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What the hell…

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…just happened?

2018 – that’s what!

The Girl and I spent a very low-key Hogmany last night, staying up barely long enough to greet the new year as it poked its head nervously around the door. Who can blame it? After 2018 was dragged from the room, kicking and complaining, punching the air with all of the self-possession of a drunk going down for the third time, 2019 was pushed and prodded into the limelight, most likely feeling anything but ready.

I am reminded of an occasion many years ago at the Edinburgh Festival. The Youth Theatre with which I was heavily involved had taken a show to the Fringe. Fighting – as ever – for any publicity we could get we had taken a late night slot at the Fringe Club to parade our wares. As we waited nervously in the wings – instruments at the ready – we could hear the previous act going down a storm. As soon as they finished there was a mass exodus from the hall, with hundreds of souls pouring out and heading for the bar. Nervously we tiptoed in. Magically the place was still packed to the rafters, with considerably drunk and extremely raucous revelers, all armed to the teeth with heckles! The less said about our performance the better, but as we left one of the young thespists turned to me and said:

“Don’t ever ask us to do that again!”

OK! So this is traditionally the point at which I look back at the outgoing year and summarise what has happened for us. Given that everything at the moment is overshadowed by the scary goings-on in the wider world it must be admitted that – though the year has thrown up more than a few surprises – we have done pretty well for ourselves.

2018 was always going to be the difficult year for us. When we did our retirement projections well before we left the UK we could see that there was going to be a financial dip, caused in part by the fact that my state pension does not kick in until part way through 2019. The collapse of the Sterling/CAD exchange rate that followed the Brexit vote made things worse, though being able to purchase ahead gave us something of a buffer up to this time last year.

It was clear that I was going to need to earn some extra monies to support our adopted lifestyle. By this time last year I had failed to find temporary or part-time work and it was not clear how I was going to do so. I was most fortunate to land the teaching contract that I did, and even more fortunate that I got another one for the autumn (Fall). With luck I may have another for the coming spring. Of course, none of this had been planned at our point of departure and I really had thought that my working days were over.

The Girl has had a difficult year at work as a result of changes to which I alluded in my equivalent report of this time last year. Change is never easy and as a species we tend to handle it poorly. She has persevered – something that is a most admirable strength of hers – and it does seem that the situation with her agency is now greatly improved. Fingers crossed.

She is not, however, one to sit back and to let things come to her. She has thus spent much of this last year planning her slow withdrawal from the world of work as she currently knows it. To this end she is undertaking a year’s course of study which will equip her to set up her own business, which will then gradually supercede her current role.

With regard to matters artistic it has also been a somewhat varied year. I got to teach a term’s worth of drama to a small but keen group of youngsters up here on the peninsula, but it rapidly became clear that there was no easy route to making this into something more permanent. My efforts in the realm of theatre have thus been primarily been devoted to wearing my Board of Directors’ hat for Intrepid Theatre. I have been able to spend a fair amount of time making music and I am hopeful that developments towards the year’s end might result in a further collaboration in the new year.

2018 afforded us little opportunity to travel aside from the excellent short trip that we made to Montreal during the spring. It is our intention that in this regard – as in many others – 2019 will be different.

Christmas constitutional

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“Not many those mornings trod the piling streets: an old man always, fawn-bowlered, yellow-gloved and, at this time of year, with spats of snow, would take his constitutional to the white bowling green and back, as he would take it wet or fine on Christmas day or Doomsday.”

Dylan Thomas – A Child’s Christmas in Wales

Our Christmas Day constitutional was to Island View Beach. There was no snow and the sun broke through in a most pleasant manner…

Very lovely!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

The most wonderful time…

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…of the year!

Edward Pola and George Wyle

Yes – it’s that time of year again…

…to friends, acquaintances and gentle readers…

from the Kickass Canada Girl and the Imperceptible Immigrant.

Have a wonderful Christmas and a splendid Hogmany!

 

Blow winds…

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“…and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!”

‘King Lear’ – William Shakespeare

The first serious storm of the season ripped its way across the southern end of Vancouver Island yesterday afternoon – tearing dead wood and fresh young fronds alike from the trees, decimating the power grid and scattering bins and other appurtenances to the four corners of the earth…

It certainly seemed that way!

We lost a number of large branches from the trees that border our garden and our power was out for a little over five hours – fortunately being restored at around 5 pm just as it got dark (which it does here later than in the south of England at this time of year).

We were lucky that we got off lightly. The BC Hydro (our power provider) website shows that – 24 hours later – the southern end of the island is still subject to 256 outages affecting 33,777 customers. Our friends in Saanichton did not get their power back until midnight – by which time they were already fast asleep!

Reports suggest that the storm was quite the worst seen in the area for some seven to eight years. Tragically, one person was killed by a falling tree. BC Ferries cancelled 130 sailings on 14 routes and the ferry dock on Penelakut Island was severely damaged. On the mainland a man had to be rescued by helicopter after becoming stranded when the wooden pier at White Rock was broken in two by boats that had been torn from their moorings.

It is the norm in this neck of the woods for the winter storms to start – and indeed to be at their most severe – during November. That did not happen this year (November being particularly mild) which may well be yet another sign of the world’s weather systems being seriously out of kilter.

Bizarrely, however much damage did result the winds proved insufficient to blow away some of the less attractive inflatable Christmas decorations which ‘grace’ front gardens in this part of the peninsula!

Make of that what you will…

 

Dressing for dinner

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Image from PixabayFor those of us chaps who hail from a certain middle-class background in the UK – ‘bourgeois’ one might call it were it not for the pejorative connotations thereof (the Urban Dictionary includes this definition: “Bourgeois: originally refers to the middle class people in a capitalist society, however now used to refer to posh people!“) – there may be shared trajectory when it comes to the ownership of the necessary apparel and accoutrements for ‘dressing for dinner’.

This may be a little cryptic for some. Let me explain…

When one is a young man and goes up to college – or for some when they first find themselves in the sort of professional environment in which formal entertaining is de rigeur – there comes a point at which a young chap must needs have access to a dinner suit – or tuxedo, should satin be your thing. For most of us at that age and point in life, the purchase of such an outfit is out of the question and the costs of hiring seem similarly prohibitive.

For many the best course of action is (as it was for me) to scout around the many antique emporia with which the UK is blessed, searching for a suitable second (third, fourth, fifth!) hand outfit at a reasonable price. Given that most dinner suits see very little wear in their lifetimes this is an eminently sensible approach. I myself picked up a rather splendid Edwardian DJ many decades ago in an establishment that might have been in Bath – or just possibly in Camden Market in London… I forget which.

This sort of cobbled-together outfit usually does just fine until one slopes into middle age, expanding all the while in more ways than one. Of course, by that point one is usually also rather more comfortable in all regards and the hiring of a tux from a gent’s outfitter becomes just one of the incidental costs of life.

This course of action would probably see one through, were one not – like me – to find oneself in the sort of situation in which the invitations at certain times of year flood in so thick and fast that visits to Moss Bros (or other clothier of choice) become an almost weekly occurrence. There came a point in my middle years when the costs of repeated DJ rentals caused me to rethink the math (as they say in North America) and to accept that it was time to bite the bullet and to purchase my very own dinner suit. It might also at this point have crossed my mind that I could pass the fruits of such an investment on to my son and heir – if I had one – which I don’t…

What I did not anticipate was that at some later point the aforementioned tux would be unexpectedly rendered obsolete. For this some of the blame must be laid at the (dainty) feet of the Kickass Canada Girl, for it was she who suggested that – for our then impending nuptials – I might finally acquire for myself the complete Highland regalia. Once one owns the full eight yards, the Prince Charlie, the Ghillie Brogues, the Sgian Dubh and all the other trimmings one has little need for an alternative formal dress.

Or so I though until a few weeks back! When I offered to assist a dear friend with the hosting of a pre-Christmas ‘At Home’ at her magnificent residence but a short hop up-island, I am not sure quite what form I expected that support to take. It turned out that what she had in mind was that I should dress formally for the occasion in tails (I fore-went the white tie, but at least my black tie was a ‘real’ one: most Victorians seem prepared only to sport the ‘pre-tied’ variety!). Now – I don’t have a tailcoat of my own and had to hire one, but to save money I determined to press into service my old dress trousers (‘pants’ for Canadians).

I had not worn these for over a decade and nor had I tried them on until the day before the event. I hardly need say that I am somewhat more stockily built than I was in my younger days and even after emergency button-shifting surgery I learned over a five-hour period a little of what it must have been like for the ladies back in the days when corsets were worn.

Of such rich experiences our lives are made…

 

Oh Christmas Tree

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Where do Christmas Trees come from?

Well – in our case from the Saanichton Christmas Tree Farm!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidAs you can see they don’t just do Christmas Trees – but that is a big part of their annual turnover.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWe chose our Christmas Tree some three or four weeks ago. Here it is growing happily in a rather boggy paddock – with our tag on it.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe farm lends the eager customer a saw and the latter sets forth for the far reaches of the estate to try to locate the chosen tree. There he or she appropriates a lumberjack stereotype for a brief period, being careful to cut the tree at least a foot (two branches) above ground level so that it can regrow for future plaid-clad wannabees. Unlike our days back in Buckinghamshire, when I used to collect our Christmas Tree in Pearl (our classic Mercedes convertible – with the top down!) here in BC it is unceremoniously lashed on top of the Lexus. Not terribly dignified, but ’tis but a short run home!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid…and here is it in our drawing room waiting to be ‘dressed’.

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

Groundhog Day

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Image from PixabayI have done my damnedest not to burden these postings with further personal diatribes on the state of British politics (in particular with regard to Brexit) though I couldn’t help but agree with some commentaries this week that made mileage from references to the Bill Murray movie from which this post derives its title.

I am, however, frequently asked by bemused Canadians to explain what on earth it is all about – and I always do my best to give satisfaction. To that end I thought these extracts from a recent column by Rafael Behr in The Guardian (Westminster has known the options since 2016. Which Brexit does it want?) might go some little way towards clarification…

…or perhaps not!

The backstory:

“Brexit, as experienced by EU leaders, is the same banal dialogue played on a loop. It goes roughly as follows:

UK: We are leaving.

EU: We wish you wouldn’t, but if you must, there is a process with one fundamental principle: you cannot retain privileges of EU membership without an obligation to uphold EU law. With that in mind, here are the options …

UK: We do not like those options and refuse to choose between them.

EU: No other options exist.

UK: We believe they do.

EU: Tell us what they are.

(At this point the UK government wastes months arguing over whether it is better to use a jet pack or a magic feather to fly over a rainbow.)

UK: We would like to continue enjoying privileges of EU membership without obligations to uphold EU law.

EU: No!”

Behr rightly points out that – given where we now are – there are only three possible options:

“Option one: exit with a deal almost exactly like the one May has negotiated. By deal here, I mean the withdrawal agreement – the legal text that serves as safe passage to a transition period from where other options for the long term can be developed. The withdrawal agreement can be ratified or not. Its many deficiencies, including the notorious backstop, are intrinsic to Brexit and would be the same for any party under any leader. Changing the prime minister doesn’t change EU law.

Option two: membership of the EU – the best available outcome in strategic and economic terms, but one that incurs serious political cost by enraging already furious leavers.

Option three: exit with no deal. An appalling idea recommended only by fools, liars and vandals who relish chaos for perverse ideological reasons.”

How might any of these options be achieved?:

“Option one requires approval of the withdrawal agreement and an implementation bill in parliament.

Option two is reached by rescinding the article 50 notice, which should, for democracy’s sake, be done after a referendum, although the result of that is unpredictable.

Option three is easiest. It involves carrying on as we are, bickering about process, failing to cross tribal party lines in pursuit of consensus, refusing to be honest about what is available and watching the clock tick down.

Those are the choices. They aren’t complicated. The EU side identified them two years ago and spelled them out clearly. The British public is bored watching their politicians argue about the wrong questions. The EU is bored watching British politicians refuse to level with the public about the right questions. Everyone should be afraid of what happens in the absence of clear answers, because disaster by inaction is the default option.”

All clear now?

Splendid!…

Let it… er – rain!

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There are those – particularly across the pond – who think that if it is winter – and if it is Canada – then it must be snowing!

To be fair, some Canadians (though somewhat less on the West Coast) do little to disabuse outsiders of such views.

Here on the island the closing months of the year are far more likely to look like…  well – like this:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

O Canada (post!)

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Image from PXHereThis is a Canada Post post…

…and this will not be the first time that I have muttered darkly about the services offered by Canada’s postal office – and in particular the vagaries in the delivery thereof.

I still haven’t quite gotten over having our doorstep deliveries whisked away from us when we had barely had a chance to get used to them, to be replaced by an impersonal postbox stack (as decreed by the now recently discontinued communal postbox program – and if it is no longer policy why can’t we have our home delivery back?!) at the wrong end of our cul de sac (dead-end road). That I now get some much needed exercise every day and the opportunity to say ‘hi’ to our neighbours is completely beside the point.

Regular dippers in the pool of these dribblings might remember previous  grumbles concerning the problems that I had getting Canada Post to stop delivering communications for one of the former owners (now deceased) of this abode – or the time that it took so long to deliver an item that I had dashed near expired myself in the meantime.

Things have been busy of late, which is how the run in to Christmas has snuck up on us virtually unnoticed this year. I realised somewhat abruptly that if I wished – as I do – to fire off Christmas cards to my nearest and dearest in the UK I had jolly well better get on with it – particularly as Canada Post’s army of workers have of late been indulging themselves in industrial action. A more cynical expat from the UK might feel almost nostalgic for the days of militant postal workers and wildcat strikes causing millions of urgent correspondences to be dumped in sacks at the back of  the sorting offices (before Thatcher put a stop to all that ‘sort of thing’!) – but not me, of course…

No, my first eager move was – as ever – to trust the efficacy of the InterWebNet. I surfed to the Canada Post site and looked eagerly for the banner headline advertising last posting dates for Christmas.

There wasn’t one!

In fact, the whole site looked distinctly un-Christmassy. I used the search box to look for ‘Christmas’. I was offered some stamps!

I tried ‘Post dates for Christmas’ and was directed to a page telling me how to write a letter to Santa! I don’t know about you, but my Santa writing days are long behind me and, anyway, surely the kids these days send a text or use whatever messaging app is currently trending.

I searched on and on, but to no avail. Canada Post is not giving anything away when it comes to last posting dates for Christmas. Realising I had better get my skates on I rapidly scribbled a whole bunch of cards for the UK and elsewhere and headed for my local Canada Post office. The staff there were most helpful with regard to selling me stamps, helping me to stick them onto my cards and popping them in the box for me. However, when I enquired as to why their website was so lacking in festive spirit – not to mention essential information – they informed me that as a result of the backlogs following the strike they were not guaranteeing any delivery times – to anywhere!

There was – therefore – no point in advertising such!

Bottom line for those eagerly awaiting a card from the wilds of (west coast) Canada is that one will get to you – eventually (probably!)…

Previous advice re: holding breath is still pertinent.

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