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The Girl

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“Dying is not romantic, and death is not a game which will soon be over…Death is not anything…death is not…It’s the absence of presence, nothing more…the endless time of never coming back…a gap you can’t see, and when the wind blows through it, it makes no sound…”

Tom Stoppard – Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead

You would think that – given the unprecedented times in which we live – intimations of our mortality would be constantly lurking on the periphery of our minds… or at the very least intruding upon us – un-looked for – in quieter moments when the hubbub of the world dies away.

If it does not do so – and the behavior that we see on the news-reels suggests that it may indeed not – then that is probably because there is something in our makeup that makes us determinedly believe that – “it ain’t gonna happen to us“!

That may well be an essential mechanism for our very sanity…

There are – however – times when these things sneak up on us and give us a nasty fright.

The Girl was obliged to visit the Victoria General Hospital the other day for what is blandly labelled (so as not to frighten the horses!) – a ‘procedure’. This procedure was of the sort to which us chaps need never give a second thought, but that ladies of a certain age sometimes do. It was to be carried out in Surgical Daycare and was billed as a quick in-and-out – nothing to worry about…

…except that it was to be done under a general anesthetic…

…except that – because of COVID-19 restrictions – all I could do was to drop the Girl off at the front door and then pick her up there again later – once they had called me to let me know that she was ready to go.

The procedure was scheduled for 2:45pm and she had to be there two hours ahead of time. The procedure itself would be pretty quick but, of course, recovering from the anesthetic can take a wee while. We estimated that she could be ready any time from 4-ish to about 7-ish…

All I could do was to go home and wait.

The gentle reader will be well ahead of the curve by this point…

Yes – I did fine up until about 6:00pm, but I have to admit that as the clock ticked forward past 6:30pm – with no word at all from the Victoria General – a part of my normally satisfyingly logical mind started to run through the various alternative scenarios. However much one tells oneself that all is as it should be and that delays and diversions are to be expected with this sort of… er – operation – it became increasingly difficult not to start imagining the worst…

…and I have to tell you – that was not a pleasant experience.

All is good! Surgical Daycare called me at about 6:45pm. The Girl is fine and raring to go (within the usual bounds of taking things easy for a bit) and all gloomy thoughts have been banished once more to the outer darkness.

Strange thing – the mind…

 

 

 

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The fourth quarter of the year starts as it always does – with the Kickass Canada Girl’s birthday. There have been times in the past when the celebrations have been really quite elaborate, involving a trip to some splendid resort or reservations at a fancy eatery (or on occasion – both!). We have many happy memories of these celebratory excursions; those to Bath and the Algarve perhaps standing out in particular.

There are other times – however – when something simple at home is the order of the day. In such pandemic-ridden times as these this latter was clearly called for. The Girl seems to have had a good time nonetheless, having seen loved ones and dear friends and having at least been wined and dined on my special homemade pizza accompanied by a rather stonking Chateauneuf du Pape.

Happy birthday to The Girl!

October also means that the first month of teaching is done. We have scampered through the opening laps – acclimatising ourselves to the pace – and we are now digging in for the long haul through to Christmas. There will doubtless be a point – as the climax of the race approaches – at which there will come a moment of truth, when we must needs push through the barrier, discover our true character and determine who the winners and runners up will be.

I think I have pushed that metaphor about as far as I reasonably can…

The nights are – naturally – drawing in (boo!) and the only remotely good thing about that is that, by the time that we are aware of it, we are more than halfway towards the shortest day. Now I know that the winter proper (as Canadians would have it) doesn’t kick in until January and February but – frankly – that is a problem for another time.

I can’t let this moment in time pass without making further reference to Bath Rugby.

Oh dear, oh dear!

Today saw the final round of matches in the Premiership, the which would determine the final four who would progress to the playoffs. Bath needed only to beat the grim Saracens to get through. Naturally, having led for much of the game they contrived to give up several scores as full-time approached – the fixture ending in a draw! This would have been enough to put Bath out, were it not for the fact that one of the other key fixtures – the Sale/Worcester clash – was postponed after Sale suffered sixteen positive COVID-19 tests! That match has been put back until Wednesday, but if further tests are also positive may not take place at all – which would mean that Bath sneak through to the finals instead.

So – three days (perhaps) on tenterhooks and then a hardly satisfactory outcome – whichever way it goes…

Oh dear!…

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Photo by Andy Dawson Reid“Are you aluminiuming them my man?” “No, I’m copper-bottoming ’em Mum.”

Tongue-twister

Well – I promised you another anniversary – and here it is…

As of last Friday The Girl and I have been married for ten years – a decade which has passed in a flash… or mayhap in a haze of happy hours and preposterously pleasant pursuits. In common with others who would normally have been celebrating significant anniversaries in this most unprecedented of years we have been unable to do that which would normally come naturally – the throwing a party (or at the very least a full-scale barbie!).

So – I hear you mutter through clenched teeth – just how did you celebrate then?

Easy… we went out – just the two of us – to indulge in a splendid dinner at The Deep Cove Chalet. They may not have been able to accommodate the Ginger Prince earlier in the year but they had no trouble fitting us in for our special occasion on their lovely waterfront garden terrace.

Now, neither of us have previously visited The Chalet – which is no surprise in my case given my status as a BC ‘noob’ but is more so in the case of The Girl, who has intimate knowledge of most of the eateries of Greater Victoria. I think it is safe to say, however, that this will not be our last visit.

The Deep Cove Chalet – in its gorgeous position overlooking Deep Cove at the northern end of the Saanich Inlet – dates back to 1913 but has been owned by Pierre Koffel since 1972. It is a classic French restaurant of the sort that would come as no surprise in northern Europe, but the which is considerably harder to find in the non-French speaking parts of Canada. They do what they do well and with panache. The service was attentive and well-judged and they clearly have a good understanding of special occasions and of how to enhance them.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidAs to the feast itself – we shared Atlantic scallops followed by a fabulous steak tartare, before each having our own helpings of a wonderful saddle of venison. This excellent repast was washed down (though that is hardly the appropriate term – let’s say ‘perfectly complemented’ instead) by an excellent red Burgundy from Morey-Sainte Denis.

As it happened I had popped over to The Chalet a couple of days previous to our booking, to check the availability of wines on their extensive list and to arrange for our chosen one to be treated with respect and opened appropriately ahead of our arrival. On asking Pierre for his recommendation I was invited to go down to the wine cellar to have a look for myself. Once down in that chamber of delights Pierre disappeared, with a wry – “If you have not come out in an hour we will send someone to look for you“.

I think that it must be clear that we were impressed all round and really most grateful for the excellent hospitality.

 

Copper-Bottoming? Well – the tenth anniversary is traditionally ‘aluminium’ (not aluminum!) and I’m sure that you know the tongue-twister…

Well – you do now!

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“They say it’s your birthday
We’re going to have a good time
I’m glad it’s your birthday
Happy birthday to you”

‘Birthday’ – Lennon/McCartney

I guess that – if they say it’s your birthday – they probably know what they are talking about.

So I guess it must be so!

Who am I kidding? Of course it is…

A very, very happy birthday to the Kickass Canada Girl.

Have a wonderful day!

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There has of late been in these parts (as in many other places in the world) much to-do regarding the evils of non-biodegradable plastics. One area of particular concern has been their use for plastic drinking straws. Apparently Americans (which we are not – but who will do for the purposes of illustration) ‘consume’ more than five hundred million plastic straws every day, many of which end up (one way or another) in the oceans – the resultant micro-plastic fragments being ultimately ingested by seabirds, turtles and other marine life-forms.

This is – needless to say – not good!

Now – I myself very rarely ever use such (or indeed any) straws (the occasional paper parasol being an entirely different matter!) but the Kickass Canada Girl does – and she is naturally concerned. Although she fully understands that many purveyors of smoothies, soft drinks and other liquid comestibles are no longer willing to supply a plastic contrivance by which means these delights may be inhaled, she is a little taken aback that the vendors sometimes fail to provide a suitable waxed paper alternative instead.

Accepting that neither option is ideal, however, The Girl set about identifying a more permanent solution. These days – it seems – such can be found by recourse to the newly popular stainless steel drinking straw.

Since The Girl’s requirement is that such an implement be portative – and would indeed be carried around continually – it must needs come supplied with a suitable carrying case. This would ensure that – when thrust into the depths of a lady’s reticule – the item would not become sullied by any detritus that had collected therein. As a gentlemen I merely take the lady’s word that such eventualities do occur!

After some study on the InterWebNet (of course!) a suitable item was identified  – supplied by a local Canadian company entitled ‘CurrentStraw‘. Just how local I was shortly to discover.

The Girl has a not insignificant birthday approaching and dropped hints that she would like one (or two) of these gizmos to form a part of her gift package. I duly went online in the late afternoon a couple of days back and placed an order.

Imagine my surprise when – upon taking out the garbage later that same evening – I found a package containing the recently ordered straws resting on our doorstep. It had clearly been hand-delivered, presumably from somewhere very close by.

Now – that’s what I call service!

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidOne of the means by which the Kickass Canada Girl routinely earns her sobriquet is her habit of achieving virtually all of that to which she puts her mind. This is a wholly admirable trait and one for which I am eternally grateful. There are as a consequence, naturally, occasions on which she has set her mind on something and it is best simply to step back and to bow to the inevitable (taking great care that if one attempts to step back and to bow simultaneously one does not fall upon one’s arse!).

A case in point concerns the humble (or not so humble in some cases) bicycle…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWhen The Girl transplanted her life to the UK – all those many years ago – she brought with her a bicycle. On occasion she would tax me on the subject of acquiring a similar means of conveyance myself – that we might go out riding together. My resistance to the suggestion – on the grounds that the rural roads in the proximity of our residence were both too narrow and over populated with testosterone charged motorists – was expressed with considerable vigour and she decided to let the thing rest… for the time being.

When we crossed the ocean in the opposite direction in 2015 the bicycle did not make the journey with us. It was ‘accidentally’ left behind! I doubt we could have fitted it into the container in any case.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidWe had not long arrived on these shores, however, when – hankering to feel the wind in her hair (whilst also getting some welcome exercise) – The Girl decided that it was time to resurrected her former campaign. Given the wide open spaces, the broad roads and the abundance of clear air into which the testosterone can dissipate she was this time considerably more certain of getting her way. A small unexpected windfall furnished her the opportunity to declare that a trip to the bike shop was in order – with the inevitable result that we are now both the proud possessors of shiny new machines.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidGiven that the last bicycle that I owned (in fact, the only bicycle that I ever owned) was a gift for passing the Eleven Plus exam (at the tender age of – well – eleven!) the reader will not be surprised to hear that things in the bike world have changed in the interim. Changed, indeed, beyond all measure! There is nothing particularly fancy about these machines. They really are pretty middle of the road (though the bike lane would be more appropriate… ho, ho!) but the twenty four gears on this bog standard bike (sixteen of which I have yet to investigate) make my old Sturmey Archer three-speed look positively prehistoric… which, of course, it was…

I do hope that the photographs that accompany this piece do not appear overly fetishistic! Boys and technology and all that…

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