Faulty Committment

I stroll to the tube. I'm wearing a proper British mac -- bought in the USA.

One foot in front of the other.

Ug.

One foot in front of the other.

Erg.

I have microcosmic traces of almonds gritting around my teeth. I've optimistically gobbled down a handful.

Please, drinks only! A drink only!

I'm on my way to meet someone who used to be my customer when I was in a previous position in a previous job in what seems like a previous life. I never liked him back then, so why have I agreed?

Why have you agreed?.

God, he used to drive me crazy. A pain in the ass customer if ever there was one. I think to myself that I quit that previous job in that previous life because of him. A more honest moment later -- I concede: I didn't quit solely because of him. Forgetting all about him was just icing on the cake of my resignation.

He's still proving to be difficult.

"I'm off on holiday tomorrow." I told him when he called. "So it has to be an early one, ok?"

"Ok." So he said.

And still more difficult.

He's in town on business. Wouldn't I come meet him somewhere convenient to him?

God damn it! Why did you agree?!

I'm annoyed by the prospect of having to get on the tube one more time today. For all things: to meet my erstwhile tormentor.

Why did I agree? Some sort of twisted curiosity, I suppose. A window into that previous life at that previous job. A glimpse at how another world carried on without me.

Badly, I'm sure.

I'm not networking (though in the back of my mind I hear a mantra "don't burn bridges"). This man is no longer my customer. I'm beholden by nothing. For nothing. I don't have to be nice and obliging and sweet. I don't have to laugh at his jokes or commiserate with the lousy service he's still getting from that other place I used to work. Fuck 'em. I can be however I want to be.

Who are you kidding?

I know, I know. I'll be nice and obliging and sweet. I'll laugh at his jokes and commiserate with the lousy service he's still getting from the other place I used to work. I'll be fake. I'll feel the corners of my mouth ache from the insincere, yet impressively sustained smiling. Self-loathing could enter the picture.

Please, only 1 drink

I'm off the tube at Sloane Square, and into Oriel. I glimpse to the left and right and spin around, and there he is.

"Ellie!" Two kisses on the cheeks. "I'm famished! Let's get a quick ...."

Yes!

"... drink at the bar and then get a table."

Fuck!

I don't surprise myself at all: I smile. I ask probing questions that demonstrate sincere interest in all aspects of his life. I want to shoot myself.

A whole fucking dinner with you!

I think I still have almonds in my teeth.

The bill comes. He looks at me, hesitates, seems surprised I'm not reaching more quickly for my wallet. The truth is, I have assumed he'll pick up the tab. He's travelling on business (ie - he's not paying).

"Oh, should we split this?" he asks as if there were the possibility that I would splurge on him.

Jesus f*cking Christ@!!@£$@@!!!!! You're not my customer! You don't get to sponge off me any more!

I smile and take out my credit card (to pay half), and vow that next time he's in town, I just won't pick up my phone.

Life in the UK: Answers

LIFE IN THE UK - THE REAL TEST
Answers in red.
Commentary in italics.

This post is dedicated to Harriet. Good ol' Harriet. She took the test. She passed the test (varying from my answers on only a couple of occasions). She proved her nationality. Kudos to Harriet! Hurrah for Harriet!

1. What should one do on an escalator?

a. Stand on the left, walk on the right
b. Walk on the left, stand on the right
c. Whatever the hell you feel like
d. All of the above

This behaviour should not be confined to the London Tube. It should be instated in one or some or all of whatever conventions govern worldwide behaviour. Why don't we ALL do this by nature? Isn't it just good common sense?

2. What football team do true Liverpudlians support?

a. Liverpool
b. Everton
c. Fulham
d. Tottenham

Liverpudlians who support Liverpool might disagree; but, I was told that true Liverpudlians support only 1 team, the "other" Liverpool based team: Everton.

3. Who is a bigger wanker?

a. A mini-cab driver
b. An estate agent
c. A bus driver
d. A meter maid (parking attendant)

No comment required.4. Who is the bigger national disappointment?

a. Tony Blair
b. Tim Henneman
c. David Beckham
d. Mel C

How many years can you scream, "Come on, Tim! Come on, Boy!" before you get utterly discouraged? Poor chap.

5. Which disasters strike the greatest fear into the hearts of Great Britons?

a. Terrorists and tsunamis
b. Flooding and Big Brother profanity
c. Rabies and fire
d. French occupation

It's likely that Brits don't get this about themselves, but they are paranoid of fire and rabies. 1 because they have a historical legacy of suffering from it; the other because they've never had it.

6. Which of the following is NOT a popularly held (not necessarily accurate) belief?

a. Scottish people are tight wads.
b. The Welsh like sheep.
c. Chavs like Burberry.
d. The Enlgish are a boastful lot.

No one thinks the English are boastful. They're not. I don't feel it's fair to comment on the Scots, the Welsh, or Chavs.

7. Which is the more annoying UK export?

a. Catherine Zeta Jones
b. Victoria Beckham
c. Coldplay's Chris Martin
d. All of the above

In my mind, orginally it was Posh. Then I realised, they all annoy the f*ck out of me.

8. What is the more difficult to accomplish in the UK?

a. Finding a job.
b. Getting furniture delivered to your unfurnished home.
c. Getting your GP to give you a prescription you obviously need.
d. Fitting a week's worth of food into your refrigerator.

They're stingy with meds, though it might be just as difficult to actually fill a prescription in the US of A. No insurance, bad luck.

9. What do Britons have the strongest romantic affinity for?

a. Moving to the country
b. Page 3 girls
c. The Empire
d. The Monarchy

Some added suggestions result in ...

e. Spain
f. their dogs
g. a, e and f

10. Britons are most proud of ...

a. Jade Goody
b. Girls Allowed
c. Simon Cowell
d. Ozzie Osbourne

Not that they love Ozzie, but the other choices were really bad.

References 3

I have moved beyond compiling lists of word searches that land here.

Curiosity has gotten the better of me. I'm now re-enacting searches.

What were they looking for when they googled fill-in-the-blank? It's like playing detective.

-----------------

Petunia smoke - I imagine it's purple-ish
Bar Solona - love it.
concrete moroccan tiles - don't do it yourself.
toenail cuticles - aiiii! Did you really get here with that?!!!!
to know about londan places - please, learn to spell it.
smoking latex queen - check out SoHo.
femininst bunk - hopefully not here
beers bladder full urgent - sounds like an emergency
inside out rubber gloves blogs - this blog is NOT inside out
smoking laurel - desperate measures
smoking latex - even more desparate
smoking vagina - that's HOTT
dog love glove - is this an accessory that every dog owner should have? Must be the Love Glove Grooming Mitt
smoking male hot - the Mista, absolutely.
Pennsylvania smoke breaks at work - How many and how long?
power tools sexy - odd.
vagina tights - Can probably find some in SoHo
dog ate latex - Aiiii. Hate to see it come out the other end.
I've still got the smoke in my eyes - Whoops. Sorry.
sexy women smoking in hot places - Not here.
fuck and smoke - Not that kind of blog.
clarissa street reunion - Where and when?
harry potter has replaced all fairy tales, how do you prove it - you don't because he hasn't.
i-smoke - by Apple?
smogblog china - You probably didn't get what you were looking for. You have the Unreliable Witness to thank.
diy small refrigerator grow cab - Growing a cab in a small refrigerator is ambitious DIY.
harry potter does he smoke - Is he 16?

I Passed.

In four minutes.

The Real Life in the UK Test

My test is on Wednesday, and I really should be studying this book. I am, however, distracted by what I think should be on the test.

Why should I care whether children can work in chip shops? I'm not - nor do I plan on being - a chip shop owner. And what about the legal smoking and drinking ages? What do I care about underage consumption? The important thing is that I am legal to drink and smoke.

In my humble estimation, the following questions are far more pertinent to this great thing I call Life in the UK.

Take the test, put your answers in the comment box, and I'll let you know how you do.

LIFE IN THE UK - THE REAL TEST

1. What should one do on an escalator?

a. Stand on the left, walk on the right
b. Walk on the left, stand on the right
c. Whatever the hell you feel like
d. All of the above

2. What football team do true Liverpudlians support?

a. Liverpool
b. Everton
c. Fulham
d. Tottenham

3. Who is a bigger wanker?

a. A mini-cab driver
b. An estate agent
c. A bus driver
d. A meter maid (parking attendant)

4. Who is the bigger national disappointment?

a. Tony Blair
b. Tim Henneman
c. David Beckham
d. Mel C

5. Which disasters strike the greatest fear into the hearts of Great Britons?

a. Terrorists and tsunamis
b. Flooding and Big Brother profanity
c. Rabies and fire
d. French occupation

6. Which of the following is NOT a popularly held (not necessarily accurate) belief?

a. Scottish people are tight wads.
b. The Welsh like sheep.
c. Chavs like Burberry.
d. The Enlgish are a boastful lot.

7. Which is the more annoying UK export?

a. Catherine Zeta Jones
b. Victoria Beckham
c. Coldplay's Chris Martin
d. All of the above

8. What is the more difficult to accomplish in the UK?

a. Finding a job.
b. Getting furniture delivered to your unfurnished home.
c. Getting your GP to give you a prescription you obviously need.
d. Fitting a week's worth of food into your refrigerator.

9. What do Britons have the strongest romantic affinity for?

a. Moving to the country
b. Page 3 girls
c. The Empire
d. The Monarchy

10. Britons are most proud of ...

a. Jade Goody
b. Girls Allowed
c. Simon Cowell
d. Ozzie Osbourne

Change

A woman at work says the boss of the bosses (The Big Boss) is a 'strange old codger.'

Teehee: I agree.

But I dare not say so, because I'm on my way up.

He is a strange, old codger; a strange, old codger who likes me and is clearing my path for professional advancement. He's convinced I'm a leader, a do-er, a make-things-happen-type-of-girl. I don't disagree with his opinion, but there's not much of a basis for him to have formed any such conclusion. He hardly knows me. He's not had much exposure to my moxie moments. He operates on instinct. Maybe he sniffed my ass when I wasn't looking. At any rate, he's formed a positive opinion and wants to see me rise. He also likes women. Cute girls with self-confidence. He must not have sniffed out my darker moments when he was doing his sniffing. I will admit that I do a commendable job of keeping my vulnerabilities firmly compartmentalised. They stay at home or in this blog.

I've taken a detour. It was the word codger that did it.

This post was supposed to be about me and my fear of becoming an old codger: an old bastard resisting change.

When I saw the installation of new sign-age at Earl's Court, my reaction was displeasure.

What do they have to go messing with the signs for?

When I got the email that my Swedish friend was leaving London after 6 years, my reaction was displeasure.

Why can't she just settle down?

When the boiler broke, and My Man proclaimed that we need a new one -- no fixing the current one -- my reaction was displeasure.

GOD DAMN IT I WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO A HOT BATH AND NEED TO SHAVE MY LEGS.

When the neighbour said she thought Right Said Fred had moved neighbourhoods, my reaction was displeasure.

You're just trying to upset me. I always knew you were a bitch.

When I caught myself in a quiet moment dismaying, "Why all this change?" my reaction was displeasure.

What's wrong with you, you old codger!

Wedding Weather & Small Wins

Not like now as the rain pitterpats on the skylights, the gutters, and the garden pavement making a melody of drops, the weather the weekend past was boastfully sunny and dry. I strolled with the The Dog through a park abutting a church. Park traffic was high. The weather was good. A woman's voice spoke a sentence that made me chuckle and has rattled in my head since:

"If it were you're wedding day, you'd be chuffed to bits."

You bet your ass. No bride can be chuffed with anything less than a sunny fucking day.

And now on to my personal small win: a technological feat! I did it! At long last, I discovered the little line of code in my blogger template that needed replacing in order to disable blogger commenting (versus haloscan commenting) on my individual post pages. If you haven't got a notion as to what I'm on about (Mom), don't worry about it. It's a blogging thing. And I fixed it! I fixed it! I should now go alter accordingly my 'about' page. Hurrah!

Escapism

During the meltingly hot stupor of summer (not that we’ve had much of one this year) when the sun beats down, and feet begin to drag against the blistering pavement, when a layer of city summer dust clings to the skin, and clean is something you feel for only about 20 minutes each day – those precious minutes directly after a cool soapy shower – there is no place in London I dread more than the Underground.

Drudgery doesn’t sway to the fickle whims of weather. Hot or cold: no matter. One must work. One must descend. Go below.

Never mind that it’s hot: if, it’s a Monday or a Tuesday, a Wednesday or a Thursday, a Friday and no bank holiday in sight, the tube awaits.

Unless it’s rained.

Rain? Rain. Rain! In the UK, imagine that!

With a good rainfall, Drudgery gets a bit giddy herself. You’ll find she’s closed a good number of lines, leaving you to find no space on overcrowded buses with steamed up windows. She'll have you walk the 4-6 miles it will take to get home. Without an umbrella. In good shoes. Drudgery playing her games.

But, rainfall was a distraction. Back to heat. And summer. And a hot, hot tube. When the good folk at Transport for London have put up advisories for passengers to carry along bottled water to fight against heat exhaustion.

Urban miners, subterranean commuters, underground ticket punchers: all of us feel the heat.

This is the season when I cannily forego any offered seat. Physical contact with sweat-stained and itchy upholstery: “No, thanks!”

This is the season when I purposely position myself to get a specific spot in the carriage: lengthwise, on either side of a carriage, back against one of those doors through which one can walk to the adjacent carriage if they have the courage (I don’t). These connecting-carriage doors have windows, which, when pushed down give maximum circulation. I close my eyes and forget where I am. My hair is blown back out the window, and for 30-45 minutes of my day I pretend I’m sitting at the front of a speeding boat or that I’m a dog with my snout poking out the window – maximally enjoying the rush of wind, and the forgetting of sweaty bodies and Drudgery.

Studying

The title is Life in the United Kingdom: A Journey to Citizenship. The colon isn't really in the title; I've added it. Someone here once said that we Americans overuse the poor old colon, so what the hey?

It's a riveting read, told with the pizzazz one would expect only from the Home Office. The until-recently Home Secretary, John Reid, himself boasts about the commercial success of this publication in the forward.

He writes, "The first edition of this handbook became a best-seller when it came out towards the end of 2004."

Wasn't it in 2004 when it became obligatory to take a test to prove your Britishness to stay in this great country? What a scheme! Imagine my traffic if I could make my content obligatory in some fashion or another!

So, my highly skilled migrant status will need renewing very soon. The next step in the process of my legally remaining in the UK is to apply for Indefinite Leave to Remain. This is a new requirement.

Thanks you bastard fucks who plotted to blow up transatlantic flights last year. Now not only do we have to worry about stuffing our personal carry-on items of a possibly flammable nature into a little ziplock bag, but now we foreigners all have to read this best-selling handbook to pass the test that will let us stay in our homes and in our jobs. Fucking bastards.

Here are some of the examples of the interesting factoids* I have to committ to memory to stay on the shores of ol' Albion**:***

It is permitted to discriminate on the basis of sex, religion, ethnicity in the hiring process if the job in question is to be conducted in your home.

It is permitted to discriminate against potential tenets if you (as landlord) or one of your relatives (as relatives of the landlord) will also be living in the flat.

I'm not one for discrimination, but those two exceptions seem somewhat reasonable.

Contrary to the headlines, a WAG is not a wife or girlfriend of one of our famous footballers; but rather the Welsh Assembly Government.

Children of 14-16 years of age cannot work in a chip shop.

And, a direct quote from the best-seller, "If you do have problems with your neighbours, they can usually be solved by speaking to them first."

No fucking way! I've lived here long enough to know that you RARELY speak to your neighbours -- and when you do, it is NOT when there is some possible dispute brewing!

I hope I pass the test. I would hate to be deported. Especially as I think I can make a contribution to the next version of the Living in the UK Test.

I'm thinking of questions; compiling them; and will publish the exam here. If you pass, I'll give you an honorary passport. Just don't try to travel on it.

*What is the difference between a factoid and a fact? Is it just a twatty way of saying "fact" or is it a justified way of signifying that the fact is quirky by nature. Just looked it up. Yeah! Not just a twatty whim ... but does demean the fact, and therefore used most appropriately! Good on me!

**How many natively born chavs (or even non chavs) know that Albion is an old fashioned reference to England. For this little tidbit, I should be given free reign of the realm.

***Another colon. Ha!

dumbledore

The first Harry Potter came out in 1997. I only know this because I have incredible research skills.

I wonder if I'm the only one with a bad memory for the actual titles. In my mind, there's "the first one" and "the last one" (which was recently replaced by a more recent last one) and the one with the flying car and the one with the tri-wizard championship. They all kind of morph into each other. I know the 'godfather' guy died in the fourth or fifth ... or is it the sixth?!!!! ...., and the headmaster died in the previous "last one". Rumours are rampant that dear old Harry himself bites the wizard's wand in the newly released, final, final one.

I shouldn't think my last sentence was any kind of a spoiler. If you haven't heard the rumour, then you are woefully out of touch; I would urge you to start, if not reading newspapers, reading the headlines when you mosey past your local news agents.

I don't know if the rumour is true. I haven't bought the book yet. But I will.

When? When!

I am a reluctant and tardy Harry fan. Slow to jump on the bandwagon. Mildly annoyed by all the associated hoopla.

When the first Harry came out in 1997, the UK was just a distant land and Harry Potter was just a plucky little wizard with plucky little wizard friends who spoke with sophisticated little accents. Harry Potter was a children's book - albeit one that had been embraced by adults -- and I had better things to read.

In 2001, having moved to the UK, I thought I had to do my part to assimilate. I bought the first three Harry Potters (resulting in a strong association of my early days in London with Harry Potter). Later I bought the fourth, and still later the fifth and then the sixth. I've not once been 'on time' with Harry. I'm always just a few months behind the crowd. I can't pretend not to enjoy the series. It's good, mindless entertainment. A whole hell of a lot better than entertainment masking itself as something more (would people please come to their senses and see The Da Vinci Code for what it is: a load of crap!?!?!).

Still, I cannot fathom camping out in front of Waterstones just to be sure to get a copy on the first day out. Let alone dressed up like a magician. Whoops, I mean wizard.

Musical of Musicals

I realised many years ago during a showing of Ms. Saigon that I don't go in for a bunch of singing and dancing about life. Do you really think a crowd broke out in chorus when the Americans lost and the embassy was besieged by a bunch of locals looking for asylum from the communists? Bah! Humbug! Not likely!

What kind of defending attorney breaks out in song in a courtroom? I would fire my lawyer if he were to pull such a stunt! Ridiculous!

Now, everyone knows that cats don't sing (unless they are horny), so a show with no plot about a bunch of singing cats works well. The whole concept is already so far out there, that there is no need to suspend one's disbelief -- it's obviously a fairy tale.

Of course there are exceptions. It's tradition! Wanting to be a rich man! Thinking about the burning a girl can get when she plays with matches! Do you love me?

I do!