even during the building-up of the nest, she was so careful not to be off those eggs for more than a few seconds. But now, even though the pair are continuing to build the nest up, she has been off the eggs for an extended period (hours now). I’m guessing it isn’t a very good sign…
And, yes, I know that last year she had eight cygnets (if it is Hildy, and there’s a 50 per cent chance that I’m right as there are only two pairs of nesting swans around here), while two or three is normal. But, wah! I so wanted to see those cygnets. It was all so exciting.
Nature, you suck.
Ten kinds of AWESOME!
So we’re just back from two weeks in Berlin, Prague and Vienna (I need a holiday now — only vast quantities of Easter chocolate, mucho cake in Vienna and a whole lot of cheap alcohol in Prague has kept me going).
While we were in Prague, we saw pictures of an ossuary about an hour out of the city and decided to take a trip out to see it, because the pictures of it looked amazing. We booked a day tour, because the train and tram changes were frequent (and because guides always know where the best toilets are — crucial when travelling with kids). When we fronted up for the tour, the guide was pretty excited to be setting off, even though he’d been hosting this tour for five months. This seemed like a long time, but his eyes still lit up when he spoke about the ossuary. ‘It’s AWESOME!’ he said, time and time again. ‘Just AWESOME!’.
Well, finally we got to the ossuary. And it was…
AWESOME! With 50,000 or so bones, how could it not be? There was a coat of arms made of bones, pyramids of bones, bones with axe marks in them, bones with spear marks in them. There was even a bone chandelier. Hello, AWESOME! Check it out for yourself…
Entering the ossuary... AWESOME!
Coat of arms made of bones. Even more AWESOME!
Over lunch, our guide asked us how we liked living in the UK. We did our usual shuffling of feet, before quickly saying the opportunity for travel had been… AWESOME! And that’s the bottom line. Nothing will ever beat Australia for the lifestyle factor, but living there really does hold you back on the travel front. I’ve just been flipping through our photos now and realised that if we hadn’t come over here for a full year, there’s no way we would have been able to…
Take a husky ride (and then a trip to a Norwegian hospital!).
See the Northern lights.
Rekindle my love for terrible English beaches.
Research the book I'm writing in real time (characters have a little orgy here...).
See smokers in cages (Vienna airport).
Visit Downton Abbey (swoon!).
AWESOME! I also wouldn’t have…
Spent approximately $1 million at Legoland.
Patted bloody bunnies for bloody hours.
Gone on every open-top round-town bus tour in existence.
Paid to see a whole lot of miniature $#%*.
But that’s travelling with kids, I guess!
The sun is in the sky…
For the last five days the temperature has soared (yes, I must have acclimatised, because I actually consider anything over 15 degrees a noteworthy temperature now…) to a roasty, toasty 18 to 20 degrees. Everyone has suddenly become terribly cheery and you must remark ‘lovely day!’ to every single person you see. Everywhere.
I caught the bus into Cambridge yesterday for a spot of shopping and, as the bus took off, I began to notice that every single person surrounding me was talking about the weather. Every. Single. One. They continued all the way into the city (the English can come at this weather thing by many angles). By the time I returned to the bus stop to head home, it had hit that magical 20 degree mark. While several of us were sitting and waiting for the park and ride bus to show up, the man beside me remarked, to no-one in particular, ‘Look, everyone’s smiling!’. And he was right – they were. Everyone walking past had a smile on his or her face. But what was even more thrilling was that an English person had instigated a conversation at a bus stop (this never, ever happens).
As I got on the bus, I realised just how much of an affect the weather has on people over here. When it can have such a hold over your mood, it’s no wonder they feel the need to talk about it so much. It all reminded me of the Lily Allen song LDN. I’d always got the basic concept, of course, but had never really understood it before – what it was like to live in a country where the weather could truly make or break your day. How thrilling a whole clear, sunny, warm day could be. Now I see how amazingly English that song really is. When the sun’s shining, the English see everything with rose-coloured glasses. As they should, because, for the most part, how can I put it…?
Well, for the most part, the weather here is $#&%.
I go to Morrisons (you know you’ve been waiting for this…)
Right from the first week of our UK stay, I have been confounded by Morrisons. It started with Morrisons ads on TV, then moved on to seeing Morrisons trucks and Morrisons packaging in the communal rubbish bin at our apartment block. The problem was, I couldn’t work out exactly what the place was — was it like KMart, or was it just a plain old supermarket? The TV ad. they were showing on TV at this time was particularly confusing, as it showed kids actually wanting to go to Morrisons. Which meant it couldn’t be a supermarket… could it (advertising never lies, right?)?
When, six months in to our stay, I realised I had yet to actually see a Morrisons and was starting to believe they didn’t really exist, I thought I’d better seek one out. I needed to know where it stood in the grand scheme of things. You see, I’m quite impressed with the supermarket line up over here and how the English have managed to include where you shop for food into their all-pervasive class-consciousness. At home, it comes down to Coles or Woolies for me and they are both pretty much the same. But here — oh, no. It’s a whole different story. And I’ve spent many hours checking out what there is to offer in order to find out where I fit in when it comes to groceries. So, I may be wrong (and I’m sure someone will tell me I am!), but here’s how I think the supermarket class structure goes around these parts:
1. Waitrose
Where nice middle class and upper-middle class ladies buy their food. I’ve got to admit, I love Waitrose. There are fewer shoppers at Waitrose, which means you can actually stop and look at what you’re buying (impossible at other stores, which are packed all the time). They also employ lovely older people who handle each item you’ve selected gently, inspect it and say things like, ‘Oh, that looks lovely. Is it nice? I must try it sometime!’. They also give you a little green token you can put in your chosen charity box and validate your parking. What’s not to like?
2. Marks & Spencer Simply Food
This might not classify as a ‘proper’ supermarket, but you can pretty much buy everything you would need for a weekly shop here (much like Aldi), so I’m sticking it in. Lots of lovely little things in jars, fancy biscuits and chocolates and staff who actually talk to you.
3. Sainsbury’s
Seems to be a bit more genteel than Tesco, but certainly not as expensive as Waitrose. However, the first time I tried to do an online shop with them, they #$%*&^ it up, then @#$*(& up my refund as well (though this was most likely my fault as I couldn’t understand the call centre woman’s Northern accent and thus had to answer yes to her every question). Oh, well.
4. Tesco
Can be defined by one word: convenient. Hit a Tesco Extra and everything you need will be in the one place, including petrol. However, you’re not going to be buying anything special (for example, at Waitrose, you can buy Heston Blumenthal’s range, full of interesting duck and cherry sausages and chocolate and rosemary ice-cream, whereas at Tesco you will only be picking up some Jamie Oliver burgers if they’ve remembered to re-stock the shelves).
5. An odd mix of Morrisons, Asda and probably some places I haven’t heard about
Bargain options. You’ll do your weekly shop for at least £30 cheaper here, but you won’t have anything too exciting in your trolley and you won’t be stopping to browse.
6. Aldi and Lidl and other places I’m too scared to go to because I don’t know their Ways (I got in trouble once in Aldi for not putting my goods on the conveyer belt fast enough and have never been back).
7. Iceland
Stocks mostly bargain basement frozen food and, oddly, no-one ever admits to going there, though the place always seems to be teeming whenever I walk past. I had a look in there once and was amazed by the variety of items you could actually freeze. You could buy 30 frozen profiteroles for £2 and a frozen fish finger butty for £1. I’m doubtful I will ever want to eat a £1 fish finger butty, but if I suddenly morph into fat Elvis, I’ll know where to go.
Like Morrisons, Iceland ran a very annoying ad. last year. The little story in the ad. followed some kind of celebrity singer finishing up a concert, then driving home to a lavish Christmas party, which her husband had obviously pulled together easily because he’d been to Iceland, right after he’d attached five million Christmas lights to their house. Of course, she wasn’t worried about the party, but drove home cool, calm and collected, in the knowledge that everything would be cheery and festive by the time she got home. Ha! We all know the truth of this. Any ‘real’ woman knows she would be more likely to be absolutely freaking out on the drive home, would accidentally hit one of those carollers (or three) outside her house due to distraction and, on entering the house, would find her husband defrosting products from Iceland under hot running water of every available tap in the house, whilst plying guests with drinks in the hope that they wouldn’t notice the lack of food.
The problem with having so many supermarkets on offer, and checking them all out, is a) I’m now undefinable when it comes to the supermarket class structure and b) you start to develop favourite items at each one. Now I find I have to stop in at Waitrose (Daylesford fruit bread, fig and date porridge, Rude Health muesli, three grain sourdough and Higgidy pies), Marks & Spencer Simply Food (curry pastes, mints), Tesco (peanut butter, wholegrain yoghurt and Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream that’s always on special) and now I’ve been to Morrisons, I have to go back there, too (bagels and cheap berries).
Thank God Sainsbury’s #$%*(# things up. It means I can slash at least one supermarket off my list…
What is a weekend? A Sunday of fun in Downton Abbey-land, that’s what!
Okay, give me a few moments to collect myself after my day of serious (albeit, drenched…) excitement.
No, can’t do it.
So, we were driving back from a night in Oxford this morning and realised we’d be quite close to Bampton, where they film the village scenes for Downton Abbey. I know from my excellent contacts (fine, downright stalking of the actors on Twitter etc.) that they’re currently filming series three, so we decided to take a spin past. Well, it’s all going on in Bampton, people! There are production signs everywhere, which was handy for said stalking purposes, because they showed us exactly where to go. Production base this way, location this way, cars that way. So kind of them! Here are some pics for the Downton fans among you (and if you’re not, there’s seriously something wrong with you). There was white bunting everywhere — for Mary and Matthew’s wedding, perhaps?!
Trailers next to the churchyard
Covered-up lights in the churchyard
The churchyard
The ladies' loo... is Maggie inside?!
Feeling poorly? Hope you don't need antibiotics!
Snowdrops
How pretty are snowdrops? I’ve never seen them before, but they’re currently dotted all over the village church’s graveyard. If I don’t watch myself I might seek out the upcoming bluebells and start reciting poetry about daffodils and so on…
So, you’re a star… I think
Watching TV in England is very confusing. I seem to cope with TV in the US okay, so I’m not really sure why this is, but the English really do have their own set of stars that are unknown in every other country on Earth. In particular, I am confused by:
- Myleene Klass (I’ve probably spelled that wrong, but her own mother probably spells it wrong…). Who is she? I looked her up on Wikipedia and am none the wiser, because it says she is an ‘English singer, pianist, media personality and occasional model’. But aren’t we all these days?
- Denise McAdam. I am currently using her shampoo and conditioner and this gives me a secret thrill every day when I see her name on the two bottles in my shower each time I pick them up. It’s like I’ve nicked someone else’s toiletries from the gym, because I have no idea who she is. Is she a hairdresser? An actor?
- The woman on the Iceland ads. I’m sure she’s famous. To someone.
- The guy on the Morrison’s ads. He mumbles a lot and acts quite laddish. I’m sure he’s beloved by many, because he can’t be an actor. I hope. I seem to have ongoing issues with Morrison’s, don’t I? I really must seek one out.
- Every single person involved with Dancing on Ice, except Torvill and Dean. Watching Dancing on Ice is like being dumped in the middle of a party where everyone knows everyone else except you.
In future, I’m sticking to re-runs of the Aussie Border Security. I know where I am with Border Security. There aren’t any famous people. Just regular Aussies, drugs and dodgy foodstuffs. Surely TV doesn’t get any better, or less confusing, than that.
It snowed! It REALLY SNOWED!!!
A big pic. for a big occasion. For weeks, people have been telling us it’s going to snow. So, when the weather forecast stated that it would snow around 6pm yesterday, we took this with a grain of salt (and grit). Just before 6pm, it started to snow. And it didn’t stop all night. When we woke up this morning, we were greeted with a true winter wonderland. We’ve spent most of the day running in and out. Out for fun and in when we can’t feel our extremities anymore. There have been snowballs and snowmen, sleds, slipping and sliding. Good practise for Lapland, where we’ll be headed next week.
