We are buying a house in England

"Hold your nerve", I say to my husband, the French-Canadian veterinary research histopathologist with whom I share my life (and fleas).  "Buying a house is not easy in this country".   I use both of my tiny little monkey hands to lift the 3L bottle of Co-Op London Gin up onto the kitchen table, and get the winch out.  I realise he is only partially aware of what 'Grade 2 Listed' means, and I am not in any hurry to get into any sort of deep chit-chat about the ramifications of living in a house with a thatched roof.   The winch is winched; the bottle tips; the drink is 73% gin.

In Canada (where we have been), buying a house is sort of like it is in Scotland: you say you want to buy it, you sign a thing, you do some surveys and that and then - assuming you haven't got cold-resistant termites or bodies in the converted basement - 5,000 square metres of fine Canadian real estate is yours for the price of a one bedroom flat in Shepherd's Bush.   There isn't any of this 'gazumping' nonsense; agents don't seem to be massive cocks and people tend to do what they say they will.

In the England, it is different. Our offer has been accepted and the house is "Sold STC",  but someone could pop up offering 30p more than us and - in theory - the owners could take the offer and we would be back where we are, i.e. living in nice but leaky rented house with carpets like those you would find in an office just outside Coventry,  surrounded by sinister people who live in bungalows, drive top-of-the-range Audis and shout 'THIS IS A PRIVATE ROAD' after you, the suspension on your 2007 Ford Fusion Zetec audibly snapping as you speed away, bouncing over potholes on the way to the Co-op.

But. But.  I think it will be OK.  The owners (Scottish, very nice, fine taste in gardens and basins) seem excellent, and want to get back to Scotland.   While we wait, we wake up at odd hours in a cold sweat trying mentally to fit our enormous Canadian furniture into a house built by toothless Tudor cordwainers; even if we grease it up good and proper it's going to be a struggle worth buying tickets for, and some things will have to go, or go into storage (e.g. collection of fezzes, furniture built purely to hold your television set, The Complete Ant and Bee, etc).    I have spent 23 minutes looking up "How to cook on an electric Aga", an hour being put on hold by various 'mortgage providers' and 15 minutes talking to a solicitor who tells me there is nothing she likes more than 'dicey permissions'.

I will not go on more.  We will have to see what happens. It is too soon to show interest in the fact that the Parish Council have had to buy a new Dog Poo Bin themselves because Cambridgeshire County Council simply REFUSE to pay for it themselves.  I also have ZERO interest in the fact that pub (6 minutes' walk from our front door) has a Pie Night every Wednesday. Of even less interest are the quality of our cricket teas, and whether we will be featured in the monthly village newsletter, which makes a point of welcoming new people to the village. "Please welcome the new arrivals to Monkey Cottage at 1 Bingbong Lane.  They have just moved back to the UK from Canada. Say hello to NWM, JM and their cat, Steve".


Talking of Steve, this was the picture on his cage at the rehoming centre.  We got him two weeks ago. He is excellent but now gigantic, and chews on our toes in the night.



Pip pip!

NWM

Cottaging

We have put an offer in on a house. The house is in fact a cottage with a thatched roof in a village with a cricket club, the WI, two pubs and a very low threat of flooding.  It is what North Americans think most houses in England are like (if they are not Downton Abbey or Buckingham Castle). 

I realised tonight that if this thing (that we weren't planning) happens, there's a very high chance I may 'take to my blog' again. Why? Because I know that you - my adoring readers and/or fans - will want to know every detail of the WI talk about "Swedish Customs, Cakes and Coffee" that I plan to attend in late November, and I want to tell you every detail about 'Fruits de Mar Panini' on the menu at Pub 2. 

Are you in?  I know I am by Christmas, if all goes according to plan. 

Pip pip!

NWM

English Items (Various)

An update for you, my adoring readers and/or fans (should you still exist).

I Now Live In The Almost-Country
More precisely, a village that is technically in Cambridgeshire, but has a Royston postcode ERGO is not 'real' country (i.e., you don't need wellies and Ocado offer a number of convenient delivery slots).

Good things about the village:

1. I live in a (rented)  Georgian house with 3 bedrooms, a garden full of gigantically fat pigeons and a leaking conservatory (that's big enough, should the village hall burn down, to host the Am Dram Soc's peformance of Pirates of the Penzance, inc audience). The entire house costs the same to rent as a 1 bed flat above a chipshop in Shepherd's Bush (actual fact). It is very pretty and very wonky and after 8 years in Canada,  it is just the ticket. My husband, a Canadian, keeps bashing his head on the doors which, bearing in mind the Georgians weren't THAT stubby, tells you something about his extraordinary manliness.
2. There is a very good butcher that also sells a) 'loave cakes' and b) 'home fashioned fruit pies'
3. There are 2 other shops, notably a corner shop they call "Dips' Shop", a magical emporium that sells a range of items including sausages (of high quality), dustpans (and brushes should you need them), firelighters, 3 types of crumpet, papers, broccoli, discounted Valentine Chocs and party hats.
4. It is a 15 minute walk across a field to train to London that takes an hour, and you can always get a seat.
5. There is a really good GP full of excellent doctors and receptionists and people who are complaining. To these people I say: leave the UK for 8 years. (Try living in Canada, even, which allegedly has a health service of its own.) Then come back, experience the NHS again for 5 minutes and weep hot tears of gratitude. 
6. There is a kebab van in the car park (6-10pm every night inc. Sundays) that has the mystery meat on a pole, but also has meat on a stick.
7. We are not in London. I am from London. Born there, went to school there, lived there most of my life. But I do not want to live there anymore. 

Bad things about the village

We have 3 pubs and they are all shit.

1. Parvenu Hotel Resstrunt Bar. High gloss textured wallpaper, does weddings. Rolls-Royces parked outside. Slacks. Slippery 'Chesterfield style suites', Chef's Snack Platter. No. 
2. Pub of Danger.  It is where you go if you want some crack cocaine. Driving past it you would take one look and shriek "Oh this MUST be in The Sunday Times' 50 Best Pubs Within Commuting Distance of London 2012 Guide!!!". It is all wattle & daub glory and creaking signs. Then you park up and cross the road, feel your way through teenagers with tiny eyes sucking hard on cheap cigarettes, and find that the pub is full of people that would probably kill you and put you in the ham sandwiches given half the chance. "How charming!", you shriek, necking your pint in record time as you leg it out the back through the car park.  
3. Pub of Laminate. Is the pub that you think, well if nothing else we'll go to there, for it is managed by a reputable - nay, celebrated - nearly local brewery,  surely it'll be OK. But it is not. It is over-lit and full of laminated menus and you feel genuinely indignant that you don't qualify for the Pensioners' Weekend Meal Deal.  There are fake fires and people in their late 20s silently eating a Sunday Roast Meal Deal (your choice of chicken, beef, pork or lamb with an alcoholic beverage of your choosing) with their parents. Everyone is on high stools, and no-one is comfortable. 

I am now a headhunter
The irony of this is not lost on me and yet. And yet.   In this job, the idea of work is an abstract. There are headhunters that headhunt headhunters to go and work for other headhunters.  We don't earn commission (no no, we are not THAT kind of headhunter) and I am paid a salary to sit and talk in the abstract about work all day long. It is probably the perfect employment for a Non-working Monkey.

It is fucking ace to be back
So great, in fact, that I have not been able to write it down. I keep wanting to start and then don't know where to, because there's so much.  But I have been inspired to get to it again because ....

....A great person has written a great book

It is Emma Beddington, AKA Belgian Waffle, and her book is really, really good. I read half of it in one day and I am wanting to chomp more of it down.

I told her it was a relief it was good, like when your pal has a baby that doesn't look like a potato with marshmallow eyes so that when you say "oh isn't he/she LOVELY', you actually mean it.  Have a look. (I also found out within the first 10 pages that she lived next door to the man who let me in to the University of York, where I got a Desmond and got up to no glorious good for 3 years).




I find Faceswap 3 years too late and laugh until I can laugh no more

Here I am as a dog, for example:





















I wrote a post about a Barbour when I got back that was a bit odd, so I've got rid of it but there were some very good questions in the comments that I will go back to and try and answer. In the meantime, if you have any items you wish to discuss with me I encourage you to fill the comments box(es) with your topicks.

Pip pip!

NWM

Home

The original version of this post contained a strange transcript of an email I wrote to Simon at work asking for advice about Barbours. I was going to bin the post but the comments were lovley so I have cut the boring bit out and put the end bit in, which will explain the comments. Please and thank you. 

___

I have so much to say on the subject of being back in Blighty after 8 long, long, unremarkable years in Canada that I don't know where to start. If you, my adoring readers and/or fans, have any 'questions' or 'topics', insert them forcefully into the comments box below and I will do my utmost best to answer them.

Pip "Mince Fucking Pies Everywhere and Permanently Drunk - Isn't Life Grand!!" Pip

NWM

Things I Will Miss About Canada, Pt 2: Relationship With The Weather

As they are with distance, the people of Canada are as hard as fucking nails when it comes to the weather.

For e.g., here is a Canadian train dealing with snow:

And here is an English train dealing with snow:

"Snow is nothing but trouble", he moaned.  Precisely.

In case the point is not clear enough, I have taken some time out of my "busy schedule" (pronounced "skedjooll", rhymes with "Medjool") to build a simple chart  that will demonstrate exactly what I mean. In it, I compare reactions to various temperature levels, England* vs. Canada**.

UPDATE: An eagle-eyed reader points out that the scale below should be C not F.   And now we may begin:

In the winter in England, all you would have to do to get out of the house would be put on a coat, scarf and gloves and grumble a bit (maybe scrape a bit of frost off the windscreen), and get on your way. In Canada, you have to get special snow tyres put on and stock up on 100L of de-icer - then every day, you:

1. Check weather the night before
2. Wake up, see if car is still visible under 15ins of snow, realise it is not
3. Drink coffee, get dressed quickly
4. Put on large coat, big boots, insulated gloves, hat, scarf etc
5. Pick up snow shovel, sigh
6. Dig car out of snow
7. Dig drive out of snow
8. Sweat
9. Take off large coat, big boots, gloves, hat, scarf etc
10. Steam
11. Have breakfast, have shower, put on clothes
12. Put on large coat, big boots, insulated gloves, hat, scarf etc
13. Make way to car already under another 4 ins of snow 
14. Turn on car, hope it starts
15. Wait for heating to take temperature inside car from -25 to -10
16. Drive off
17. Hope to fuck the snowplough has been.

I will miss this very much, and am already preparing myself not to shout CALL THIS COLD? TRY SAYING THAT TO A CANADIAN!!! at the first English person who moans about the cold when I get back.   Still, at least I'll only need one coat. 

Pip "a few degrees off thermals!" Pip

NWM


* When I say 'England', I probably mean lily-livered Southerners, of which I am one. As any fule kno, the Scottish and Northerners are as hard as fucking nails and should not be messed with in any circumstances. I cannot speak for the Welsh.
** When I say 'Canada', I mean East Coast Canada, or more specifically Quebec, where I live. As we all know Toronto has semi-tropical climate compared to that of Quebec, and Vancouver's climate is like that of Swansea. I have never been to the prairies, Alberta, the Northern Territories, etc. 

Things I Will Miss About Canada, Part 1: Relationship With Distance

English Person 1: I am going to York on Friday.
English Person 2: Gosh that IS a long way from London!
English Person 1: Approx 200 miles according to this AA Map of Great Britain.  Look, there's Sheffield look, caught in the fold.  (Points at page 52.)
English Person 2: How are you going to get there?
English Person 1: I am definitely not going to drive!! It is just under four hours.
English Person 2: WOWEE that IS a long way isn't it.  I mean where would you store the provisions for a journey that long?
English Person 1: The roofrack. That or stop at the 'services' five times for sausages.
English Person 2: What a conundrum.


Me: Do you want to come for Thanksgiving? It will be a 2-night jaunt.
Friends in Toronto: Sure!
Me: Will you fly?
Friends in Toronto: No no, we'll drive, it won't take long.
Me: Are you bringing the kids?
Friends in Toronto: Sure!
Me: How long's the journey again?
Friends in Toronto: Oh, it's nothing. 6,7 hours. A bit longer if we stop for gas.

List Of Things I Have Learnt While Clearing Out My Desk And Filing Cabinet In Readiness For Transatlantic Move

1. Penhaligon's 'gift fragrance oils' (3 pack) do not improve with age.
2. You can't do much with miniature postcards of Czech saints, even WITH their English names scribbled in pencil across the back. 
3. I am never going to use:
   - the matching crystal envelope opener and magnifying glass in padded blue silken box
   - the packet of Barbapapa stickers
   - the family of finger puppet rabbits
   - a brooch (approx. 6 x 3 cms) of a lopsided monkey in a fez with the face of Coluche
4. Some pens last forever: Bic Crystal, Staedler Permanent Felt Tip.
5. I could, tomorrow morning (stamps permitting), send:
   -  25 birthday cards,
   - 30 blank cards feat. 17th century tulips, etc
   - c. 100 postcards of EITHER art OR kittens and puppies.
6. I have enough loose change to buy an egg and cress sandwich in the early 90s.
7. I have 7 padlocks.
8. According to an unpaid bill from 2005, I owe my therapist 300 quid.
9. I really like a) paperclips; b) tiny clothespegs; c) staples; d) old cheque books.
10. The inside of my head looks like this: 

List Of Things To Do Before Moving

1. Give giant pot to translator
2. Unlock phone I finished paying for in May 2014
3. Give unlocked phone (iPhone 4) to husband
4. Explain to husband how a 'smartphone' works
5. Check exchange rate
6. Cry
7. Find tax accountant and financial advisor, pref. called 'Alan' or 'Bryan'
8. Plan leaving party. Order gin and sausages
9. Empty cupboard x 5
10. Empty chest of drawers x 3
11. Listen to Tutti Frutti by New Order 14 times in a row while folding socks
12. Remember have promised husband and Moving Man Robin that will reduce books by c. 25%
13. Stare at Ulysses, Clarissa and In Parenthesis and remind self again how much loathe them
14. Keep them anyway 
15. Reduce books by 10% but tell husband is 20% and say IS BOOKS glaring and tutting
16. Celebrate 46th birthday and note that a) still as fat as ever; b) next stop 50
17. Look for houses "within 3 miles of" Royston with room for chairlift
18. Go through photos. Throw away pics of places or people I cannot name. Reduce pics by 90%
19. Go through emails/letters, 2000-2006. Throw away ones that remind self of poor taste in men
20. Go through emails/letters that remind self that took self too seriously. Reduce pile by 100%
21. Count cake tins. Reduce from c. 18 to 4
22. Count vegetable peelers. Reduce from c. 5 to 1
23. Sit on floor reading Nancy Mitford on top of emptied contents of filing cabinet & desk
24. Check date of flight (7th November) seven times, but tell everyone is 8th November
25. Eat cookies made for husband straight from freezer while folding pants
26. Pick crumbs out of ladyparts.

The Date Approaches

Yes, adoring readers and/or fans, I will be leaving Montreal forever* on the 8th November. On the 16th November I start what is known in some circles as "a new job" doing something completely new (but related), which I will draw a veil over for the moment (hem hem).  In the meantime, progress is as follows:

We have found a removal company.

Referred by friends with exacting standards and a lot of books, Robin the Removal Man is 71 and follows me around with a clipboard saying things like: 

• That box?

• The cat?
• Wine cellar?  (Answer: NO, I DRANK IT.)
• Are you sure?
• I wouldn’t if I were you.
• Forty cubic metres, probably.

He doesn't eat biscuits when you offer them to him, but he DOES put them in his pocket 'for later' when he goes.

I have learnt how to fold clothes.

I spent c. $13 on a book having read an article about the author, a lady called Marie who likes folding socks.  The book was a bit of a let-down as it contains lot of chat about socks having feelings and thanking your t-shirts but not many pictures.  

She has her own version of "Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful" (which we all know because we are not idiots), suggesting that you only keep things that "spark joy". By this definition I'd be surrounded by bottles of Viejos Robles cornershop wine (c. $10), the veterinary pathologist to whom I am married, and back issues of Which? Magazine so I’ve ignored that bit o’ wisdom, but I have paid attention to the following:

Tidy up by category not by room.   For e.g.,  get all your clothes/books/hats/photos/letters etc out at a time, don’t do it by room.  It works.  Incidentally, here is some of my own advice on clothes culling. Get rid of things if:

• you look like a twat in it

• you haven't worn it since you last moved continents in 2006

• it has cat wee on it.

Folding is fun!! No. Really. I am serious. T-shirt video here. Do it. Fold your socks. It makes room in drawers and makes you feel like an adult.

Do not categorize clothes that are a bit shit as 'loungewear' and keep them.  Hers is a more ladylike version of: "girlfriend, self-respect starts with not spending your life in baggy track pants and gigantic stained t-shirts with holes in - get some fucking pyjamas!".   Following this advice has freed up approximately 80% of storage space in my house. True.

Avoid 'storage solutions'.  'Storage solutions' are just expensive boxes for you to put your crap in.  Deal with the crap.

I have rented a flat (for a bit)

You do not need me to tell you that renting in London is a fucking joke. If you do not want to live in a flat full of depressed cockroaches with bloodstained sofas, you have to spend the equivalent of  $5,000 a month and commute for 2 hours.  I have gone all AirBnB and rented a flat in Brook Green for 3 months from a psychotherapist called Stephen until the veterinary pathologist with whom I share my life (and fleas) gets his visa and moves over. Then we'll move to the country and I will do a real commute, and a part of me will die inside, and I will make brave noises about "really switching off!" and "doing tons of reading on the train!". 

That is the update for now. If you have any informations to share I am ready for them. Until then, I remain over-excited and unfocused, as if left alone in a Hula-Hoop factory overnight. 

Pip pip ! 

NWM

Things I Think About When I Think About Moving Back To England

Yes, adoring readers and/or fans, the moment is fast approaching.  Our multiple residences are for sale.  I have resigned and now work part-time, where my days divide up in the following ways:

Also, I have a cold - or is it a dust allergy, stirred up by moving piles of stuff in cupboards that have lain untouched for 7 years?  We may never know. In the meantime, I watch the Canadian dollar become weaker by the second (something to do with OPEC and the sands), the size of the house we can afford to live in shrink to 4 square feet, and the list of urgent matters in need of resolution grow.  For e.g.:

1. Will my friends realise - when they are forced to see me more than once a year - that I am a crashing bore? 
2. Has Canada - The Most Reasonable And Non-judgmental Country In The World - made me boring, or was I boring all along? Will anyone tell me if I am a bore? (This was Nancy Mitford's greatest fear so I am in OK company.)
3. Where can I get some Dutch friends? Dutch people will always tell you the truth. A Dutch friend would tell me if I were boring.   (There is much to commend the Dutch.  A passion for the truth is one thing, along with great height, cycling proficiency, magnificent art, very good taste in lighting and excellent architecture. And also bitterballen.)
4. What am I, an "ambitious lady" with a desire to have A REALLY GOOD POP AT IT and wear businesslike spectacles before becoming an overpaid consultant, or someone who seeks a simpler life involving entire afternoons on the sofa eating Hula-Hoops and watching Escape To The Country, interspersed with the odd bit of freelance for design agencies in the smaller centres of Hertfordshire?  
5. Where does all the dust come from?
6. Are those clothes moths or food moths? Both are fucking arseholes, but there's an outside chance they're neither.
7. Will the cat survive the flight over? What if the heating breaks and the pilot doesn't turn round, as he did for this bulldog the other day? 
8. Is Waitrose really that good? 
9. Is it OK to say you really like Which? magazine? 
10. Is it normal to lie in bed at night and think of marketing strategy for Which? magazine? 
11. Is it OK to want to be  marketing director of Which? magazine? 
12. How will I sort out my gas/heating/telephone/internet/TV/bank/mobile phone? 

It is very complicated. If there is anything else I should be worrying about - or if you have any answers to my questions - I would be grateful for all the words you can cram into the comments boxes with your tiny little fingers.  (Also, I have lost the header on my web-blog which is very vexing, as it featured a beautiful drawing of me at my desk drawn by Mr Dave Shelton. Keep an eye out. If you see it, let me know.)

Pip pip!

NWM