National Insurance Number and the Traveling Story

Filled out the form. All that’s needed is a photocopy of my passport and visa. This is truly the easiest thing I’ve had to do bureaucracy-wise in this country.

Well, things to go do I ‘spose.

Long for a dryer or even a coin-op laundromat. Why why why oh why in a county with the wettest climate do they not have dryers. Or a place to have a dryer vent?

Emma, from the shop, told me about her dryer situation. Her parents (with whom she still lives) had a dryer, but it was outside. In the elements. WHERE IT GOT RAINED ON.  Ruth, who works near SciMan and went to Ischgl with him, had a dryer but no place for it to be inside as there’s no feasible way to vent it from inside to outside.

OH HO! But Ruth has an AIRING CUPBOARD!  I don’t even have that, yes I do… It’s called Natalie’s bedroom.  I have been taking a trip down memory lane to the house on McKinley & 83rd street with it’s great big floor vent. At least to me it was big. We moved before I was eight. Anyway… I can visualize myself with a floor vent here like that one or smaller, I am in Britain you know. And I can see myself happily or almost happily using the warm air drifting upwards to dry our clothes on a clothes rack.

Buncha rubbish.

SciMan had a really funny story set up for his international travelogue. If you weren’t on his mailing list, I think you should read it here:

The Traveling Story

The dramatis personae are ME, my BRAIN, “The System” (TS)which is the aggregate of the people and methods of the airline transportation network, and “The City”, which is whatever community I’m in at the time. TS and TC may speak directly, use signs, or just strongly imply the communication herein attributed to them. The stuff in slashes, /stuff /, are comments of things happening, and these will show up as italics in html.

/ NEWCASTLE /

TS: (Email) Save time, check in online!

BRAIN: Ok, sounds good.

TS: (WEB) Provide info, check these boxes.

BRAIN: Umm, check boxes aren’t working.

TS: (WEB) Provide info, check these boxes.

BRAIN: I said they didn’t work!

TS: (WEB) Provide info, check these boxes.

ME: Fine, I’ll just do this at the airport.

TS: Remember to get to the airport early.

BRAIN: Why?

TS: HAHAHAHAHAHAH!

BRAIN: What?

TS: Well, you have to be there at 4:30am anyway. To get there early is
your lot in life.

CITY: Don’t want you to go! So I will have no buses or trains that early.

ME: So, I’m going to have to pay £50 for a cab, when a train or bus
costs around £5?

CITY: Yep. Next time, don’t leave so early maybe?

TS: HAHAHAHAHAHAH!

/ arrive to airport /

TS: (Kiosk) Check in here with credit card used for tickets, or passport

BRAIN: You used a purchase order, credit card won’t work.

/ me insert passport /

TS: (Kiosk) Can’t read passport

ME: GAH!!!

BRAIN: Punch the kiosk screen!

TS: Hurry

TS: Wait

TS: “Hello”

ME: “Hiya, here’s my passport, I need to check in.”

TS: “OK, but in the future you should check in online or at the kiosk.”

ME: “… OK”

BRAIN: Punch her in the nose!

TS: “But I’ll check you in this once.”

BRAIN: Just this once? How nice! No, I’ll bet you do this every time I
ask you to. Punch her in the nose!

ME: “… OK. Thanks.”

TS: “All done. Here’s some important papers. Don’t lose them.”

TS: Hurry

TS: Hurry

TS: Wait

TS: “Please report unattended baggage.”

TS: Wait

TS: Do you have your important papers?

ME: Yes

TS: Ok. Don’t lose them.

TS: Wait

TS: Hurry

TS: Now take everything out of your pockets.

ME: Even the important papers?

TS: Yes. Put them over there. Don’t lose them.

BRAIN: Gah!!

/ remove belt, watch, shoes, and empty pockets place things with
important papers /

TS: Beep!

TS: Please step back and come through again.

TS: Beep!

TS: “Please move over here, sir.”

ME: “But my important papers! and my stuff!”

TS: “It will be fine, sir.”

BRAIN: Should I report that my bags are unattended?

TS: Beep!

TS: “Please come this way, sir. Into this room.”

BRAIN: Aww, crap!

ME: “But, but, my important papers…”

TS: Beep!

TS: “Please remove your pants, sir.”

ME: “Why?”

TS: “Your pants are beeping.”

BRAIN: No, your machine is beeping, my pants are fine.

/ TS wands the pants without me in them /

BRAIN: You know, ME, you paid to do this. Just pointing that out.

ME: ” ( mumble mumble mumble ) ”

BRAIN: That attitude probably won’t help, and they probably won’t take
it as a joke.

/ TS is now feeling pants and pockets for hidden things /

BRAIN: Maybe you just shouldn’t wear clothes to the airport.

TS: “I’m confused. There’s nothing here.”

BRAIN: Telling him there is no metal in your pants because he is
unattractive is not funny.

ME: “Yeah. I wonder if it was my glasses?”

BRAIN: Your glasses are almost entirely polycarbonate. And how are you
wondering anything? Don’t wonder off alone like that, it’s dangerous.

TS: Hurry

/ get dressed /

ME: “Where’s my stuff?”

TS: “Um, over where you left it?”

TS: Don’t lose your important papers.

BRAIN: I have nothing to say to you.

TS: Wait

TS: Hurry

TS: “Do you have your important papers?”

ME: “Yeeesss.”

TS: Hurry

BRAIN: Well, yeah, hurry, but there are people in front of me, so no
biggie.

TS: Wait

BRAIN: You have a lounge I can wait in?

ME: “A skull’s not good enough for you?”

/ confused, semi-freaked out looks from people in hearing range /

TS: Hurry

BRAIN: Crap! There’s no one in front of me anymore, they’re all waiting
on me! Hurry!

TS: Wait

/ lift off /

ME: “What’s your problem?”

BRAIN: These seats are too close, and there is insufficient headrest.

ME: “Oh. Kay.”

BRAIN: ow ow ow ow

ME: “ow ow ow ow”

TS: Try yawning or chewing gum

BRAIN: It’s not my ears you moron, the seat in front of me is in my knees!

ME: “ow.”

TS: “Anybody want a peanut?”

/ land in AMSTERDAM /

TS: (heavily accented) “You have some important papers, yes?”

ME: “Sure!”

BRAIN: They weren’t in my pants! 

ME: “Don’t say that, she’s not going to understand the wink.”

TS: “Wat?”

ME: “I’m American.”

TS: Wait

/ security repeat /

BRAIN: You just walked through with your shoes, belt, and watch, and
they said nothing and nothing beeped.

ME: “I don’t want to talk about it.”

BRAIN: Look who’s talking. But there must be a sensitivity level that
can be adjusted. Probably could have gone through with a knife. Think
anyone else has a knife?

ME: “I don’t care. Don’t think about it.”

BRAIN: What else do you expect me to do?

ME: “Hurry or Wait. Take your pick.”

/ land in ZURICH /

CITY: “Bonjour!”

ME: “English?”

TS/CITY: “Would you like a watch?”

ME: “No.”

TS/CITY: “Would you like a pocket knife?”

ME: “No.”

TS/CITY: “Would you like some cheese?”

ME: “No.”

TS/CITY: “Would you like some chocolate?”

ME: “Maybe later.”

TS/CITY: “Would you like a watch?”

BRAIN: Oh Lord.

TS: You cannot enter Switzerland with Cheese or Meat.

ME: “Where do I pick up the car?”

TS: “This way sir, turn left at the watch shop, go past the entire store
of Swiss army knives. The store might also have a few hats, if you’re
into that sort of thing. You’ll see an information center, which has a
lovely display of Swiss knives and watches, that can direct you further.

ME: “Ok.”

/ Drive to ISCHGL, AUSTRIA /

ME: “It’s hilly here.”

BRAIN: Duh

CITY: “Pizza?”

BRAIN: That was unexpected.

/ Five days later, drive back to ZURICH, CH /

BRAIN: Wait, what? CH?

ME: “Wait, what? CH?”

CITY: “Confederatio Helvetica”

ME: “What’s that?”

CITY: “It’s Switzerland.”

BRAIN: I’m confused.

CITY: “We like to call ourselves Confederatio Helvetica. Sounds cool.”

ME: “Well, I like to call myself ‘El Presidente de Dangaea’ but I don’t
put it on my money.”

CITY: “We put it on our money.”

ME: “OK. I suppose a country of three languages, none of which is
‘Swiss’, is allowed to have an alter-ego. In fact, it might be necessary.”

TS: You don’t have to be here so early.

ME: “Woo Hoo! Exploring!”

CITY: “Would you like a watch?”

ME: “No, but I need to get a gift! Was something said about chocolate?”

CITY: “Would you like some chocolate?”

ME: “Ye-es.” (See discussion of chocolate in the ‘Zurich’ part)

/ At this point, CITY does not warn that said chocolate will ruin all
other chocolate for us for the rest of our lives. It can only be assumed
that this lack of warning was a conscious decision on CITY’s part. /

BRAIN: You have tasted the forbidden beans and can never be the same again.

ME: “Ommy gosth thish ith gudd!”

BRAIN: What?

ME: *Gulp*, “I said, ‘Oh My Gosh This Is Good’”.

BRAIN: I know. I’m just playing with you.

ME: “It’s even not bad mixed with these tears of joy.”

TS: The wait until you have to hurry is nearly over.

ME: “If so much of it wasn’t intangible, I’d beat The System like it was
a red-headed merengue.”

BRAIN: Please, please stop trying to be clever without me.

ME: “Doshkay”

BRAIN: I think that if you kept speaking English with a mouthful of
chocolate, the German speakers would understand you better.

/ drive back to Flughafen (i.e. Airport) Thank goodness for the little
pictures of airplanes on the signs. /

TS: Hurry, Wait, Wait, Hurry, Wait, Hurry, Wait, Wait…

/ At this point, too tired to remember details. Flew to Amsterdam. Flew
to Newcastle. Arrived home. Still recovering. /

And so ends the story. And I can corroborate the chocolate segment. Some parts of this story were actually said out loud for reals. Now go back and re-read it. See where SciMan said things.

Some sad news about Russian Hat Man

Few days back the following happened. I think it was Monday.

A nice couple came into the shop.  I say nice because they were kind to me. They could be tax frauds for all I know. Working class definitely, but still…nice. I waited on them at the till and after I handed her her change, the woman said she liked “how I talk”, that I was “fun to listen to”. Then the guy asked me if I was ever on Jerry Springer. I told him of course not, but that I’ve been on Maury Povich twice. I had him going for a second before I let him off the hook.

Russian Hat Man also came in that day. He had seven, SEVEN, pieces of flair on his tummy! I don’t know where the new one came from…it wasn’t one of ours. But he did buy something! He bought a beer mug with Homer saying, “D’oh!” And I found out why he’s got the bandage. He went to Durham University Hospital to remove a lump just above his eyebrow. And he proceeds to tell me, in great detail, how exactly one goes about being an outpatient. But he’s got that thick Geordie accent, so I have no idea what he really said. I like my version of the events better.

Emma, a college gal who is no longer with us because she’s now back at her university, told me he comes in quite regularly. And that he’s never talked to her. Seriously! What is it about me that makes the crazies comfortable with me? I’m not this brand of crazy, trust me. And the elderly! I’m standing off to the side by a rack of trousers (can’t say pants because underwear is pants here) leaning against the railing and an elderly couple come in (different from the silver service couple) to browse or spend their money like people do. The wife loudly says “I’m looking up here at these” while the husband heads to the back of the store where I’m standing. I’m playing solitaire on my phone. I’ve just quickly glanced up and then looked back down at my phone and next thing I know, thick glasses magnifying an impressive set of eyebrows and complemented with quite the array of nosehair. He starts talking to me about the weather and his wife’s spending habits. It happened so fast, I have no idea what to say… so I said nothing. I may have said something noncommittal but polite. I hope so.

Some day I’ll write about the people I work with. Leslie, Laura, Laura, Jill, Alex, and John. Collin, Emma, Matthew, and Tom. I will want to remember them. They are all of them characters.

Interview follow-up and Charity Shop Customer's Story

Well. It’s been a positive couple of days, innit?

After I dropped off Natalie at school (story about that in a few), I headed to the train station. Bought my ticket to Newcastle for the 10:22 train. Ate a blueberry muffin and drank a large coffee while I waited at the Victorian-era side of the station. Platform 2, to be exact. No 9 and 3/4 here. Took less than 20 minutes by train to get to Newcastle and it goes through sheep pastures and the remnants of the coal industry. What distinguishes Newcastle for me is the large buildings that aren’t cathedrals. This is how I know I’m in Newcastle and not Durham. Anyways, I digress. Stood in the taxi queue and the taxi marshal was a very pleasant man. Chatted him up for the two minutes it took for it to be my turn to get a taxi. Taxi marshals are responsible for keeping the line moving and he was supposed to be working with another man. But the other man was on his lunch break, sitting across the road watching us. We had us a small laugh. I get in the taxi and I have to surrender my nice large Costa coffee to the driver. Must be policy that passengers cannot have liquids whilst being a passenger. Mmmph. My driver was competent and the taxi smelled nice too. Black leather. I arrived 15 minutes until my appointment but I decided to go in anyways so I could wait inside as it was EXTREMELY WINDY. Home has its windiness, but here it’s a different thing altogether because it’s windy when it is cold and sunny and when it is cold and cloudy. There’s no good way to dress for this place. Or have a decent hairdo. Must be why those girls tease and sweep their hair over their heads. Seriously, they have hair like helmets. And the taxi cost £6.00. My train ticket only cost £5.00! Hmmmph.

I go in and am immediately buzzed in and am directed to Tanya’s office. Tanya is my case worker/coordinator/support consultant. I give her my paperwork that they requested, told her I was still trying to get a National Insurance Number, and that I didn’t have a checking account so I couldn’t write her a check. All of this was fine and can be taken care of at a later time, like today and whenever. I will need a UK police check as well as an FBI background check WITH fingerprints. Oh my stars. So I have to call the Embassy and the National Fingerprint Centre at Scotland Yard.

Is anyone else starting to think this is a bit more of hassle than what’s necessary? I sure am. But it stems from an incident where (I think) four girls were murdered by a supply teacher three or four years ago…and it was found that NO background checks were done on this man. So, I’m saving lives really by jumping through these hoops. Think about it. Back home, a lot of districts only required a high school diploma and a blood-borne pathogen training seminar for their substitute teachers. Some had the background checks…but not all. Don’t remember which though; I worked for three districts and I can’t remember. Sad.

I fill out paperwork and Tanya asks me more questions that she records on her computer’s questionnaire. And that’s it. I’m basically hired. I can start working as soon as I get my clearances and NI number, provided there’s a job needing filled. She calls a cab for me, one that she assures me is cheaper (and it is!) and I head back to the station. Caught the 12:34 train to London King’s Cross, which called (stopped) at Durham and I headed towards the charity shop.

Story about Natalie’s drop off:

Natalie is been very imaginative recently. In transit to school, we’re either on a boat or a plane. And we must always look for kites and trains while we’re on the bus. She likes to pretend she’s a puppy and can imitate the whimpering of Lady from Lady and the Tramp with great accuracy.

She really likes to go to St Oswald’s. She has a peg for her bag and coat with her name on it and since she recognizes her name, she knows exactly where to put her stuff. She’s usually going so fast at this point that sometimes she starts playing before I can get her jacket off.

MOMENT OF WIN: This summer we attended the toddler/young kids playgroup at the PlayPit (indoor climbing and slides and ball pit) where I had hoped that Natalie would meet some little girls to be friends with and where I could meet some little girls’ moms to be friends with. You know I had no luck. Crazy people will tell me their life stories, but normal people (by appearances) won’t give me the time of day. There was a couple of girls Natalie’s age with moms around my age and so I got excited. But each time we went, the moms would never look at me and if I said hello, it was greeted with a tight smile and nod. That’s it. Their little girls were little girls…they knew each other, but didn’t try to include Natalie or anyone else for that matter. Really, in hindsight it was quite pathetic of me. I did talk to some women there, but either their kids were too young for Natalie to play with outside of the group (like at our house or at the park) or they didn’t come regularly. I don’t feel like the two women I’m speaking of needed to include me, but I do feel that more courtesy could be shown when someone is sitting right next to you and they are obviously not from around. And I was on my BEST behavior. None of my smartass shit. You know, I’m trying to be me still, but a cleaned up version of me, capisce?  Anyways, how this relates to the drop off yesterday is that one of the moms has her daughter in Natalie’s group. Natalie tears into the room and immediately  heads for the table with markers, color pencils, and construction paper. And there’s this little girl screaming her head off. Poor kid. Then I recognize her and the woman bending down to her. It’s one of them! And she’s trying to leave and her daughter doesn’t want to be left. I mean, I’ve been there and Natalie’s been there… but not like this. It was brutal. Ugly.

And it wasn’t me. I kiss Natalie good bye but she’s already forgotten I’m there. I head out towards the bus stop and wait. And after waiting a few minutes, I see the mom walking towards me. She’s on her phone. Eye contact made, she looks away. No recognition, no head jerk, no crinkle of eye corners or even a rueful mouth. Okay. I know you’re on the phone but I was just in the room with you lady, while you ineffectively tried to calm your daughter down. I even sympathized but now, now I’m going to feel superior than your ass because my kid can handle herself in a school setting. I’ve helped teach her that and compared to your kid, my kid is so calm she sneezes serenity. Plus my kid is a nice kid that other little girls talk about at home to their parents…as I found out from the American (!) professor whose daughter, Irini, talks nonstop about Natalie. Take that to the bank lady! We got a saying back home, “I guess that’s how you was raised”. Don’t worry, I’ll be friendly, but now, the real me will be there when the mouth opens.

Charity shop story:

An elderly gentleman and his wife came in yesterday. I was working at the till, organizing the collectible souvenir spoons, trying to see if there was one I could send home to someone who collects them. SO IF YOU COLLECT THEM, LET ME KNOW. This gentleman stood at the counter while his wife browsed the knickknacks and linens. He begins watching what I’m doing. So I ask him some questions about some of the spoons’ place names that have worn off and he very kindly helps me with some of the pronunciations and locations of these places. Then he gets to talking about his mother’s silver service; the kind, the quality, the extent of it. He tells me about how his sister in law took all of it. He was in the War, showed me the patch badge on the front of his coat (had a matching pin too!) in one branch of the Air Corps and how his three other brothers were in the military also. So his mother dies but he can’t get home because he’s deployed. One of his brothers is able to get leave…this is the brother who is married. The War ends and the gentleman comes back home from his tour. He goes to his mother’s house and noticed the silver was gone. He can’t find the sister in law or the silver. Turns out it was worth hundreds of thousands of pounds even THEN. Imagine the value now. So, why couldn’t the gentleman find his sister in law? Turns out, the brother who was married to this woman, when he was home on the leave for the funeral…well, somehow the woman got it in her head to take the silver. He (brother) was in the Corp of Royal Engineers working on chemical warfare. He died during the War from chemical burns and she left with all the silver, headed somewhere south, and was never heard from by the family again.

Meanwhile, the gentleman’s wife has finished her browsing and is standing at the door. He looked up, looked back at me and said, “Well have a lovely day my dear. Goodbye now.” He offered his wife his arm, put on his cap, and out the door they went.

Royal Mail blunders

I JUST got back from picking up the car from the shop (new spark plugs) and lo and behold, a piece of mail that i returned to the post office with a handwritten ‘return to sender, addressee has moved’ just got redelivered. Here. Again.

Ischgl, Austria and some other stuff

Dan is in Ischgl for a physics conference this week and I’ve been set the task of writing down each of Natalie’s My Little Ponies™ names. I think I got the best end of the deal.

It’s pronounced ‘Ish ghoul’.

Natalie’s first full week of nursery went great!  Nursery is what they call preschool/pre-K here. The first couple of days she powered through the day, but towards the end of the week, at pickup time, we’d find her asleep or she’d have just woken up from a nap. The ladies who are in charge there think she’s a doll. She makes them laugh because she calls them and the other kids “honey”. As far as I can tell, she doesn’t have a special friend like she did at GoKids, but I’m not really worried like I would be if she were older.

So, I’ve got an interview on Wednesday with Elite Education, a supply teacher company. I’m actually of mixed feelings about this interview. I’m glad someone called me back after all the applications I’ve sent out over the past few months. I’m apprehensive about all the hoops they want me to jump through, that, at home, would be made fairly easy due to the infrastructure of home. Meaning: they want £36 to do a police background check and no checkbook means I have to have exact change. And I’m unclear if they’ll take cash. Also, I will have to submit a background check from my home country. Ye gods. Plus, all the pertinent documents: copies of my diploma, certification, letter of comparability, birth certificate, marriage license, ID, passport, TWO PROOFS OF ADDRESS, CV with all gaps in employment explained, blahblahblah. Supply teachers are substitute teachers basically and I didn’t have to submit a birth certificate etc when I did that a while back. And I have to register with the General Teaching Council for England (GTC) and pay another £36.50. I don’t have a National Insurance Number, nor do I have a Teacher Reference number and I can’t figure out how to start.

This place is such an effing disappointment. It is my hope that the people at Elite Education can help me out. And so, I’ll need to figure out how to get there…It’s in Newcastle. Most likely, I’ll be taking a train and then a cab to make the 11 am appointment.

uff.

Monday morning after I drop off Natalie, I’ll be going to JobCentre to see if they can help me sort this out.

Russian Hat Man Contest. And it's Thursday.

You may or may not have read about him in the previous post titled, “One of the Reasons…”. Please do so if you haven’t so you know his story. Go on now. I’ll wait.

Good. You’re back.

Saw him today again, but this time while walking along on the street outside the bus station. Two bits of info about him, one happy, one sad.
Sad one first: His left eye was all beat up and puffy and he had a large bandage on his head.
Happy one now: He had a new ladies’ brooch, so now he’s up to an even 6! Three on each side of the zipper!

Speculation: Those bits of bling are trophies from fights with little old ladies on motorized scooters. Spoils of war go to the victor!

What do you think? Submit your ideas by September 30th for your chance to win some action packed British sweets.

Since it’s Thursday, I went to the pub as usual to watch my show, “How I Met Your Mother”. Peter, the bartender, had the TV turned on and tuned in to the correct channel. He’s never done this before. Lynn, the owner and his girlfriend, let me know that it was him who did it. Peter’s snarkily indignant comment against the thickheadedness of Americans for tonight came while I’m watching a commercial for Debenham’s (a department store).I’m thrilled because I hear how the name is correctly pronounced. How it went down:

Me: Ah. So that’s how you pronounce it. Debbinam’s or something.

Peter: Aye. How else would you pronounce it? Just like it looks, phonetic like?

Me: Eh, you guys are always using the letter H as a way to cheat at scrabble.

Peter: {looks thoughtful, pausing} Aye.

Earlier this week, Dan found out more about some of the political economy of the pub and shared it with me. Norman, a regular, refuses to be served by Peter. If Peter’s behind the bar, he’ll leave. So, Dan asked why. Norman said, “Don’t like him. He’s an @$$h*$#. Can’t stand the guy.” Now, I’ve spoken to Norman on occasion. Usually, it’s because he’s got something to share with Dan, like the pictures of last year’s Tall Ships race. I also know he’s an Irishman and that he sits in the same seat every time I see him. Granted, Peter is stringent on the nerves but he’s a fairly smart guy (uses words like ‘puerile’ to describe TV shows) and he lets me interrupt his British cop show so I can watch an American sitcom. So, I really think that Norman has a crush on Lynn and that’s why he doesn’t like Peter.

I could be wrong.

Overheard this today

I’ll get to that in a second. First, some background….

Wore my red scarf today. Felt quite the fashion plate. Even was wearing the gray color that is so popular here…my pants (chinos). The clothing color palette here is just barfy. Shirts in greys, pale peaches that resemble skin tone, paired with stripes and or florals. So gross. Combine this with daisy duke shorts of any kind of material, black panty hose, gladiator sandals and a waterfall cardigan and you’ve got the Geordie girl uniform. {Finger in throat}. Oh, and something else: I like to call it the teenage combover. On any given outing, I will invariably see 5 or more girls with their hair parted two inches from one ear, teased into place, and combed over their head. I will post a pic as soon as I get a good opportunity. BUT WHAT are the girls wearing back home? Do please respond, gentle reader.

So, took the bus into town this afternoon. Checked in with the charity shop to see if they needed help today. They didn’t. Have wanted to get some comfortable and fashionable walking shoes…I can’t keep wearing my sneakers…sometimes they look ridiculous. Choices here are so limited BUT there is a Clark’s store where I did find some pretty cute ones {navy blue BUT BATTLE METALLIC!!! and criss-cross straps} which I think are $110 in the US but here they’re £55 which translates to around $84 and change… See Clark’s (Unstructured Collection) Un.Glare if you want to see what I’m talking about… So, I might just go back and get them tomorrow.  But I get ahead of myself…

This is what the action was here today in goodjolly old Durham:

I thought this was epicute of the older generation.

I really like people/crowd watching. Sometimes is more interesting than the purpose for the crowd.

Even the bankers took time of to capture the moment.

And this is what we were all watching. The raising and setting of the Marquis of Londonderry.

I too stood around to watch this event. The crowd gasped when the statue wobbled and the men working on it set it down to rebalance it. Finally they raised it to the plinth and set it down. A very demure cheer went up with a smattering of clapping. I so wanted to do the rebel yell BUT I refrained. SEE???!?!!1!! I’m assimilating!!!! I asked a lady who was the statue of…Just some guy who owned coal mines and built Seaham (a town here). Turns out that the statue of the Marquis is turned the wrong way, or so sayeth  the local lady’s son. Then as I was walking off, two local girls, dressed as mentioned above, walked past me. One girl facetiously deadpanned, “That was emotional.” “A lot of fuss for nothing”, responded her friend. Yes my friends, that is what I overheard today. Evidence that teenagers are the same everywhere. But I betcha ten quid that they too clapped and demurely cheered with the rest of them.

What I’ve been reading:

1. Terry Pratchett: The Colour of Magic, the Light Fantastic, Equal Rites, Going Postal, Making Money

2. James Patterson: I, Alex Cross

3. Andrea H. Japp: The Season of the Beast = medieval drama set in France…there’s a sequel and I’m going to the library tomorrow to see if they have it which I doubt but HERE’S TO HOPE!!

4. Winifred Foley: Full Hearts & Empty Bellies = autobiography of a 1920s childhood ‘from the Forest of Dean to the Streets of London’. The Forest of Dean is in Gloucestershire, closer to the Welsh border than to any other big town/city. Picked it up today actually and have laughed out loud more than once. She talks about having to wear handmedown panties that she belted with string.

5. Tami Hoag: Still Waters. Peter the bartender gave it to me. I don’t recommend it at all. If I were you, I’d go buy it and burn it for fuel.

6. Various children’s books. Rapunzel, Sid the Snake, Miss Polly’s new Brolly. A brolly is an umbrella. Umbrella is a fun word already and in Ohio they’re bumbershoots (bumberchutes?). Why is this contraption so crazily and happily named?

WHAT’S GOOD HERE:

Ah, the part of this blog that’s been missing these last several weeks…

1. Health care- I didn’t pay for my visit to the doctor. No copay, nothing. Then again, he didn’t give me any medical advice that I didn’t already know. By the by, the back is doing much better thanks for asking.

2. Double decker buses- Natalie loves them so hard that if we see one, she wants to ride it. Even if it isn’t our bus. TIP: always ride up top in the front but be sure to wear light loose clothing. It gets HOT!

3. The gummi bears are awesome! Much better than in US. Sorry.

4. Lisa- she’s a childcare worker at St Oswald’s. She always has time to stop and talk to me about Natalie’s day and I love how she treats my daughter.

5. New purse- I bought a new purse Mom! Navy blue leather…slouchy. Cute. It’ll match my new shoes =)

6. Window ice cream- Thornton’s is a chocolate/sweet shoppe (emphasis mine) on Silver St Bridge. They sell ice cream out of the window of the store. Today, Natalie asked for some window ice cream. Guess what we’re doing this weekend?

7. Open air markets with unique items.

8. Billie Jo’s- This pizza is sooooo much like a combination of Hideaway and BJ’s. The first bite put me into a foodie coma. I <3 Billie Joe’s. AND LOOK! It has the same initials as BJ’s!!! Trock on!

9. Alex Day- Please look him up on YouTube: Alex Reads Twilight. I ROFLMAO during Chapter 7.

10. Because Letterman does 10 things, so can I. Ummmmm…..Cupcakes are not called cupcakes here. They’re called fairycakes. And Christmas tree lights are not called Christmas tree lights. They’re called fairylights. Oh la. How does this work out? Santa’s a jolly old elf, not a FAIRY!

Hey! Thanks a bunch!

Earlier, @4: You really know how to make me feel loved, my peeps! I really frickin appreciate all your trolling…makes me feel good! I’m so underwhelmed by your response to me. Now you know you’re not the only one who doesn’t read this pos. Srsly, am I being punished? Rather passive-aggressive of you, wouldn’t you say? Normally you’d just tell me to my face, eh?

Took Natalie to the market square today to ride the merry-go-round and ended up riding the spinning teacups instead. Bought a new scarf today. It’s red. Also bought Natalie grey pants and a grey skirt to wear to school. The nursery starts on Monday.  I’ll keep volunteering at the Children’s Society. That’s right. I’m volunteering BECAUSE THERE AIN’T NO FRIKKIN JOBS HERE!!! Can’t even get a job as a garbage collector.

I hate it here. What a nice place for visiting but sol for living. I am really having a hard time trying to stay positive, optimistic, and upbeat in this place.  But do I want to come home? Not really. Work on that one, bitches.

Later, @9pm: You see, I have a lot of latent anger. I think. I’m trying to be a parent and not some woman with a kid. This is hard, even with Dan parenting with me. It doesn’t help that there are daily minor irritations that build up and then there’s something that I see, read, or hear about some/anything. And I get frustrated and infuriated by everything.

I’m so tired of hope. I keep hoping that I’ll get it together, that something I do will turn into a job possibility. I keep hoping that I’ll make a friend here… One that calls me. But you’ve got to be around where adults are for that to be possible. So I keep hoping that the drama classes (ironic, yes but shuttup) starting later this month will be a place where I’ll meet some nice lady (don’t care how old) or ladies that I can meet up with for coffee. But I’m also aware that (maybe)  there won’t be anyone there who I can hang out with. So this is why I’m tired of hope. It is exhausting trying to keep them up when the return has been so relatively little.

No I don’t want to join a church. Been there, done that, got the souvenir T-shirt. I will (most likely) never do that again. So what have my ideas been other than the drama workshop/class? Well…

1. Belly Dancing Class

2. Yoga Class

3. Creative Writing

Drawback… These cost around $65-$70 for 10 weeks… each. And then what?

Ennui

Infuriation

Wishful Thinking

Retreat.

Someone once told me that I could possibly make a book out of this blog, or the experiences I have here…same diff. Who the hell would buy this crap. I’m under the impression that I can’t even use my normal vocabulary on this blog because of  who’s reading it. Are my ex-students reading this? Is my mom or m-i-l or dad? My grandmother reads it, and if I used curse words like shit in the normal course of a diatribe, most likely she’d roll her eyes, purse her mouth, and send me the mental vibe that there’s a better word to use, one that’s more ladylike. She’d be right of course. So if people aren’t reading it, then what makes you (whoever you were who first suggested it, I can’t be bothered with that detail…What? I’ve got a brain like a sieve sometimes) think that someone would pick it up off the Buy 2, Get the 3rd book free table at Border’s?

Alright. I’m not the best communicator in the world. I haven’t emailed each of you personally and I’ll be damned if I call each of you… so, so what? Some people are self-centered, get over it. But I’ve kept my end of the bargain… how about you keeping yours?

Are you still with me? Good. This is where I’m going to lose some friends now.

And I can’t do it. I really cannot bring myself to say what I really want to say. I hate this. I hate this about me.  I have no one I can yell at.

But I still love you. Even if you don’t comment. I still love you. I will continue to keep checking my phone’s Google email  alert each morning in case one of you says something to me.