Fragment of Faith

June 08, 2010

15 inches carved green oak from fallen tree. Fumed with ammonia and highlighted with wax. Wax can be seen on right side on high areas in pictures 1 & 4.

Fragment of Faith II

June 04, 2010

Second in the series. Lightly fumed oak finished with wax on high areas.

Carved Jewelery Box

Light carving done on balsa wood & finished with button polish.

Authorities to the Scene!!

March 12, 2010

Growing up one of the family friends was a deputy sheriff. He said one of his favorite things about being a sheriff was when they got a call being able to turn the siren on and driving like a bat out of hell to get whereever they needed to go. This sheriff is now retired, but he assured me more than once, there wasn't any emergency but he just wanted to drive fast. Lights on, siren on and pedal to the medal. Reading the newspaper on my way to work last week, I came across two articles which could only make me shake my head. Two seperate stories involving the authorities and the responses they each had to seperate crisises.
We complained about how long it sometimes took for the police or even sheriff to get anywhere in the county. I mean goodness, the sheriff should be able to cover the entire distance from Walker to Pine River in under five minutes. It is only thirty miles! Here, apparently this feat can not even be guaranteed across town.
One of the local towns received a call. A shop owner was holding two people under the cover of his shotgun as they were trying to break into his house and his children's steal bicycles. He stuck his head out of the first floor window and told them to freeze he had them under the cover of a shotgun. The would be thieves replied they thought the house was empty and proceeded to put the bicycles back. When the owner ducked back into the house to grab the phone to call the emergency number the theives fled. The owner chased them on foot for a couple of blocks. The police showed up forty five minutes later.
The second article told how a local ambulance driver was under arrest. It seems in trying to hurry to a call for help, the ambulance crew encountered a herd of cattle in the middle of the road. The story got muddled at this point as the ambulance turned off their siren. The owner of the cattle got in front of the herd because he was afraid the cattle were getting spooked. They are not sure if the ambulance turned its siren back on to try to get the cattle out of the way or the herd simply was spooked. The owner of the herd was trampled. Not to be mean, but I grew up near cattle and know if they are spooked, ain't no way in hell I am standing in front of them. I can't figure out why the owner thought it was a good idea. The driver of the ambulance remains under suspension and faces a charge negligence and the equivalent of a manslaughter charge.
Just goes to prove the mentality of some people. The one trying to hurry to help someone else here gets stuck and gets into trouble. The thieves hurrying to steal and run away get off scot free. And the police can't make it to the scene of either.
One final bit from the shotgun owner and the theives. When he told the police he had them under the cover of his shotgun and he had two children in the house with him, the police dispatcher replied he should put the gun away for his own safety. After, the newspaper called and asked for a comment. Summing up the mentality of certain police forces here, they replied. "Once the suspects had fled, the caller should have informed us so we could have called off the officers." Yup, makes one wonder doesn't it.

Package Control????

March 10, 2010

Another red card is dropped into my little black mail box telling me I of course missed the mailman and he has a package for me. Of course not being able to deliver the package, they send it to the depot on the edge of the city where I can pick it up for the next seven days. I must admit, I am not sure if this means seven working days or just seven days and I do not feel the need to test this theory. So logging onto the internet and the Royal Mail system, I request my parcel to be delivered to the local post office. This package has went from the main depot to my apartment back out to a depot a few miles away and now is being delivered to the post office six blocks from my apartment. Yup, the English and saving the environment. Anyway, I am sorry to say the package was not my delivery of Reece's peanut butter cups and peanut butter M&M's. Something much more important to a person living abroad.
Leaving work early and catching the train home to pick up my package, I am greatly pleased. I have escaped work, the train is on time and I will make it to the Post Office before it closes. Ok, one more rant. Does the USPS and Royal Mail share ideas? If you are a normal office worker, how do you ever make it to the post office? It opens after you go to work, closes as you are leaving and they always seem to have a holiday to be closed on. But I made it to join the line of twenty to thirty people being served by two cashiers. Holding my red "Sorry we missed you" card and making sure I have my one pound fifty to pay to get the parcel delivered back to anywhere near my apartment, I have time to watch the comings and going of the working English. I count the number of people now in front of me and try to guess which happy cashier I will get to talk to. I watch as the cashier who is dealing with currency exchange get up from her booth because nobody is doing any business with her and go and stand drinking tea. Not my job to help customers unless they want currency exchange. I watch as the supervisor deals with a rowdy customer in the "payment" line who can't understand why if he is from another town twenty miles away with no ID they won't cash a personal check for him made out to his mother. I watch as the supervisor disappears somewhere behind never to be seen again. I watch as another cashier finally opens another window. I see a person walk up to a window in which the cashier had finished with the previous customer but wouldn't talk to the next customer until she had hit her button saying, "Window number 4" over the speaker.
I stood in line until the speaker would call out again at my turn. "Window number 4." Smiling I hand over my card to Sheila.
"Do you have any ID?"
I take out my Minnesota driver's license. Complete with photo, holographic loon reflection and signature.
Sheila looks at my license. She slides it back across the counter under the rabbit hole.
"I am sorry, but that is not acceptable. Do you have any other form of id?"
Now at this point I am thinking this is kid of funny. I have my canceled driver's license which I then hand over to her.
Sheila looks at my second photo id. "I am sorry, this isn't a valid id. Do you have a British driver's license? Passport or bank card (Atm card)?"
I and her my ATM card which has my name printed on the front of it like normal ATM cards.
Sheila looks at the card and hands it back. "I am sorry this isn't signed. I can't accept this. Do you have any other id?"
Now I must admit that I am started to get a little annoyed. I hand her my credit card which has ask for id written on the signature line like most smart people do. Nope, no good. I hand her my book card which is actually signed. Nope, it isn't an acceptable form.
Now I pride myself on the fact I am polite. At this point wen she asked if I have any other form of id, I started to loose my good humor.
"I just gave you two driver's licenses with photos and my signature."
"I am sorry sir, but they are not valid. They are not acceptable as English driver's licenses. They are not even EU standard." Well, duh. I am American with an American driver's license. "Do you have a passport?"
I replied to her. "Yes, I sent it off to be renewed and that is what I am trying to pick up right now." I can't decide whether I should scream, laugh or cry at this point.
"I am sorry sir, but without a valid id, I can't give you the package."
"So none of my ids are good enough, but the id I need to use is in the package I am trying to pick up."
"I am sorry sir, but we need to maintain the security of your parcels. What if we gave them out to just anybody."
Yup, I know this is a big problem in this country. I have the receipt of the package when I mailed it. I have the card with my address and name on it which you left telling me I was out. I have two forms of picture id from another country. I have a wallet full of cards with my matching signature issued in this country. I am telling you what is in the package and I can open it in front of you which will have my passport in it. Yup, big problem with package security here. Obviously, the criminals are much more sophisticated than back in the states. They sure as heck go through a lot of trouble to attempt to steal a package from the local post office.
Sheila gives me a glimmer of hope. "If your bank card was signed, then you could pick up your package."
"So you want me to sign my bank card and then you will give me my package?" Laughter is starting to win the struggle as to what I should do.
"I am sorry, but you will have to leave before you can sign it."
"What? You mean you want me to step out of the line, walk over to the counter where you can see me, sign my card, stand in the line and come back so you can give me my package."
"If you want sir, but I won't be able to serve you. You will have to go to a different window."
"WHAT?" At this point I am actually laughing. I step four feet away, sign my card and step back into line. Back to the watching game. As I progress to the windows again, I count the people in front. I should get window two. Too bad, a lady with a screaming child messed it up. My turn. "Window number 4" announces over the speaker. I really can't stop giggling.
The nice little old lady behind me thought I was one of the most polite people as I let her go in front of me to go to Sheila in window four. I got window two.
The lady asked for my id. I handed her the now signed ATM card. Five minutes later she had to apologize as the package had not been delivered from the depot yet. She must have thought I had lost my marbles as I walked away laughing.
The next day I returned to the post office. I counted the people in line. I counted the cashiers. When it was my turn, the speaker announced, "Window number 4." Laughing as I walked up to the window and slid the "Sorry to have missed you" card through the rabbit hole. "Do you have id?" Sheila took my signed ATM card which I should mention has absolutely no picture on it and got my package from the shelf. Security?? Maybe if she would have asked me to sign for the silly thing once she handed it to me, I might have felt a little better. But then again, she had seen enough of my signatures the previous day she probably could do it as well as I can.

Network Rail. . . . .Brilliance and on time repair work

March 06, 2010

Standing at Sunningdale Station in beautiful Berkshire, one station stop from Ascot and only a half an hour from home normally fills me with a joy. If I am standing on the platform, it means normally I am on my way home. I have seen rainstorms, snow, sleet, wind whipped leaves occasionally sunshine, airplanes from Heathrow going and coming, a few sunsets and even the moon and stars as I await the train home.
My friends at Network Rail are one of the simple joys which add to the joy of traveling by train. This is the company which is tasked with the maintenance of the rail lines. A private company not quite owned, but fully subsidized by the British government in order to hide its debts from the accounts of the British nation. No, I do not make this stuff up. If in doubt, check on Wikipedia.

Of course, all of the works of man should need to be maintained and I will not claim the rail lines carrying thousands of people daily should be neglected. I can only question how any group of people can be so inept at scheduling and their ability to carry out the repairs on time for the people who actually use the lines.

Network rail had scheduled repairs for the Reading to London Waterloo line for a Sunday morning. The repair works are between Ascot and Feltham. Makes little difference, but it is about fifteen miles of rail they closed to repair a few hundred feet of track. Well, these are the stations where they have the easiest time to turn the trains around supposedly. Network Rail figured the repair works should run until 3 pm and normal train service should be restored by 3:30 pm at the latest. During this period and up until 4 p.m., they wold operate a bus replacement service for the effected stations.

I arrived at the station at 5p.m. to the station to see the signs still flashing that there were engineering works until 4 and the buses would operate until that time. This is not construed as a good sign.

The guy across the platform was already on the phone to the helpline and hearing his side of the conversation, I was filled with even less good feelings. Here follows his part of the conversation. . .

It seems the repair works were overrunning(as usual) and the help line had lost the buses. They could not tell if any buses were in operation. I know they are supposed to be running until 4p.m. Wait, it is already 5 so are they still running? So can you tell me if there is one or isn't there? He hangs up for some strange reason. Shortly after, a bus going towards London shows up. When those of us waiting for the Reading train ask, the driver can only reply. "I don't know, but you can wait by the side of the road to see if they are going to turn up."

At this point, I decide to try my luck with the help line. Boiled down conversation from their side went something like,

"We are sorry, but the engineering works have overrun. I am afraid there are no buses running. Yes, the next trains are cancelled because they can't get through Feltham. No, I am sorry, but the train crews running the trains from Reading to Ascot have all been stood down, so there is no trains from Ascot until the train from Feltham come through. Well, the next train will coming at 8:29 through Sunningdale. Well, you could go to Ascot and the next train will leave from there at 8:34. Oh, yes, you are right, that is the same as the 8:29. No sir, I can only apologize for your delay." I will leave it to your imagination, but believe it or not, I remained very nice throughout the conversation. She ended very nicely with, "Have a nice evening."

Yes of course I will. I like spending three and a half hours in 28 degree F temperatures waiting for a train that may never actually come because nobody with Network Rail management uses anything aside from their backsides to think with. Yes, I know, I am being bitter.

The train did turn up at 8:33. They were not sure if the next train would be on time or not. "Due to a fault, no real time information can be displayed." Luckily, that message came up around 8p.m. replacing the message that there was going to be engineering works and buses would replace trains until 16:00.

What is in a name?

March 04, 2010

After shortly arriving in England, being me, I would set off in random directions to do explorations. I have passed through and seen many wonderful sights. I have passed through towns and cities which I can say, I sometimes wonder about who actually decided it would be a good thing to give them the names they enjoy. True, where I grew up many towns had strange names. Most were named after Native American names for places or people. You can always tell people from southern states when they couldn't pronounce Nisswa (Niss-wha') got confused by Pequot (Pee-quot) Lakes or heaven forbid actually found the town of Nimrod on a map. People from Nimrod by the way are either fiercely proud or deny all knowledge of their origin in this town. England though seems to take this hilarity to new levels with towns such as Botley, Godalming and Dorking. A toss up, would you rather be a Nimrod or simply a Dork?
One person at work told me I should take a trip to see the castle further up along the coast going east. Confident in my ability to remember items and figuring it could not be that difficult to find, I set off the next day to find this example of British engineering and posterity.
Arriving at the ticket office of the train station, I calmly walked up and said, "I want to go to, oh crap it starts with Ar something."
The ticket seller replied, "Do you mean Angmering?"
"Yep, that sounds about right."
Paying for the ticket, the gentleman even tells me which platform and when the train would arrive. Traveling on the Southern line along part of the south coast of England changing at Barnham. Switching to the connecting train, I watch the rolling English country side and soon, a large castle rises up on a distant hill growing nearer. It looks to be surrounded by a small town and I can see a good sized church nestled with the castle. With my excitement growing, I watched as it went by on the left side of the train. However, the next stop was Angmering, so I figured I couldn't be that far off from my journey of exploration. Leaving at Angmering station, I calmly follow the signs for the town center. Walking for approximately twenty minutes, I reach the city center. I must honestly say, there is a quiet quaint village with a whole lot of nothing there.
It is at this point I see a sign pointing further up the road with a small picture of a castle. Following the sign up the hill thinking the trees and hill must really be blocking my view, I set off again in search of the castle. About a mile later, at a t-intersection in the road, I find a road sign. It is only five miles to Arundel which is of course where the first sign was directing road traffic to the castle. Deciding it was a little beyond my walk capacity for the day, I trudged slowly back down into Angmering vowing to make it to Arundel on my next day off.
When I returned to work the next day, a few people asked me how my trip to Arundel was. I calmly replied, "Oh, I didn't go. I just got on a train and picked a station and then got off and went for a walk." Well, I can say it is at least partially true. Besides, everybody was amazed.
I would make it to Arundel a week or two later enjoying myself greatly. It is only about a ten minute walk at most from the Arundel train station.
On a final note, if you ever do find yourself in Angmering, there is one of the best fish and chip shops in the town center. Maybe I should have claimed my residence in Dorking. . .

Arundel Castle

Obviously from Arundel Train Station

Carved Wooden bowl & Love Spoons

February 24, 2010

Few of the Welsh Love Spoons centered on plate.

My Own Hand Carved Wooden Plate.
Edelweiss & vine pattern with bead molding from Cedar.
No power tools used or allowed. :)

Love Spoons

Selection of my love spoons I have carved which are hanging around our apartment. All by hand, no power tools used.
Irony here, American carved Welsh Love Spoons in central England

Top : Bass Wood 5in tall 3in wide 1/4in deep

Bottom: Pine 7in tall, 1.5in wide, 1in deep

Top: Bass Wood 5in tall, 3in wide, 1/4in deep

Bottom: Hand Harvested British Beech 6in tall, 1.5in wide 1/4in deep

Bummble-Bee Holiday Travel

Everyone dreads the Christmas holiday period whether they admit it or not. Irrespective of the family members who you are attempting to be nice to in the spirit of the time of year. It may grate when you suddenly find yourself loosen your belt or pants again just when you thought the Thanksgiving bonanza had almost worn off of its unintended parts of your body. No, it seems the worst part to the holiday season is the travel involved. It matters little if you are the traveler or if you are waiting for the person who is traveling, events always seem to cast a dim glow upon the entire proceedings.
Take the example of two travelers from Reading who happen to be visiting the wife's family in say a contry in Eastern Europe. I will not name the country, simply refering to it by a false name of P and say perhaps the city may be W being their final destination.
The flight is destined to leave Heathrow early in the morning. Departure is around ten am. Minor problem, a snow storm arrives the night before and yes, as I have stated before, snow cripples England. Leaving their small apartment a.k.a. "flat" at four o clock in the morning to try to catch the four forty five bus to make sure they can make it, our intrepid travlers drag their fifty pound suitcases through four inches of snow about one mile. Let me make a minor correction, the husband drags the suitcases through the snow, slush and water because the English can't figure ot how to clean off their sidewalks, but why bother complaining.
After being told by the bus company the first bus went out, but they wouldn't know if they were sending out another until the first made it to Heathrow and reported, the intrepid travlers were told they should take the train as it was most likely the best way to get there. Inner shudder of fear and distrust passes through the husband upon being told this. Yes the same trains who can't get traction becase of leaves. Yes the same trains who get cancelled because of a dusting of snow or a hint of cold air. Yet, on this occasion, I must commend them, they actually got our train through. I feel sorry for the follow on passengers as I already saw the next few trains were being cancelled as we boarded ours. I, of course did not mention this to my other half. Crazy, not stupid.
Going through check in, one of our boarding passes refused to be printed. It seems there was an error and we would have to stop when we hit our airport change. Oh, yes from London we went to Prague then onto W flying the Czech national airline. No problem, we got our flight landed in Prague and went to check in our outstanding boarding pass. It seems however our seats were no longer together. Her seat was 6c while my seat was 9B. Asking the nice lady if it was possible to switch seats, she hit a few buttons on her computer and said, "No, I am sorry, bt the plane is full." Ok, we'll just ask someone to switch with us.
Arriving at the departure gate, there seems to only be about twenty people milling about. A little while later, they call to begin the boarding. Twenty people move into the line and one person looks out the window to see. . . . . No plane!!!!!!!! Asking my wife, "Did the Polish oops I mean P government upset the Czech airlines or something?" She laughs. Trooping down the boarding ramps from the first floor to the ground floor, we are calmly herding in a waiting airport bus.
At this point, I again count heads and it seem there is only twenty people in the bus as it pulls away from the gate. "Are you sure your government didn't upset the Czechs somehow?" She laughs. At this point the bus seems to be driving across the country giving us a full tour of the runway and airport and runway and hey I have seen this place before. Seeing a small passenger jet, I point it out to my wife, porobably that one. Nope, we continue our scenic jaunt. Past the midsize turbo props. "Seriously, did your government?" She shoots me a dirty look. We continue to drive.
The bus then makes a hard left turn. Why, at this point we are making a hard turn as we are near the ass end of nowhere on a airport runway, I can not fathom. Where we pull up to a small turbo prop aircraft being loaded by one baggage handler. "I just saw our suitcases." To which my wife replied, "You are joking!?" This should not be construed as a question and you should be under no illusion as to you should answer. The baggage handler finishes loading the bags including all carry on luggage bigger than a laptop, the pilot rolls down the window and is handed a small piece of paper. I am hoping at this point it is not the instructions to a) how to drive it or b) how to get there. Also at this point, a laugh escapes with the thought about the P government and upsetting the Czechs. Didn't ask. Crazy not stupid remember? We calmly board the plane to be welcome aboard by the single stewardess and the two pilots. They can turn around from the cockpit and talk to the people in the front row if the stewardess hasn't deployed her chair.
We rearrange our seats with some poor understanding soul and the bummble bee takes us into the air and on our way to W. You know you are flying slow and low when there is no talk about the masks dropping from the ceiling for pressure loss and the brace position for a crash is don't worry about it. Announcements from the captain can't be heard over the engines. It is a Saab by the way with ashtrays in the arm rests. Fun to play with when you are a kid annoying your parents, but worrying when I can barely remember when they stopped putting them in airplanes. Your butt and body get a free complimentary upgrade vibration massage though and a selection of water, three juices and mini cans of coke. Oh, the life of luxury.
The pilot had a sense of humor though. Everytime he made an announcement involving our one stewardess, he referred to the "entire cabin crew." Even the stewardess laughed.
We eventually landed in W. tired and well shaken.
It was only a few days until the traditional Christmas would exact its toll. Walking away from the bummble bee plane, "Yep, your governement must have really upset the Czechs." Ok, maybe a little bit stupid, definitely crazy.

Windsor Castle Fire

February 19, 2010

Sitting in my bar today, I came upon one of my regular customers telling a story about how she was partially to blame for the fire which wrecked a large chunk of Windsor Castle. Being the touristy type of person I am, I have actually visited the spot where the fire started in the castle. There is a small plaque in the room in the now rebuilt part of Windsor.
Little Sylvia as we call her is sitting down and telling her story of ow she was one of a few seamstresses who actually worked for the Royals and was in charge of making the set of silk curtains which were to hang in the small chapel. These beasts were twenty-eight feet tall and all hand sown. Sylvia explains how not a stitch can be seen and how they had to join four tables together. "You simply couldn't have this beautiful silk dragging on the floor now could we?" The silk was sown onto the wooden pieces so the curtains would hang correctly. The gold trimmings were measured every stitch they put in so as not to be off the slightest bit. Sylvia explains all of this with a sense of humor of how much work she and her team put into the curtains. Made simply because the Queen wanted to be able to close the Chapel off when she entertained guests as they walked from the Dining Room down to the receiving room and nobody had thought to put a door there.
After the fire, Sylvia asked one of the Royals if he would tell her what exactly happened.
The Royal replied, "We should throw you in the dungeon as it was your curtains which caused the fire."
In truth, a workman had left a set of high powered lights on in the room. The window had been left open because of it being such a nice day. A breeze or a gust of wind blew Sylvia's curtains onto the lights where they caught fire.
Two years ago, Sylvia was invited to attend a ceremony in honor of one of the service medals she had earned. Taking place not at the Castle, but in the large church, Sylvia was seated next to Lady A's lady in waiting. Sylvia, being Sylvia was curious as to what color the Queen would be wearing for the day. Sylvia explains it as being a womanly thing to do. Try to catch a peek of what the Queen is wearing. The lady in waiting took Sylvia behind the scenes to catch a glance. The Queen was apparently talking to three gentlemen when she caught a glance of Sylvia. Abandoning the gentlemen, the Queen walked over to Sylvia and talked to her for a moment. Sylvia said, "She has a great memory. She told me it was a shame about the curtains, as they were the most beautiful curtains she had seen." Sylvia was pleased beyond measure.
"I left working for the Royals when I was sixty-six years old."
Sitting and listening to the story, it reminds you of how something so small and seemingly forgotten can cause so much joy and even anguish to the people involved. The little stories found most amusing also seem to crop up at the funniest places and times.
Sylvia unfortunately had to give up dancing about two years ago when her partner dropped her during a move. She damaged her hip and broke her wrist. She still likes her ice cream after lunch when she comes by and flirts with the guys. Did I happen to mention Sylvia will be celebrating her ninety-ninth birthday this year.

Frying pans and melting pots

February 11, 2010

I am struck by the difference between two seemingly close cultures. One of course being at least in the main deriving from the other. In less than two hundred and fifty years these cultures seem to have drifted farther apart than I am sure any of our fore fathers would have guessed. Yes, I realize we were forcibly seperated by a war and then another about thirty years later. However, you might think we would retain some semblence of each other.
No, I do not speak to the difference between the US direct representative democracy versus a proportional representation which resides in the UK. I personally like to vote for my candidate, not for the party. Maybe iot is the grassroots feeling I enjoyed of all levels of American political process for better or worse.
I will only broadly hint at my running battle with English versus American language. How do you pronounce queen as queen and quay as key? Wait, why do you add extra bits to aluminum with your spelling and pronunciation? Why is a vacation a holiday and when did a cell phone become a mobile phone? Finally, if trousers are pants, pants are underwear and ladies underwear are knickers, why do you refer to "pants" and "knickers" as underwear? These minor irritations prove amusing to me. Especially when standing in front of a large group of English asking two guys if they have any black pants to work in. Social blunders. . .
One of the striking things which most would not even bother noticing is the idea of society as found in the young. How many Americans know and can recite the Pledge of Allegiance? I would bet most. We are taught about our melting pot culture where everybody is American and supports America. We sing the National Anthem in school from when we are little children. We are taught patriotic songs about our country. I bet if I mention, "This Land is Our Land . . ." again most of us Americans will start humming along. Heck, I can even fold the American Flag properly thanks to Mr. Norlin my third grade teacher.
Here, it seems they lack the certainty of identity. While we consider ourselves a melting pot where once you are there you are American, here it is a selection of which country you are from. I state proudly, I am an American from Minnesota of German descent as do most others I know with variations. Here I find most will claim they are Pakistani, Indian even Scottish and Welsh before even thinking of themselves as English or British. They speak no pledge to a common flag. They rarely sing the national anthem at school. They insulate themselves in a nanny culture to protect from offending each other and become isolated pockets.
Maybe one of the main reasons they have a hard time understanding us is we admit our country is not perfect, but we try hard to keep the "melting pot" alive in our schools and make it better. Here, it is more like eggs in a hot frying pan. No chance to get together before becoming set in an isolated shape.

The art of chugger avoidance

February 09, 2010

Walking down the high street in the pedestrian zone of most any English town, you will quickly discover the people who have lived in the town for more than a few months. There are blindingly obvious signs you are an outsider in Reading if you can't avoid the most common norms of walking downtown.
I am not talking about the signal lights crossing into and out of the pedestrian zone that only seem to work every ten or fifteen minutes. Don't worry as this is only a major road used by buses, taxis, delivery vehicles, other automobiles and even the homicidal bike rider intent on mowing down as many walkers as possible. Simply look down the street, judge the distance and calmly walk across the street. You are known as an out of towner if you actually wait for the crossing light to turn green with its accompanying screeching noise before you cross. Well, you might be someone from Warsaw, but you can't ever really explain people from Warsaw.
You will be used to the guy who might be homeless sitting on the corner by the drug store nightly playing his guitar and singing with his gravel rough voice most likely caused by years of hard living. They are the out of towners and normally heavily intoxicated who try to stop and talk to the local "blues" man. He calmly ignores them as we walk by chuckling to ourselves about those silly tourists who try to request songs. He is now doing afternoon shows on the other corner. I think the matinee crowd is not quite as good as he seems to do these infrequently.
No, I can pick out the "others" by their inability to spot and use the natural cover to avoid the English institution of chuggers. Most people would ask, "What is a chugger?" Well, I must confess, I picked the term up from one of the locals.
The term is a cute combination of "charity & muggers." The chuggers are the charity workers who will lie in wait from one end of the high street to the other in groups of five to ten who will attempt to stop random people to explain their causes and solicit card donations conveniently withdrawn monthly from your account. They are very clever, because they can not accept standard donations, but now take your details and credit card or bank card details which as I said "will automatically debit from your account the set amount of only X number of pounds a month. This is less than a couple of cups of coffee."
They see the "fresh meat" coming a mile away. Any eye contact and they will close in. The cry of "Do you have a moment?" echoes across the street. "I am working for . . . . " Now you are trapped and they have you pinned with pictures of something horrible to pile on guilt. Now don't get me wrong, I am American. I tip, I give to charity all the time and I volunteer to help out when I can. Apparently England is proud of the fact it donates so much to charity. It ranks within the top twenty of the EU. Now ask yourself how may countries are in the EU. Not a ringing endorsement. Besides, they get ahead a little because of the strong pound. . .
So those who have been here a little while will walk slightly behind and off to one side of the person in front of them upon seeing the pack of chuggers working the street. If the chugger moves, they will first try and pick off the person in the front. Yes, you will see us old hands using the trees as blocking agents, other walkers and mail boxes as cover and even those homicidal cyclists as screeners for us. If all else fails, a hard turn into one of the shops can spring the trap.
On a Saturday a few weeks ago, I saw chuggers from three children's charities, one for homeless shelters, one for cruelty to animals, one for homes in third world countries, one for affordable housing, one for developing infrastructure in third world countries and one working for the liberation of Palestine. It almost made me feel sorry for the poor Socialists trying to rail against the evils of all capitalism. Almost. . .
So I am now an old hand at these quirks of this town. Just a word of warning. If you have to take a hard turn into one of the stores make sure you choose a correct store to go into and realize they may wait for you. . .

Mail call. . . .

February 08, 2010

Awaiting a package from my family back in the States, I was mildly suprised to see a rather large bulky item sticking out of my rather small mailbox. I know what my parents have sent inclusive of the peanut butter cups, peanut butter M&Ms and a few other pieces generally not seen in this country very often. The normal result is the small note from the postman saying "Sorry to miss you. Your package has now been moved to the farthest possible point we could get it to and still stay within the United Kingdom." You laugh, but we have a central warehouse a five minute walk from our apartment. Instead, they transport it to a warehouse four miles away. Good to know USPS and Royal Mail share the same sense of humor and timing.
Anyway, the package is jammed into our communal mailbox with the free leaflets of Golden Wok oriental cuisine and Red Rocket Pizza with free delivery. Wrapped in protective celophane, I can see from a distance the blue writing of 10 on it and a picture of the Flag and the Constituion peeking from the mail slot of our poor little black mail box. Don't ask why the mail man can't put it in the box, I don't know.
You know a package from home is always exciting. Thinking it might be from my Alumni of SJU or maybe something as exciting. Like a small child with the silly grin, I cover the four steps up to our main entrance with a bound. This is actually a good effort as I am carrying grocceries for dinner plus some plates for the kitchen. No, I don't order from Golden Wok ever.
Giddy with excitement, I lift the package out of the mail slot collecting a piece of junk mail at the same time. Unfolding the magazine, I remember the sensation I felt even when I was living back in the States.
Yup, the IRS 1040 forms & instructions for overseas filers. All the forms everybody in the US enjoy, plus a few more thrown in with their instructions. Only a few hundred pages.
Well, thankfully, I will have something to put me to sleep tonight. If it falls off the table, it will knock me unconscious.
Hey, I still haven't gotten my peanut butter cups. . . . .

Jewelery Box

February 07, 2010

A picture of Ania's jewelery box lid for one of her gifts I have carved for her. Six inches from pine.

Crystal Butterflies pt 2

February 06, 2010

A small taster from another chapter of Crystal Butterflies. . . .


Scooger feels the cold seeping into his body as he lies motionless against the concrete of the street. Being motionless for an unknown amount of time starts to mess with even the strongest of minds as the temperature drops. Most of the pack lay hidden amongst the rubble and debris strewn from the day’s earlier battle. Included with the debris are the bodies of the slain. Since the running fight and the coming of night, no one dared to collect the bodies. So, in their death, they provided the perfect cover for Scooger and his warriors as long as everyone held their nerve and didn’t move at the wrong time. A slip from one of the pack would tip the enemy and it would be a quick bloody fight for Scooger’s pack as they started from a prone position surrounded by enemies.
Scooger watches as the first of the enemy scouts quietly slips by. The enemy is careful of their footing, hoping to get close enough to finish the scouting and then attack the barricade unaware. A foot passes a hair’s breathe from Scooger’s face. The sound of Scooger’s breathe and heart pound in his ears surely loud enough to be heard by the scout. The foot lifts and moves forward. Scooger waits to feel the sharp stab of iron in his back meaning the end, but moments pass without it.
The barricade is behind Scooger. So it comes as a surprise when the first shouts of alarm are raised by Samuel. The enemy scouts had gotten a little to close and the defenders now knew they were there. The enemy scouts raised a cry of their own. Scooger resists the temptation to turn his head. If anyone noticed supposed corpses turning and moving, it would blow the ambush.
Suddenly, a full pack of the enemy begin running down the street towards the barricade. A second pack turns round the corner followed by a third pack. Not a simple raid, the 3083 is intent on capturing the building. Scooger can only watch as hundreds of people run screaming by. They avoid the bodies strewn in the street. A small sigh of relief floods into Scoogers body for small miracles. Scooger’s pack of scouts numbering a hundred with Samuel’s detachment were now outnumbered almost four to one. Scooger watched the last of the enemy packs stream by him towards the barricade.

Taxes from heaven

February 05, 2010

Well, the great snow storms of 2009 have passed into the repository of history for England. The complications and lessons continue to be learned from the ability of English way of doing things. Most people will remember the rallying cry of the American colonies during the Revolution. This should be remembered as freedom from the English way of doing things. Well, who can forget the catchy slogan of no taxation without representation. It is not for me to complain abot the Chancellor being able to adjust taxes for the entire country on a whim. How about we raise the tax on everything because we can't manage to run our expenses in Parliament and we have a shortfall in our budget. I won't claim to understand how they can have a national sales tax of 17.5% and everybody accepts this as ok. Actually, the Chancellor lowered it to 15% for a few months to help get the economy started again, but since Jan 1, it is back to 17.5%.
Nope, here is what I can not simply understand. The local councils have now come out saying they are going to have to raise the council (property) tax in order to pay for the snow removal which occurred. There is no appeal as they will simply hike the tax rate up by 3% to pay for this extrodinary circumstance.
Wait, weren't these the councils who failed to have enough salt and sand to actually keep roads open? Or were these the councils who had only a few trucks actually in operation to even attempt to keep the main streets clear. Perhaps these are the councils who state in the newspapers they have millions in surplus, but they can not dip into those reserves in case of emergency. I seem to be slightly confused by the response.
It makes one wonder why America strove for its independence a couple hundred years ago with a simple rally cry.

Bar etiquette . . .

February 04, 2010

Working in the hospitality industry, I always have plenty of stories to tell about funny circumstances which happen. It seems if you work in this business long enough, you will see all sorts of normal people behaving in ways they generally would never consider when they are at home. At most points, alcohol has a large influence upon their actions.
How many times have you ever seen a thirty-five year old woman pick up a small storm drain cover about four inches square and throw it through an eight inch window trying to get into the building at three am because she thought she left her purse inside. Yes, she actually tried to get in through the eight inch window. Did she make it? Nope. Only a leg and part of her arm. The purse? She had set it down in her room then left to find it leading to the drain cover in hand instead. We compare many of the do you remember or did you hear about stories. Yes, us human beings who are sober and are working do see you when you try to hang from the lights and tear them out of the ceiling. Pretending it magically fell down doesn't work either and no, I don't care if it is your birthday. Yup, watched it happen.
English seem to take the ideas of revelry to new lows in bars. They are notorious for being huge binge drinkers who's sole purpose at a bar is to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. It starts in the early years and I see it continue through until they are damn near crawling into their grave. It is considered by most as the in thing to do. Imagine a country full of people who behave as though their are twenty one at university. Yikes is all I can say.
The funny thing about it is, English people love to stand in lines and crowd around. If there is a line of three people, other English will join the line. Here they call it "queueing." So two English guys or gals (in this sex doesn't matter) are standing at a bar ordering a drink. A few more will come in and stand next to the first few. Soon, as the bar gets busier, they will form into a pack at the bar. Having their drinks in hand, they will stay with the others because there is now a line and to leave the line is an unforgivable and un-English. As the twenty people with drinks stand at the bar, the twenty behind who can't actually get to the bar grumble about slow service. The barman meanwhile has nothing to do because everybody has been served who is next to the bar. If someone has to leave to go to the bathroom, it will open a small hole into the next person will crowd, of course not moving once their drink has been ordered. Thankfully, a few innocent souls actually order and do leave the bar on an infrequent basis.
I walked into one of my bars a few nights ago. The room is forty feet by thirty feet with a twenty foot bar including the service hatch. Note: Service hatch is where the servers come and go from the bar. Stay out of the way, they are most likely trying to get you drinks at some point. Huge leather sofa, squishy arm chairs again in leather tables galor are all arranged in the room neatly. Sixty plus English occupied a three foot space in front of the bar crammed like sardines. Luckily, it was only a half an hour before they wanted to sit down for dinner. Just in time for the next group of "normal adults" to come in for their pre-dinner drinks.

N.H.S. = No Hope Specialists pt 1

Having watched the debate about the "new" initiative on health care n the United States make its burdened way through the House and stalling in the Senate, I can say without a doubt, no matter how bad, American's have it nice compared to the socialized medicine of the N.H.S. You might ask how a bloated system of over-priced procedures, expensive drugs and having to pay through the nose for basic coverage can be better than free medicine for all with low cost drugs. Simple answer is at least you stand a chance of actually seeing a real doctor who might actually get the diagnosis right back in the U.S.
One of the people who I consider a friend stepped wrong while at work. He felt something pop in his ankle. Of course you know the story. Ankle swells up like a balloon. He thinks he has sprained it, so tries to make an appointment at the local clinic. Answer he gets is simply can't fit you in today, you will have to come back tomorrow. You would think you could try the emergency room right? Well, the A&E (accident and emergency) is only for major injuries. Besides, who is going to sit for four hours just to be sent home.
He makes an appointment and is seen by the local G.P. who calmly tells him he has sprained the ankle. The G.P. does however decide they should x-ray the offending ankle a few weeks later when the ankle has not healed at all.
Telling my friend they could find nothing wrong with the inside of his ankle, they are baffled. Wait did I forget to mention, it was the outside of the ankle which was swollen. The G.P. decides to refer my friend to a specialist. The wait time is only a month or three.
The specialist promptly run an MRI on the troublesome ankle now six plus months later since the original injury. Verdict. . . He has torn one ligament and the second one has ruptured completely. Result, he will have to go in for surgery. Yup, he is placed on the waiting list for another few months until they can fit him in. Surgery one results in being in a cast and sidelined for two months.
Returning to the specialist, the ankle has still not healed. They decide to give plastic inserts to put in the shoes in the hope it will straighten his ankle out. Come back in a few months to see.
Ta-dum. Problem solved! Oops, wait. The first surgery didn't correct the problem at all. It seems they should have fused several of the small bones together to actually correct the problem. Fine, put him on the waiting list again.
It is now I think over eighteen months since his first visit to the G.P. for a sprained ankle and next week, he goes in the second surgery. He figures he will be out for only about three months this time.
Watch out for anything which may cause you damage in this country. They might get around to fixing you shortly before they bury you. . . .

Great Scots, they're English

February 02, 2010

Coming from the backwoods of Minnesota near the very wide open (read flat as a pancake) spaces of North Dakota and Iowa, distance seems a concept easily defined. It seems no great enterprise to jump in your car and travel three hours to see someone, spend the afternoon and return home in the same day. It wouldn't be polite to impose upon anybody by actually asking to stay at their place. Heaven forbid if the drive is less than six hours you even think of staying in a hotel. Distance and travel here seems to be a slightly slippery idea which I fail to grasp. Talking to a people is part and parcel of what I do for a living. Discovering where people are from, why they are here and where they are going while making small talk also comes from growing up a mid-western kid.
Most people travel by car here on road systems designed for horse travel in the early 1500's. You might think I jest in this, but I do not. English roads are classified as M for motorway, A roads which are the primary roads, B roads being the secondary roads and unclassified roads. Now an American's take on their classification system is simple. The motorways which should be equivalent to our interstates are more like highways. The A roads are what I would classify as our county roads and heaven forbid you travel on a B road which have blind corners single lanes and all sorts of other bits of fun. The unclassified roads are normally single lane (8 - 10 feet wide) with areas every so often where a car can pull into the ditch to allow the oncoming car to get around. Did I mention they like to drive somewhat fast on these roads. Now you understand why I normally take the train. Although, now I am digressing.
It seems to most English, the idea of a long drive is construed as slightly more than about one hour. Anything beyond this distance may require rest breaks or overnight stays. Of course, much like LA because of the road system English measure their drives not in miles or kilometers but time it takes to get somewhere in "normal" driving conditions.
One of the staff asked for a few days off to go and visit their relatives. They calmly explained they would need at least four days. If they could get five, they would be happy. I gave them their days off on the schedule. Asking the question, "Where are you going?" The response I got was they were traveling to Scotland. They figured a day to travel there and they would be exhausted by the drive. Three days to visit and the final day to return back.
"Where are you going in Scotland? Way up into the Highlands?"
"Oh no. But the drive will take about four or five hours." They seriously didn't know if they could make the drive in a single day.
I was told by a friend, it takes about eight hours to drive from the south shore of England to the north of Scotland. I think back and remember I could just make it to either the northern or southern border of Minnesota from my home in that same amount of time.

Crystal Butterflies

January 29, 2010

The opening few lines from the "Crystal Butterflies" novel. A twisted story about intertwining destinies.....

*******************************************

“It isn’t really there at all. Whatever you think you see, it is just your mind’s way of dealing with the shift when we went down the hole.” Her hair is shaved in the standard spacer crew cut showing her natural blonde coloring through the white-frosted tips. Her green eyes stare at the sole occupant of the compartment who gazes at the darkened ceiling.
Turning, he looks at her, starting from her feet then moving quickly up her body to her head. She radiates military from her standard five foot six height, whip-iron muscular build along with her standard tan-colored flight uniform with the name Adele stenciled across her left breast pocket in block lettering. The duty uniform shows no decoration except for the gold braid insignia on her collar marking her as a lieutenant in the armed forces. Her deck boots are so highly polished, the reflection of the overhead lighting glares off. Even the buttons on her pants and shirt have a high gloss to their brass finish.
While not the most beautiful woman, she can be very easily seen as quite attractive, although I would never consider her my type. She has been too busy thinking of only the military as the beginning, middle and end of her life. It will take her a little time to figure out she is not married to the military and they sure aren’t married to only her. I guess, everybody has their own ideas of what the perfect life will be.
The man locks his gaze on her green eyes.
“Excuse me Lieutenant Adele. It seems I was lost in momentary reflection of present and past circumstances. Aside from my attention, you said something wasn’t here.” A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth showing a perfect set of teeth beneath his dark brown eyes. “I am hoping you are not referring to some necessary piece of our ship. It would strike me as such a pity to have traveled all this way to try and find the Absolution only to find we have forgotten to pack a spare tire. Or perhaps a piece of rope to pull us out of the hole we seem to have fallen into.”

Modern Transit from London pt 2

January 27, 2010

I actually take the train to work every day. This means I spend over an hour everyday on the train coming and going from work on average twenty-five days a month. Yes, I said twenty five days a month. I work in hospitality specifically Food and Beverage. This means for the uneducated, I work on the days you normally have off and am up before the sun thinks about peeking out and leave work after all of you stumble out of the restaurant, bar or back to your hotel room for the evening and we get done cleaning up the mess ready to see you again the next day.
As I was stating before my rant, I take the trains all the time, at all hours and through all types of weather. (This is England, all types of weather normally occurs within the space of a day.) There are certain things baffling about the modern English rail system. I am not complaining too much about how ticket prices are tied to indexed inflation plus three percent for the next year. I won't even bitch about how the trains stop running before midnight. Don't drink and drive, but if you take the train to a friends or heaven forbid a bar in a different town with friends, you are screwed if you leave after eleven thirty. Nope, not even a complaint about an information system that fails to work properly all the time. "We regret to inform that due to a fault, no real time information can be displayed" Great, so is it coming or not?
Every May and December, the train times will switch by around three minutes. The 5:42 am train leaving Reading going to London will depart on May 16th at 5:39 am. In the first week or so of December, the train will now depart at 5:42 am until May 16th or so when it changes back. All following trains for the day will follow this three minute change. The blindingly obvious reason these train times are in effect are of course leaf fall. "What?" you may ask. At least I asked myself, so I sought out more information. Due to the possibility of heavy leaf fall which would cause the trains to not have the ability to get grip on the rails, they reschedule the trains to run later to allow them to clear the lines.
But most of the leaves fall before the end of November and the train that does the cleaning of the rails runs late in the evening and into the night. (Of course, not past midnight.) Secondly, the rail lines are supposed to be kept clear of overhanging trees and bushes by the maintenance company Network Rail. Nevermind, they are the ones in charge of making sure the rail line improvements are done on time and on budget. So I will give you the overhanging trees ad bushes.
I have the personal belief, the bosses of the company just wanted to sleep an extra few minutes during December through May. Nobody from the trains will confirm this of course. Besides if you had the opportunity to sleep an extra three minutes at four thirty in the morning, wouldn't you? Why not blame it on the leaves which fell a month ago. . .

Bankers, MPs and followin the Money

January 23, 2010

Well, it seems the big complaint of most people across both the USA, the UK and several other countries is how the bankers have stolen millions of pounds/dollars or other such denomination in their greed for bonuses. The politicians are now attempting to curtail money paid to the upper echelon of the bankers. A one time tax n bonuses or breaking up banks so they "aren't too large to fail."
We as Americans complain about the state of our government. The US Supreme Court recently ruled spending by corporations and PACs is actually legal in elections. Reporters in England are saying how this will make a hotly contested and "dirty" election even worse. This from a country who decries American ignorance about the world but most then most people here can't tell you where Florida, New York and California are in relation to one another.
The elected British officials work under the title of M.P. (Not to be confused with the military police of American military fame.) It seems the MPs have been having the fun with their paychecks and seem to act very surprised and flabbergasted when some in the public decried their spending habits.
It seems the British government made use of their own ability to write laws even better for themselves than their compatriots in the US did. Imagine this senario for a moment.
You are elected to the British Parliament. You now have the ability to purchase a house near London to use as your residence when you are in session. All interest payments on the loans will be paid for by the government. (Read the taxpayers and yes, I am one. Being a non-EU, I pay the one of the highest tax rates and can't even vote these silly buggers out.) The government will then pay all "reasonable" expenses incurred to furnish, renovate and provide upkeep on the properties. The MP were allowed to declare which place would be their primary residence.
When one of the newspapers leaked the story of how the MPs were claiming for items such as resurfacing a tennis court, an island on a pond for the ducks or even paying family members tens of thousands of pounds to do the laundry, people became slightly angry with the politicians. There was to be a grand inquiry into all claims made. Any that were not completely in line were to be refunded back to the government. Mps were embarrassed as the Home Secretary paid back money for her husband's porn channel at their house. Others claimed interest on house loans which had been paid off for years. (This of course was a simple accounting error. Yeah right!) One had renovated the house claimed the money for the loan then sold the house and kept the money tax free because he classed it now as his primary residence. He subsequently bought another house from his brother and was in the process of renovating it after declaring his original house was now his primary residence.
This continued for a few weeks as more information came to light. MPs were even taped complaining about how the poor people couldn't possibly understand how hard it is to actually be an MP and they should actually get more benefits.
Several members of parliament who admitted they were deeply in the wrong said they would not stand in the next election. They would humbly serve out the remains of their terms and quietly retire. Something fishy? Well of course there was. Any MP who served out their term would be given their full pay for the cycle, they would receive their retirement package and be given a golden handshake the one time payment of about 65,000GBP for their service to the country. It seems at least in this country, there is a reason why it is difficult to find an honest person in politics. Did I mention, you don't actually pick the person running. The leaders of the parties does that for you and you are voting for the party to represent you.
A big thank you goes to our Founding Fathers. The US may be flawed and we may fight about our politics, but at least they are ours even if the big money gets spent by PACs and corporations. . .

Rules and why

January 21, 2010

It is an easy a way distinguish a midwestern American from an English person. Ask a simple question about whether something can be accomplished and even if you can't hear the difference between the accents, the reply will always give away the answer. Maybe it is the rules the English surround themselves with resulting in the term of "nanny state." I was reading a newspaper article and came across a story about following the letter of the law over common sense. Where I feel most midwesterners would simply understand the intent of the law and move beyond the letter of the law, here as is common, the letter of the law is important.
Just before Christmas, a mother called in to report an abscence for her young son from school. Giving the reason, the mother felt it would be a reasonable request that her nine year old son be given time off. The son returns to school the following week without comment. The next week, the mother again phones into the school explaining her son's abscence from school for the next week. All seems to be all right with the school.
The week before the Christmas break the school holds its party for the students who have had perfect attendence. The mother is told her son is not allowed to attend the school function because of his poor attendence record. The boy obviously is distraught, his mother is upset. Mother calls school to repeat the reasons for the boy's abscence. The lady from the school explains the school has set the policy to cut down on abscences and no exceptions could be made. The boy can't go to the party.
Ask most English people if a task is do-able and they will give you a list of why you can't do it or accomplish it. This I think generally comes down to an aversion to change. Ask most midwesterners about a task and the response I always got was "Why can't you do it?" A question versus a statement. Seems funny such a little thing.
Oh, the mother and her boy. The first abscence was on account of his father dying and the mother trying to deal with the boy's grief. The second week of abscence? That was for the funeral. When the school was contacted about it, the head of the school explained the abscences had been cut down because of the idea of a party for students who hadn't missed any school. In this case, the mother had talked to the wrong person apparently. Makes one wonder if the mother was talking to the school secretary and assistant to the head of the school and it was the wrong person, who should she have talked to. The boy didn't get to go to the party and the school kept its reasons why he couldn't.

Modern Transit from London pt 1

January 19, 2010

It seems we all understand the need to leave a little bit of extra time when we are traveling. Whether by car (gotta hope the traffic is light), train (hopefully they are running close to schedule) or even airplane (crap, gotta get through the airport), we understand delay may be inevitable. It seems reasonable, we are human traveling with other humans in machines humans built. Errors and delays will always creep in.
It seems in this country, the mode of public transport commonly used is the rail system. Oh, it is a joy to behold, riding in comfort across the miles without the cramped space of an airline seat. No other drivers the road to bother you. Oh, what a joy.
I have since discovered what should be a crowning jewel in the English transportation system has a few minor flaws. All right, they might be considered minor to people from modern countries in say Botswana or Outer Mongolia.
The British and French have the ability to construct a tunnel under the English Channel linking their two countries. Years of planning, years of construction and I can even remember when the symbolic joining of the tunnels. Flash photography, lots of smiling individuals. It is great as they run the high speed trains through the Chunnel, London to Paris as quick as you like.
Ooops, this year shortly before Christmas, they ran into a minor snag. After ten plus years, first one then several trains broke down in the tunnel. People are told to stay on the trains for their own safety. Five hours later, they are still sitting under the Channel in trains that don't work. Eventually the train are pulled from under the Channel and the passengers are freed. Of course, all other scheduled services are stopped indefinitely until they can find out what has cause this mass problem. Massive pile ups of traffic and passengers at the various stations. Oh well, the people who were trapped on the trains were given a refund, another ticket and a hundred pounds in compensation.
What evil mastermind is behind the stopping of the entire Eurostar and Euro Tunnel services? It must have been some great and dastardly deed perpetrated by the enemy of humanity! After several days, Eurostar announced they had discovered the problem. It seems the trains designed to run above the ground from London until Dover, then dip under the channel until they reach Calais and reemerge onto the surface on their way to Paris were undone by "fluffy snow." Apparently they have never encountered or dreamed of the situation where the "evil fluffy snow" could get into the electrical system and short out the entire train. Actually multiple trains were brought to their knees and trapped. It took several days before the engineers could patch the trains enough to ensure the "dastardly, evil fluffy snow" could not cripple them again.
Thankfully, I flew to Warsaw for Christmas, but that is another story.

Slight Flurries leading to accumulation of stupidity

January 15, 2010

It may strike any sane person as a slightly odd situation. A front page newspaper article involving a small front end loader, the local council and a guy trying to do snow removal. This however sums up the situation in large parts of England over the past week. Being an island in the northern Atlantic, you would think England and its people would be well suited to dealing with all sorts of weather. I would learn the hard way once again how wrong a person can be.
The English weather service predicted a heavy snowfall for large parts of England. The warning is stated by the Met office website as "light flurries leading in some areas to accumulations" This warning had been going out for days. At around five o'clock Tuesday afternoon, the first flurries began to make their descent to the ground along with several million of their friends. Growing up in Minnesota, I know when a heavy snow is coming down. This was a heavy snow with nice big fat flakes coming down at a quick pace.
Leaving work at nine thirty, I would catch the 9:37pm train to go back to Reading. Now this train ride should take thirty minutes and pass through Ascot, Wokingham and even a town called Early. Nope, I can't even make stuff like these town names up.
At the stop in Ascot, the guard on the train walks through to tell all the passengers they are holding the train in Ascot until they can decide what they should do. Apparently, the people who run the trains could not decide whether the train should terminate in Ascot or continue its run to Reading and wouldn't tell the train crew until they made the decision.
Fifteen minutes later, they made the decision to push on to the next station. Crawling along at about ten miles an hour, the train would reach Reading just shy of midnight.
The next morning, England wakes up to four inches of snow on the ground and in some places up to eight inches with more falling slowly. The rapid response to the situation? Schools and airports close, buses and trains are cancelled, shops shut. The local councils begin to tackle to problem with roads. In Reading, a city of 100,000 plus, they proceed to salt the main roads only. Secondary roads are unimportant and will be left as is. Four trucks would take care of the "gritting" the entire city.
Well the chaos would continue for days as more scattered snow showers dropped dustings across the town and country. The councils would be forced to cut their salting efforts by twenty five percent as the supplies began to run low. Then they cut the efforts to fifty percent as they had only enough stocks to last for another two days.
Now a question you may ask, is what does this have to do with the man and his digger?
A man who's brother owned an excavation company borrowed one of the loaders and proceeded to dig out the school where his children went. Asking no money, the good samaratian then dug out another nearby school. He proceeded to clear the road he was living on and helped to dig out his neighbors. His neighbors were exalting their good samariatian as he would not accept any payment for his efforts. He stated he was simply tying to help out.
While he was about digging out his neighbors a local official from the city council stopped him and told him he must desist from his efforts. If he continued, he would face a hefty fine. Asking the reason, the city council member told him he might "damage the road." Remember this is one of the roads the city decided was going to be left because they have insufficient salt to actually "grit" the road.
The city council published a statement a few days later which states, "While we appreciate people trying to help with the situation, they should only do so after contacting the offices on 08........" Wait, those offices were closed because they couldn't make it in because of the snowfall.
A week and half later and temperatures have been above freezing with rain showers. The snow has gone and the country of England pats itself on the back for how well they handled the crisis. Rail got back on line after a week, airports only closed for a few days and people emptying groccery stores in panic buying because they feared they would run out of essentials.
Yep, flurries of stupidity.

Middle of the beginning

January 09, 2010

Beginnings are such funny things to me. It seems no matter where you start a story, there is always something that proceeds it which is central to the story you wish to tell. Maybe it was the way I was brought up and how I was taught to tell the stories. It may be a regional thing. Quite honestly, I doubt I will ever solve this question.
So to bring you up to speed in a quick hurry, I will skip the beginning, gloss over a bunch of stuff and drop you right into the middle of the beginning where you will have no idea what exactly I am talking about. Confused? Don't worry, most of the fun is trying to get there.