S took D and A to the zoo, with one of her friends, and their children. They stayed there for about 6 hours, and were reasonably exhausted when they got back.
I asked A and D what they did at zoo. "Played on the playground" they said.
What else, I asked. "Bought things in the shop" they said.
What else, I asked "Ate chips" they said.
"Did you see any animals?" They looked sort of confused and blank. "Did you see a giraffe?"
They eventually confessed that yes, they might have seen a giraffe.
"Was it very, very tall?"
"No, it was a baby."
That was it for animals.
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Personalized Licence Plates
In California, it's surprisingly cheap to have personalised license plates. If no one else has got it, you can have it. In the UK, they make you pay some extortionate price for them, but in California, it varies between $40 and $90, followed by an annual renewal fee (which is less).
The money that you pay goes to a specific cause - like the environment, or children's charities, or olympic training, or firefighters memorial, and the one you choose determines the design of the licence plates.
But what I don't know is, is having personalised plates the sort of thing that makes you look like a wanker?
Oh, and I don't know what to have.
The money that you pay goes to a specific cause - like the environment, or children's charities, or olympic training, or firefighters memorial, and the one you choose determines the design of the licence plates.
But what I don't know is, is having personalised plates the sort of thing that makes you look like a wanker?
Oh, and I don't know what to have.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Driving Test
I've booked the first part of my test, for next Tuesday at 10am. It's a written test, and you have to get at least 30 answers right out of 36. There are some example questions here. Some of them are staggeringly easy. Here's my favourite:
Another good one:
Some of them you would never know if you hadn't read the book:
5. You are driving on a freeway posted for 65 MPH. The traffic is traveling at 70 MPH. You may legally drive:
75 MPH or less.(The answer is 65 mph or less.)
70 MPH or less.
65 MPH or less.
Another good one:
10. You must obey instructions from school crossing guards:
At all times.(Yep, it's A.)
Only during school hours.
Unless you do not see any children present.
Some of them you would never know if you hadn't read the book:
2. You are approaching a railroad crossing with no warning devices and are unable to see 400 feet down the tracks in one direction. The speed limit is:
15 mph(You'll have to read the book to find out. I haven't yet. It's got a nice picture of Arnie at the front of it.)
20 mph
25 mph
Locker Room Rush Hour
This morning I arrived at the locker room at about 8:30, and it was full of people. Well, men. And a disturbing number had no clothes on. Well, 2.
I made some quip about it being rush hour, and someone told me that you had to be either early or later - avoid 8:30, because that's when the most people were there.
I made some quip about it being rush hour, and someone told me that you had to be either early or later - avoid 8:30, because that's when the most people were there.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Bad Blood
They had a blood donation drive thingy at work. "Help a hero, thank a hero" it said on the posters, with a noble looking fireman standing somewhere that might have been the World Trade Centre in New York, with a policeman looking on. I wondered how often criminals that the police had shot needed blood, relative to how often policemen needed blood. But I suspect most blood goes on really unsexy things like hip replacements.
Anyway, the sign up procedure was really clever. You went to a web page and booked an appointment, and that sent a confirmation email that I clicked on and it added it to my Outlook calendar. So it's impossible to forget. Almost.
I arrived this morning and realized that I'd forgotten my identity card, which meant I couldn't get into the bike store. The security guy on the car park opened the door for me (but not before he'd checked that my bike had the appropriate registration sticker on it - that's what that was for).
On the way in, slightly sweaty, I saw K, the nurse, who asked if I was giving blood.
Shit shit shit shit shit. So I get my temporary badge, and went to the blood place. Luckily, my appointment was at 10:15, and it was 10:00, so I had a shower to make sure I wasn't too sweaty.
I went back to the blood place, and signed in. I was given a very thick booklet to read, and they said I had to read it. Luckily it was in about 7 languages, so it wasn't as thick as it looked. The first part was about HIV. It said that they were going to ask me if I'd had oral, anal or vaginal sex (along with gentle descriptions of those, in case you weren't sure). It asked if I'd had sex with a man, ever been paid for sex, if I'd lived in Chad, Nigeria or Haiti (or a few other places).
The next section was the mad cow disease section. It asked if I'd lived in the UK for more than three months, between 1 Jan 1980 and 31 December, 1996. I said I'd lived there 17 years during that time (notice that cunning bit of arithmetic?) and they said, very nicely, that they didn't want my nasty diseased British blood.
But they gave me a voucher for a free pizza from Papa John's. It looked complicated to get one's free pizza though (you had to go to a web page and type in a code, and get a number and use that), and it's the sort of thing that I either lose immediately, or look at every day with the intention of using. When I got to my office I couldn't get in ('cos my card opens that too) so I gave the voucher to the person who helped me get in.
Anyway, the sign up procedure was really clever. You went to a web page and booked an appointment, and that sent a confirmation email that I clicked on and it added it to my Outlook calendar. So it's impossible to forget. Almost.
I arrived this morning and realized that I'd forgotten my identity card, which meant I couldn't get into the bike store. The security guy on the car park opened the door for me (but not before he'd checked that my bike had the appropriate registration sticker on it - that's what that was for).
On the way in, slightly sweaty, I saw K, the nurse, who asked if I was giving blood.
Shit shit shit shit shit. So I get my temporary badge, and went to the blood place. Luckily, my appointment was at 10:15, and it was 10:00, so I had a shower to make sure I wasn't too sweaty.
I went back to the blood place, and signed in. I was given a very thick booklet to read, and they said I had to read it. Luckily it was in about 7 languages, so it wasn't as thick as it looked. The first part was about HIV. It said that they were going to ask me if I'd had oral, anal or vaginal sex (along with gentle descriptions of those, in case you weren't sure). It asked if I'd had sex with a man, ever been paid for sex, if I'd lived in Chad, Nigeria or Haiti (or a few other places).
The next section was the mad cow disease section. It asked if I'd lived in the UK for more than three months, between 1 Jan 1980 and 31 December, 1996. I said I'd lived there 17 years during that time (notice that cunning bit of arithmetic?) and they said, very nicely, that they didn't want my nasty diseased British blood.
But they gave me a voucher for a free pizza from Papa John's. It looked complicated to get one's free pizza though (you had to go to a web page and type in a code, and get a number and use that), and it's the sort of thing that I either lose immediately, or look at every day with the intention of using. When I got to my office I couldn't get in ('cos my card opens that too) so I gave the voucher to the person who helped me get in.
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Environmental Unawareness
The extent to which people here seem to lack any kind of environmental awareness amazes me. Someone at the supermarket stands there and puts stuff into plastic bags for you. Never mind that you stand there, fairly redundant while they do that for you. Sometimes they put such a small amount of stuff into a plastic bag, it's amazing. Yesterday, one bag had a tube of toothpaste in it. The milk comes in gallon containers, which have a handle for carrying - never mind, they'll put it in a bag anyway. But, because the bags are a bit flimsy - they'll put it in two!
Monday, September 25, 2006
No one cares ...
I was wandering about in Borders on Saturday, when I saw a book called No one cares what you had for lunch ... about how not to write boring blocs. However, I didn't buy it, and so I'm going to tell you what I had for lunch. But first, I hear the cries, "J, you have two small children, how to you have time to potter about Borders?"
The reason is that S found a German class, which lasts three hours on a Saturday morning. The boys were very excited, and S made them Schultute and they were very excited about it. The school was held (perhaps surprisingly) in a school. It was a bugger to find, we didn't have a number, we just new the street name, and the street it was off. So we went to the street, and searched for something that looks like a school. American schools might look different, but I still think we'd be able to distinguish them from, say, houses. So we cruised up and down the road, asking confused passers by where there was a school on the street. Passers by were confused - the road was plainly short, and there was no school on it.
S was on her mobile trying to find someone who could find the school details on the web, and get the number for the person in charge, so we could find it. Eventually the SatNav thing on the rental car saved the day. It turned out that the road stopped and then continued about a mile away. When we had that information, finding the school was easy, and there was a sign that said "German class ->", so off we trotted.
This meant that S and I had 3 hours on a Saturday morning. Bliss! Freedom! Excitement! So we went to Borders, and saw the book. We didn't buy it, we bought some other books instead, and then we went to the Farmer's Market, and bought some fruit and veg.
I've been kind of disappointed by the oranges here. My favorite oranges are the big Spanish navel ones. But you can't get oranges like that here (or maybe you can, but I can't find them). They are all smaller, and they all have seeds in. But the oranges at the farmer's market were very, very cheap. Eight pounds of oranges cost $4, and they were really fresh and ripe. Much riper and nice than oranges in England - I guess that's 'cos they can leave them on the trees until the last minute. We also got some small, yellow tomatoes that were very yummy - so yummy that A and D almost ate some. But not quite.
So, we got home and I opened a carton of broth from Trader Joe's. I always think of broth as being sort of thick soup, although this was more like very thin stock. I've just done a search for a definition of broth, and it does say it's thin stock. However, I was expecting something like soup, and so was kind of disappointed. So we threw some spaghetti in, and some peas (from the farmer's market), and it was still less than satisfying but it was better than slightly green water which it was before.
The reason is that S found a German class, which lasts three hours on a Saturday morning. The boys were very excited, and S made them Schultute and they were very excited about it. The school was held (perhaps surprisingly) in a school. It was a bugger to find, we didn't have a number, we just new the street name, and the street it was off. So we went to the street, and searched for something that looks like a school. American schools might look different, but I still think we'd be able to distinguish them from, say, houses. So we cruised up and down the road, asking confused passers by where there was a school on the street. Passers by were confused - the road was plainly short, and there was no school on it.
S was on her mobile trying to find someone who could find the school details on the web, and get the number for the person in charge, so we could find it. Eventually the SatNav thing on the rental car saved the day. It turned out that the road stopped and then continued about a mile away. When we had that information, finding the school was easy, and there was a sign that said "German class ->", so off we trotted.
This meant that S and I had 3 hours on a Saturday morning. Bliss! Freedom! Excitement! So we went to Borders, and saw the book. We didn't buy it, we bought some other books instead, and then we went to the Farmer's Market, and bought some fruit and veg.
I've been kind of disappointed by the oranges here. My favorite oranges are the big Spanish navel ones. But you can't get oranges like that here (or maybe you can, but I can't find them). They are all smaller, and they all have seeds in. But the oranges at the farmer's market were very, very cheap. Eight pounds of oranges cost $4, and they were really fresh and ripe. Much riper and nice than oranges in England - I guess that's 'cos they can leave them on the trees until the last minute. We also got some small, yellow tomatoes that were very yummy - so yummy that A and D almost ate some. But not quite.
So, we got home and I opened a carton of broth from Trader Joe's. I always think of broth as being sort of thick soup, although this was more like very thin stock. I've just done a search for a definition of broth, and it does say it's thin stock. However, I was expecting something like soup, and so was kind of disappointed. So we threw some spaghetti in, and some peas (from the farmer's market), and it was still less than satisfying but it was better than slightly green water which it was before.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Bicycling
Today is Friday, and I've been cycling to work for a week now (I'd have done it before, except I didn't have a bike). There's a path along the beach bike path, which is quite cool. Except that you get sand in your chain, and there are sometimes really dim people in the way. (Sometimes cycling, sometimes not, despite the fact that it says "bikes only" very clearly in lots of places. There was a bit of debate on the area cycling yahoo group about what to do about that. My personal solution is to ring my bell (great bell that Holly bought me - so thanks) and then cycle past them as close and fast as I dare. This morning there was a big group of old people standing on the path taking photos of something. (I couldn't tell what was so exciting that they all should photograph it). I rode past them very slowly and carefully.
It takes slightly longer than driving (if I drive outside the rush hour; between 8 and 10 it's quicker to cycle), but it's not very far - about three and a half miles, which is enough to get a bit sweaty. Corporation of Current Employment has a locker room, with showers (like where Warrick and Stokes have their little heart to hearts on CSI sometimes), so I have a shower there.
I've got obsessive about trying to save time on my ride. I don't like riding with stuff in my shorts pockets (in case it falls out) so I keep it all in my pannier, and then leave it there all day - that saves a bit of time, so I don't spend time transferring it. (You can pay for food with your identity card, which you need to have all the time, so I don't need money). There are two hairdryers, so I use them both at the same time, and I don't dry my legs with my towel, because they can evaporate while I dry my hair. I don't tie my shoelaces after the shower, I do that while my computer is turning on. If I can do 10 things that save 30 seconds each, that will save 5 minutes twice a day, which means I get home 10 minutes earlier, and have 10 more minutes hanging out.
Trouble with showering fast is that you don't feel like you've had a proper shower, so you have to have another when you get home, which obviously doesn't save time. So I do have to dawdle in the shower a tiny bit, and get thoroughly abluted.
There is a bicycle storage room - you have to register before you are allowed to use it, and put a sticker on your bike to show it is registered too. (My bike is number 1024). If you ride 15 times per month, you get an extra 30 dollars pay. The bicycle storage room has a really good pump in it, screwed to the floor, which was very handy when I had a puncture on Wednesday (the seal around the valve failed, I wonder if it was the stress of the flight for my poor bike). The bicycle storage room also has a shelf for surfboards, and about 8 surfboards on it.
Drying my towel is another slightly tricky issue I've encountered. The first couple of times I hung it on the back of my office door, but then it's not quite dry at going home time, and I didn't want to stuff it in my locker damp, so I hung it on an empty locker door. A lot of people hang their towels on empty locker doors though, and because my towel waspinched borrowed from the apartment, it was white. Like every other towel there. So I'm not 100% sure that I've got the right towel. (When I was much younger, I was discussing the need to wash towels with my mother. "Somebody might have dried their bottom on it" she said. "Yes, but it would have been a clean bottom" I thought of saying, about 10 minutes later, when it was too late. So I've been waiting to use that. And I use it now, as I think about the bottom that might have been dried on the towel that might not be mine.) Ominously, the main other contender for the position of "actually my towel" doesn't seem to have moved. The lesson is to bring a strange colored towel for the office (notice the US spelling there?)
JD suggested taking a series of photos of my ride to work, which is a good idea, when I get my camera-computer link sorted out. (And when I work out the rules of taking cameras into CoCC - I think you have to declare them or hand them in or something.)
It takes slightly longer than driving (if I drive outside the rush hour; between 8 and 10 it's quicker to cycle), but it's not very far - about three and a half miles, which is enough to get a bit sweaty. Corporation of Current Employment has a locker room, with showers (like where Warrick and Stokes have their little heart to hearts on CSI sometimes), so I have a shower there.
I've got obsessive about trying to save time on my ride. I don't like riding with stuff in my shorts pockets (in case it falls out) so I keep it all in my pannier, and then leave it there all day - that saves a bit of time, so I don't spend time transferring it. (You can pay for food with your identity card, which you need to have all the time, so I don't need money). There are two hairdryers, so I use them both at the same time, and I don't dry my legs with my towel, because they can evaporate while I dry my hair. I don't tie my shoelaces after the shower, I do that while my computer is turning on. If I can do 10 things that save 30 seconds each, that will save 5 minutes twice a day, which means I get home 10 minutes earlier, and have 10 more minutes hanging out.
Trouble with showering fast is that you don't feel like you've had a proper shower, so you have to have another when you get home, which obviously doesn't save time. So I do have to dawdle in the shower a tiny bit, and get thoroughly abluted.
There is a bicycle storage room - you have to register before you are allowed to use it, and put a sticker on your bike to show it is registered too. (My bike is number 1024). If you ride 15 times per month, you get an extra 30 dollars pay. The bicycle storage room has a really good pump in it, screwed to the floor, which was very handy when I had a puncture on Wednesday (the seal around the valve failed, I wonder if it was the stress of the flight for my poor bike). The bicycle storage room also has a shelf for surfboards, and about 8 surfboards on it.
Drying my towel is another slightly tricky issue I've encountered. The first couple of times I hung it on the back of my office door, but then it's not quite dry at going home time, and I didn't want to stuff it in my locker damp, so I hung it on an empty locker door. A lot of people hang their towels on empty locker doors though, and because my towel was
JD suggested taking a series of photos of my ride to work, which is a good idea, when I get my camera-computer link sorted out. (And when I work out the rules of taking cameras into CoCC - I think you have to declare them or hand them in or something.)
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Social Security Number
We went to the social security office to get a social security number. This was a bit of US bureaucracy that I wasn't looking forward to, but it was remarkably pleasant. The building had parking outside (a quarter got an hour) we went into the waiting room, took a ticket, and were served within 15 minutes.
I showed her my passport, with the visa inside, and that was all they needed. (She didn't notice, or didn't mind, that the immigration person had stapled Alex's entry form into my passport.)
The room was a bit grim, but the woman behind the window was cheery, and was also a twin, so she was interested in A & D. She said "It should come in the post within a week, if it doesn't come in two weeks, call this number." And that was that.
S couldn't have a social security number, as she's got an H4 visa, she needs to get a taxpayer identification number instead, which involves dealing with the IRS. That might be a whole new level of bureaucracy.
I showed her my passport, with the visa inside, and that was all they needed. (She didn't notice, or didn't mind, that the immigration person had stapled Alex's entry form into my passport.)
The room was a bit grim, but the woman behind the window was cheery, and was also a twin, so she was interested in A & D. She said "It should come in the post within a week, if it doesn't come in two weeks, call this number." And that was that.
S couldn't have a social security number, as she's got an H4 visa, she needs to get a taxpayer identification number instead, which involves dealing with the IRS. That might be a whole new level of bureaucracy.
Myth #1: Immigration people in the
Maybe it's just me, or maybe it's
Them: "Immigration in the
Me: "Well, when I've been there, they've been nice and friendly."
Them: "Oh no, don't make jokes at immigration."
When we went through this time, they made jokes, they let A & D sit on the counter (on a lower bit) and look at what they were doing.
Myth #2: Everything's cheaper in the
Maybe this is true of some things, but with the stuff in the shops, it doesn't seem to be true of a lot of things. It’s quite hard to make comparisons, because a lot of things are different (you wouldn’t expect fruit and veg to cost the same) and I can’t remember the price of a lot of things. I've just been shopping to Ralph's, a large-ish chain of supermarkets, and I've got the receipt.
I bought the cheapest apple juice I could find, which came in a 1 gallon container. Gallons are smaller here, and it cost $3.79. It happens that a gallon here is about 3.78 litres, so that’s a dollar a litre (just about). Today, a dollar is 53p, so that’s 53p a litre. I don’t know for sure, but I think that Tesco value apple juice is less than that.
Orange juice, 1 gallon, is $5.69. Quite a bit of maths later (or searching on Google) gives 80p a litre, which is a lot more than Tesco Value range. A loaf of wholemeal bread (made by Sara Lee - who knew they made stuff other than chocolate cakes) was $2 - that's 1.o6 GBP - I didn't concentrate on whether I was buying the cheapest there or not. One and a half pounds of Sun Maid raisins was $4.59, which is 2.44 GBP. I don't remember how much they cost in the UK, but they are from California, which you'd think would reduce things.
Maybe there are cheaper shops, but if there are, I ain't found them. (And I've tried, and I've found more expensive.)Of course, the
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Storytime
I picked up a copy of The Onion (which exists as a free newspaper in some cities in the US) and there was an advert for a new branch of Borders. There was to be a grand opening at 10am, and the first 100 kiddies there would get a free Nickolodeon goody bag, and there would be stories and the chance to be photographed with Curious George (I didn't know who Curious George was, but S said that the boys did know).
We drove to the mall, and arrived at 9:30, expecting to find hundreds of screaming American brats. In fact, we found no one. The security staff seemed to be having some sort of briefing in the outdoor food court area, and a couple of people were wandering about, but that was all. I walked optimistically up to the automatic doors and they stayed resolutely shut. We went to the toilet - A and D were excited by the automatic soap dispensers, and by then it was 10 to 10, so we carried on waiting. At 10, the doors opened, and the huge pile of American screaming brats that we expected comprised A and D, and a couple with a baby in a pram.
There seemed to be little fanfair when we went in, but we made our way over to the kids area (that's what they call it) and a very enthusiastic Borders person greeted us, and said that the story would start in 15 minutes. We could also go to the information desk to pick up our tickets, which we could exchange for gift bags at 11.
The stories, as promised, came. They were mostly by Mo Willems and were abotu a pigeon. They seemed to be pretty popular in America as most of the children knew them, and some knew the story ("You can help me with the big words" said the reader - I can't imagine a Borders staff member doing that in England.) A and D liked them, but the reader was a bit too enthusiastic - the shouting frightened them, and he read a bit too quickly. But he did read a lot of stories.
Then CG came, who is a monkey (well, in the books he is a monkey, in Borders he is a person in a monkey suit), and the boys dutifully lined up to have their photo taken.
Then we went for fat free frozen yogurt (ice cream? Not round here). I was offered baby size, for D, and foolishly selected "small". Which I would have called "Family sized" or similar. A wanted a smoothie, which was about a pint - he did make a valiant effort, drinking about half before eventually dropping it on the floor of the car.
I ate a salad, because ice cream places sell salad here. By the pound ($4.49 / lb). I also ended up eating a lot of frozen yogurt and smoothie.
We drove to the mall, and arrived at 9:30, expecting to find hundreds of screaming American brats. In fact, we found no one. The security staff seemed to be having some sort of briefing in the outdoor food court area, and a couple of people were wandering about, but that was all. I walked optimistically up to the automatic doors and they stayed resolutely shut. We went to the toilet - A and D were excited by the automatic soap dispensers, and by then it was 10 to 10, so we carried on waiting. At 10, the doors opened, and the huge pile of American screaming brats that we expected comprised A and D, and a couple with a baby in a pram.
There seemed to be little fanfair when we went in, but we made our way over to the kids area (that's what they call it) and a very enthusiastic Borders person greeted us, and said that the story would start in 15 minutes. We could also go to the information desk to pick up our tickets, which we could exchange for gift bags at 11.
The stories, as promised, came. They were mostly by Mo Willems and were abotu a pigeon. They seemed to be pretty popular in America as most of the children knew them, and some knew the story ("You can help me with the big words" said the reader - I can't imagine a Borders staff member doing that in England.) A and D liked them, but the reader was a bit too enthusiastic - the shouting frightened them, and he read a bit too quickly. But he did read a lot of stories.
Then CG came, who is a monkey (well, in the books he is a monkey, in Borders he is a person in a monkey suit), and the boys dutifully lined up to have their photo taken.
Then we went for fat free frozen yogurt (ice cream? Not round here). I was offered baby size, for D, and foolishly selected "small". Which I would have called "Family sized" or similar. A wanted a smoothie, which was about a pint - he did make a valiant effort, drinking about half before eventually dropping it on the floor of the car.
I ate a salad, because ice cream places sell salad here. By the pound ($4.49 / lb). I also ended up eating a lot of frozen yogurt and smoothie.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Words I"ve Learned
You'd think we'd be saturated with enough US media output to understand them, but here's some things I've learned.
"Mono" is mononucleosis. As in glandular fever.
"Cooties" is "The Lurgy" (non-specific ailment, means you can't do something).
"Cukes" on a menu is cucumber.
Yams are what we call sweet potatoes.
Sweet potatoes look like what we call sweet potatoes, but they're white. And I don't know what they taste like, because the saucepan was full of yams.
Grounds are mince. As in Quorn grounds, soya grounds.
Americans don't know what a serviette is, you have to ask for a napkin.
Update: Oct 10th
A pram is a stroller. Even if you are on roller skates when you are pushing it.
"Mono" is mononucleosis. As in glandular fever.
"Cooties" is "The Lurgy" (non-specific ailment, means you can't do something).
"Cukes" on a menu is cucumber.
Yams are what we call sweet potatoes.
Sweet potatoes look like what we call sweet potatoes, but they're white. And I don't know what they taste like, because the saucepan was full of yams.
Grounds are mince. As in Quorn grounds, soya grounds.
Americans don't know what a serviette is, you have to ask for a napkin.
Update: Oct 10th
A pram is a stroller. Even if you are on roller skates when you are pushing it.
Departure
The time has come to write about the trip. Actually, the time came a couple of days ago, but then when I was looking for a map of Heathrow airport, the computer crashed, and the stupid autosave didn't work, so I got bored. This, dear reader, is what I go through for you.
We had to get a certificate of health from the vet. This seemed to be the most feeble and unofficial looking piece of paper that I've ever seen, something I could have knocked up at home on a laser printer a few minutes (if my laser printer at home didn't put big black stripes on everything, but that's another story). The vet poked at the cat for a few minutes, I handed over 45 quid, and I got my piece of paper.
And off we went to London. I've already dealt with that, so let's jump ahead to Monday morning. The flight was at 1:30, and it was suggested we check in 4 hours early, so we set off at 8am, from Vauxhall. About an hour and a half later, (self, S, A, D, Grandma and cat) arrived at Heathrow. I drove the hire car back to the hire car place, while the others manouevred the two trolleys, piled high with stuff, into departures.
I returned, and we went to check in. You know how whenever you get on an aeroplane, you go to check in, chuck your bags on the conveyor belt, tell them you've got no bombs and are not being unwittingly employed as a drug mule, and get on your way a couple of minutes later, boarding card in hand? And while you're in the queue (I have to learn to say 'line' or Americans call me quaint) there's a family that seem to have been clogging up one of the check in desks for, like, an hour? Well, we were that family.
We had to put our 6 suitcases on, that wasn't too tricky. We had to partially dismantle the car seats and get the labels stuck on and take them to the funny shaped luggage place. Then we had to deal with the cat. We handed over our very unofficial looking piece of paper, then handed over our 70 quid. They seemed to doubt that the shoddy piece of paper really was all we needed - someone more senior was fetched, who fetched someone else more senior, and they eventually decided the piece of paper was OK.
They also decided that the box was IATA approved (I don't know what that means, but we spent 25 pounds (notice that I'm using a keyboard without a pound sign) on a box that had a label that said "IATA approved". They fetched a lot of stickers that said "Live Animal" and "This way up", and stuck them on. It was quite hard to stick them on without covering up the airholes, and the airholes (on all 4 sides) are one of the things that make it IATA approved.
Then I had to carry the cat into the bowels of Heathrow Airport somewhere, and man with a sniffer machine sniffed around the cat box - mainly focussing on the underneath, he didn't put it inside. Maybe he was convinced it was actually a cat. The sniffer was a bit like a hand held vacuum cleaner, with a bit of filter paper in the hose. The filter paper was removed, and it was taken away to be inspected.
Given the lack of hand luggage I was wearing almost all the clothes I had, so I hoped that the trickles of sweat running down my face didn't arouse suspicion.
The cat was declared explosives free, so I took it back to check-in, offered it food and water (I had to sign a declaration that it had been offered food and water - not that it felt at all like eating). The man at the check in gave us odious warnings of what would happen when we arrived - vets would be summoned, out of hours, and we'd have to pay, and all sorts of dreadful stuff.
The cat was taken away, and we went to join the queue for security screening.
Normally the queue for security is a bit long, but this was impressive. It went all the way through departures, up some steps, across a bridge, along a long corridor, and into the car park, where it wound up and down once. We found Grandma and she went to buy supplies of sandwiches.
People were wandering up and down the queue calling particular flights and pulling people out of the queue to take them to the front - I waited for ours, but it never came.
We got to the front of the queue, after what felt like forever, but was about 1 o'clock. I took off my belt, because sometimes that sets off the alarms, but left my mobile phone in my pocket.
We got through security to see the screen saying "last call" for our flight, when someone greeted us, and asked what flight we were on. I told him, expecting him to rush us in some way to the departure gate. He started to tell me what duty free stuff we could buy, so I punched him out of the way, and saw that sign that estimated a 20 minute walk to our gate.
We picked up A & D and ran, as much as we could, and walked directly onto the plane. (First time I've ever done that).
When the stewardess saw the boys, she asked if they wanted to see the flight deck, which was something I thought only happened in stories. The boys went into the cockpit, took over the plane, and demanded milk and ... no, not really. They sat in the co-pilot's seat, and the pilot asked if we had a camera. I didn't (obviously, I didn't even have a belt on), so he took a photo with his camera, and asked for my email address, so he could email it.
Which, about a week later, he did. Which I thought was incredibly nice of him. So, FLY UNITED AIRLINES, 'COS THEY"RE REALLY NICE.
Then we sat down and the plane took off.
We had to get a certificate of health from the vet. This seemed to be the most feeble and unofficial looking piece of paper that I've ever seen, something I could have knocked up at home on a laser printer a few minutes (if my laser printer at home didn't put big black stripes on everything, but that's another story). The vet poked at the cat for a few minutes, I handed over 45 quid, and I got my piece of paper.
And off we went to London. I've already dealt with that, so let's jump ahead to Monday morning. The flight was at 1:30, and it was suggested we check in 4 hours early, so we set off at 8am, from Vauxhall. About an hour and a half later, (self, S, A, D, Grandma and cat) arrived at Heathrow. I drove the hire car back to the hire car place, while the others manouevred the two trolleys, piled high with stuff, into departures.
I returned, and we went to check in. You know how whenever you get on an aeroplane, you go to check in, chuck your bags on the conveyor belt, tell them you've got no bombs and are not being unwittingly employed as a drug mule, and get on your way a couple of minutes later, boarding card in hand? And while you're in the queue (I have to learn to say 'line' or Americans call me quaint) there's a family that seem to have been clogging up one of the check in desks for, like, an hour? Well, we were that family.
We had to put our 6 suitcases on, that wasn't too tricky. We had to partially dismantle the car seats and get the labels stuck on and take them to the funny shaped luggage place. Then we had to deal with the cat. We handed over our very unofficial looking piece of paper, then handed over our 70 quid. They seemed to doubt that the shoddy piece of paper really was all we needed - someone more senior was fetched, who fetched someone else more senior, and they eventually decided the piece of paper was OK.
They also decided that the box was IATA approved (I don't know what that means, but we spent 25 pounds (notice that I'm using a keyboard without a pound sign) on a box that had a label that said "IATA approved". They fetched a lot of stickers that said "Live Animal" and "This way up", and stuck them on. It was quite hard to stick them on without covering up the airholes, and the airholes (on all 4 sides) are one of the things that make it IATA approved.
Then I had to carry the cat into the bowels of Heathrow Airport somewhere, and man with a sniffer machine sniffed around the cat box - mainly focussing on the underneath, he didn't put it inside. Maybe he was convinced it was actually a cat. The sniffer was a bit like a hand held vacuum cleaner, with a bit of filter paper in the hose. The filter paper was removed, and it was taken away to be inspected.
Given the lack of hand luggage I was wearing almost all the clothes I had, so I hoped that the trickles of sweat running down my face didn't arouse suspicion.
The cat was declared explosives free, so I took it back to check-in, offered it food and water (I had to sign a declaration that it had been offered food and water - not that it felt at all like eating). The man at the check in gave us odious warnings of what would happen when we arrived - vets would be summoned, out of hours, and we'd have to pay, and all sorts of dreadful stuff.
The cat was taken away, and we went to join the queue for security screening.
Normally the queue for security is a bit long, but this was impressive. It went all the way through departures, up some steps, across a bridge, along a long corridor, and into the car park, where it wound up and down once. We found Grandma and she went to buy supplies of sandwiches.
People were wandering up and down the queue calling particular flights and pulling people out of the queue to take them to the front - I waited for ours, but it never came.
We got to the front of the queue, after what felt like forever, but was about 1 o'clock. I took off my belt, because sometimes that sets off the alarms, but left my mobile phone in my pocket.
We got through security to see the screen saying "last call" for our flight, when someone greeted us, and asked what flight we were on. I told him, expecting him to rush us in some way to the departure gate. He started to tell me what duty free stuff we could buy, so I punched him out of the way, and saw that sign that estimated a 20 minute walk to our gate.
We picked up A & D and ran, as much as we could, and walked directly onto the plane. (First time I've ever done that).
When the stewardess saw the boys, she asked if they wanted to see the flight deck, which was something I thought only happened in stories. The boys went into the cockpit, took over the plane, and demanded milk and ... no, not really. They sat in the co-pilot's seat, and the pilot asked if we had a camera. I didn't (obviously, I didn't even have a belt on), so he took a photo with his camera, and asked for my email address, so he could email it.
Which, about a week later, he did. Which I thought was incredibly nice of him. So, FLY UNITED AIRLINES, 'COS THEY"RE REALLY NICE.
Then we sat down and the plane took off.
Petrol
Oh, the joy of trying to put petrol in the car.
I can't get the petrol to come out of the pump and into the car. So I walk into the shop bit, and he says "You paying?" and I say "No, the petrol won't come out." But he doesn't know what petrol is, so he says "Pay?", and I say "No, no petrol".
This continued for a while, until the chap behind me in the queue realised what was going on, and translated. Basically, you pay first, then put the petrol in. But as you've no idea how much space there is in the tank, you don't know how much to pay (gallons are smaller and cost a different amount - that's a calculation you can't do without advanced calculus). So 4 miles later, you've got to go through the whole procedure again.
I can't get the petrol to come out of the pump and into the car. So I walk into the shop bit, and he says "You paying?" and I say "No, the petrol won't come out." But he doesn't know what petrol is, so he says "Pay?", and I say "No, no petrol".
This continued for a while, until the chap behind me in the queue realised what was going on, and translated. Basically, you pay first, then put the petrol in. But as you've no idea how much space there is in the tank, you don't know how much to pay (gallons are smaller and cost a different amount - that's a calculation you can't do without advanced calculus). So 4 miles later, you've got to go through the whole procedure again.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Milk
In England, we had milk delivered, by the milkman. (It could have been a milk lady, for all I knew, I was never up early enough to see.) In America, where price trumps everything, we don't. Because you can save a small amount by using your time and petrol (oops, gas) to drive to the supermarket and buy milk on a regular basis.
Because we had it delivered, I never realised how much milk we got through. On Friday I went to the supermarket, and bought some milk. Being honorary Americans (this is like being an honorary lecturer - it means nothing) I buy milk in gallon containers (surprisingly, being American, these are smaller than proper gallons. 1 US gallon is about 1.2 UK gallons), and I bought 2 of these 1 gallon containers. This morning is Monday, and we are out of milk.
(We buy orange juice and apple juice in 1 gallon containers. Soya milk only comes in 4 pint containers. The supermarket had an offer for 10 fresh baguettes for $10. What can you do with 10 fresh baguettes?)
Because we had it delivered, I never realised how much milk we got through. On Friday I went to the supermarket, and bought some milk. Being honorary Americans (this is like being an honorary lecturer - it means nothing) I buy milk in gallon containers (surprisingly, being American, these are smaller than proper gallons. 1 US gallon is about 1.2 UK gallons), and I bought 2 of these 1 gallon containers. This morning is Monday, and we are out of milk.
(We buy orange juice and apple juice in 1 gallon containers. Soya milk only comes in 4 pint containers. The supermarket had an offer for 10 fresh baguettes for $10. What can you do with 10 fresh baguettes?)
Friday, September 08, 2006
I thought I saw a puddy tat
I went to the convenience store in our apartment block, at about 9 o'clock at night. On the way back, I saw a cat - I thought it was strange that someone had a cat that was out - the apartments are (AFAIK) for temporary accommodation, and although pets are OK (we've got one, after all), I wouldn't have thought that anyone was here long enough to get one.
Anyway, as I got closer, I noticed it was a really big cat. With a pointy nose, and a long bushy tail. With stripes. It was a raccoon. Which I thought was kind of cute, until I read about them on Wikipedia. Seems they are a bit prone to giving people stuff like rabies.
Anyway, as I got closer, I noticed it was a really big cat. With a pointy nose, and a long bushy tail. With stripes. It was a raccoon. Which I thought was kind of cute, until I read about them on Wikipedia. Seems they are a bit prone to giving people stuff like rabies.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
London bound
We had moved out of our house on the 25th (our original planned departure date) and so were staying with J & K, for a week. On Saturday morning, we sold our car, and rented another car. The nice people at Enterprise came and picked us up from J & K's house. ("What's your address?" I told them our address. "So why did we pick you up from somewhere else?" Errrr...).
On Sunday, we picked up the cat, and drove to my sister's house, in London. There was an enormous traffic jam on the M1, caused by an accident involving an SUV, which had been towing a caravan. The car was lying upside down in the fast lane, and the caravan was sort of sideways on the crash barrier. I thought bad thoughts about people who (a) drove SUVs, and (b) pulled caravans. But I put them out of my mind.
When we finally arrived in London, we were greeted by (wait for it) my sister, J, partner G, children, C, B, E, N, my mother, my other sister, S, partner, G (again - I've never noticed that before), and baby L. Uncle P came shortly afterwards. An enormous saucepan of spaghetti was cooked, and eaten. Then another. Then the remaining people ate toast.
A and D slept that night in two armchairs pushed together to make a bed - one at each end. They thought that was quite exciting.
In the morning, we headed to the airport.
On Sunday, we picked up the cat, and drove to my sister's house, in London. There was an enormous traffic jam on the M1, caused by an accident involving an SUV, which had been towing a caravan. The car was lying upside down in the fast lane, and the caravan was sort of sideways on the crash barrier. I thought bad thoughts about people who (a) drove SUVs, and (b) pulled caravans. But I put them out of my mind.
When we finally arrived in London, we were greeted by (wait for it) my sister, J, partner G, children, C, B, E, N, my mother, my other sister, S, partner, G (again - I've never noticed that before), and baby L. Uncle P came shortly afterwards. An enormous saucepan of spaghetti was cooked, and eaten. Then another. Then the remaining people ate toast.
A and D slept that night in two armchairs pushed together to make a bed - one at each end. They thought that was quite exciting.
In the morning, we headed to the airport.
Friday, September 01, 2006
The Embassy Trip (part 2)
We went back to waiting. This time the wait was uncertain - although the numbers were still being on the big TV screens, the number that the screen said was the next to be called wasn't the next to be called. The numbers were still correlated - but it wasn't perfect. I thought about recording the numbers and doing a limits of agreement calculation. But even I'm not that obsessed.
The screens showed which numbers were being interviewed at which windows. S timed them "number 232 has been at window 17 for 15 minutes", she would say. After a wholesome lunch of 2 bags of salt and vinegar crisps we sat and waited. Then we walked around, to stretch our legs. Then we stood and waited, because we didn't have seats any more.
S was trying to see if there were consistent differences between the different windows. That way we would know to hope not to get window 14 (say) because they took longer (or maybe dubious types got called to Window 14). I sat and read through the blurb which Corporation of Future Employment had sent to the US Immigration Service, including the Annual Report. I've never read even half of an Annual Report in my life, but this one wasn't bad, in places. One part of it was about an analysis of invading Iraq and Afghanistan. It said "It was a really fucking stupid idea, and if anyone had thought about it for more than 5 minutes, they would have realised this". Well, OK, it didn't say exactly that, but that was the gist of it. Right wing think tank? Pah!
The numbers got closer to our number (remember we were 296, for maximum drama) - it something like 289, 290, 293, 187, 195, ... 299 [!]. But our number did come up, and we made the long walk to our window (number 17). It turned out, as we walked past the lower numbers, that some windows really were windows, and some were little rooms.
Ours was a window. We went to the window, and had to be re-fingerprinted (this time to make sure that we were the same people that went to the other window). Our forms were checked, and our grilling began.
"How old is D?" (An easy starter). "He's 4, I replied with confidence."
I was expecting trouble at this stage. D's passport has a photo taken when he was 6 months old. His visa photo is obviously of a 4 year old. This could have been any random baby.
"How old is A?" (Aha, trying to lull me into a false sense of security.) "He's 4 too." A and D, for those that don't know are monozygotic (identical - although they aren't actually identical, but they are very, very similar) twins. When I got their passports the first time, I handed over the photos at the Post Office - "That's A and that's D" I told them, purposefully. "No, wait, that's D and that's A", which I thought was very funny, but they didn't. So I didn't try that this time.
"What's your job going to be?" she asked next. I explained, including a bit about teaching, that caused some confusion "Who are you going to be teaching at Corporation of Future Employment?" I explained that, despite not being a university, CFE thinks it's a university, and so has students.
"And are you a nice statistics professor?" Aha, the killer question. "Because I didn't like statistics when I was at college".
"Ooh, yes, I'm very nice."
"Well, my professor was nice, I just didn't like statistics."
That didn't seem like a question, so I stayed quiet.
She clicked a few things on the screen, scribbled on some forms, and said "We'll send your visas in the post."
We walked out, triumphant, but not yet complete. We had to deal with the couriers who actually do the business of sending your visa out. This cost £14.50. I had a slight concern that they would require cash, and another that it would cost that per visa - there being 4 of us, that mean we had to be sure of having enough cash. But they didn't, and it wasn't. They were very efficient - they sent a text message, as promised, the day before the visas were delivered, so that we were warned and could make appropriate arrangements, and they came on Thursday. (We went to the embassy on the Friday, and Monday was a bank holiday, so that was a reasonably impressive turnaround.)
And here, in all its glory, it is:
The screens showed which numbers were being interviewed at which windows. S timed them "number 232 has been at window 17 for 15 minutes", she would say. After a wholesome lunch of 2 bags of salt and vinegar crisps we sat and waited. Then we walked around, to stretch our legs. Then we stood and waited, because we didn't have seats any more.
S was trying to see if there were consistent differences between the different windows. That way we would know to hope not to get window 14 (say) because they took longer (or maybe dubious types got called to Window 14). I sat and read through the blurb which Corporation of Future Employment had sent to the US Immigration Service, including the Annual Report. I've never read even half of an Annual Report in my life, but this one wasn't bad, in places. One part of it was about an analysis of invading Iraq and Afghanistan. It said "It was a really fucking stupid idea, and if anyone had thought about it for more than 5 minutes, they would have realised this". Well, OK, it didn't say exactly that, but that was the gist of it. Right wing think tank? Pah!
The numbers got closer to our number (remember we were 296, for maximum drama) - it something like 289, 290, 293, 187, 195, ... 299 [!]. But our number did come up, and we made the long walk to our window (number 17). It turned out, as we walked past the lower numbers, that some windows really were windows, and some were little rooms.
Ours was a window. We went to the window, and had to be re-fingerprinted (this time to make sure that we were the same people that went to the other window). Our forms were checked, and our grilling began.
"How old is D?" (An easy starter). "He's 4, I replied with confidence."
I was expecting trouble at this stage. D's passport has a photo taken when he was 6 months old. His visa photo is obviously of a 4 year old. This could have been any random baby.
"How old is A?" (Aha, trying to lull me into a false sense of security.) "He's 4 too." A and D, for those that don't know are monozygotic (identical - although they aren't actually identical, but they are very, very similar) twins. When I got their passports the first time, I handed over the photos at the Post Office - "That's A and that's D" I told them, purposefully. "No, wait, that's D and that's A", which I thought was very funny, but they didn't. So I didn't try that this time.
"What's your job going to be?" she asked next. I explained, including a bit about teaching, that caused some confusion "Who are you going to be teaching at Corporation of Future Employment?" I explained that, despite not being a university, CFE thinks it's a university, and so has students.
"And are you a nice statistics professor?" Aha, the killer question. "Because I didn't like statistics when I was at college".
"Ooh, yes, I'm very nice."
"Well, my professor was nice, I just didn't like statistics."
That didn't seem like a question, so I stayed quiet.
She clicked a few things on the screen, scribbled on some forms, and said "We'll send your visas in the post."
We walked out, triumphant, but not yet complete. We had to deal with the couriers who actually do the business of sending your visa out. This cost £14.50. I had a slight concern that they would require cash, and another that it would cost that per visa - there being 4 of us, that mean we had to be sure of having enough cash. But they didn't, and it wasn't. They were very efficient - they sent a text message, as promised, the day before the visas were delivered, so that we were warned and could make appropriate arrangements, and they came on Thursday. (We went to the embassy on the Friday, and Monday was a bank holiday, so that was a reasonably impressive turnaround.)
And here, in all its glory, it is:
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