Hi all. Southern Yorkshire has been hit by some severe weather over the past couple of days. This is what 3.8" of rain in 24 hours does to Hull:
The street at the end of our avenue - 
Our avenue - 
The water only came up to our doorstep - being on the third floor has some advantages after all!
Yes I know! It has been months. But we were busy ok? We had socks to sort and napkins to fold… Oh yeah, and countries to visit, antipodeans visitors to entertain, new parts of the UK to explore, and a tragic mishap.
Now you are going to read on, aren’t you?
Just before Easter we visited Bologna, an Italian town housing a certain Jacqui, with whom we drank, ate, caroused and acted in a generally Italian way. The highlight of our visit was the University of Bologna, one of the oldest in the world, with a unique space for lectures in anatomy. A close second was an osteria, where we ate traditional Bolognese food with typically Bolognese indifference from the wait staff. If was fab. After three days of Jacqui we headed north to spend two days with our friends the Girolas in Milan. We had a wonderful time catching up with Stefano and Lianne and little Lewis, who has the cheekiest Italian grin of anyone not appearing in a Dolmio advertisement!
We had a quiet Easter, and the following weekend caught up with our friend John Moorhead in Cambridge. A more apt setting for such a meeting could not have been imagined. Cambridge in the spring is a sight to behold, and the Kings College Chapel is a real highlight of any English experience. Seeing John again was marvellous, and we were sad to part but are sure we’ll see him again before long.
The first long weekend in May saw us flog the mini to Newcastle for a visit to Tad’s Aunt Urzula, a very generous hostess. She took us to visit cultural Newcastle including the Biscuit Factory (modern art) and the Millennium Bridge and surrounds. The next day we travelled north to visit the Scottish border and enjoyed the worlds finest (non-pumpkin) scone. We also walked in the footsteps of Saint Aidan on Holy Island (also known as Lindisfarne) which is just of the Northumbrian coast. It is an island cut off from the mainland twice daily by the tide. It was the site of the first Christian monastery in England and as with all male Christian communities, brewed some fabulous alcoholic beverages. Our trip north was completed with a visit to Seahouses, a traditional English seaside town serving fish and chips with mushy peas. We bought some ‘rock’, a hard candy specific to English seaside towns. We have yet to bring ourselves to sample it.
The next two weeks passed with regular tedium, until the week of the Chelsea Flower Show. This extravaganza is so popular as to entice itinerant New Zealanders to visit. Maria joined Nana in London to peruse the horticultural delights that the south has to offer. On Friday Maria took Nana to the Lanesborough Hotel for high tea to celebrate Nana’s eightieth birthday. Nana decided to hock into the champagne instead.
It was a wonderful experience in opulent surroundings. Neither they, nor their waste-lines, will forget the afternoon of indulgence. That night Fletch joined the revellers in Covent Garden. On Saturday morning we bid Nana a sad farewell as she headed off to Jersey. We took the opportunity to visit the Tower of London, the Monument and the foyer of St Paul’s Cathedral. The interior was so packed as to make casual viewing most unpleasant. So we continued on to afternoon tea in Kensington, followed by an enjoyable dinner at the Big Easy in Chelsea with Dominic and Samantha. Fletch has finally found a decent steak in England. His world is a much nicer place. The next day we tried to visit the Natural History Museum, but having been repelled by wholesome family groups, settled on the Victoria and Albert Museum instead. We whiled away some time drinking coffee and reading magazines before our evening train from Kings Cross, which we discovered upon arrival had been cancelled, as had all of the north bound trains from London that day. So we walked to an alternative train station, caught a train, a coach, another train and another train, and a taxi, which finally got us home and to bed. Thankfully Monday was a holiday, allowing us to recover from our arduous journey (I can hear the tiny violins all the way from here).
The past ten days have been most eventful for us. Almost all of Fletch’s studio equipment was delivered, we celebrated Fletch’s birthday with a surprise BBQ attended by the better part of Fletch’s departmental colleagues. Maria out did herself once again and a great time was had by all. The next morning saw a farcical chase as a horribly hung-over Fletch attempted to coax, coerce, cajole and finally force Domino into his cage. He knew what this whole cage thing was about after his last visit to the vet a couple of weeks previously, and he was having none of it. After a projected battle in which Domino killed Fletch’s page boys, Fletch asked his troops ‘once more unto the breech’ and finally Domino was dispatched under Maria’s care to the vets where upon five of his teeth were removed. That ought to teach him. Fletch then called in sick to the departmental secretary Pam, who informed him that none of his colleagues had appeared for work either. Thursday was the exam board in Music, which made Thursday night the Examiners’ Dinner. Fletch was preparing to leave work when tragedy struck!!!!
Maria was stopping innocently at a level crossing. The car behind her attempted to squeeze itself into the mini’s not overly generous boot. It didn’t fit. Neither did the Jeep behind the car. Fortunately Maria was able to get the mini off of the train tracks before being mercilessly crushed by the Cottingham Express. However we wait with terrible anticipation as to the fate of the mini. And so we burn a candle in vigil this long June night (which lasts about six hours this far north of the equator). Maria is suffering in noble silence from a bout of whip-lash, and whilst having been told to suffer bed-rest, is being most recalcitrant. Fletch feels that firm remonstration is required for her own good (although the chances his castigation will render any resultant acquiescence are as slim as the chance that he gives up complete verbosity in favour of concision). The consequence of this bed-rest was that we missed the Trooping of the Colour. There shall be other occasions however.
We hope that wasn’t too long winded, and we promise to write more often in future. But we could be lying.
Warning – Maria believes this entry to be too self-indulgent.
I realised a few days ago that my life is now almost complete; but a few weeks separate me from ultimate fulfilment. Perhaps I ought to explain:
Some would consider me a complex person. Once upon a time I aspired to such pretence myself. This week I realised that my ambitions are far more easily realised. I considered that fabulous wealth would be quite a handy asset. And yet I have done nothing to promote such an ambition thus far. The fact that I work in higher education, and Maria works in the civil service, means that this ambition won’t be satisfied any time soon. Perhaps my ambitions lay in universal acclaim, my professional and artistic skills at the pinnacle of popular endeavour. Unfortunately my own tastes are quite eclectic these days, and my opinions of the popular music industry such that I can’t really take it seriously, let alone aspire to it. So what would it take to satisfy the itch of dissatisfaction? You met one of the elements in my last update to our blog. Domino is doing well. He has started venturing forth from his tartan bungalow. He devours his biscuits bei nacht, and his new scratching post shows signs of wear, as does his wind up mouse. He really is a gentle soul, and I can’t wait for his intense fear of homo sapiens sapiens to fade.
My new studio is but weeks from completion. The false ceiling has been installed and the acoustic panels are on the walls. Only the internal fittings are yet to be installed and then I can call in the supplier to start delivering the equipment. The console will take about six weeks to build (it is bespoke, don’tchya know), so I’m till going to be a while, but I’m doing a commercial jazz recording over Easter at the Scarborough studios, so at least I can keep my ear in.
The final part of my holy trinity of smug contentedness (sorry mum) is the recent acquisition of a piece of motoring history. Many of you will know that I lust after the wonder that is the two door British sports car. And here she is:
At a monstrous 55 brake-horse power, she scares all but the mightiest of men! (I have already sourced an extractor/exhaust/carburettor needle kit to bring it up to Cooper spec, but you don’t need to tell Maria that just yet).
And so, with a cat, a mini and a recording studio, my life is complete. Anyone that knew me five years ago (when I had Doopee, drove a ‘golden brick’ and ran a studio at as my personal fiefdom) could probably have told you that, but sometimes we need to learn these things for ourselves.
In other, less self-indulgent news, we visited a restaurant with a difference not long ago. It is situated within a tourist attraction and research centre called ‘The Deep’. Billed as the world’s only submariam, it allows a dining experience nestled between tanks of a wide variety of fish, including sharks. I had ‘an halibut’. That one. No not really – you don’t get to pick your dinner. Shame really. But a fabulous night, to help us celebrate (it being valentines and all).
The last little while has included a couple of visits from Shaun. We thoroughly enjoy visits (hint, hint), and we hope he enjoyed it as much as we did.
Last night we enjoyed one of the perks of working in a music department; free tickets to the Hull Choral Union’s performance of Handel’s ‘ Israel in Egypt’, performed in the splendour of Hull’s Victorian City Hall. It was a fabulous night out, and my colleague, Colin, was virtuosic on the pipe organ.
We are looking forward to flying to Italy on Thursday, both to see my cousin Jacqui and our friends Stefano and Leanne and their baby Lewis, and to have a break from the hectic pace of our work commitments.
We’ll provide an update when we return, but for now, that’s your blooming lot for the week (Cundall, P., 2000).
Fletch’s Tip for New Employees
If your entire blog has been self-indulgent, you don’t need to write tips at the end of it.
March already? What happened to February? Well, we had better get you up to speed.
During January Shaun returned to Hull from his British odyssey. We enjoyed some of the local Thai cuisine together before seeing him off to the airport in the wee small hours of the morning.
Australia day was celebrated in Hull with overwhelming indifference. We celebrated by wearing our wallabies shirts to work and then heading to the ‘Old Grey Mare’ with our friend Cath for a couple of pints. They did have kangaroo steaks on the menu, which was a nice touch.
February heralded a shopping spree that netted us a house of furniture. We received our first dual paycheque since arriving in Hull and boy did we go to town. Grimsby town to be precise, with a transit van and a hankering for furniture. We came back with a sofa and armchair, a coffee table and hifi cabinet, a hifi for the said cabinet, and a spare bed which a workmate of Maria’s was giving away. So now if you come to stay with us, you can admire the spare bed. You can’t sleep in it since we don’t have a mattress and thus haven’t bothered to put it together, but you can admire it.
I managed to catch my first dose of the dreaded lurgy in February and actually took the unprecedented step of taking a few days off work. My flu matured nicely into a sinus infection which I still haven’t completely shrugged off three weeks later, although I’m back at work and am almost back to 100%. I really wanted to get back to work as I don’t want the University to get the idea that they can function without me! Talking of work, my studio completion date has been pushed back until mid April due to a stuff up with the ventilation system. I can’t wait to finally have my studio.
Maria has settled nicely into her new job, so much so that they have made her a project manager for some rather major government initiatives in the region. Our plans for world domination progress…
Toward the end of February a new member of the family came to live with us (in the corner of the kitchen to be precise). His name is currently Domino, though if he decides he prefers an alternative cognomen I’m sure he’ll let us know. He is a five year old domestic shorthair, almost identical in colouring to Ratty or Pushkina (for those whom knew either of them). We invited him to stay with us after he had been staying at a hotel for cats named ‘Caring for Cats’ in a town called Market Weighton not far from Hull. He is very nervous and currently lives in a little padded igloo that Cath originally bought for her cat Victor (which Victor completely ignored of course). He comes out and sits on the window sill at night and we can hear him eating his biscuits and using the litter tray, though he doesn’t come out of his igloo when we are in the kitchen. Given time I’m sure he will become more sociable. He has only been with us for a week, and he is less nervy now than when he first arrived.
We also had a visit from a thing called a ‘Tad’. He came down from Newcastle for the night and we had a good time confiscating all of the Australian wine from the shelves of the local off license. Tad stayed over at Cath’s house, and the two of them came over for a healthy breakfast (of sausages, bacon, eggs, hash browns, beans and toast). Both of them were looking decidedly green around the gills, but a hearty dose of cholesterol and about three plungers of coffee soon put them right.
And so we venture forth. By the end of the month we will be back on daylight saving time. The weekend before Easter we are planning on visiting my cousin Jacqui in Bologna and our friends Stefano and Leanne in Milan, and we are really looking forward to that. We hope you are all enjoying life, and we shall try write more regularly in future.
Fletch's tips for new employees
Never admit to having the flu to women. For some reason they seem to think its funny. If you have to ring in sick, tell them that your ears have shrunk to embarrassingly small proportions or that you have had a nasty accident involving the cat, the washing machine and your eyebrows. This will confuse them.
Welcome to the new year. We hope that everyone celebrated in style and that 2007 brings everything you wish your way. We are glad to greet the new year, although we did it quietly. We did the countdown listening to the 'Last Night of the Proms' and greeted 01/01/07 with a glass of red and singing Auld Lang Syne. Just after midnight, the street lit up with fireworks and our neighbour across the street conveniently aimed their fireworks so that they went off immediately outside our window...we had a tremendous view!
The last days of 2006 passed quickly, encompassing Christmas and a visit from my brother, Shaun. On the 19th, freezing fog decended across Britain and here in Hull it meant that we couldn't see the houses across the street from the 19th to the 27th. The fog meant we had a white christmas, just not the traditional type.
We had a lovely Christmas. It was the first Christmas with just the two of us and we made lots of effort to make it a special day. We decided to go to midnight mass but had to find a church to attend. There is a Catholic church about 5 minutes walk from us, so Fletch rang to find out mass times:
Fletch: "Is there midnight mass tonight at St. Vincent's?"
Priest: "Yes, there is. We do midnight mass at 8pm".
Fletch: "8pm midnight mass...that's innovative".
Priest: "Not really, we've been doing it that way for 10 years".
Apparently it stops people coming into church after spending hours in the pub. This way, they can get their absolution first.
Eventually we found a church in a town 15 miles away that was doing an almost midnight mass. After mass, we indulged in some mulled wine and yule log and opened a present each. We then headed to bed, intending to get up early and make some Christmas phone calls. However, we slept in until after 10am, so we had to dispense with most of the phone calls and started on the feast we had prepared. We had a lovely breakfast of croissants and opened our presents. At 3pm, in keeping with British traditions, we listened to the Queen's Christmas Message and then tucked into our delicious roast lamb dinner. Fletch fell asleep after dinner, leaving me to drink another bottle of wine and prepare the brandy custard. We then attempted to make the Christmas phone calls, but this time too much wine and strong brandy custard proved an impediment to being able to use the phonecard correctly. So we gave up and went to sleep. Thus ended our first Christmas in Hull.
Boxing Day dawned slightly less foggy, so we decided to go for a walk. We were undecided where to walk so drove around for a while looking for somewhere suitable. We ended up at the Humber Bridge, which is a major tourist attraction in this region. It is one of the longest single-span suspension bridges in the world; so long that the towers at each end are noticeably further apart at the top due to the curveture of the earth. We strolled up to the bridge to have a look and then thought we'd walk across. We had a lovely stroll, although once you walk across you've got to walk back, so it was a round trip of about 5km.
On the 27th we got up very early and drove to the Tees Valley, near Durham, to pick up Shaun. He has been on active service in Iraq for the past four months and has two weeks leave in the UK. His plane was due to arrive at 10am, so we left at 7.30am to make sure we got there in time. Of course, this ensured that his plane was several hours late, but it was lovely to see him when the plane finally arrived.
The drive back to Hull took longer as there was much more traffic on the roads, but the fog lifted and we were able to see the magnificent Yorkshire Dales, which is where James Herriot lived and set 'All Creatures Great and Small' and his other books. We spent the afternoon taking Shaun around Hull and then enjoying a nice evening out with him.
The next day we had to visit the doctor. England has the rather unusual medical system whereby it is necessary to register with a doctor in the town where you live before you can get treatment. This entails making an appointment and then having a checkup with the nurse, who will decide if they'll take you on as a patient. This process takes several weeks and after this you are then able to make an appointment to see the doctor if necessary. Doctors work between 9am and 5.30pm and you generally need to book at least several days in advance. God knows what happens if you're sick outside 9-5. Apparently the doctor we have joined used to run one late-evening clinic and a Saturday morning clinic as well, but the NHS (National Health Service) closed it down for being too popular. That's the English for you.
Shaun stayed until Friday and then headed north to celebrate the New Year in Scotland. He's going to visit some other friends as well and then come back to Hull the day before he goes back to Iraq, so we'll see him once more before he leaves.
That's about all we've been up to. I start my new job tomorrow, which is quite exciting. My job is in Grimsby, Northeast Lincolnshire, so I have to cross the bridge and travel about another 40km. I'm going to take the bus for the moment, which means leaving at 7am and getting home about 12 hours later. I do get flexi-time in my job, so once I'm settled I will hopefully be able to figure out some more reasonable travel times.
So best of luck for 2007, and thanks for all the wonderful Christmas cards.
Fletch's Analysis of 2006 and Forecast for 2007
(Don't worry - tips will be back next time)
I thought that for the last post of '06 / first post of '07 I'd give a quick summation of our lives in numbers, complete with forecast for 2007.
2006
Places of residence (>1 month) = 5
Employers (each) = 4
Countries visited = 8
Christmas cards received = 38
Number of alerts from DFAT to
get out of the country we're in = 1
Number of theses submitted = 1
2007 (forecast*)
Places of residence (>1 month) = 2
Employers (each) = 1
Countries visited = 4
Christmas cards sent = >38
DFAT warnings = 0
Number of theses requiring
submission = 0
Here's hoping anyway!
*Note well, the scientific methodology that forms the basis for these forecasts is a combination of 2 well known statistical methods: 1) Blind hope, and 2) Pulling a number out of the air without any consultation (which is likely to get me into trouble).
Christmas is almost upon us, so we thought we'd give our avid reader (Gladys, the one that listens to Philip Adams) an update on our preparations for Christmas. Its a quick update however, as we're only getting 7 hours of daylight at the moment, so we have to do everything more quickly in order to accommodate 14 hours of sleep into every 24.
Seriously though, the sun doesn't come up now until 8.20 and doesn't stay up past 15.40! It isn't terribly cold, but its forecast to get colder through the week, so I guess that there is half a chance of a white Christmas. We have our fingers crossed anyway.
Yesterday we went into town and did our Christmas shopping for each other. This was quite instructive such that we now have a far better understanding of which shops have what sort of merchandise. My favourite shop was House of Fraser. It is a bit like a David Jones, but all the staff were dressed up as elves and Santa and reindeer etc. They still had that superior accent of a top department store however, so the result was both incongruent and amusing. House of Fraser also got my tick as they stock some nice wines, including the De Bortoli Noble One (a half bottle of which is now in our fridge. Note to self: remove botrytis semillon from fridge and allow to chill on the bench before consuming).
I have ordered a half leg of lamb from the 'high class' butcher at the end of the street. I asked the butcher if he had any tips on cooking the lamb. He said to get the oven hot and then put the lamb in for a couple of hours. I'm glad I asked as I would never have thought of doing that...
We created a Christmas 'shrine' in our lounge room to give the flat a little Christmas flavour. Lots of Christmas cards have shown up, and we have a nice little booty of presents to open on Christmas day. Maria has come up with some decorations for the table for Christmas dinner, and we'll post some photos after the Noble One wears off (around new years probably).
If we don't get to talk to you on or before Christmas day, MERRY CHRISTMAS! Now pass the brandy custard...
Fletch's Tips for New Employees
Resourcing is an awfully complicated business in a big organisation like a university. I have discovered a few 'rules of engagement' when making bids:
1) If you ask for what you need, you probably won't get it.
2) If you do get it, it will take at least 6 months.
3) 'Blue Sky' thinking is better than 'Down to Earth'. If you need a new chair, bid for a new 'Centre of Excellence' comprising offices, smart lecture theatres, performance spaces, cafes, and a 1000 seat theatre. You may then get yourself: a chair.
4) Everything in the world that you may wish to buy COULD have a research outcome. Just think laterally.
Wow, the past two months have flown by! I can't believe that so much time has passed since our last blog update. The truth is, we've been busy. In fact, we've been to Australia and back and have been busily seeking employment and free lunches since our return to Hull.
As our last post indicated, Fletch took up a position with the university. They sponsored him for a two-year work visa and, British bureaucracy being what it is, we had to re-enter Australia for the visa to be issued.
Shortly before our trip home, however, we spent a day with some friends who were holidaying in the UK. They were in Scotland and we drove to meet them at Durham, which is roughly halfway between Edinburgh and Hull. We ended up spending the afternoon at a lovely restaurant called the Knitsley Mill, about 30 miles from Durham itself. We had a wonderful lunch and it was so lovely to spend a relaxing afternoon with great company. 
We went to Australia at the beginning of October and spent three very busy weeks catching up with friends and family. We could have used another three weeks, time flew by so quickly. It was wonderful to see everyone, especially as it is likely to be some time before we return. However, it means that you all can come and visit us...the offer is open for anyone who is going to be in our part of the world.
We came back to the UK on the last day of October. The trip back was one of the most pleasant flights I have ever experienced. Between Singapore and London the plane was almost empty, meaning that Fletch and I were able to take up a whole row each (5 seats each) to lie down and rest. That is a good way to spend 13 hours in a plane!
Our arrival back in the UK coincided with a burst of cold weather. There were warnings at the airport and on the radio that November 1st was going to be "COLD" and, sure enough, the temperature dropped 10 degrees overnight. It has stayed cool, with temperatures varying between 2 and 12, but mainly around the 8 mark. The autumn colours came and the trees have almost finished shedding their leaves, which of course turns the streets a vibrant yellow slush. It hasn't been raining very much, so it has been clear and brisk, which is weather that I love.
The colder weather has meant that we have had to familiarise ourselves with the vagrancies of central heating. Being Queenslanders means that we really are pretty clueless about the heating! We thought we'd just flick a switch and the house would be toasty and warm. Unfortunately, we were wrong. We had to learn how to 'bleed' the system and a moderately faulty boiler means that we have to keep a vigilant eye on the pressure. Heating is very expensive as well, so we have to balance a warm house with high energy bills. As we're in the loft apartment, we lose a fair bit of heat though the ceiling, but we're getting better at regulating the temperature. I'm sure that we'll soon have it properly sussed (just in time for winter proper).
Fletch returned to work the day after we arrived back and has been busy settling into his role. I turned my gaze to the job ads and my dedication to the task has just paid off. Yesterday, I was offered a job as a Research and Policy Analyst with the local government. It is conditional on a few things (security and medical checks), but I'm hoping to start in the near future. It does mean some early mornings until we get a car - the job is on the other side of the river and the only bus leaves from the city centre at 7.30am, so I'll have to be up well before the sun (it currently gets light at nearly 8am and dark at about 4pm).
We don't have a great deal on our agenda for the next while. We're planning a quiet Christmas, just the two of us, which will be a considerable change from the rambuncous family gatherings we are used to. My younger brother will probably be coming to visit us in the New Year, which will be fun. Hopefully, he will be the first of many visitors! The only other event we have pencilled in for the moment is a big night out to celebrate the award of my Master of Philosophy. I found out that the degree had been awarded just after we arrived back in the UK, but the certificate takes a bit longer to be produced. Once it arrives here, it's party time!
Fletch’s tips for new employees
Its been a while since I have subjected you all to my weekly advice column, delving out extreme idealism, cultural sensitivity and towering humility. And since we are moving to a new format for Maria and Fletch Abroad, I thought I’d make a change to my advice column. I must admit I feel much more industrious having swapped my 41 hours a week at work ‘holiday’ for my 36.5 hour a week ‘working’ life. So for the next little while at least I’m going to present some insights into being an employee for a big, publicly funded institution. As I have always worked as a contractor before, some of the perks and absurdities are new to me. And so to this weeks advice;
Learn the subtle and mysterious art of the free lunch.
Many of you would argue that there is no such thing as a free lunch. I was tempted to lament the same having been knobbled (in the words of Jim, the Drama technician) into being the Departmental Safety Officer, the Fire Warden and the Display Screen Equipment Assessor, all in my pursuit of free lunches. Let me explain.
Universities have a staff development department. Staff development departments offer courses in time management to people who are too busy to attend, and so forth. They rely on ‘bums on seats’ in order to justify their existence, and so must offer incentives in order to get good attendances. Ergo, the ‘free lunch’.
Now people know that they can get a free lunch at these training sessions, so they sign up for courses, and to be fair, they do their best to seem interested. The development department has become cluey to this of course, so they often put their feelers out, asking for expressions of interest in potential courses. This is really code for ‘put up your hand if you want to come to a course without a free lunch’ as you have to commit to it before knowing the details.
Finally, the lunch often turns out not to be free; not that they charge you money, but having been trained in something they expect you to do something about it (thus my being knobbled early in the piece). However if you follow some basic rules, you can get a properly free lunch.
Rule number 1: Don’t ever put you name on a list for a course which hasn’t been scheduled and advertised with an inclusive meal. If people seem interested in improving themselves willy-nilly then western civilisation will surely crumble.
Rule number 2: Only ever attend events which are totally irrelevant to you or which you would not be reasonably expected to attend. For example, there is an open meeting on Virtual Learning Environments coming up in a couple of days which I am very keen to attend. There is no reason for me to be there, and little chance anyone would recognise me, so I am unlikely to get knobbled into doing anything. There is a free lunch however, and since the meeting is being attended by the VC, all the DVCs and a few Deans, it ought to be a very good one.
Rule number 3: If all else fails, remember that there is sufficient nutrition to keep you going until tea time in Assorted Cream Biscuits, just so long as you eat enough of them. And no meeting or training ever happens without Assorted Creams.
What a month it has been since our last Blog update! As you know, I had job interviews with Morley College in London, RSAMD in Glasgow and at the University of Hull in Kingston upon Hull. As it turns out, it is the University of Hull that desperately needed my towering expertise (and staggering humility) and thus did I begin my new life as a full time employee on September 11. I should give a quick narrative of the events to give you an idea of how Hull was evidently ‘meant to be’.
I had my interview for the Hull job on the 30th of August, having had interviews in London and Glasgow the previous week. I travelled up to Hull on the Tuesday night before the interview, and had a good rest at the hotel organised by the University. I arrived at the university at 10 o’clock on Wednesday, confident and alert. I gave a presentation, complete with slideshow, at 10:20 on ‘The role of music-technology and popular music in the University of Hull and in Hull’s urban regeneration’. My lexicon of higher education buzz words came in particularly helpful for this. The presentation was attended by the Director of Studies for Music, the Head of the Drama and Music department and a couple of lecturers from within the department. The presentation and question and answer session seemed to go down a treat.
After a presentation by my competitor for the post, Peter, the lecturer who has set up the new Jazz and Popular Music course, gave us a tour of their facilities. Since the new studios aren’t likely to be finished until Christmas, this meant looking at a corridor and an empty room, although there is already a composition suite and a couple of labs of computers ready for teaching. A buffet lunch was provided in the Recital Room, and I took the opportunity to get to know the backgrounds and interests of the lecturers present.
My interview was at 2:30pm, and was a panel of 6, including the aforementioned Director of Studies - Music, the Lecturer in Jazz and Popular Music, the Lecturer in charge of the department’s ‘Reach Out’ activities, the Head of the Drama and Music Department, the Director of Commercialisation at the University, and the Dean of Arts. They formed a formidable collection of men in suits. The session lasted about half an hour, after which I returned to the hotel to collect my luggage, and got on a train back to London.
At this point I hadn’t yet heard back from RSAMD about the job in Glasgow. I was a bit worried because Hull seemed to want to move fairly quickly once they had made their selection. This feeling was confirmed when they rang me, before I had managed to get on the train back to London, to ask whether I wanted the job. Not knowing what RSAMD were going to do, I asked to be given the night to ‘discuss the move with my wife’ before giving them an answer the following day. I then rang the head of HR at RSAMD from the train back to London, and she returned my call to say that they had selected someone else for the position, but that I had given a fine presentation and thankyou very much. So, Hull it is!
The next day, and back at work, I rang to confirm with Hull that I would be happy to accept the job and that yes, I could start on the 11th of September. After a busy morning talking to their HR department, Work Permits UK and the Immigration office, we managed to ascertain that I could start my job on the working holiday visa, and go home to get a new visa once my work permit had come through. This was by no means an easy exercise, as the advice given to employers here is somewhat different from the advice given to potential employees, and not nearly as vague.
While I was wrangling with the home office, and pretending to be selling PA systems, Maria was telling everyone at her work about my new job. As it happened, one of Maria’s Cow-orkers was originally from Hull and has a sister that lives in Hull. His sister’s plasterer happened to have a flat for rent across the road from his sister, but which we would have to decide on that weekend since he already had an application in on it. Since I had to work on Saturday, Maria jumped on a train up to Hull, took a look at the unit and took some photos for me, gave the landlord a security deposit, and said we’d move in on the 7th.
We had already booked some holiday time around this time, as we had originally intended on going up to Scotland for a break. We were therefore able to use this time to move up some bare essentials, and make a trip to Ikea to get a bed and a wardrobe since the flat is basically unfurnished. So by the 11th I was basically settled in and Maria returned to London on the 13th to do the last month of her contract.
Maria has been the incredible mover of things the past couple of weeks. This weekend she managed to get her bike, my keyboard (which is the width of a piano) including stand, and our rugs, from London to Hull on the train. We had originally planned to share the weekend travel, me coming down to London as much as her coming up to Hull, but for various reasons it has worked out that she has done all the travelling, and an incredible job she has done.
To add to the potential ‘rightness’ of this move, Maria has secured an interview for a job within the local museum sector on Thursday, and is currently out doing her research on the local museums and their collections. I have joked that the job, which pays slightly more than mine, would help soothe the irritation she has of needing a ‘Dependency Visa’ to accompany my work permit. Kind of joked, anyway.
So you can see that everything seems to be falling into place here, and Hull is one of the loveliest places I have ever been, with warm, friendly local people and plenty of nearby cafes and lots of performing arts and galleries and museums and suchlike. Once Maria finishes work in London, things will settle down into a lovely, productive routine here in Hull, and we are really looking forward to making our home here for at least the next 2 years. One thing will delay that slightly however. By the grace of God and the unknown and unknowable foibles of the great British bureaucracy, in order to work in my new job under my work permit, we must first return home to get a visa to come back again.
Maria and I are coming home for a 3 week visit from the 11th of October to the 30th. We are really looking forward to seeing everyone and sharing our tales of daring-do, and boring you all witless with endless photos, and catching up on all the local gossip and events since our departure so many months ago. So let us know your availability for catching up, as we have lots of people to squeeze into 3 short weeks!
Fletch’s tip for new travellers
When moving to a new town and not owning any furniture, immediately make friends with someone who is renovating their house. They will attempt to foist every bit of spare furniture they have on you (‘well, you know you just can’t do without a purpose built scrabble table these days…’) and may even offer to help carry it into your flat. Such friends may be difficult to find in the south of England, but here in the north, the only seeming requirement for lasting friendship is that you aren’t a chav.
Summer officially ended on Sunday the 31st of July, when the sun didn't rise and the temperature literally dropped from 35C to 20C overnight. Low lying cloud and cold winds from the Arctic have become the norm. The sun shows a propensity for humour, surprising us with its appearance at about 6pm but otherwise failing to break through the morose cloud cover through the rest of the day. We have hardened ourselves to the reality that our time in the sun is over for the year.
Sunday July 31st was also the day that we moved into our new house. We now live on the Isle of Dogs (which is surprisingly void of dogs), in the shadows of Canary Wharf. This district is also known as 'Docklands', no prizes for guessing what went on here in days gone by. Nowadays, Canary Wharf (which Fletch is convinced was originally called Cannery Wharf) is the financial centre of London. Over the past few years, there has been a significant building and redevelopment program and Canary Wharf is a mecca of towering glass and concrete architecture and carefully sculpted gardens. It is one of the few areas of London that can be described as clean and the streets are wide, parks are plentiful, cars are almost non-existent (although the five thousand car parking spaces under the buildings at Canary Wharf mean that cars do come here, I'm not sure how they get in and out of the parking stations without being seen). Of course, no-one who works at Canary Wharf actually lives here, which means that outside of business hours, we have access to one of the lovelier areas of London without the crush that seems ever-present in this city of eight million.
The highlight of living in this area, however, is the DLR (also known as the Docklands Light Railway). When we told our various colleagues that we had moved to Docklands, the initial response (from every single person) was “Wow, you'll get to ride the DLR every day”. This mystical mode of transport resembles a roller-coaster and travels some thirty feet above the ground. It also does not reach the 'sardines in a can' saturation of the tube, which means that you can travel in peak hour without emerging feeling as though you've just been in a scrum. The DLR vehicles drive themselves, which can be a bit disconcerting when you're travelling in the front seat, and are almost entirely glass. It is a far more pleasant way to travel than underground, although we do have to take a tube for the last part of our journey. I haven't started riding my bike from here as yet – the main roads from Canary Wharf to the West End resemble a highway and I'm yet to locate the cycling map for this area, so it's public transport for both of us at the moment.
July 31st was also the day that we decided we would make August our 'month of culture'. We are living in the musical capital of the world, so we are going to make the most of it. We found out that the Proms are on – we had heard of the Proms but didn't realise that it was 56 days straight of classical concerts (sometimes as many as three a day) – found out that tickets were as little as £6, worked our way through the concert listings and arranged tickets to see a number of concerts. Thus far, we have seen (for those of you who take an interest in such matters, I shall list them in full):
Motzart - Piano Concerto in C major
Ravel - Piano Concerto in G major
Musorgsky (Orch. Ravel) - Pictures at an Exhibition
S. Stucky - Second Concerto for Orchestra
– this is a new composition and only the second time it was played anywhere in the world. It is my Prom favourite so far, the performance was incredible.
Dohnanyi – Symphonic Minutes
Bartok – Piano Concerto No. 3
Stravinsky – Rite of Spring (Fletch's Prom favourite thus far)
- after this performance, the orchestra did an encore of something by Brahms and then one of the double-bass players and two violinists gave an impromptu performance of a Transylvanian folk dance...unexpected and very exciting.
Still to come, before the end of the month, are Beethoven's 9th and Sibelius' violin concerto (and a few more but the names escape me).
The Proms have been great fun. The atmosphere is incredible – they are staged at Royal Albert Hall, which is one of the most visually stunning performance spaces (although Fletch says that acoustically it isn't all that great – a domed roof...) I have ever seen. The interior is almost entirely red velvet and gives a very regal air to proceedings. There is a 'mosh pit' in front of the orchestra (these are actually the cheapest tickets (only £5), but you have to queue up on the day to buy them) that has been packed at every performance. Many of the people in the pit are Proms regulars and have a number of traditions – our favourite is the shouting of 'Heave – Ho' when a piano lid is lifted.
In addition to our classical extravaganza, we indulged in a little musical theatre to celebrate our second anniversary (yes, it really has been that long). We had dinner first and our culinary venue of (Fletch's) choice was a seafood restaurant called Loch Fyne. Loch Fyne sources all of their produce from Scotland, and the oysters and tuna steaks provided a near religious experience for Fletch. I had an halibut (said in the appropriate pythonesque way), and we even managed to find a lovely Marlborough sauv. blanc to wash it down.
Sufficiently supped, we ambled down to the Adelphi theatre for the evening's performance of Evita. It was lovely. We laughed, we cried, we got told off by the usher for trying to sneak down to better seats before the intermission. All in all it was a wonderful way to celebrate our anniversary. And Fletch says to say that I looked gorgeous in my new black dress.
Some words from Fletch
To cap off our month of culture, we are hoping that the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama (yes, Scots do refer to it by its acronym RSAMD) is going to fall all over themselves to make sure that I accept a job offer. Here's hoping anyway. I'm going up to Glasgow on Wednesday for a Thursday interview, and armed with the folio that Maria helpfully posted to them yesterday, I'm sure that they won't be able to resist my amicable charms. They'd better anyway, as Team Fletch has pulled out all the stops to try and make sure I don't come back to Brisbane any time soon! A huge thanks to Cathy for taking phone calls at absurd hours of the morning and shovelling through all of our stuff just to find a couple of CDs, to Joe for giving up so much time in the leadup to his wedding on my behalf [congrats guys, we hope you had a great day], to Greg for spending part of his holiday on Team Fletch, to mum for driving all over the countryside, and to Christopher for his hard-drive space, download quota and his time). With such a committed team, I can't help but get the job! Be that as it may, I don't want to hatch all of my counts before they chicken, so I also have an interview in London on Tuesday and in Hull (for two different jobs) on Tuesday week. I know that prayers are being said for me and I thank all those with their fingers firmly crossed on my behalf. I can think of no better job for me than spending all of my time recording classical ensembles and big bands, so here's hoping.
We'll be sure to let you know once we know how its all panned out. Till then, as Confucius said, Wok on!
Fletch's tips for new travellers
An odd coincidence in London is that the more you pay for a cup of coffee, the less like coffee it tastes. The best coffee I have had in London costs 1pound 10p and is truely fantastic. In comparison, a cup of Starbucks costs at least 1pound 90p, but you have to pay another 30p for a second shot of coffee, just to bring it up to standard strength. Incidently, the best cup of coffee was from a place called the 12 Bar Cafe in Denmark Street, near the junction of Tottenham Court Rd, Charing Cross Rd and Oxford St. Sometimes we feel like we're in London to play monopoly.
As you are all aware, we have been especially slack in updating our blog of late. I’m sure a brief synopsis of our recent activity will garner your understanding in this matter.
We settled back into relative tedium after our trip to Belgium. As our trip to Belgium was by way of a birthday present for me, it seemed only fitting that I return the favour and organise an outing for Maria’s once yearly celebration of not yet being dead. Thus I booked two tickets to the Festival of Speed. The festival of speed is an extravaganza of fast cars, old and new, held on the estates of the Earl of March at Goodwood. What better birthday present could a girl ask for?
Getting to Goodwood from London was a 2-hour mission. The weather was quite drizzly and overcast, helping me to make a mistake of omission that was to come back to haunt me. You see, I couldn’t fit my Akubra into the pack when we left sunny Brisbane, and since we did most of our travel in the winter, I haven’t found myself needing one. We had decided to buy a hat for me on the way to Goodwood, but the inclement weather inspired complacency on my part. Being England, the weather changed its mind around lunchtime, burning the water from both the atmosphere and the racetrack, leading to excellent racing conditions, and a Fletch that passed through pink and red to an alarming shade of maroon. I at least had the smarts to wear a long sleeved, collared shirt. It was therefore only my face that bore the brunt of the sun’s vengeful wrath. I haven’t been burnt like that for over 10 years, I’m sure.
Now that I’ve got my moaning over, I can assure you that the pain was well worth it. There were some really fantastic cars at Goodwood. The theme this year was 100 years of Grand Prix, as the first was the French Grand Prix of 1906. Renault made their presence felt, bringing three 1906 Grand Prix cars, as well as the 2006 F1 car driven by Giancarlo Fiscicella (not sure if the spelling is even close). The 2006 F1 car was hooked up to a laptop and played ‘God Save the Queen’ and the ‘Marseilles’ in revs at regular intervals. I’m sure being in that tent probably lost me some of my future income, at least where mixing is concerned! (WHAT WAS THAT HONEY? STOP DITHERING AND GET ON WITH IT? WHAT? I’M NOT SHOUTING!)
Audi also had a big presence, with some 1930s Auto Unions sitting aggressively next to their rival Mercedes contemporaries. The usual gaggle of F1 and Indy cars from the past 40 years were there, as well as WRC cars of various groups and ages, and motorbikes. The 5th fastest time of the day was recorded by a Ford Transit van, one of the course vehicles, but apparently that’s fairly common. Lord March himself took a not quite leisurely drive up the hill in the new Bugatti super car, as well as a white knuckles ride on the back of a 2 seater Ducatti super bike. The F1 drivers had burnout and doughnut competitions in front of the main grandstand, and Jacky Stewart was characteristically blunt about the ergonomics of modern grand prix cars after he and Giancarlo swapped cars for a photographically opportunistic meander up the hill.
The best thing about Goodwood is how close you can get to the cars. It’s a lot like the Speed on the Tweed, only the cars cost more, and there are more women in expensive clothes sipping champagne. It’s like a cross between car racing and horse racing. Anyway, I’ll presume to talk for both of us when I say that it was a highlight of our English experience so far.
Since the Festival of Speed, we have been hard at work. We had a distinctly forgettable experience finding a new place to live. We were lead up the garden path on the first property we arranged to move into, and due a shortage of time, were forced to take a place that wasn’t available until a week after we moved out of our former residence. With the prospect of a week of outdoor living looming, we were therefore very grateful to Dominic and Samantha for providing us with refuge for our week in limbo (in Chelsea no less!). We have now moved however, and are very comfortable in our new place on the Isle of Dogs. The unit is in an excellent location, and our flatmates are of the most desirable kind; tidy, quiet and mostly absent.
So now is a time of planning and consolidation for the future. I’m hard at work applying for jobs, and am hoping for a positive response soon, as working in the shop does my head in, to use the local vernacular. Maria is also considering her options, as her thesis should be returned from marking soon, and the exciting world of patents administration has failed to keep her enthused. We are also planning on a short sojourn to Scotland in early September, before it gets too cold. Summer seems to have ended here though, with the maximum temperature being 35C on Sunday, and 25C on Monday. The sun is also setting noticeable earlier too now, with daylight only extending to about 8pm. Thank goodness I say, for London simply isn’t designed for heat, and the English seem to disdain deodorant almost as much as they disdain showers. Nothing is quite as fragrant as a trip on the tube in peak hour on a hot day. *Shudder* (Did I just indicate an action in the middle of my text? *Shudder* )
Speak again soon,
Fletch and Maria
Hi all. We promised a new blog entry after our trip to sunny Bruges, and having had time to properly consider the (burp) experience, we are now ready to commit our experiences to cyber posterity.
We booked our tickets to Belgium on the Eurostar several months ago with a 2-for-1 offer that Maria cut out of the paper. Maria has been preparing for pensioner-hood by extracting every possible deal from the various rags here in London. So far we have had numerous £5, two-course meals, cheap holidays, a new watch, the tickets to Paris, and now the trip to Belgium. For me, Belgian culture is brewed by monks and goes well with salty bar snacks. Maria's interest lay more in the lace and chocolate. We managed to experience plenty of both during our time in Bruges.
Our adventure started at what is commonly described as an ungodly hour of the morning, as we needed to catch the first Eurostar from Waterloo at 6am. So we strapped on our backpacks for the first time in a while, swallowed some vegemite toast, and met the day (for there certainly weren't any people to meet at that time of the morning. We've noticed that British people aren't early risers. It might be because the sun is remarkably resistant to setting at this time of year.)
The trip to Brussels was lovely. We enjoyed the comfy seats and cabin messages in three languages. Arriving in Brussels, we changed train for the short journey to Bruges. When you take the Eurostar to Brussels, you can catch the train to any part of Belgium using your Eurostar pass. Thus we decided to make a serious survey of Belgian culture by visiting the medieval town of Bruges/Brugge.
We arrived in Bruges about 11am and strode confidently out of the train station. We have learnt during our travels that Maria has a very good sense of direction, but can't use a map, whereas I can find where I'm going perfectly when using a map, but have no real sense of direction (a compass is handy in this respect). Together we are a powerful force, as long as we know who is leading. In this instance, we walked a couple of hundred yards down the road before Maria realised that I hadn't consulted with a map and was in fact walking in exactly the wrong direction. After dodging a few bicycles, we reoriented ourselves and headed toward the lovely chiming of the carillon in the town square.
After checking into our hotel, the first order of business was lunch. We decided to have a typical Belgian lunch of frietjes vlaamse stoveriji (chips and meat gravy), which we ate sitting on the external windowsills of the Belfort. As the name may indicate, this is where the carillon is located and we enjoyed respite from the sun under its mighty shadow. Well, us and a hundred other tourists, all fighting for the limited windowsills. Maria has sharp elbows and quick reflexes, they come in handy in these situations.
After lunch we went for a long walk around Bruges. To give our walk some purpose, we decided to find a special piece of lace and this occupied our time as we weaved in and out of the hundreds of lace-shops that are located around Bruges. After several hours we decided that some refreshments were necessary, so we ducked into a licensed establishment and downed some essential vitamins and minerals. Well, Belgian beer is only brewed with natural ingredients... We also took the opportunity to watch Australia play Japan in their first game of the World Cup. Europe has Cup fever and so have we after that come from behind victory.
The game (and the hot afternoon sun) took its toll and we retired for a siesta. We awoke mid-evening, when it was still hot and very light, so we went in search of some dinner. We decided to avoid the touristy-looking restaurants and went north in search of some more authentic Bruges restaurants. We strolled along the canals and through a maze of streets but not a single food (or beer) establishment did we find. Hunger drove us back to the Grand'Place for a late dinner as the sun set around us (at 11pm). We had typically Flemish food – Maria had waterzooi and I had bugs bunny – all washed down with some typically Belgian beer (12%).
Tuesday dawned only slightly less hot than Monday (which turned out to be the hottest June 12th on record). It wasn't really our intention to rise with the sun, but the lovely carillon I mentioned earlier took no stock of the strength of the beer we enjoyed with dinner, and gave its rendition of Beethoven's 9th with unrestrained abandon. Giving up on sleep, we decided to take a cruise on the canals before all the tourist coaches arrived from Brussels. The cruise was a very relaxing way to start the day as we enjoyed the historic architecture and the incessant American small-talk. The guide was unintelligible in three languages and we took some lovely pictures of the church spires which dominate the Bruges skyline. Of particular note were the colourful array of flowers in the window boxes that seem to adorn every house.
After our cruise, we visited Huisbrouwerij De Halve Maan,(the Half Moon Brewery). The Half Moon is the only brewery left in Bruges, and does guided tours of the brewery. Both the blond and the brown ale they made were absolutely stunning, and we learnt a great deal about the Belgian brewing tradition. The Belgians take their beer very seriously, evidenced by the tour guide's assertion that bottom fermenting beer (such as lager) at 5% was just table beer, for the children. Real beer is top fermenting (is brewed at a higher temperature). The monks brewed three types of beer. The normal beer which they themselves drank was a single. The pilgrims received a double (about 8%) and if the bishop came to visit he got a triple (about 12%). Having tried a few Trappist triples, I can now understand the attraction of a monastic life.
Following the tour, we found a nice shady spot in the garden of one of Bruges' many churches to enjoy a lunch 'borrowed' from the breakfast buffet at the hotel we were staying in. By this stage the mercury had risen to near Brisbanian levels, and we sought the cool and tranquil surroundings of one of the great churches in Bruges. The Onze-Lieve-Vrouwekerk (Church of Our Lady) dates from 1220 and has a 122m tower, a truly stunning pulpit in carved wood, and the Madonna and Child by Michelangelo, his only sculpture to leave Italy during his lifetime. The atmosphere was made all the holier by the raised voices of the nuns, whose devotions echoed soulfully around the buttressed arches as they may have done for 800 years.
The next part of our afternoon was spent in a futile search for a candle shop. Maria visited Bruges five years ago with her friend Paula and distinctly remembers a profusion of candle shops. They seem to have moved on in the intervening years, as we were unable to find a single one. We finally gave up on candles and visited the Sint-Salvatoreskathedraal. The organist was giving a recital on the pipe organ so we pulled up a pew to enjoy the cathedral's lovely acoustics. We took the opportunity to remove our shoes and enjoy the sensation of the cold stone floor beneath our feet. You could actually see the steam rising from my socks!
Next stop was some dinner washed down with another beer and then on the the pub for a beer before bed. The inevitable storm was brewing, and the view outside our hotel window was truly breathtaking. With two church spires lit up against the dark night sky, punctuated by bursts of lightning, it was a beautiful way to end a memorable day.
On Wednesday we took the train back to Brussels for a peak at the Grote'Markt before catching the Eurostar back to London. We didn't do much in Brussels, but upon Dave's recommendation, we enjoyed a mussel pot washed down with yet another Trappist beer in a backstreet where every restaurant seemed to specialise in mussels (and beer). We watched Spain play Ukraine and the Spanish victory unleashed a cacophony of horns and cheering. It seems that the way to celebrate the Spanish victory was to do laps of Brussels in a beaten-up Ford Prefect, hanging out the windows and waving flags. Strangely, this was our last memory of Brussels.
The trip home was uneventful and Thursday saw us back breaking rocks. Maria also managed to submit her thesis, so I bought her a bunch of flowers.
On June 17th, Maria went to the Trooping of the Colour which is part of the Queen's official birthday celebrations. That evening, we met up with my cousin Jacqui and her boyfriend, who were visiting from Italy. We had a lovely evening with them in Leicester Square. While there, I took some photos of the minis from 'The Italian Job' and the car from 'Chitty Chitty Bang Bang', although we're not sure why they sitting in the middle of Leicester Square.
This weekend just gone, we met up with our friend Tad who has just returned to the UK from his trip around the world. Apart from that, we're looking for a new place to live, and we're generally enjoying the British summer – which is far hotter than we expected.
Best wishes to all and sundry, and we'll update again after our day out at the Festival of Speed in early July (Maria takes me to Bruges for my birthday, I take her to the hill-climb at Goodwood for her birthday. Sounds fair to me...).
Fletch's tip for new travellers
One thing that England seems to lack is light and mid strength beer. In Australia, the initiatives targeting drink driving have probably contributed to the popularity of lower alcohol beers. In Bruges, the problem has been tackled differently. You see very few cars in Bruges, and I can only assume that this is because, having had a few Trappist triples, its hard enough to remember whose feet your using let alone which car is yours.
We’ve now been living in London for a month and have settled into a soothing routine of cycling, working, cycling, sleeping, cycling, working….
The whole cycling escapade began one fine Saturday when Maria popped out for some shopping while I was at work. She came and met me after work and we had a lovely evening out (we saw ‘Good Night and Good Luck’ – it is very good). It was when we arrived home later that night that I was surprised to find I could no longer open the apartment door. Maria had failed to mention the impediment to my usual sweeping entrance. It had two wheels, front suspension, lights, bells and whistles. A minor oversight on Maria’s part, forgetting to mention this particular purchase. Honestly, she is becoming so absent minded…
My part in the great adventure happened through a sustained campaign of propaganda. Maria began waxing lyrical over the beauty and tranquillity of a genteel ride through the parks of the West End. ‘Much nicer than rubbing shoulders with the great unwashed’ she gibed as she strapped on her helmet and sped into the distance every morning. Indeed, so enthusiastic was she that I agreed to participate in a riding tour of London the following Sunday afternoon. Not being one to indulge too enthusiastically in activities involving physical exertion, I was concerned that the ride would leave me utterly spent. Little did I know that the leisurely ride was to be the least of my exertions for that day.
Having finished our ride, and puffed up with my achievement of having ridden through Westminster unscathed and in apparent fine health, we made the bold step of hiring my admirable steed for a month to see whether I could become a fully-fledged member of the crazed two wheelers. Since I still had my doubts as to the long-term viability of my legs as a form of locomotion, this seemed like the sensible option. Deciding to take the bike that afternoon however began a series of dramas of Faustian proportions.
The bike hire shop is on the south bank of the Thames, not far from Waterloo International. As we wheeled the bike from subway to bus stop, we were educated in timely fashion as to the realities of taking bicycles on public transport. Busses were not an option. The underground is fine, as long as its not underground. Problem was, we were on the south side of town, and needed to get to the north-west side. Since we had neglected to bring our map (a glaring oversight in retrospect) I couldn’t ride the bike home. Maria offered to ride the bike home, but my bike is designed for those of great height, and the length of the journey would have given her altitude sickness. We finally discovered that we needed to take an overland train from Kings Cross. So Maria rode the bike to Kings Cross whilst I luxuriated on the bus. Maria beat me to Kings Cross, which just goes to prove that she can nearly torque the pedals off a bicycle!
Having reached Kings Cross and found the Thames-link station (which is not in Kings Cross), we discovered that the trains weren’t running. Go to Kentish town, they said. It’s not that far, they said. Catch the bus – oh, not you with the bike – you’ll have to ride there. And so, I hopped onto another bus and Maria, with a great degree of trepidation and in a fair bit of pain by now (her toes were the only things that touched the pedals, she tells me that isn’t a comfortable way to ride a bike), followed the bus to Kentish Town.
She kept up with the speeding bus quite well until she got a puncture. She managed to catch up to the bus without air in the back tyre just long enough to gain my attention by banging on the window. I alighted at the next stop, and without a clear idea of where we were, we endeavoured to follow in the bus’ wake, now carrying the bicycle because the tyre had dislodged from the rim and couldn’t be rolled. A decidedly unpleasant six kilometres later, we managed to ‘person-handle’ the bike onto a rather flash looking train. We certainly didn’t look flash by this point, but after a change onto the tube, arrived at Willesden Green and decided to celebrate our day of healthy endeavour with a Chinese takeaway meal that could have fed a family of ravenous Tasmanian Devils. Then we collapsed into a state near unto death, having exercised non-stop for nine and a half hours. Suffice it to say, we didn’t ride to work on Monday.
Fixing the puncture proved a more formidable challenge than one could have expected. Having extracted the offending bladder, Maria returned it to the hire shop during her lunch break, and brought home a new tube, and a maintenance kit including a small pump. A piece of advice for young players: valves on bicycle tubes here are very strange. The pump we had came with a useful lack of instructions, and after an hour of fruitless pumping, swearing and gesticulating, we ‘googled’ the bicycle valve and discovered the problem. The pump is designed to fit both major types of valve, and had a component which, unbeknown to us, could be reversed, thus allowing the alternative valve to be addressed. More swearing, pumping and gesticulating ensued, but this time the result was an inflated tyre, rather than a deflated ego. I was really getting to love the whole bicycle experience by this point.
The next day we started riding to work together. It takes us about fifty minutes to ride to work, and I feel pretty good when I get to work (with the not insignificant exception of my posterior, which is currently suing the rest of my body on the grounds of wilful neglect). It takes an hour to ride home however as there is an uphill section (not a big hill, just a gentle incline over 4 miles) that results in me switching to first gear and hardly moving despite considerable sweating and furious pedalling. It really is quite embarrassing being overtaken by a granny with a walking frame. The ride home has been compounded this last week by gale force head winds. In addition, the stability of the weather can only be described as ‘Melbournesqe’. A nice sunny day can turn into a squally mess faster than you can say ‘nah, I won’t need my Gore-tex!’ (As we have written this blog, the weather has changed from warm and sunny, to a hail storm, to a tropical downpour, and now its bright and sunny again).
And so I pedal to work, peddle my wares and then pedal home to my lovely petal. (Sorry, I just couldn’t resist.) And that’s about all that’s happening in our little world right now. London is in drought, with the wettest May on record. Ol’ Blighty is a strange place indeed. We shall write more after our sojourn in Bruges in two weeks time. Till then, take care, and we will attempt to do the same.
PS
We wrote this blog entry in Greenwich before attending a lecture at the Royal Naval Museum. The lecture was organised by the Flamsteed Astronomy Society (Flamsteed was the first Astronomer Royal) and the guest lecturer was the 17th Astronomer Royal, Sir Arnold Wolfendale. The lecture was on the origins of the universe, Sir Wolfendale being a specialist on background radiation. It was an incredibly entertaining lecture, with descriptions of the early universe (from 10-47s) sprinkled with anecdotes about meetings with Prince Philip and Margaret Thatcher. It has been a real highlight of our London experience thus far.
Fletch’s tip for new travellers
As a learned audience, I’m sure you all understand the difference between writing in first, second and third person. Whilst both Maria and I wrote this blog entry, it was written in the Fletch person, thus allowing a more consistent telling. The Maria person is nicer than me.
Hi all. We know that you can’t live without updates on our comings and goings, so here is a brief overview of the month that was.
Since our jaunt in Paris we became increasingly disillusioned with the bustling world of hospitality, and realised that in order to escape, we had to set a departure date and trust desperation to help us find work and lodging. This tactic worked fairly well, as we are no longer enjoying the questionable luxury of hotel living. To give you an idea of how swiftly events swept us from sunny Staines, here is a basic timeline
18th April - Weeks notice given at Hotel Ugly Duckling. Slight panic ensues
19th April - Maria interviews for temp work (thanks Jacqui!) We inspect possible accommodation
20th April - We find our new studio flat and sign for 3 months
21st April - Fletch interviews for new job (successfully)
22nd - 25th April - Work 12 hour days as punishment for resigning. NB that every other member of floor staff also gave notice during this period
26th April - Maria starts first temp placement, Fletch moves house (in a Ford KA believe it or not)
27th April - Maria interviews for long term placement in patent attorney practise. Impresses the sox off them and shopping spree for suitable work-wear ensues
28th April - Fletch sees the Australian dollar conversion from the shopping spree and immediately dies. A strong coffee is waved under his nose to revive him. Heart palpitations continuing...
2nd May - Fletch starts work
So as you can see we had a busy little period. Since starting work we have been a bit too busy to do much else but work and make our apartment a cosy nest. However with the weather warming up, Fletch’s one day off per week can hardly be spent indoors, so we have been visiting various London landmarks, such as Westminster Abbey, the Royal Maritime Museum, Greenwich, and the Nero Cafe at Covent Gardens.
On our first Sunday off in 3 months (30th April), we got God. Since the only way to get into Westminster for free is to attend a service, Maria & I swallowed our Catholic sense of superiority and attended the C of E Matins service. This was quite special as the entire service, excepting of course the homily, was sung in harmonies by the all-male choir. The service was quite casual, with only slightly more pomp than a graduation ceremony. The attendants shepherded us around so that we wouldn’t accidently see more of the church than we had to as freeloading worshippers. I’m honestly not sure why they don’t just do away with religious worship entirely so that tourists can tramp through seven days a week.
Following this we jumped on the tube out to Greenwich and I took a look at the bits of the observatory that I had missed last time, including the telescope that sits on the Prime Meridian, whilst Maria strolled through the markets. We have found ourselves drawn to Greenwich and may look at moving there once our three months is up here.
Last Sunday, we found ourselves drawn once again to Greenwich. This time we had a poke through the Maritime Museum. The Museum is a very large building with not a great deal in it. It does contain Nelson’s uniform and a lot of lovely model boats, but Maria is sharing my museum fatigue, and we were drawn toward the lovely soft grass in the park outside. With summer come on, the days are lovely and the vegetation is the most curious colour (green, rather than khaki or brown. Strange huh?).
In other news, Maria has joined the ranks of the crazed two wheelers and is getting plenty of exercise dodging busses on her way to work. She believes that it is safer than braving the crowds on the underground, and if you have ever tried to beat a chav to a seat, then you know what she means. Fletch obtained a leather jacket and is now apparently giving up future teaching ambitions as he is “too kool for skool”. Spelling that atrociously almost broke my fingers...
Anyhow, we hope our loyal legion of fans are in good health and high spirits, or are at least playing up as we would expect. We shall update you again soon. Please keep the emails coming, as very few people in England are worth talking to, and we do get lonely.
PS - we now have internet at home, so we ought to be better at keeping in touch from now on.
Fletch's tip for new travellers
A secret has been kept from mankind for too long. It is the secret of the ultimate dessert. It took the courage of the team at Wagamamas to bring it to the world. It is: the Tamarind and Chili Pavlova! I can now die a happy man...
Welcome to a new edition of Maria and Fletch abroad. Whilst it is true that we have been slack and not updated our blog for some time, this reflects the relatively ‘hum drum’ nature of our current existence. In the past month since leaving the Eastern European capital of Wych Cross for the Scottish/Australian Mecca of Staines, Maria and I have been working 48+ hour weeks and tying up some loose ends. Beyond a flying visit to the Royal Observatory at Greenwich, and a day at the British Museum during which I found I have become cruelly afflicted with ‘museum burnout’, our time has been used most unfashionably constructively. We found some relief through Maria’s keen powers of observation and the Daily Telegraph. Armed with four ‘passwords’ from editions of the ‘Tele’ we booked cheap Eurostar tickets and embarked on a quick visit to Paris.
Having convinced our Scottish managers of the grave necessity of our visiting the French capital, we secured a day shift on Tuesday, a Wednesday off and a Thursday night shift. They punished us by organising a Leffe tasting session for Thursday morning, but our enthusiasm remained. Thus on Tuesday we completed our shift at 5pm, and after a brief scramble to pack a minimum of essentials, headed off to catch our train.
The train from Staines to London stops at Waterloo, which by happy coincidence in the London port for the Eurostar. After a brief fight with the evening crowd, a nutritionist’s delight complete with onion rings, and a magazine grab for the journey, we checked through customs and boarded the Eurostar.
The Eurostar is a train much like any other. The seating is aircraft style and whilst relatively comfortable, the only remarkable feature it has is its length. As you walk down the platform to the ‘cattle class’ end of the train, you being to think that you are going to walk to Paris!
We arrived on time, though late in the evening, at the Paris terminal, Gare du Nord, so we were glad that we had booked a room on laterooms.com that is about 50m from the train station. We crawled into bed about midnight, French time (an hour later than British summer time), and set an alarm to herald the day of adventure we had been looking forward to.
On Wednesday morning, fortified with croissants and strong coffee, we decided to catch a bus tour around the city. An open topped, double-decker bus with multi-lingual commentary is a great way to get your bearings in an unfamiliar city. The tour let us get on and off the bus as much as we liked and services ran every fifteen minutes. Our bus tour started, where else, but the Eiffel Tower. We caught the metro, now being quite adept at deciphering what were once incoherent squiggles, but which to the experienced eye are in fact maps of the mass transit systems in a sprawling metropolis such as Paris, to a station not far from the Eiffel Tower and, surprisingly, right next door to the Australian embassy. It’s a stirring moment when you walk out of the station expecting to see a great cultural icon and the first thing you see is the Southern Cross, fluttering proudly in the cold morning breeze. It makes one walk that little bit taller (‘cause of course I’m not tall enough as it is).
The crowd around the tower didn’t seem too overwhelming so we decided to take the bus tour first and the tower later. After a quick jaunt around the Sene including the Louvre, we made our first stop the Cathedrale Notre Dame. A beautiful, gothic cathedral, the building of the Notre Dame commenced in the 12th century, but took 200 years of voluntary labour to complete. The result is a soaring, buttressed space of great proportions, with intricate stained glass and a very spiritual feel, compromised only slightly by the constant procession of tourists which abates not even for mass. Maria and I stayed for a service, and it gave us a sense of what mass must have been like before Vatican II, since we didn’t understand a word of what was being said. Obviously the spirit of socialism and denial of economic rationalism permeates even the Catholic Church in France, as it took no less than nine priests to say a midday, weekday mass. Surely some of these would be of more use in the struggling antipodean diocese where masses aren’t being said for want of a parish priest. Unfortunately I haven’t the connections with Benedict that I had with JP, so I am powerless in this instance. Anyhow, the side chapels and ecclesiastical artwork made the visit a very satisfying experience.
After a few photos it was back on the bus, with our next stop on the Champs Elysee. We took luncheon within sight of the Arc de Triumphe and, as per usual, my love of anchovies led me to a soul searching bout of menu envy. The espresso to finish my meal reinforced me for some more exploration, so we trekked the thirty odd metres to the Arc de Triumphe for a goosy gander and some photos. As a monument to Napolean’s ego, it is quite a statement and the carving is of the highest order, showing all of the restraint the French are famous for.
Back on the bus and off to the Eiffel Tower. The signage on the queue promised us less than a half hour’s wait for our tickets. ‘Great’ I thought, and a mere ten minutes later we had our tickets. What nobody mentioned was the hour we had to wait in the queue on the 2nd level in the freezing wind before being able to ascend to the very top. A large group of hyperactive, Spanish high-school kids raised the irritation levels somewhat, although I’m sure it would have been worse had I been able to understand them. The view from the top was moderately spectacular, but it was the journey in the elevator that really made the wait worthwhile. The true size of the tower can not be appreciated without that ascent.
Our obligatory visit to the tower complete, we decided to cap off our day with a visit to Sacra Cour. We caught the metro to the base of the hill upon which Sacra Cour rests, and caught a contraption called a ‘furniculari’, but which I would call a cable-car, to the summit. We entered the very eastern inspired church just as the priest was launching into his homily as we had a peek at the various side chapels and shrines around the sides and rear of the church until the priest started the eucharistic rites. At this point we sat and listened, for the dome roof, complete with painted scene of Frenchmen and angels attending Jesus in glory, beautifully augmented the real harmonies being sung by real nuns with really bad habits. This time the worshippers were disturbed by a noisy school group, but a very serious looking black man in a suit ushered them outside for a real tongue lashing. The feeling of peace and tranquillity in Sacra Cour is impossible to express in written form, and since I wasn’t allowed to take photographs, you will just have to go there to see what I mean.
After Sacra Cour, we wandered around the streets of Mont Martre before catching the metro back to Gare du Nord for a bit of kip before our 9.10 train back to London.
I write this from the Eurostar on the return journey. Overall I think Paris is a beautiful city to visit, and I’m sure I shall do so again, perhaps when we’re fabulously wealthy, so as to submerge ourselves more into the culture and culinary delights it has to offer. Anyhow, that’s all for now, so take it easy, and we’ll write more soon.
PS And congratulations to Joe and Nicole, whose 8 pound 2 ounce baby girl, Rachel Elizabeth, was born today. Good luck to you both!
Fletch’s tip for new travellers.
You may not speak the same language as the annoying adolescent trying to push in front of you, but a judicious elbow to the ear translates into any language.
We got sick of our jobs in Wych Cross, so we asked to be moved to somewhere more hip and happening than the middle of the forest. So, on Saturday, we packed our belongings (which took a mighty 20 minutes), hopped on a train and headed to the town of Staines, only 30 minutes from London.
We moved into our Thames riverfront address early in the afternoon. The rest of the afternoon was taken up with spending the pub's money finding furnishings that suited our taste and their budget. We had quite a successful afternoon and now have a tastefully decorated room, complete with aluminium blinds that Fletch screwed into place using only a pocketknife and a spoon. Talk about ingenuity :)
Must dash, as this update in the local McDonalds is costing us the earth. Til next time, lots of love.
Fletch's tips for new travellers
Men instinctively know that they have to own a car. I have discovered why. Without a car, you won't own a garage. Without a car or a garage you don't have anywhere for tools. Then you end up screwing things in with a spoon. I feel violated...
We’ve started to get pretty bored with our jobs here at the hotel. As nice as the hotel and surrounds are, our attention has shifted to the future. Maria is spending time at the British Library, and I’m starting to reel in as many contacts as I can to get a foot into the door of the industry over here. We therefore have our heads down, bottoms up, and are spending more time staring into computer screens than serving beers. So not a lot to report at the moment.
Fletch’s tips for new travellers
Always drink the cask ale that everyone else is drinking. If you drink a less popular ale, your pint may have been sitting in the line from the cellar to the tap for a couple of hours or more.
Well things have basically quietened down for us now. We have settled into our respective roles at the hotel, Maria doing all the work, and me chatting to customers at the bar, and a routine is starting to emerge. We have two days off every week and those two days are now allegedly Wednesday and Thursday. We therefore plan to use these days to see what’s around the southern part of England.
The week was dominated with work as the roster changed such that we worked from Wednesday through till Tuesday. As a result of the renovations currently being done on the hotel, the power and hot water have been on and off in different parts of the hotel over the past week, and we have had workmen in the roof removing asbestos as well. The result is that various parts of the hotel have been off limits, including the laundry. We had to spend a night in one of the guest rooms (don’t all offer your condolences at once), as there is some weird pulsing noise in our bedroom stopping us from sleeping, and nobody can work out where its coming from.
Our only real excursion this week was yesterday, Thursday 16th. One of the hassles we have had starting work is getting a national insurance number (kind of like a tax file number and Medicare number rolled into one.) The boss told us to ring the Eastbourne office of social security, but it is almost impossible to get through. Either the line is engaged, or it just rings forever. We decided to give up ringing them and see what happened if we just turned up. At the last minute Maria decided to try them one last time before we left to at least get directions to the office. She miraculously managed to talk to a person, and found that we shouldn’t be going to the Eastbourne office from Wych Cross, we should be going to the Woking office. So he gave us the number of the Woking office and Maria tried to call them whilst I looked up Woking on our map. Maria failed to get onto Woking, which was a good thing as I found that Woking is in fact in Surrey, about 5 miles north of Guildford. Suffice it to say that we weren’t going to find it very easy to get to Woking on public transport. So Maria tried the Brighton office instead. When Maria rang the Brighton office, she got the same person answering the phone as when she had rung the Eastbourne office. So this seemingly omnipresent voice on the other end of the phone (the telecomnicon?) arranged a 3:10pm meeting for us at Brighton.
Armed with a stack of ID and some jaffa cakes, we found a transport solution that only required one bus and one train to get us to Brighton in about half an hour, and off we trudged for a day at the beach.
Brighton is demographically quite different from anywhere else I have been in the UK thus far. It is very much a university town, and university towns always have a certain feel about them. We took a stroll from the railway station down toward the beach, taking a quick diversion to make sure we knew where the social securities office was before going to the pier.
Apparently ‘beach’ has quite a different definition here. I can understand now why Churchill said ‘We will fight them on the beaches’. Anyone invading Brighton beach would become so depressed they would turn around and go home before they could reach for the Prozac. Brighton beach was cold, rocky, grey and horrible. On a serious note though, it suited me far more than the bright sun and sand of an Australian beach. ‘Why?’ you may ask. I need no justification for avoiding it! A quick walk down the pier, a few snaps with the camera, and into the fish and chip shop for lunch.
That was a mistake. Fish was evident, as were chips. One merely had to fight through two inches of solid batter to reach them. Ordering the large cod and large haddock was also a misjudgement. Indeed these fish must be man eaters in the wild. The fish were quite tasty, under all that batter, but Englishmen merely give you a look of blank incomprehension when you ask whether you can have fish without batter. Apparently they pull them out of the sea battered. Oh well.
Once we found the relative safety of the inside of the fish and chip shop, the sun mocked us by breaking through the clouds. I haven’t worn my sunglasses since we arrived in the UK, but I could have used them then.
After some brief shopping, we had our appointment at the social securities office. The staff there have quite a harried look about them, and become very friendly and helpful when they find that you aren’t a pregnant, teenage junky wanting to yell or cry at them. We should have our number in four to six weeks, and then the formalities of working in England are over for the time being.
We caught the train/bus home and that was our big day out for the week.
Take care
Fletch’s tips for new travellers
The most popular beer here seems to be Fosters. Nobody has yet been able to tell me why…
