Snow Dog

And we have snow

Boys

Strange weather.
This morning, bright and sunny, Alex and I went for early morning coffee in Steveston. Halfway through the morning, the sky clouded over and it started to rain, cold and possibly a little sleety.

Seth has flown back to England today. He will be missed. I would like to be a fly on the wall at his parents' home in Wiltshire tomorrow though, since he hasn't told them he's arriving back.
Kevin told us that one of his university friends surprised his parents like this once. There was a secret way of unlocking the back door without a key, which he did, and REALLY surprised the new family that was living there since his parents moved.

Laurence has been laid off work. One of the three branches in Richmond has closed and so they had too many staff. Bummer. He's fairly upbeat about it at the moment, but time wears you down. Hopefully he'll get a new job quickly.

The Gap

I love that, as the weather kills off every other plant in the garden, a rose manages to bloom.
Somehow it has to be symbolic.

This year's Gender Gap Report has just been released.
The good news for Canada and the USA are that they have both gone up from last year, a whopping twelve places for my friends in Obama's USA. Five places for Canadian women. The gender gap in the UK has stayed the same, Britain is still in fifteenth place, nonetheless, still ahead of the USA in 19th position, and Canada at number 20. France, has shockingly plummeted to 46th from 18th position last year.

The National News this morning was all about a skating contest, 'Battle of the Blades', and the engagement of Katherine Middleton and Prince William. This news was so shocking that it rendered everyone incapable of using the English language. The newscaster came out with the word 'exuberation' and a delightful old lovey who is fluent in all Royals, told us that they would probably create a dukedom out of William, which has the kind of surreal quality one welcomes at this time of year.
He also told us that the name 'Kate' was a media invention and that she is always called Katherine by actual people. So the newscaster continued to refer to her as Kate.
Ignorance is bliss and bliss can be maintained by ignoring what people say to you.
Anyhoo, back in Britain, everyone seems delighted. Quite the item to lift the mood from gloomy to merely cynical.

I was pleased to see that an adoption advisor who had been dismissed from her post with Northampton County Council because she refused to place children with same sex couples on 'religious grounds' has been told to take a running jump. The courts weren't having any when she took the employer to a tribunal.

Some things, bigotry for example, really should be killed off by the frost.

Good News and Grimoires

Good news numbero uno. Aung San Suu Kyi has been released from house arrest.This should have had the same impact as Nelson Mandela's release in 1990, and yet hasn't somehow. The world waits, but at least both Pres Obama and UN Bloke-in-charge Ban Ki Moon have both made the right noises.

Good news numero dos. Some time ago I blogged about a bunch of homophobic, misogynistic bigots in the Diocese of New Westminster, (ours), who thought that they could squat in the Anglican churches they were already infesting and in fact actually own those buildings. The court said, no you can't. They appealed, and now, happily, their appeal has been turned down.
Jolly good show you lot, now piss off back to the Appellations where you belong.

Sadly of course, the Catlicks'll probably have to have them. Now, I had this discussion with my Sarah Palin-loving friend last week.
Her view is that this type of 'Christian' should just realise that the church of Rome exists for just such a delightful bunch as they.
The Pope seems to think this too.
I of course have joked about this, but the reality is that there are a great many forward-thinkers in the Catholic church, and it's their church, so it has just as much right and in fact duty, to give the full body swerve to Anglican rejects and move forward with its own reforms.

Reduce, re-use, recycle. The Catholic church is not everyone's garbage bin, even if it still contains quite a bit of useless rubbish and worse.

I really wanted to get on to the Grimoire however. I was trying to research whether it was safe to transplant my flat leaf parsley from the front patch to the back balcony. I can't quite make up my mind whether it's bad luck only in Devonshire, or bad luck in general.
No matter.
I have discovered Kereena's Grimoire, which I feel will greatly expand my repertoire of strategies for dealing with nuisances. At the moment I'm relying heavily on sticking pins into effigies, and frankly, my heart's not entirely in it.

Eventually, I'd like to have my own Grimoire. I think this could be the perfect project for me.
Firstly, however, I need a spell that will enable me to safely transplant parsley.

Sitcom and Food

Two thoughts really. Have you ever noticed that there's sitcom you and real you?

People in sitcoms often, in my experience, do things that are completely out of character, because it fits in with the story.
Sitcom you is the you that does things in the minds of other people, because it fits in with the story running in their head rather than your actual character.

Here's an example. A week or so ago, someone in the household (name withheld to protect the guilty)left their clean washing on top of the fridge, because said person spotted some interesting bread and got munching. Later, said person was mortified and asked whether I would now hate said person.

'How does this tie up with any experience you've ever had of her since being here?' S. Person was asked by A.N.Other,
'Er, not at all,'
'Well then,'

I was aware of this happening elsewhere today. Someone said that someone else said, that third someone said something that was entirely out of keeping with third person's character.
'So,' said I, 'maybe we should ask Third Person whether they said anything like that at all,' presumably there exists the sitcom version of Third Person.

Ok, hope that wasn't TOO cryptic.

Whilst in the States at the Static at the weekend, we watched the film, 'Food Inc.' Woah. You think you know what a load of shit we're being fed until you find out what a bunch of shit we're really being fed.
To be fair, this film is about the US Food industry, but frankly, I doubt anyone else's is squeaky clean.

Farmers who refused to 'upgrade' to the industry's new low standards, were simply put out of business.
Cattle - normally grass eaters - are being fed corn, which increases the e-coli in their stomachs by huge amounts. Cattle taken off corn feed and put back to grass for 5 days, were found to drop the percentage of e-coli in their guts by 80%. These cows were also living ankle deep in their own e-coli ridden shit. Farmers who refused to 'upgrade' to the industry's new low standards were...well, you know.

Corn was being mass produced on land that formerly had grown other crops. Farmers who tried to resist the major producers of resistant strains of corn seed ....yep, were sued into oblivion. High fructose corn syrup was being made into fillers for burgers, sausages, bloody everything. It's insane. In fact, my theory is that we'll discover that insanity itself is caused by HFCS.

I'm still working on that Zombies and corn syrup story.

Oh to be in England (and other spontaneous poetic outbursts)

...now that autumn's there,
and whoever wakes in England,
sees some morning, unaware,
that the lowest branch on the brushwood sheaf,
round the elm tree bole is without leaf,
and the chaffinch is hiding
from the orchard bough,
in England,
now.

Yes, sorry, a spontaneous outburst of poorly-adapted Browning.

And actually, it's pretty amazing being in BC in the autumn. The leaves have mostly fallen, but they have been spectacular, the wind and rain have been mighty and right now, the sun is shining and filling the house with a last hurrah.
There are some pumpkins still lying in the fields, even after Hallowe'en, the pumpkin fields are fun to see, very seasonal.
Tomorrow is a Bank Holiday, being Remembrance Day.

In the Autumn, I am given to random bouts, not of melancholy, but of Romantic Poets, thus a quick burst of Shelley.

"O Wild, West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being,
thou from whose unseen presence the leaves, dead are driven,
Like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing.
Yellow and black and pale and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes,
O thou who chariotest to their dark, wintry bed,
The wingèd seeds,
Where they lie, cold and low, each like a corpse within its grave,
Until thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow her clarion o'er the dreaming earth,
And fill, (driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air),
With living hues and odours, plain and hill.

Oh, wild Spirit which art moving everywhere,
Destroyer and Preserver, hear, O, hear.

So, the Romantics, the Wordsmiths at Gorsemere. Bunch of chaps in frilly shirts, or something more useful?
Well, at first sniff, not really. The Romantics were a sort of antidote to the the grim reality of the Industrial Revolution, they believed that they had some godly duty - through their god-given gift of being able to write poetry - to bring to mere mortals, the beauty of the natural world. And often they did a damn fine job of it, so long as you don't mind the occasional heavy-handed metaphor, or overly-vivid imagery.

So is there an up side?
Well, yes, I think so. There is something very uplifting about the natural world, as one tramps across fields, the wind in one's hair and so forth, and the poetry of the Romantics can be very stirring, even spiritual, which, I suppose, was what they claimed for their art.

Of course, my own higher education was in French, and what came along as an antidote to the French Romantics, were a bunch of poets who concentrated on the seamier side of life, and generally through some kind of drug-induced stupor.
I always found Baudelaire's 'Fleurs du Mal' (the Flowers of Evil) really quite compelling in its association of sensuality with death and decay.
Unlike the Romantics, who interpreted the heavenly because we couldn't, Baudelaire took opium so that we didn't have to.

Rather disturbingly, I always felt he looked a tad like Hitler.

Trouble at t'Schloss

Same old, same old.

At the end of last week, Laurence either fell, or was knocked off his bike. It was the middle of the afternoon, he was coming back from swimming after work.

He wasn't aware of being hit, but he temporarily blacked out, and that's what makes me think he probably was.
When a pick-up truck went into the back of our car three years ago, it was as though the car had imploded. I didn't know what had happened for several seconds, I had, and have, no memory of the moment of impact.

Laurence went to the hospital and was treated. No bones were broken, but he was badly bruised and scraped and he's had to take time off work, since he can't lift anything.

It's quite bizarre, the level of aggression towards cyclists here.
It's not like cyclists are loved back home, but there is a grudging acceptance that, although they are a pain in the arse, they're there and that's all there is to it.

Here, considering most Canadians see themselves as an apathetic nation, the vitriol against cyclists is disturbing in its vehemence. And yes, at one end of the scale there is, perhaps akin to apathy, a thoughtless ignorance that simply doesn't even notice them on the road, or when knocked off their bikes, but at the other end, there is a very real and spiteful hatred.

In my soul, I hope that Laurence simply fell off, his rough treatment of his machine has resulted in many potential problems that could have caused this, the pedal, for example, is now missing. But I fear that someone has simply driven off, leaving a human being, my human being, lying injured in the road.
This year in Vancouver, five pedestrians have been run over and killed. The most recent was a woman of 85. Someone's mother, grandmother, friend, probably all of these.

Aside from damage to humans, the mechanical side of the Schloss is showing its age. The garage door has stopped working, a vital spring has broken and must be replaced at considerable cost. The furnace was serviced and the person brought to our attention what we were told by the home inspector when we bought the place, that the hot water boiler needs replacing, fortunately with a much more energy efficient one. Better now than when it floods the garage.

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose, as they say.

Credit Crunch

My credit card company are right royally pissing me off.

I am trying to be as paper free as possible and so have selected the paperless statements option and all was well until three months ago when they 'improved' their website. Now, when they e-mail to say that a statement is available and to go to their website, I do, it isn't, it won't open, I get an error message.

For three months in a row, I have then rung their number and said, 'yadayada, I need to be able to check my statement, blah, blah,' and every time they say the same thing, 'we'll send you a paper one,' and 'we're aware of the system error, we're working on it,'
Bollocks they do and bollocks they are.
Paper statements never arrive, system error continues.

So this month I tried another tack. I e-mailed. Their customer service e-mail addy starts with, 'talk to us,'
So I tried. And the to-and-fro boils down to something like this,

[I have opted for paperless statements and I get an error message every time I log on]
[You need to log on in Internet Explorer and set the language to Canadian English]
[I use Firefox, I've added Canadian English it doesn't work. In any case, why has everyone told me over three months that you are working on this?]
[You need to use Internet Explorer. Then we'll check that you are registered for paperless statements]
[I am and I don't use IE]
[I'm sorry it won't work in Firefox, you need to use IE]
[Why won't you answer my question? Why was I constantly being told that you were working on a system error if it's a browser conflict? It used to work, now it doesn't, it should have been fixed by now, assuming you have your IT department working on it and not your canteen staff]
[You need to open in IE]
[I don't use IE. I've opened in Canadian English AND Canadian French. Doesn't work. Incidentally, if I choose the French option, only the first page of the log-in questions are in French]
[IE]
[I don't use IE!]
[Silence]
[Is it because I is black?]

(I didn't say the last one).

In the meantime, I can trick it into doing something and the whole thing has turned into a sad game, but no way am I submitting to the great Thule. Er...or internet explorer.
Not without an anaesthetic anyway.

Showers

Parked outside Mark's Work Wearhouse with Whisky on my knees and at the steering wheel, reminded me of the time I was stopped at the lights at a major intersection and a pick-up truck crossed, with a very small kiddie sitting on the driver's lap. The child's hands were on the steering wheel, not the man's. (Probably using his phone).

Last night at Writers' Group, one person mentioned that people didn't have showers in their houses in the 1950s, they didn't come in until the sixties.

I don't remember them in Britain until the seventies. Oh, we had the blasted things at school all right. We didn't want to get our kit off and get into the showers, it was amazing how many girls had periods that lasted from one end of term to the other, the main excuse for not using them.
But at home, just baths and the plastic hairsprayer thingie whose rubber attachments fitted over the taps, and which perished after a certain time period.

In 1971, my parents took my sister and I to visit some friends of theirs in Denmark. They had been part of the ex-pat community with my parents in Nigeria.
Here we encountered several things that were about to become part of our lives, duvets, yoghurts and showers. The Danes in fact didn't like the idea of baths, they considered them unhygienic, because you were sitting in your own dirt. This didn't cut much ice with me, since we had done how detergents work in Chemistry or Physics or on TV or something, but I knew that the dirt particles all clustered around the detergent molecule, which held it safely away from the clean child.
Nonetheless, showers were on the way.

I'm not sure that our parents really believed that showers could get us properly clean. A shower was regarded as slightly better than an all-over wash with the flannel at the sink, but not as thoroughly cleansing of the adolescent scuzz as a proper bath, which was still required a couple of times a week, to get rid of the build-up of shower residue.
The proof of this was surely the tide mark around the bath, which must itself be scrubbed off. Evidence of cleanliness was the dirt left behind.

The other thing I learnt last night made my jaw drop. It seems that tickets to see Sarah Palin speak on 13th October cost $500.
I'm sure she was worth every penny.
AND...my nose just grew longer.

All Hallows' Eve

Yesterday, being the first Hallowe'en the Schloss has joined in with, Alex and Seth had carved a pumpkin, decorated the front steps, and waited with their treat-sized choccie bars, for kids to arrive. Instead, we came back from the Static and told them to turn the porch light on, at which point, children, cunningly disguised as teenagers, came to call.

At the weekend, at the Static, I had a mildly Hallowe'eny experience.
The outdoor swimming pools bar one, and jacuzzis are now closed for the winter. Over the family pool, a roof has been put up, one of those jobbies that is kept up by air being pumped into it. Several years old, it has a certain skuzziness, but hey, there are not many hardy souls left willing to swim now, so two weekends running, I've had the pool to myself for almost the entire swim.
The lighting is dim, like having a couple of table lamps in a swimming pool sized room.
On Saturday, I was finishing my allotted number of lengths, when at one end of the pool, I could see three shadows trudging along, elongated by the subdued lighting from inside the pool area.
It was decidedly spooky, and I hastened my pace, so that I was at the end of my last length when parents and a medium sized boy came in. The parents sat on the chairs around the pool and the boy stood shivering and complaining in the shallow water.

Later, back at the Static, the wind picked up and howled disconsolately through the trees, followed by lashing rain.
Somewhere in all of that, an eco-warrior spirit came and disconnected her next-door's ancient fairy lights again.

My money's on the fairies anyway.

Balls and the Time Traveller's Grandma

Yes, two balls.
Now that the weather is getting somewhat more autumnal rather than Indian summerish, I am able to wear the dog-walking jacket. This is a coat of many pockets, all of them full of useful items such as scooby snacks, poopie sacks and balls.

Whisky has yet to master the art of ball catching. Well, at least, he catches it and brings it back, but never gives it up. Therefore twice the number of balls are needed, one for him to hold in his gob and one to chase after and herd along. I realised after a while, that this was not dissimilar to the pastime known as Curling. Perhaps it's in the air here. He sort of jumps and skips as the ball rolls to rest, sometimes nosing along the ground, willing it to move here or there - although whether dogs have will or not is a whole other debate, and not for here. Well, at least not for now.

There was a great post on Womanist Musings today, by a feminist Muslim woman, on gender segregation at prayer and beyond. Very interesting article.

Then there are two articles that Austen has sent me today. The first defies belief, and in fact, so does the second, but in a different way.

In Hungary, a midwife has been arrested and faces up to five years in gaol, for delivering babies, at the choice of the mother, in the mother's home. There is an interesting statistical comparison at the end. In most European countries, women have that choice, but few take up the option. In Holland however, 33% are home births.
Outrageous that a government should think it has the right to dictate this.

The other article is about a film-maker from Belfast who has discovered evidence of time travel in a Charlie Chaplin film made in 1928. I would certainly agree that the clip is fascinating. I would also agree with most of the commentators who say the man is very boring and most probably just out to publicise his films - in which endeavour he is successful, because here am I doing just that for him.
Mmmm, time travel, that would be my first thought when watching this.
Or not.

What really occurred to me was that computer programmers put Easter Eggs in Microsoft Office, so why wouldn't their muckers the digital re-masterers do likewise in films?
The woman looks remarkably like Margaret Rutherford playing Miss Marple, and although in 1960 there were no mobile phones either, in 2010, we have wonderful digital manipulation programmes.
So I'm opting not so much for the time travel theory and more for the digital enhancement one.
Of course, if I'm wrong, I may already have found out.

The Dog's Bollocks

Another day, another dog-walker. This one spoke very little English, but he asked questions. I tried to return the favour.
'What type of dog is it?' I asked, but there was no response. I don't know why I thought this would be any easier to understand, but I then asked,
'What breed?' at which the man pulled up the dog's hindparts and showed me where his bollocks used to be. He made some attempt at 'snippy, snippy', although I think he said, 'cutty'.

I could imagine this being some kind of ancient Chinese insult, like on those HSBC TV ads, where different cultures find it insulting to see the soles of someone's feet and so forth.

Sleepy thought this could be surreal, quite my favourite of the realities, so I had a little wander there.

We were always told that those small dogs were bred as lap dogs, but I can picture the ancient Chinese, all long moustaches, pigtails and silk pyjamas, walking around with small, neutered male dogs under one arm, revealing their debollockedness as a way of saying, 'fuck you, ignorant peasant!' The practice only ceased when Communism started and 'ignorant peasant' was no longer a slight.

Yep, that's all I've got, a recycled convo from earlier ;)

Shocked and Horrified of Richmond

I was shocked and horrified today, to discover that Paul the psychic octopus had died. I'm not kidding, it didn't even make it onto our news. But worse - there is a conspiracy theory that Paul actually died three months ago, and in true sitcom style, was replaced by the aquarium keepers. Jaysus, what is the world coming to?
Disturbing.

Superstore, my supermarket of choice - full name 'The Real Canadian Superstore' has finally discovered back bacon. It is being marketed as 'Wiltshire bacon' which is apparently made from Irish pigs. Hmmm... Kevin was shocked and horrified at the price I paid for it, but I felt I needed to show support. On the back of the packet were instructions for frying bacon.
Phew.

I feel that the new series of Dexter is about to dip its toe in the waters of Lesbos. I just can't believe that they would bring in star lesbian Katherine Moennig, the L Word's Shane, just for one flirtatious scene with male impersonator Dexter's sister. I mean it has to go somewhere, otherwise I'll be shocked and horrified.

Heat

That heat thing again.

We haven't yet had cold enough temperatures to warrant putting the heating on in the house, yet some shops are already running at ridiculous temperatures. I'm sure this must account for why the average per person energy consumption in North America is so much higher than in Europe.

I was discussing this with Austen and I said that I never used to be quite so aware of people having their homes at uncomfortable temperatures back home. But it seems as though the future may not be so orange. Or indeed rosy.
Austen made the point that people are starting to get out of the mind set of having winter clothes and summer clothes, and I certainly think that is a large part of the problem here.
A lot of people think that they should be able to wear just a T-shirt or short-sleeved top indoors during the colder months.
And really, it's more fun to have to put on jumpers, hats and scarves in the winter, just as its fun to snuggle down in bed with a hottle on a cold winter's or autumnal night, and have the window open.

One of the great things about being at The Static is that, although we have heating there for when it gets really cold, so far, we have only once had to use even the small oil-filled radiator. It's the place where I can actually wear a jumper and feel completely comfortable - in fact, as we are being encouraged to do by the government. It's also where we can have the window open in the bedroom, since there are no aeroplanes.

On a non heat related note, there is an absolutely brilliant post on I Blame the Patriarchy, about the Bechdel Movie Test as applied to Toy Story three. The writing is sheer, unadulterated bliss, worth reading for its own sake, but the points made are also sound and pertinent. Most of all, I love the idea of a 'handydyke utility belt'.
Fabulous post, fabulous clip.

Horror Stories

This morning it seemed as though CBC were trying to distract us from what is going on within Canada. We saw rioting in the streets in France, we saw David Cameron's pasty face and were told of swingeing cuts in public spending, then five minutes later we saw it again. Sarko's efforts to get fuel to the consumers, then Cammo again, then....oh, here's Canada's disgrace.

A high-up Air Force officer, Colonel Russell Williams, who has been breaking and entering homes and sexually assaulting women over a number of years, culminating in the brutal murder of one woman after a protracted rape ordeal, all the while commanding CFB Trenton, the largest airbase in Canada.

CBC can't even report the horrific details as they come out in court. They had a whole segment, in between Sarko and Cammo, telling us how they had decided not to give out details. A good thing too, the family of the murdered woman has suffered and continue to suffer enough.
How does this happen?

And how does this happen? The tea party are gaining support in the States. It shows lazy thinking and that lazy habit of just thinking someone can just wave a magic wand and make it all better, without any effort from anyone.

And then, another item from Britain, pointing out that excluded pupils are falling into crime. More lazy thinking and easy blame. Those kids don't fall into crime because they're excluded, they are excluded because they are already petty criminals.
Someone do some joined up thinking, please.

To make it all better - well, not quite, but it helped - Kalinda on 'The Good Wife' did a brilliant, 'fuck you, wanna make something of it?' scene on this week's episode. She's easily the best character in an already superb show, more power to her I say.

Lurkers

I'm still stuck on Zombies. I think I'm going in the wrong direction, trying to make them more interesting in themselves, maybe the point is that we have vampires for that sort of thing. And after all, I do love a good subtext. Perhaps I need to embrace the idea that when we give up our humanity there's no way back.

Ok, but I keep coming back to the 'but all we have to focus on in a zombie story is the survivors' side'.
And when I thought about it more deeply, it still seems to be oddly religiously themed.
Yeah, I know, a stretch, but this is what I mean.
If our bodies were able to keep on working after death, our brains would too, if you believe that they are mechanical. It's only if you believe there is some special aspect to mind or soul that it would be consistent for the brain to stop and not the other mechanical aspects of the body. Although, even that is self-defeating, because we don't actually BELIEVE in these beings, just tell stories about them, and really, there doesn't HAVE to be consistency within the paradigm.
Disappeared up my own backside? Maybe.

So...moving on. High fructose corn syrup. Whilst Alex has been working at a health food store, I have been learning more about healthy eating. One of the things I find most scary, is HFCS, because, like zombies, it's bloody well lurking everywhere. Earlier this year, yet another study came out, this time from U.S. university Princeton, confirmed the findings of previous studies, that this ubiquitous substance is helping to make human beings obese, more obese, and with high levels of triglycerides. The result is fifty percent more weight gain for those eating high levels of high fructose corn syrup and an adverse effect on metabolism.

It's very difficult to find foods that don't have HFCS in them. I now always look at ingredients, but I can still get caught out. I bought a salad that Kevin and I both like, from the deli counter in Fred Meyer at the weekend. You don't see the ingredients until you get your little tub with the barcode and voilà! There it was.

I'm glad to have been educated on this lurker. I'm pretty sure that we don't know half the problems it causes yet, but being at an age when my body chemistry is finding it hard to keep in balance, the last thing I want to do is overload my system with unnecessary crap.

Carpe high fructose corn syrup.

Zombie

A little while ago, my friend Gail started writing a Zombie story. The majority of the people in the writers' group were all,
'Phew, yeah, go Zombies, we are so over Vampires.' I, on the other hand, am certainly not over vamps, but was interested in Gail's story anyway. I feel that the problem for anyone writing a zombie story is finding a new way to tell it.
On TV last night, a new zombie show was being advertised like crazy. It's starting on Hallowe'en, and it's called, not terribly originally, 'The Walking Dead'.
Poor start really.
Now, here's my theory. The reason Vampire stories are so endlessly varied and engaging, is that the vampires are characters themselves, can out-think humans and have to keep their numbers small in order to be able to feed, so there's no mad rush to complete annihilation.
Also, vampires are sexy and zombies aren't.
Vampires can also control, or be at war with, other species, such as werewolves.

When a human gets turned into either, they experience a painful transition, but with zombies, when the metamorphosis is completed, the human loses reason, whereas with vampires, they gain clarity.

On the other hand, both vampires and zombies are undead. Why couldn't there be zombies as actual characters. You get it occasionally, in Terry Pratchett's Discworld novels for example, Mr. Shoe, I think is the name of his zombie, and in the Canadian TV series Lexx.

This is the way forward for Zombies I feel. What motivates them? Could they organise themselves better? Is (un)death reversible? Why don't they communicate? Why must they wave their arms about so obviously?
I think we should be told.

That Cranberry's song was awfully good though, particularly when sung by Dilana. Apologies for the bad language at the end.
Mwwaah!

Empathy Pains

Kevin's flight gets in at one minute to midnight tonight. He is one stressed out camper. Some of the stresses I can empathise with, others, not so much.

The heat thing I totally get. No Mr. and Mrs. Spratt going on here. Neither of us would seek out heat, and just as the temperature gets to our most comfortable level here, he has to go somewhere hot.
The weekend I spent in San Francisco was like this for me. We'd had the first snowfall of the season here, but I was flying away from it and into uncomfortable warmth. It starts you off on the wrong foot.

Then there is the idea that you're going on some kind of jolly. This I also get. When I was taking school trips out to France and Germany, you'd always get some parents who made comments about your having a holiday during term time. That would piss me off no end because whilst I would certainly go to either place in my free time, I wouldn't take 70 kids that my staff and I were responsible for 24 hours a day. This was my work, and instead of getting to go home in the evening, I was never off duty until we handed the kids back.
Kevin, on the other hand, hasn't even gone somewhere he'd ever choose to go except for work.

I DON'T know the frustrations of trying to find information pertinent to your area of expertise from a trade show, which to some must seem like walking around looking at machines, what boy doesn't want to do that?
We would always take kids to a theme park in whichever country we were visiting, but, aside from the fact that I definitely wouldn't go to one of those on my days off, again, no fun when you're having to keep 70 odd kids out of police custody.

The other thing I can relate to is what you've left behind. Kevin's on some tight deadlines at work, and so he worries about the jobs he has left behind for various staff to do, getting done.
I was always worried about my department, because I had always left behind one member of staff who would unashamedly bully anyone and everyone, (and not in a good way) not to mention back-stabbing me. The one colleague who was most vulnerable to the bullying - I took with me.

Then there's the food. The one thing Kevin was looking forward to was some good grub. Could he find any? Not without a two-hour wait, no.
The grub was good when we took kids to France, but they hated it and would buy burgers as soon as we went anywhere, then throw them up later.
In Germany, the kids liked the food because it always took the form of some kind of breaded meat and chips, but we staff would spend our time trying to get hold of vegetables.

At the end of the day*, you do what you have to do for your job, but I'm glad it's not for any longer.

* I used to have a Head of Department who was constantly saying, 'at the end of the day...' and after a while, we would jump in with, 'it gets dark.' Now, I'd have to add, 'except in Alaska in the summer.'

The Tao of Poo

The house across the way from us has recently been re-painted. Not the violent violet or the body-fluid yellow of the others, merely, the colour of what comes out of one's backside when one is slightly off-colour, but not totally hepatic.
But....this time it's not the colour that's bothering me, but the Feng Shui. A new set of front doors has been installed. One of the other dog walkers, normally a mine of misinformation, tells me that the old doors - facing west - were really bad Feng Shui, the new ones face north.
But here's the thing. The builders haven't been seen for days, and yet general rubble and crap strews their garden and spills over onto the pavement. How's that good Feng Shui?

Somewhere in the city, on my travels yesterday, I spotted a new development called 'Broadmoor'. Does no-one research these things? At least some proportion of the potential customer base are British ex-pats.

Further to the bad Feng Shui, I happen to know that Sarah Palin was in Vancouver yesterday. Perhaps her visit was eclipsed by the Chilean miners being rescued - and thank God for that - but so far as I can work out, her visit has been relatively low-key, I only know because someone I know was going to see her speak, and would be allowed to ask a question. Personally, I would find it difficult to narrow it down to one, but if I had to it would be why?

Straight is the New Gay

Kev's gone to a trade show in Las Vegas.
He's not amused.
Nor am I.

This morning, I popped into church, only to find that the place was heaving. It was Homeless Connect day. At the point when I walked in, there was a Northern Irish preachery person on the stage, put me in mind of the Reverend Ian Paisley. There were people giving out second hand clothing, others cutting hair, some offering dental advice, and in general, just....people, everywhere. I even saw at least one of the politicians who claims that we have no homeless in Richmond. Whisky did some equal opportunities barking and I barked at a person of indeterminate-but-deffo-not-white background who told me he was a 'Pastor' but addressed a group of girls as 'guys'. He said he saw my point, but that they were high school students, so they understood that type of language.
'And you, my friend, are supposed to be a leader, modelling a better way, not reinforcing to those young women that they are less than men,' said I.
Probably way over his head.

Howevs, to brighten up my afternoon, which, to be fair, was technically bright, best of both worlds, sunny, but not overly warm, Sleepy sent me this YouTube clip, which I've watched over and over. It has kept me chuckling. My favourite lines were,
"I was icing cakes with thirty chicks while you fuckwits were showering together," and "They're not tough? They fuck men, that's hardly gay!"

Harvest Thanksgiving

At the weekend we had the most supreme storm. The wind in the trees was mental enough, but then we had intense, pounding rain, fabulous, FABULOUS, there's just nothing quite like it.
The morning after, all the birds came out to play, herons were standing patiently in every inlet, eagles were riding the azure, the garden Jays were bouncing from branch to branch of the spruce, and the Juncos are back for the winter.

This business with the Chilean miners is freaking me out. Less since I found out that they're not inside the tube for an hour, but less than twenty minutes, still, just thinking about it gives me the cold panic. At the same time, I am so glad they are bringing them out at last, and weeks earlier than at first anticipated.

Wow, I can't believe Claire Rayner has died. I also can't believe she was 79. Surely people stay at the age when they were most on the telly. Mmmm? No, s'pose not. She was like everyone's real aunt, sensible and down-to-earth, and she had a really chocolately voice. Loved her.

Bad driving was very equal opps today. Firstly, taking Alex to work, I was driving in the right hand lane, and needed to move over into the middle lane. I signalled, the lane was clear, and started to change lanes. As I did so, a woman driving in the left hand lane, simply moved over without signalling and clearly without looking. She was too busy applying her lippie.
On the way to Ikea, a man came gunning it across an intersection, no matter the other traffic he was ignoring and barely missing. Of course, he had a full map open over his steering wheel and appeared to be reading it.

In some ways, I feel a bit mean blogging this little interchange, but it was cute really.
On our morning walk, Whisky met a new dog friend.
'What is your dog's name?' I asked,
'Belly,' said the owner. Strangely appropriate and yet odd, thought I.
'This is Whisky,' I said,
'Oh!' said the owner, 'both have drink names,'
'Um...????'
'Yes, Whisky and Belly's Irish Cream,' he said.
Right!

Change in the Weather

Rain is a-coming in, a weather front is approaching, and it will be staying for the foreseeable future. Ergo, I have done a bit of outside painting in anticipation of the winter.

SO, Ed Miliband is the new Shadow Leader huh? Is he even the right Miliband we wonder? He's not Diane Abbott, that's for sure. Seems he's already upset brother David and caused Harriet Harmon to cavort bizarrely, although she never needs too much excuse. In general, the change seems to be well received - Polly Toynbee was, as usual, quite eloquent.

On the TV front, we watched a new episode of Law and Order UK - presumably a second series. This really is television at its best, no doubt about it.

Got the Bottle

On our TV news this morning - the upmarket one that still doesn't come close to the BBC, we have the shocking news that a British study shows that pregnant women can drink moderately, although modestly would sound more à propos, without it harming their baby or its future as a reasonably behaved citizen.
CBC seemed outraged by this.
'Canadian women may interpret this study as saying that pregnant women can drink moderately without harming their babies,' they said. Well duh, only if they are actually listening, yes. They kept coming back to it, like a ferret poking its annoying head out of a hole. As though, by constantly going on about what a stupid study it is, it will go away.

I took the bottles and cans back to the recycling depot. The Grey Goose bottle from Duty Free at Gatters stood higher than the others.
'I don't think you can give me money back on that one,' I said, 'it's from British Duty Free,'
'I don't understand,' said the assistant. I repeated what I'd said.
'I've never heard of that,' he said, 'I've heard of Duty Free in the States, that's all.'
'Right.'
And since he'd never heard of it, he gave me the money back on the bottle.

And here's the link to Ellen Degeneres giving her reaction to the suicide of the young man who committed suicide after his privacy was savagely violated by his roommate.

Chinese Illumination

One of the dog walkers, at great length and in very much less than fluent English, explained to me about how evil the Chinese are. He kept punctuating the explanation by,
'And I should know, I am Chinese.'
He is. Mainland Chinese. Sometimes, here, the Mainland Chinese and the Hong Kong Chinese don't get on, although both seem to agree that the Hong Kong Chinese are in some way superior.

According to my informant, the Chinese have no sense of community, no public responsibility. They use pesticides in a city where they aren't allowed, because they want perfect gardens, they care about the welfare of their own pets, but not about that of others. He told me that they see dogs as food,
'I should know, I am Chinese,' he said.

They keep their own houses clean (?), but litter outside.
It all sounds so at odds with Communism. If he's right then it makes me wonder whether Communism has some unforeseen side effects. I mean, it seems such a perfect system, apart from the someone-having-to-be-in-charge problem, which inevitably opens the door to corruption, but then through the other door is anarchy, so no getting round it.
But does it take away civic pride, and if so, why? How can it dull the spirit it is supposed to engender - mutual interest and co-operation?

Interesting to ponder, but I have also found that information gleaned from my co-dog walkers is frequently inaccurate.

Dogs, on the other hand, abounded in church on Sunday, at the service to honour Francis of Assisi. Whisky was the loudest, and the bossiest, but he calmed down eventually and out-stayed the rest. Then he pooed on the grass at the front of the church.
Food? Not likely.

Wizardry

The Static this weekend has provided some minor irritations, of the human kind. I have begun to wonder whether people who simply refuse to take the simplest measures to help the environment are simply, thick, just downright lazy, or actually evil.
Alex started me thinking on this when she reminded me of the utter arrogance of a woman who came into her shop. When asked whether she needed a bag, after some initial, 'well duh yes,' response, gave the line of the morbidly stupid, 'well one bag won't make any difference.'
Actually, she's wrong, because one bag makes one bag's worth of difference either towards solving, or reinforcing the problem.

The Static next door has permanently glowing fairy lights, the old fashioned coloured ones, not the newer low energy or LED ones. Strings and bloody strings of them, and they're not on a timer, they simply use energy night and day. Mysteriously, they got disconnected.
The other day I met her for the first time ever, I have not seen her the whole time we've been there. She introduced herself, mentioning not a word about the lights.
The following morning, as I returned with Whisky from his walk, she was walking towards her trailer, with a bath towel.
'I've been to use my neighbour's shower,' said she,
'Oh no,' said I, 'what is wrong with yours?'
'Nothing,' she replied, 'it's just not worth putting the hot water on when we're only here for a couple of days.'
Wtf????

Crossing the border was equally disappointing. Even the NEXUS queue was stalled, as, to be fair it cam often be on a Friday night. There are signs on the side, saying, 'BC is idle-free,' and reminding you to turn off your engine. But either I am the only motorist who can read, or the only one who bloody cares. Somewhere in the lines of cars, I can hear one other ignition turning every time we move.
Seriously, what is wrong with people?

On the subject of TV, which I wasn't, but I am now, has Glee, as Alex put it, already jumped the shark? The Britney episode was so outrageously lame it was like watching paint dry, only more boring and annoying. Sue Sylvester was only on the screen for a few brief seconds, for the rest, it was utter dross.

One surprisingly good newie, and I mean surprising, I was not very motivated to even watch it, is Hawaii 5-0.

Having enthused about Momford and Sons recently (they need to consult me about some of their lyrics, but in their own time), it seems as though M&S (NOT Marks and Sparks) are the new Snow Patrol when it comes to TV series' emotion music.

Snidelines

You know that old joke, 'laughter is the best medicine except for diabetes, and then it's insulin,'? well, on TV there was just an ad for insulin. A man says, 'diet, exercise and tablets just weren't working for my diabetes, so my doctor suggested..' and we wait, expectantly, 'insulin'.

So Christine O'Connell, Tea-Bagger extraordinaire, claims she went to Oxford. She claims it on her CV. Turns out she was there for two days as part of a course she attended, the organisers had rented a room at the university.

And this bizarre behaviour in contrast to Canada, where, on the one hand, we are talking about going over to electronic medical records, and on TV we see a doctor turning to her computer screen as the patient walks in - exactly what my doctor always did in Britain.
On the other hand, someone having read the Stieg Larsson novels, (my assumption)we are possibly going to de-criminalise prostitution. This should lead to safer conditions for sex trade workers, and hopefully a decrease in human trafficking.

Yesterday, I couldn't help being amused at the idea, via Womanist Musings, of a multi-coloured muffin, a rainbow muffin if you will, being gay and therefore likely to corrupt. On the other hand, I couldn't avoid the feeling that the religious freaks involved, were really confused about what the word gay means. What a bunch of utter tosspots.

The Dell

Every once in a while, one has a weekend that just works out. Many, many a weekend doesn't live up to its promise of weekendly goodness, but this last one - for me at least, just did.

The promised storm didn't.
And yet Saturday was such a glorious early autumn day in Dingly Dell ....er, I mean Birch Bay, that we took the kayaks out and ventured further than we had before, on sparkling waters.
Then in the evening, the rain came sweeping in and thrummed on the roof whilst we sat out on the deck and watched it, and then as we lay in bed and listened to it.

I had forgotten how much I love the drawing in of the evenings, but that too added value.

And then finally, as I drove towards the border at around 21.00 on Sunday, two cars greatly broke the speed limit to overtake me. So it was with satisfaction that I passed them in the NEXUS lane as they joined the end of a very, very, very long queue, and we...just drove straight through.

Words and Music

Off to the Static this evening, and there's a storm a-coming apparently. The Static is an ace place to be in a storm, owing to the metal roof. This may or may not turn out to be the case. I mean it deffo has a metal roof, the other stuff, we'll see.

The Sleepy Mansions on tour brought me a CD from Austen, which brought me tracks from Mumford and Sons, which in turn were reinforced by the Sleepy Mansions on tour soundtrack.
Anyroad, I'm hooked and went and bought the CD. Four London lads to watch.

So that's music.
Reading, not the sprawling city where Beautiful People is set, but the inactive activity.

I bought an e-book by a historical writer, Alison Weir, and I think she actually is an historian, because I had previously read a non-fiction book by her.
The current book is about Eleanor of Aquitaine, and thus should be interesting, but I find that the constant set-piece sex rather interferes with the story. On the other hand, now that I'm used to it, I suppose it does explain people's motivations sometimes, it's just that it's so 'he thrust his throbbing penis between her damp thighs' type of thing. It's how I imagine Barbara Cartland must write sex, not that I'd ever want to take one for the team and read her.

Sleepy kindly left me her copy of the Hilary Mantel she was reading, 'A Greater Place of Safety'. I thought I'd get a little taster and started reading a couple of pages. Instantly addicted, but I've had to put it down until I've finished with the Queen of England.

Blackheart

Wednesday, huh.

So, at 10.15 this morning, I found myself at the Liquor Store. I selected some BC stout called 'Blackheart' I took it to the checkout.

'This is certainly the time to come to the Liquor Store,' I quipped,
'Yep, sure is,' said the assistant, 'as soon as the 9.30 rush is over, it gets much quieter,'
'The 9.30 rush?' said I, 'seriously, you have a 9.30 rush at the Liquor Store?'
'Oh yeah,' he said, 'all the regulars,'
'Er, I suppose I'm a regular,'
'Nope, you're not, if you were I'd recognise you,'
'Right, aha, yeah,'
'So, Blackheart is really good, great choice, have you had it before?' he asked, enthusiastically in my opinion,
'I...don't actually drink beer,'
'Oh, well do you drink dark beer?'
'I don't drink beer,'
'Oh, so it's a gift?'
'Not....no,'
'???'
I felt like I was letting him down, but I had to fess up,
'Erm, I'm using it in a stew,'
'Right,'
'Right, hmmm... good that it's good, um, my husband will enjoy drinking the rest...I expect,mmm, right, bye.'

Later in the day, I discovered that torture and Amy Winehouse keep Whisky quiet. Maybe they're the same thing. The torture takes the form of having his ears combed to get the tangles out. So far as the music goes, The Clash works too.

TV has started up. House - meh, they need new writers.

Seth-low

So happy birthday to Seth, he has been experiencing the long birthday of the distanced-from-home.

Yesterday, in American Eagle, I searched for the son-in-law gift. Some jazzy underpants perhaps, suggested the assistant.
'That would be too creepy for a mother-in-law,' I reminded him,
'It's what cool mothers-in-law buy,' he countered,
'Creepy ones,' said I.
I loathe these people. And most likely, they loathe me.

Today, the Sleepy Mansions road trip down the West Coast, winds to a close. I thought for a while there, we might have to gird our lions (rather than loins) and drive down to Seattle, but all is well....ish. It sounds as though things have not been without incident, but not having to face the I5 unexpectedly on a rainy night is good. Actually, not having to face it expectedly in the rain is good, the I5 in the rain can be rather challenging.

The Book Depository, normally my best friend, has been playing cat and mouse with me.I am trying to purchase an e-book from them and they keep telling me it's out of stock. How can an e-book be out of stock? Then they say they'll notify me when it's back in stock, which they do, but as soon as I click on it, it's 'out of stock' again.

Next week, the telly scheduling goes berserk. This week, there has been a telly drought. BUT....we do have the new - and modern - Sherlock Holmes. Not, however, so modern that either of the main characters could be women.

Yesterday, we had the unappealing sight on TV of a woman, screaming at women priests, that 'Jesus chose twelve MEN to be his disciples,' to support the Pope in his misogyny. Oh yes, many misogynists are women.
Some people are such lazy thinkers.

I hope the Pope noticed that the Head of the Church of England is a woman.

Septemberish

Another Septemberish day in paradise lost.

Cool in the morning, tending towards rain, decidedly hot in the afternoon. The shops however, are cumbersome beasts whose heating goes on at some set date or minimum temperature, and there it sits.

Canadian Tiresome, a store I needed to visit for two items, was so hot, I felt ill. Around me, other shoppers and staff looked decidedly flushed. No staff were visible and nor where the intended purchases. It became like a rat trap, and naturally, whilst fanning myself with a no-smoking sign, and generally being stroppy to no-one in particular, a not-very-much-English speaker came and asked me where he could find something.

My next stop was The Bay. From Tiresome to the Bay, there must be eight sets of traffic lights, but somehow,somewhere, the traffic light programmer for Richmond is either colour blind, or thinks the green wave system isn't as challenging as a red wave system. And she or he would be right.

This year, apparently, men are wearing neither bathrobes nor dressing gowns. The places where I would expect to find such items had yielded nought. The Bay had two rails and I found a suitable one, purchased it and attempted to leave the store. Red lights started flashing and a loud man's voice said something about their associate having obviously failed to remove the security tag. I returned to the desk. She did the magnetic magic again and assured me that it had been deactivated. Sadly, it seems, some customers just set off the system, and I would have to boldly go...and ignore it. Which, indeed, I had to do.

On the way back, an advert on the car radio informed me that, 'the one thing she always wears every day and all day, is her engagement ring.' What bollocks, I thought. The one thing most women probably wear all day, every day, is their knickers, and in probably more cases than would wear an engagement ring, a bra. But although I shouted at the radio, no-one was listening, so I had to settle for hexing the jewellers'.

Friendsy

When people say,
'One of my Facebook friends,' what do they mean? I mean, do people have friends on Facebook who aren't real life friends? I mean, I certainly have a few people as friends on Facebook that I've never met in real life, but the friendships didn't start, nor are they dependant on, Facebook.
So what pray, is a 'Facebook friend'?

Yesterday, I read an article about a different kind of friend and a different kind of friendship, 'mate hate'. Evil monsters who befriend the learning disabled in order to take advantage of them.
In 2007, a young man was murdered by such a group. They tortured and humiliated him for over a year, and then forced him to take 70 Paracetamol, on its own enough to destroy his liver several times over, then hung him off a viaduct and stamped on his hands until he fell to his death. Every time I think about it, I'm overwhelmed with sorrow and disgust.

Mortal Coils

Right. Right?

Had difficulty getting up this morning. The thumping headache had progressed to thundering and then back to merely thumping and my throat was sore. When I was a child, the doctor used to call this type of sore throat 'dirty tonsils'. My tonsils did indeed feel dirty, and not in a good way.
At my age, it's difficult to make the call that I'm running a mild fever, but I believe I'm running a mild fever.

But enough, my day has been dogged by mortality. By day I mean the last twenty-four hours.

Last night I watched a docu-drama that hypothesised a smallpox outbreak in modern day Montréal, following the same pattern as the one in 1885. It really was quite horrid, especially the impossibility of knowing that one person has it if they only have a mild case. Then the hotel cleaner changes the sheets on the bed.....

I missed how it would break out after it had been globally eradicated in 1979, and also, surely, since it was eradicated as a result of vaccination, wouldn't the majority of adults still alive have been immunised against it or passed on that immunity to their children?

Astonishingly, a doctor on the documentary bit of the programme, said that vaccination was the single most important medical breakthrough of all time, and yet for some reason, people are resistant to it....er, but not in a medical sense natch.

Didn't make me feel any better, but certainly validated my decision to keep my bugs to myself, (as did my friend Bozo5).

This morning, I found the above-pictured mushroom growing amidst my Oregano. As a general rule, one should never eat mushrooms with white gills. This has white gills. In fact, it rather resembles the deadly poisonous Destroying Angel. It is so toxic, it stops the liver and kidneys from functioning and death occurs within 48 hours.
However.....I think it is more likely the edible Leucoagaricus leucothites. Obviously I'm not playing Russian Roulette with these puppies.

In the afternoon, two cars moved on from the visitor parking, revealing a dead rat that looked as though it were asleep. Asleep with flies buzzing round. We don't have to notify the public health authority here, so I merely buried it.

On the way back from Superstore, where I spread my germs far and wide, but not in close proximity, there had been a very unpleasant traffic accident involving two cars, one, an SUV, was on its side and ripped open. There were three ambulances, three police cars and a fire engine attending. People were being removed on stretchers.

I'm sensing a theme.
Not a good one.

Middling

After a day of quite literally doing nothing, I have had an almost entirely sleepless night culminating in mild fever, thumping headache and a vague feeling of nausea. Actually, not so much vague as definite.
I'm middlingly unwell.

Middlingly unwell is a most unsatisfactory state of affairs, because I'm not ill enough to doze fitfully in my bed, drinking hot Marmite and watching daytime TV (a small mercy), yet not well enough to actually do anything.

Then the dog joined in. After an extended bout of yelping, he delivered evidence of an upset stomach, which of course, I had to go and clear up.

So now we're in synch. He lies limpidly on the floor, whilst I half-heartedly wash-up. Then I feel ill again and sit down, but sitting down puts me at eye-level with some dust, so I get out the lambswool duster, which re-animates the dog, who thinks of this as a yearned-for toy that he may not have, and barks and leaps at it, making the dusting even more trying. Then we both collapse for a while.

And of course, when you're ill, whatever you have in your medicine cabinet is insufficient, thus rendering it imperative to drive to Shoppers' Drug Mart, where you end up in the line behind the woman who speaks no English yet wishes to interrogate the long-suffering assistant about the points on her loyalty card. Behind me, two men shuffle and mutter. I try to will her to move on, but now she must make another fuss about bags.

Back on the road, things are even more mental. Getting out of the car park is no joke at any time of the day or night, but there appears to be someone weaving back and forth across the lanes and coming towards me. Will the driver mount the curb and plough into me I wonder, but she swerves away, narrowly missing a pedestrian.

Almost home, when, with no warning whatsoever, a car does a complete 180 in front of me. The driver grins at me in what I can only assume is some kind of soppy and useless apology. I give him my grim reaper stare, which is all I can currently manage, but this merely causes him to grin more stupidly.

On second thoughts, I must be more than middlingly ill, there's chocolate in the cupboard and I don't fancy it.

Birthday Girl

Thank-you for all the birthday wishes. It has been a week of eating, drinking and fire-making in this instalment of 'Sleepy Mansions visits the Schloss and the Static'.
Intense and enjoyable.

Today, the birthday proper, we went to see Henry the Fifth at Bard on the Beach.
Firstly, I want to say that I do understand the snobbery associated with driving a car with manual gears, I am that snob, but people, learn how to do a hill start for the love of dog.

But Henry was good, oh so very good.
"Cry, 'God for Harry, England and St. George!' " fair made me swell with patriotic pride.
There was some choreography to represent the battle scenes - superb. And there was some French - hohum, but classic humour to be got from it. And there was a rather cheeky joke in French that....may not have been cheeky if it appears in the original, but if it's an addition, then it is. I s'pose I'll have to get orf me backside and walk to the book shelves.
King Henry himself looked remarkably like my friend J's partner, to the extent that it was disconcerting.
But wonderful.

And then there are the pressies, perfect, perfect pressies. I have my Kobo e-reader from Kevin, I love it. Bowls from the Mansions, to match my extremely expensive and beloved salad bowl from Dix Mille Villages. A book of poetry from Austen and Sue, and the biggest of all my pressies, a London bus looming through a grey Piccadilly circus from Alex and Seth.

And then, and then....the Philly cheese steaks, cooked and assembled to perfection by Kevin.

Perfick!

Book Magic

Three-day wedding. My friends are well and truly married, which is what should happen if the bish marries you at the cathedral.
Lovely, lovely wedding.

Whilst there, I discovered that the Anglican cathedral has a Rabbi in residence. Truly, I wonder if we have an Imam in residence too. Maybe our church could get a Rabbi in residence, it might be better than some of the locum priests.
Ah, endurance is a skill best acquired young.

I have an early birthday present, finally, I have my e-reader. And I am loving it. I discovered that the back-lighting from e-readers can mess with your melatonin production, which in turn messes with your sleep patterns. Mine has no back-lighting, thus, although, just like with a book, if you want to read in bed, you need light, you CAN read in sunlight, and of course, it doesn't mess with your sleep patterns.
Lovely.

My first e-book is the last of the Stieg Larsson trilogy.
My last paper book was the INCREDIBLE 'Fingersmith' by Sarah Waters. I envy anyone who hasn't yet read this book. Book magic.
Lovely.

Sockeye

The denizens of Sleepy Mansions are here, and we have been touristing. Whistler, Steveston, monsoon day (yesterday), Liquor Store, Liquor Store, Liquor Store.

And much salmon.

This year, after several lean years, we have a record salmon run, and my goodness, have we had some amazing sockeye. Today, we bought one straight off the dock and it was superb. Er...well after Kev had cooked it of course.
We'll be well above our mercury level before the week is out.

Tomorrow, Alex and Mary get back from the Kerouac tour. I'm looking forward to seeing them.