Flotsam and Jetsam – Page 35 – The Imperceptible Immigrant

The Night Manager

March 27, 2016March 26, 2016 by admin

Those familiar with my oeuvre may perhaps be accustomed to my occasion panegyrics in praise of one or other of the BBC’s splendid drama productions – ‘Parade’s End‘ back in 2012 for example – or the more recent ‘River‘ of last year. Should you be one such you may be wondering (if you have nothing considerably better to do with your time) why I have not likewise registered my approval of the wondrous adaptation of John Le Carré’s ‘The Night Manager‘ which approaches its culmination this Easter weekend on BBC1.

I has indeed been remiss of me not so to do.

It would be fair to say that the show is in need of no such puffery from me or – apparently – from anyone else. Viewing figures started high and went up from there. This is one of those occasions on which both the BBC and the viewing public get it splendidly right. This is one classy production – based on a typically strong Le Carré novel but given an update and polish that not only takes nothing away (something of a rarity in itself) but in fact adds quite considerably.

Money has clearly been spent on this Anglo/American co-production – and spent in a way that makes this viewer at any rate purr with pleasure. The writing is precise and spare, the direction and camerawork would not be out of place on the big screen and the acting is sublime.

There is no getting away from the fact that the English public school thespist ‘mafia’ – out here yet again in force in the shape of not one but two Old Etonians – currently appears to pretty much have the monopoly on the cream of the TV and film roles going. Many commentators see Tom Hiddleston’s expertly judged performance as the brooding hero Jonathan Pine as nothing less than a Bond audition. He is – however – given a serious run for his money by Hugh Laurie’s ‘worst man in the world’ – Richard Onslow Roper – from whom it is difficult to drag one’s gaze. Add the wonderful Tom Hollander and Olivia Coleman to the mix and one is blessed with a heady brew of a cast.

It can only be a sad indictment of the failure to invest adequately in the state secondary education sector in the UK – not to mention the ideological interference in the running thereof – that so many of the new breed of actors have as their backgrounds the rarefied atmosphere of the public (UK sense here) schools. Eddie Redmayne, Tom Hiddleston, Harry Lloyd, Rory Kinnear, Henry Lloyd-Hughes, Benedict Cumberbatch, Damian Lewis, Dominic West, Chiwetel Ejiofor, Rosamund Pike, Rebecca Hall, Emily Blunt… the list goes on. Of course these schools have wonderful facilities and can recruit teaching staff from the top drawer, but there is more to it than that. Whatever the reason, the top independent schools in the UK (as most likely in Canada and elsewhere also) ascribe an importance to the arts that is no longer the case in other parts of the ‘system’.

Flame off!

Anyway – though it may seem a little late to be recommending ‘The Night Manager‘ at this juncture do remember that it is an Anglo/American production that has to date been only seen in the UK. It will doubtless be appearing on a streaming service near you ere long.

Don’t miss it!

Swing, swing together

March 17, 2016 by admin

Jolly boating weather,
And a hay harvest breeze,
Blade on the feather,
Shade off the trees,
Swing swing together,
With your bodies between your knees,
Swing swing together,
With your bodies between your knees.

The Eton Boating Song

I have of late been thinking about my mother. This is not unusual for the time of year – she died six years ago at the end of February and her birthday fell within the first couple of weeks of March – but so to do does tend to leave me a little wistful and reflective regarding life’s strange twists and turns.

The regular reader might well at this point already be scratching his (or her) pate and wondering what this could possible have to do with the Eton Boating Song. That is, indeed, a good question – the which I will endeavor straightway to answer.

Before the war my mother was in the Sea Rangers and – I am pretty certain – rather enjoyed rowing, though I don’t know to what level she practiced it. As with many things that one thinks one ‘knows’ from childhood this may turn out to be a ‘false’ memory, but of one thing I am certain – on a number of occasions she expressed regret that I had not taken up rowing whilst at school. She was clearly somewhat enamoured of the notion of having a son who ‘rowed’.

My Alma Mater was a grammar school in north Surrey which was also my father’s school. It was – and remains – a good school, though it is now co-educational which it was not in my day. Whilst certainly not one of the ‘great’ rowing schools it has always been there or thereabouts. The school has its playing fields – complete with boathouse – on the banks of the Thames and it takes the sport seriously. The alumni include at least one Olympic gold medal winner in the shape of James Cracknell, of whom the school is understandably proud.

Much to my mother’s dismay I declined to join the boat club. I was a fairly stringy kid at that age – fast enough as a sprinter but without much in the way of upper body bulk. I have always considered myself far too much of a lightweight for such a physical sport. Besides – the rowers had to turn out for training at six in the morning – in all seasons! Since I lived a good hour’s journey from the school that meant getting up at an ungodly hour regardless of the weather – or of the fact that it was still the middle of the night! The final straw was that the master in charge of rowing at the time was the sort of petty tyrant fairly prevalent in grammar schools of the era. I had already had several unpleasant run-ins with him and I didn’t fancy making myself a target in yet another area.

Previous posts on this journal do attest – however – to my enjoyment of rowing as a sport. I was fortunate enough to work at two institutions which can truly be considered ‘great’ rowing schools – one of which built its own rowing trench (later used as the venue for the London 2012 Olympics) and the other of which is the current holder of the Princess Elizabeth Cup at the Henley Royal Regatta.

In light of all of this I like to think that my mother would have been looking down from god’s elastic acre on Tuesday last with a smile on her face. Had she done so she would have observed the Kickass Canada Girl and I – in the company of a couple of elderly (but most impressive) expat Englishwomen from the Victoria City Rowing Club – taking our first outing on Elk Lake in a quad scull!

How this came about is of itself something of a saga – featuring a conversation that the Girl had about rowing at a Burn’s Supper with a gentlemen who knew one of these redoubtable octogenarian athletes and who put her in touch with them. The ladies were marvelous… unbelievably fit and most wonderfully patient with the couple of complete novices. I don’t for a moment suppose that sculling in a four looks easy and I can assure you that appearances do not deceive. Balance – co-ordination – the ability to perform a sequence of contradictory actions simultaneously but independently… I was expecting muscular pain and shortage of breath. What I got was mental agony – from trying to stop my conscious brain from impeding the required subconscious rhythm.

Will we try it again? We may well do. For those brief moments when the four of us magically became as one and the boat flew across the water the sensation was magical – so who knows!

I think mother would be pleased!

Pure dead brilliant!

March 13, 2016 by admin

At the risk of giving the impression that this journal has drifted off into that territory more commonly inhabited by rugby blogs I do just have to post something regarding the penultimate round of the 2016 Six Nations’ Championship.

Since I wrote somewhat despairingly a few weeks back concerning Scotland’s crablike progress since last year’s World Cup – with particular reference to the manner in which they surrendered the Calcutta Cup to the English – I have maintained a (reasonably) dignified silence. I have thought not to trouble the gentle reader either with the Scots’ further missed opportunity against the Welsh or indeed the occasion on which they eventually broke their recent Six Nations’ duck with an appropriately convincing win against Italy in Rome.

I cannot – however – let pass without comment today’s epic demolition of the French at Murrayfield, the first such victory for a decade. Brilliant! Quite apart from the historic nature of the victory – and the most satisfying manner in which it was achieved – it has been a considerable while since the Scots enjoyed back to back wins in the championship. This will do their confidence no end of good.

The result has had the slightly unexpected side effect of handing the championship to the English (who had an equally gratifying if much more tense win against Wales at the Cabbage Patch) with a fixture yet in hand. This has apparently not happened since the five became six back at the turn of the century.

The final round of matches next Saturday might thus at first glance appear to have little import, given that the tournament winners have already been decided. I do not, however, believe this to be the case.

Wales – up first – will doubtless want to put yesterday’s lacklustre performance behind them by savaging the hapless Italians, past whom the Irish put nine tries yesterday (some of them gift-wrapped and delivered by express courier).

The Scots would love to cap their recent renaissance with a win in Dublin which would give them their best finish in years, but the Irish – who have themselves suffered a dismal campaign – will doubtless be inspired by their antics against the Azzuri.

The English – having won the championship without actually being there to celebrate – will doubtless want to rout the French in Paris to win a Grand Slam – which would be the first such since their world cup winning year of 2003. Were they so to do a great deal of the hurt and misery subsequent to their dismal exit from the last world cup might be somewhat assuaged.

For now, though, congratulations to the English on the championship – and even bigger congratulations to the Scots for their magnificent win against the French.

…or studio?

March 5, 2016March 5, 2016 by admin

As promised in my last post – herewith some images of how my studio/study has turned out. Needless to say – I am pretty dashed pleased with it.

The black things in the corners and on the side walls are bass traps, which I made from six inches of acoustic insulation covered with felt following one of many guides available on the InterWebNet. For those unfamiliar with such matters the idea is to try to produce a room that is as acoustically neutral as possible. No parts of the frequency spectrum should be exaggerated or diminished, reflections should be kept to a minimum and the layout of loudspeakers and listening position should be carefully calculated to avoid standing waves.

The little desk was already built in. I added the shelves.

Having lived for nearly two decades in apartments – however splendid they may have been – and thus having been restricted both in the amount of space available and the level of sound that could be produced without complaint, this is pretty much heaven! I have never before been in possession of a space large enough that I could dedicate it specifically to this end, and my gratitude that I finally am so knows no bounds.

The icing on the cake? This is what I see through the window from my desk!

Man Cave…

March 2, 2016 by admin

It was, you may recall, my intention that I would convert the capacious outbuilding behind the house (used most recently by my predecessor here as a woodworking/carving shop) into what the Girl delights in describing as a ‘Man Cave’.

Should you happen to be unfamiliar with this particular sobriquet the InterWebNet is – as ever – most helpful. The Urban Dictionary defines the ‘Man Cave’ thus:

“A room, space, corner or area of a dwelling that is specifically reserved for a male person to be in a solitary condition, away from the rest of the household in order to work, play, involve himself in certain hobbies, activities without interruption. This area is usually decorated by the male that uses it without interference from any female influence.”

Well – that sounds good – though I’m not too sure about the ‘female influence’ part!

Should one care to investigate further one can find on the InterWebNet what is described as ‘The Official Man Cave Site‘ – under the tagline “Taking back the world one Man Cave at a time” – whatever that might mean! Yes – well… that’s quite enough of that!

Now – I have always prided myself on being something of a ‘reconstructed man’. I certainly fervently believe that the sexes are equal (and should be treated as such in every respect) – except when the (not so) occasional bonehead behaviours of some of my gender cause me to sigh deeply and to wonder if the female of the species is not – after all – perhaps more equal than the male. I therefore have to distance myself somewhat from all of this testosterone and to declare fervently that both sexes have equal need of spaces in which to practice their own essential rituals and creative acts.

Mine – as it turns out – will not after all be in that rather delicious looking outbuilding.

Once winter set in it became all too apparent that a space that large and disconnected from the house would rapidly run up a fairly hefty heating bill were it to be kept warm throughout the season. Further, the building’s origins as a glorified shed were betrayed by its not being as free from damp as both I and my musical instruments were prepared to tolerate. Reluctantly I decided I had to look elsewhere.

This downstairs room (of which this picture came from the Realtor’s details) was listed as a bedroom. The Girl called it ‘the Sauna’ for obvious reasons. With a tiled floor, pine clad walls and a rather odd layout which included an exterior door, it was difficult to know quite what use might be made of it. A little head-scratching and contemplative stroking of the jaw – all the while gazing at the space through half-closed eyes – lead to a ‘light-bulb’ moment.

This might after all make the perfect studio/writing room…

In my next post I will show you how that turned out.

Same, same – but different!

February 22, 2016 by admin

Back to Westhills Stadium in Langford on Saturday for Rugby Canada’s last home fixture (the final two games are away in Argentina and Chile!) of the 2016 Americas Rugby Championship. This match was also the first ever rugby test match between Canada and Brazil! Exciting stuff…

As you can see, this is very different to a 6 Nations fixture:

These pictures are – of course – somewhat misleading. The stadium holds getting on for two thousand and was on this occasion gratifyingly almost full. The grandstand – however – runs only along the south side of the ground, with the result that my photos give the impression that the match was played in the middle of nowhere.

Rugby in Canada – as in the Americas as a whole – is definitely on the up but there are things that we Brits take for granted that they don’t yet have here. This has much to do with the game in Canada still being amateur, along with the concomitant dearth of funding. As you can see to the right in the background of this view of Canada warming up for this week’s thriller…

…there is at one end of the stadium a big screen showing rugby. Unfortunately it is not equipped to actually show the game being played – let alone the now obligatory instant slo-mo replays that are demanded in the UK – so instead simply cycles random northern and southern hemisphere ‘highlights’ throughout the proceedings… presumably to add ‘atmosphere’.

In fact, no additional atmosphere is required because watching the national side in Victoria is a true delight. The crowd may be small but they are knowledgeable and the ‘craic’ is first rate. On both of our recent visits to Westhills we got chatting to families supporting their sons who were recent additions to the youthful Canada squad. Two of these made their debuts off the bench for the last ten minutes or so on Saturday. One of them scored the final try and the other landed a penalty – to the delightful and unbounded joy of all concerned.

That one of these young men was the first representative player in an age to have hailed from Nova Scotia only highlights how difficult it is to organise a national team across such a vast land mass. There are more clubs and players in Ontario than anywhere else in Canada, but the climate is less favourable – with unpleasantly harsh winters – which explains why Rugby Canada’s headquarters is about as far west as one can go – in Victoria. Lucky for us that it is so.

Fans here are as fanatical as they are anywhere:

…but in Victoria you can reserve your seat simply be dumping your toque on it!

But of course – you are eager to find out what the result was…

Well – the Brazilians are quick and athletic and they didn’t give up without a fight – even though a fair bit of their play took place suspiciously close to the offside line. They don’t as yet – however – have the bulk or the necessary technique up front and it was no real surprise when Canada put their collective feet down and ran in seven tries, closing the match 52 – 25 victors. It was also particularly telling that all seven of those tries were scored by forwards – though that fact gives a misleading impression of the play, which was in the main adventurous and free-flowing.

Watching rugby at Westhills reminds me more than anything of being at grounds such as Moseley’s ‘The Reddings’ or London Irish’s Sunbury back in the amateur days in England. Very friendly, very intimate and a lot of fun. Big days out at Twickenham are all well and good, but there is a lot to be said for the way that the game is in Canada now.

Mind you – my favourite ground remains ‘The Rec’ at Bath… at least when they are winning!

Some you win…

February 8, 2016 by admin

…some you really lose!

I have reason yet again to be grateful to my adopted country – this time for saving the day on Saturday last with regard to the hooligan’s game (as played by gentlemen!). Rugby Canada prevented what I had billed in my last post as a BIG weekend of rugby from fizzling out into a damp squib.

I did not mention in that message that Bath Rugby – of whom persistent perusers will know that I am a huge fan – were also playing a home derby against Gloucester on the Friday evening. Having scaled the heights last season with a triumphant run to the Premiership Final they have thus far this season lost the plot completely. They were bundled unceremoniously out of the European Championship before Christmas and now languish in the bottom half of the Premiership table.

Friday’s result was no improvement!

For the first half of the Calcutta Cup game at Murrayfield Scotland gave the impression of a side with at least half an idea as to what they were doing. They spent much of the second half demonstrating that this had – in fact – been an illusion, losing in the end 15 – 9 to a somewhat raggedy-arsed England. Observers bewailed the fact that all of Scotland’s progress in the latter half of 2015 seemed to have been undone… very much a case of one step forward – two steps back.

Not good!

The French narrowly beat the Italians in Paris – by all accounts the result going to the side that were marginally less poor on the day – and on Sunday the twin tournament favourites – Wales and Ireland – did everyone else a favour by drawing in Dublin.

So – it was left to the Canadians to provide us with some rugby highlights which their young squad (six new caps!) duly did on a lovely crisp and sunny February evening in Langford, running out comfortable winners against a chirpy Uruguayan side by 33 points to 17. Both sides gave a fine example of imaginative running rugby and the small (1100) but eager crowd were sent home extremely happy.

This was the first weekend of the new format Americas Rugby Championship which provides second tier nations Canada, the USA, Chile, Brazil and Uruguay (with Argentina ‘A’s making up the numbers now that their first team play with the big boys of the Southern Hemisphere) with an opportunity to gain more international experience. The tournament is played over five consecutive weekends in a format not dissimilar to the Six Nations. Canada next travel to the US before hosting Brazil at Westhills Stadium again on the 20th February.

We will most definitely be there.

Oh! Calcutta!

February 5, 2016February 4, 2016 by admin

A BIG rugby weekend coming up…

This Saturday sees the start of the 2016 Six Nations Championship which is most eagerly awaited in the wake of last autumn’s Rugby World Cup – particularly given that none of the northern hemisphere sides exactly covered themselves with glory thereat.

I will – naturally – be up promptly (Pacific Standard Time) to catch the coverage of the Calcutta Cup from Murrayfield (for Canadians and non-aficionados: Murrayfield is Scottish Rugby’s base in Edinburgh).

Scotland’s Six Nations record in recent years has been dire but under their relatively new coach – Vern Cotter – they have looked altogether sharper than of late and arguably put up the best showing of the home nations in the World Cup. They were certainly robbed by a refereeing error of a rightful semi-final spot at the death of their quarter-final against Australia.

England have an even newer coach in Eddie Jones, who master-minded Japan’s excellent showing in the World Cup which reached its zenith with their memorable last minute victory against the Boks. The English also have a new captain in the much maligned Dylan Hartley – presumably appointed on the same principle as promoting the ‘bad’ boy to be a prefect.

All in all it should be a cracking game, with both sides having a fair bit to prove. At this stage I am filled with the Scot’s customary blind optimism, but we shall see…

Later on Saturday – after a suitable pause for refreshment – the Kickass Canada Girl and I will head for Westhills Stadium in Langford to watch Canada take on Uruguay in their opening exchange of the 2016 Americas Rugby Championship. I think it is fair to say that there was a time, not so long ago, when the Scots and Canadians might have been thought pretty much on a par in rugby terms. Whatever the truth of that particular notion there can be no comparison when it comes to attendance at the comparable matches. Murrayfield holds around 67,000 and for Calcutta Cup fixtures against the ‘Auld Enemy’ can be guaranteed to be near as dammit a full house. Westhills Stadium holds 1,718 and on the one occasion that I have seen a game there – the Canadian development squad in action – the crowd numbered only in the hundreds. Here’s hoping for a decent crowd for this important fixture.

So – on Saturday it’s “Go Scotland!” (subsequent weekends will find me also cheering for England again…) – and “Go Canada!“…

Addendum: Canadians and others may wonder why the winner of the England/Scotland game is awarded the Calcutta Cup. Wikipedia helpfully furnishes the history here and a picture of the splendid silver trophy – made from melted-down silver Rupees – can be found here. The original trophy is now too weak to be transported or man-handled, so both England and Scotland have replicas for use on cup days.

The immortal memory

January 26, 2016 by admin

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, an’ a’ that?
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man’s a man for a’ that.
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Their tinsel show, an’ a’ that,
The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor,
Is king o’ men for a’ that.

Rabbie Burns

To the Mary Winspear Centre in Sidney BC on Saturday last to celebrate the life and works of Scotland’s foremost poet and favourite son – Rabbie Burns!

It is no secret that the Scots have a special relationship with Canada – or that Scotland’s sons have played a huge part in making the country what it now is. Ken McGoogan – a Canadian with a professed Scottish-French-German-Irish-Danish ancestry – explored this theme in his 2010 book, “How the Scots Invented Canada”. Roy MacSkimming – in his review of the afore-mentioned tome for The Globe and Mail – elaborates thus:

“As McGoogan demonstrates, the restless, ambitious, hard-working Scots arrived in Canada early, when there was still plenty of scope for action. They explored the place, extracted its resources and, overcoming the hegemony of the English Family Compact, virtually ran it for decades. McGoogan points out that Scots and their descendants have represented only 15 to 16 per cent of the population throughout Canada’s history, yet contributed more than half the Fathers of Confederation, and no fewer than 13 of our 22 prime ministers – including, of course, the father of the country.”

Hardly surprising – therefore – that Canadians of Scotch origin across the continent are delighted to take any opportunity to revel in their ancestry and to celebrate all things Scottish. Celtic music can be found everywhere in Canada. Victoria is not alone in hosting an annual Highland Games. There are pipe bands and Scottish dance troupes galore.

The supper at the Mary Winspear Centre was hosted by the estimable and most excellent Greater Victoria Police Pipe Band and featured the Bon Accord Dancers, who were as athletic and spirited as any that I have seen in the Auld Country. The toast to The Immortal Memory was given by Dr. Katie McCullough – Director of the Centre for Scottish Studies at Simon Fraser (another Scot!) University.

Much merriment was had, including a mass but untutored attempt at the Gay Gordons – which truly was a sight to behold. I was sitting with at least two other gentlemen who professed to having had to learn this “old-time” dance at school – which might explain why they both sat it out on this occasion.

Wines and ales were quaffed and really quite respectable whiskies sampled. The buffet repast was splendid – the second such really excellent dinner that we have enjoyed at the Mary Winspear – though to this foreigner the haggis seemed a trifle heavy on the oatmeal and light on the offal and we were lacking the ‘neeps’ (probably because no-one seems able to agree as to exactly what a ‘neep’ is. To the English they are swedes! The Scots call both swedes and turnips ‘neeps’ and happily use them interchangeably).

A splendid evening was had by all and the only thing missing – in my view – was a rousing rendition of ‘Flower of Scotland‘.

Under-tow

January 14, 2016 by admin

I have to admit that – in spite of my advancing years and general all-round good fortune when it comes to opportunities for adventure and experience – I am still a neophyte in many regards. There are skills and proficiencies that I have yet to attempt, let alone to master, but at which others seem to have been practicing since they were able to walk.

Some such – hunting, fishing, flying, parachute jumping, skiing and so forth – I am not even sure that I much care about, although I am aware that they arouse in others a mighty passion. Other competences I have attempted in my later years, mindful that a chap probably really ought so to have done. Riding was one such. I didn’t stick at it for long – sad to say – discovering that (although like everyone else I must surely have already known) the pursuit is massively expensive and also that (and this was news to me) all horses are actually a fair bit madder than their owners.

The subject of this post is – however – none of the above. I was – until a couple of days ago – a tow virgin!

I know – I know!

Though I was for several decades the proud possessor of a 12 seat V8 Land Rover County Station Wagon (named Katy after the 4×4 army ambulance that John Mills cajoles across the desert in ‘Ice Cold in Alex’) which I even took off-road on occasion, I never did get around to towing anything with it.

My only real experience in this regard was assisting our dear friends here in Saanichton a few years back in taking their boat to the launch. I had to drive the empty trailer back to their farm on my own, the which I duly did with a certain degree of trepidation. I must admit that after a few abortive attempts at backing the trailer into its parking space I gave up, uncoupled it and pushed it in by hand. Not feasible when fully loaded of course.

Since I firmly intend to own a boat here on the island and will definitely need to trailer it, I already had on my agenda for the coming months some time spent in a quiet spot practicing. This gentle approach was blown out of the water in snowy Kamloops earlier this week when it became apparent that we would need to convey quite a large number of boxes back to Victoria. The only feasible method of so-doing was to hire a U-Haul trailer, to tow it over the icy mountains to the coast, to take the ferry across to the island and – having unloaded – deposit the beast at the Victoria U-Haul depot.

To say that the prospect aroused in me some apprehension would be to put it mildly. I had no real experience to call upon and – though the Lexus is supposedly well up to this sort of task – I had no way of knowing if it were fully equipped so to do.

In the event – and with some extremely cautious driving on my part, particularly when it started to snow – we made it back in one piece. We took the Fraser Canyon in preference to the Coqhuihalla – the former being nowhere near as high a pass, with Jackass Mountain being the only really tough stretch. The weather tends to be a little kinder as well on this route and the only downside is that it adds an hour to the journey. The Girl estimated that departure from Kamloops at 10:00am would see us reach the ferry at Tsawwassen at 4:00pm and she was bang on the money!

The hardest part of the whole proceeding was back in North Saanich. It was dark by the time we got home and raining heavily. I had to back the trailer off the road and into our steep and fairly narrow drive. It took two attempts and I nearly put the Lexus into a ditch in the process. Fortunately the natives are friendly in these parts and the few passing motorists forced to delay their journeys indulged my amateurish attempts with patience and the minimum of heckling.

Considerable amounts of practice will be required before I attempt that with a boat!

What I did learn is that the Lexus is a magnificent vehicle for this sort of thing. It scarcely turned a hair at having to lug a heavy trailer over the mountains in snow and ice and at no point gave us the slightest cause for concern. I am also extremely glad that we spent a packet fitting new winter tyres before we headed inland three weeks ago, a feeling amplified each time we saw some hapless soul in the ditch on the more treacherous stretches of the road.

The Lexus is clearly currently far better equipped than am I. Back to school for me!

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