A Weekend in Bath

I have managed to get myself about three trips behind on my travel posts. Let's see...Rome, Bath, Amsterdam. Yeah, that's three. Since we have yet another coming up (Scotland with the folks) in a few weeks, I need to get through some of the old! So forgive the delayed posting, and onward...to Bath.

Our first long weekend trip whilst in London (and, by the way, Brits love them some whilst) was to Bath. Bath has been a spa town and destination for leisure travel off and on since Roman times. That's a long time. We took the train down and spent a full weekend there. And oh the train ride. Let us narrate our train ride in texts sent between my wife and I on the journey: It totally feels like a third-world leg on The Amazing Race. If you book 90 minutes on a train, why would you not get assigned a seat? Sorry you did not bring your book. I have my phone to fiddle with. And my tacos to wear. Yeah, it is a bit not smooth. Hello stranger, would you like to know my life story? [moments later] He sings in a barbershop group! I thought the guy with the flowers got off. Me too Now he is back His flowers are gone We should source code him Thankfully our stop was shortly after the group of drunk young hooligans got on board and started playing drinking games.

Our first major site in Bath was the Abbey. Our guidebook played it down as a fairly minor site, but we were quite taken with it. It's very bright compared to most of the churches we have visited in the past, and has 'fan vaulting' in the ceiling. We like fan vaulting. A lot. I had several dozen pictures of this ceiling to pick from. The abbey also has a few minor-but-awesome-to-us things to see, including a plaque in honor of the first mayor/warden of Australia and another to a guy for his contribution to spelling. Spelling! It was on a smaller scale than many of the huge catholic churches, but it was just what we needed. We also drew the attention of a nice older man who was serving as a docent and got a nice inside view on a few of the highlights, at least according to him. Whenever we encounter overly enthusiastic older people as docents, we always point out that that is us in a few years.

The abbey had a tower climb, so of course we were helpless to resist. Unlike many of our climbs, this was a guided tour. We learned all about their carillon and that there is actually an English way to ring bells -- you first turn them all the way upside down, then rotate them a full 360 each time you chime them. Neat! The views over Bath were nice, and I couldn't resist getting some artsy-fartsy shots framed by bits of the church itself.

We also hit up two minor museums on our first afternoon, the Museum of Bath At Work and the Fashion Museum. The first was mostly a recreation of a hardware store and factory form one of the early entrepreneurs of Bath, who was quite adept at identifying ways to turn waste into profit. Every time he found a bit of scrap that was produced as a side-effect of one manufacturing process, he came up with another to consume that scrap. There were some neat models and working mechanisms, including his original workshops for machining parts and casting bronze. The workshop was belt-driven from a central generator, and you could push a button and watch it go. Mesmerizing. Also, loud and dangerous. They also had a few interesting vehicles, including this velocipede. I want a velocipede, just so I can can have an excuse to say 'velocipede'.

The fashion museum was fun, but after a long day of walking and exploring we were pretty pooped. They have a huge collection of interesting and significant outfits, as well as displays on the changing fashions of the last two centuries. It was surprisingly interesting, though we were a bit too low energy to appreciate it as much as we could have. A quick cup of coffee and some cakes afterwords solved that nicely.

The last big site (and arguably the biggest) is the Roman Baths. This is a site that was built over two thousand years ago to take advantage of a hot spring that comes up in the area. The spring had been modified for various uses over the next few hundred years, but eventually fell into disuse. Then, as always baffles Mary and myself, it was forgotten and buried in the rubble and refuse of time. Large portions of it have been excavated now, and it makes for an amazing visit. The site was as much for religion as for leisure, and the museum houses all kinds of interesting artifacts like curses that people would write on metal tablets and then throw into the baths to ask the gods for vengeance. Of course these types of details and the mechanism of the place most caught our eyes. There is a huge network of tunnels and channels for moving the water around, which were an amazing feat of engineering.

All in all we had a great time on the trip. While there were some bumpy bits (the train ride out, the fact that not a single breakfast place was open at 9:00 am) overall it was a relaxing and enjoyable destination. It was a low-key, low-stakes trip, and it was exactly what we needed.

On Rules, The Importance of Following Them, and Why I Spent Wednesday Night In A Hotel

This week we had some apartment drama, which ended up being an interesting window in the British spirit (once we got over the fact that we had to spend the night in a hotel.)

One would not be faulted for forgetting that long ago, shortly after the move, I made a passing comment in a previous post about some issues that we had had getting the keys to our unit. As preamble, here is that story: When we showed up at the unit after signing the lease and getting the keys, we found that while we could get in the outer door we could not get in the actual door to our unit. We had been given a key-ring with one 'normal' key and two skeleton keys. We had joked a bit about the skeleton keys, because they really are not used at all in America, and it seemed so fun and charming to get them. Well it was less fun when we couldn't get in. After many backs and forths with the real estate agent, we figured several things out. First, we learned some valuable vocabulary (a normal lock is a 'yale lock' here, even if it's not Yale brand; a skeleton key lock uses a 'chub' key.) Secondly, we figured out that somehow, we had been given the wrong keys for our unit. In fact, it took many people and several different agents at several different agencies to actually find a set of keys that would let us into our new home. Once we did get the keys, we had two yales (outer and inner) but only one chub. We were told that this was OK because it's not actually legal to use the chub keys, for fire safety reasons (it's hard to escape if you have to fumble with your keys to leave.)

Fast forward to Wednesday evening. Mary was stuck late at work, so I came home alone. I swung by the store for taco fixings (Taco Night! Woo hoo!) but when I got to the apartment I discovered that the door to our unit was locked. Not just the amount of locked we usually have it, but extra locked. The chub lock had been done. Now we knew that the landlord, against all past behavior, was actually getting workmen out to look at a maintenance issue, so I immediately knew what had happened. He had the magical second chub key and when he left, he locked all the locks he had keys for. A sensible action without context, but a bit irritating for me.

My first plan of attack was calling the management company, though I didn't hold out much hope given past experience. In keeping with history, it was already half an hour after the office closed, so I was out of luck. They don't have a 24-hour contact number, and with nobody answering in the office I was on my own.

Next up was calling a locksmith, as I would if I got locked out of my house at home. Both Mary and I did a quick websearch (me on my phone, she texting me suggestions) and shortly I was calling in the experts. Turns out, they can only speak to the building owner. To let a tenant into an apartment, they need an incident number from the police. "So...I need to call the police just because I got locked out?" I asked incredulously. Yup. Those are the rules.

I was not about to call the police just because I was locked out of the house, so next up was seeing if I could find the contact info for the workman. I knew that he had called me earlier in the week, but I could not remember when, on which phone, and if I had deleted his message. After much searching and some guesswork (was he the blocked number? No, that's the cat-sitter calling back about our Amsterdam trip.) I tracked him down. I gave him a call and explained the situation. Step one for him was establishing that this was not his fault, as he was just following the directions he was given. He was told to lock up, he locked up. Not his fault. Now, I can understand his perspective, but honestly. I was locked out of my apartment and he held the keys. Surely some culpability lay with him. Regardless, I just wanted back in. I asked if he had a better contact number for the landlord if he could try calling. He was very willing to help, and said that it was probably better for him to call anyway since he would be less likely to get screened on caller ID. He called me back shortly thereafter reporting no luck. The landlord is on vacation and wasn't answering.

My next question was, "Where are you?" It seemed sensible that either we could go to him, or he could come to us, and we could still spent the night in our own bed. Naturally, he was an almost two-hour drive away, each way. As we had clearly established that he was just doing his job and not at fault, he was clearly not coming to me. I got his address info, as a possible backup to the backup plan. Then I asked him how one calls the police in a non-emergency situation in this country.

I actually got through to the police with very little hold time, and was connected with a nice gentleman. I explained the situation, that the landlord had never given us a key for this second lock and that a workman had locked that lock; that we needed a police incident number in order to get the locksmith to let us in; that I had exhausted all non-police options. He asked if there was a reason that the landlord would have changed the locks on us. I paused. I thought. And I said, "Sir, I appreciate that you can not act on this information, because you have a set of rules that tell you I am probably in the wrong, but the fact is through no fault of my own I don't have a place to sleep tonight because my landlord is shit." Or something to that effect. He was very apologetic and, as had the workman before him and the locksmith before him, expressed sympathy at my situation but explained that he was just doing his job.

One fruitless round trip to the office to ransack my bag for extra keys in case my memory had failed us later we checked into a hotel near home. Thankfully the grocery store was open even though it was technically after their closing hour, so we could at least pick up a toothbrush and toothpaste.

We called the management office the next day when they opened. I was prepared. I had my list of reasons why, really, truly, it was the landlord's fault. The landlord's agent rented us the place and failed to give us the key. The landlord's agent had locked the door with that key. The landlord was going to take responsibility if I had to keep him on the phone all day. Basically the first thing he said (after "I'm sorry") was "This was our fault." I was shocked. They sent someone out with a master set of keys to let us in. They also agreed that we need to either be given a key to that lock (which they also mentioned was technically illegal) or have all keys to it destroyed.

In reality, every one of these people I spoke with pretty much failed me by being British. In America, I would have had some chance at charming someone into intervening on my behalf. I would have been able to get one of them on my side, I truly believe this. But here, in this country, if you are given rules you follow them. It's just how it is. None of these folks would have even thought of stepping out of line, even if it meant us sleeping on the street. Thankfully it didn't come to that, but first thing Monday I am calling the landlord to follow up on preventing this from happening again.

Simply the Best Lovely Jubbly

This weekend we took advantage of the fact that England is, against all odds and evidence of history, having an actual summer. It has been warm and sunny for two weeks straight now, so what better to do than visit the beach? For our beach visit, we picked Brighton. This is a small, summer holiday spot that has been popular with the Brits for a few hundred years, though it's not on many Americans' visit lists. Since we are trying to live at least a bit like locals, it seemed like a good fit.

The beach itself is a short walk from the train station, and is stone rather than sand (a fact that my wife mentioned a few dozens times out of sheer shock.) It's really more gravel than anything else, which just is not at all what she expected. All along the beach are various bars, restaurants, and shops all catering to the vacationing crowds. When we arrived fairly early in the day, things were just opening up and were still quite quiet. The beach had only a few folks on it, and the bars and food stands were sparsely populated. Both beach and bar filled up quite a bit as the day progressed, so we were happy to have come early when it was less overwhelming. Can you guess what Lovely Jubbly is? We discussed it to some extent and decided that it is definitely a pudding/jello hybrid. I even suggested a method for making simply the best lovely jubbly which entailed freezing a pudding ball and then making a jello mold around it. We were disappointed to learn that it is, in fact, an expression meaning "great".

Another draw of Brighton is the pier. This is similar in ways to Navy Pier in Chicago, but much more historic and -- in my opinion -- more charming. It can be seen in the first picture of this post stretching out into the channel. It has arcades, restaurants, some carnival rides, and all sorts of delightful junk food vendors. It's been a center for amusement since at least 1911, and it definitely has a fun old-timey charm without overdoing it. And now, a transcript of the conversation had about the World of Donuts sign: Mary: How can the Uranus donut be earth shattering? That doesn't make any sense. Bill: You're right. That donut would shatter Uranus.

The other main draw in town is the Royal Pavilion. This is a pleasure palace that started construction in the late 18th century to house the Prince of Wales at the time. It was built in a strange, Indian-inspired mash-up style that was intended to show that even though they lost the US, they still had some awesome colonies. We had seen pictures in guidebooks before coming, but it didn't really prepare us for the absurdity of this overwrought Indian temple plopped down in this little seaside resort. It's very striking, and just covered in bizarre details for the eye to take in. The inside is even stranger, covered in primarily Chinese-style decorations and furniture. It was a real shame that they did not allow photographs, because it was one of the most over the top, amazing interiors we had ever seen. The main dining hall had a twelve foot dragon holding up the chandelier!

After wandering a bit in the shops around the Royal Pavilion, we headed back down to the beach for a last stroll before heading home. Things had definitely picked up. The beach was blanketed with picnicers and sunbathers, and the bars and cafes were in full swing. Quite a few ships had even anchored off the beach and were likely mocking the crowds they were glad to be avoiding. As we walked we reflected on our day and commented on the hilarious and daring bathing outfits of those around us (we spied a few topless women and a man in a pair of skimpy, skin-tight, neon yellow trunks.) We had expected a nice day, but it really turned out to be a fantastic outing. I would not be at all surprised if we made a return trip later in the summer to see it again, and this time brought our own picnic supplies.

Oeuf!...I Did It Again

Our second trip since being in London was actually a revisit of a place we had already been -- Paris. We had visited well in the off season last time around, and it had been a great trip, but definitely chilly. This time, we had (mostly) blue skies and much more comfortable temperatures. We also had already done most of the hugely popular sites when there were fewer crowds, which we were very happy for once we set eyes upon the masses outside Notre Dame. We briefly talked about redoing the church climb and revisiting San Chappelle (a favorite church from last visit,) but neither ended up happening.

Looking at the Seine, there was plenty of evidence that the weather had only recently turned nice. It was running very high, and came up over the footpath that runs along the side at several places. Since we had a more casual schedule than the previous visit, we did have a bit more time to just stroll and people watch. We got this shot during a lunch-time stroll, and there were tons of what appeared to be Parisian business people and workmen relaxing on their lunch break all along the river. They didn't seem to mind it being a little high.

We also solved a bit of a mystery on this visit. On our visit to Florence, we had noticed that near the river there were a few structures covered in small padlocks. Well there is a bridge over the Seine that makes that look like child play. The entire length of it is bounded by fencing, and that fence is invisible due to all the locks. It turns out that it's a tradition to write your and your sweetheart's names on a lock, then lock it to the railing and toss the key in the river. This symbolizes that there is no exit and that hell is other people, I guess, though the romantics probably wouldn't phrase it that way.

One museum that we had missed the first time through town and caught this time was the Cluny Museum of the Middle Ages. Though one of the main draws for this place was out of commission while we were there, it still ended up being a very cool place. It had a series of small figurines that had been carved as part of a burial site, as well as these headless fellows. These are a series of statues of biblical kings that used to be in niches in front of Notre Dame. When king beheading was all the rage, folks tore these down and chiseled off the heads.

After the be-chiseling, Some brave soul collected the discarded heads and buried them in his yard to grow a king tree. Or maybe for safekeeping. Regardless, when the heat died down a bit, they were dug up donated to the museum. They are now kept in a room where they face their former bodies, which seems a bit mean-spirited to me.

Another area we spent a lot more time in this visit was the Monmartre area. This is an edgier, artier area of town. A land of can can dancers and dissolute artists. We did a walk all around this area, and also visited the Monmartre museum. This gave a great history and context for the fringe scene from the turn of the century and had many artifacts from that scene. It was very cool to see things like Talouse Latrec posters and the Lapin Agile contextualized. The walk actually brought us right past the Lapin Agile, which is still a cabaret to this day. They have shows a few times a week, though only in French. Neat! All of this was very close to Sacre Coer, which is not only a neat church but also one of my favorite stair climbs around.

One thing that definitely did not change was Paris's love of a well trimmed shrub. When we visited last time, we noticed quite a few topiaries, and we were worried that this fun feature may not be as obvious or neat during the spring when things were actually growing. Not to fear! We saw many very well trimmed shrubs, and even got to see some square trees in the park! While we like to tease and joke about this, it really is quite striking to see the rows of trees so neatly trimmed and aligned. It makes quite an impression and turns the parks into something very magical.

This time around, we also expected and respected the pace of the city a bit more. Last time we found ourselves constantly arriving for dinner before the kitchen was open, despite thinking that we had waited long enough. Either due to more practice with Europe, or just from eating dinners later since moving to London, that was less of an issue. We tended to stop for a glass of wine around six in the evening, then swing by the hotel before getting dinner. This was not only a lovely break, but also helped us fit in with the local schedule a bit more. We even managed to brave a few French (sometimes very French) stores on the trip. We shopped in a few that specialized in umbrellas, and got Mary a fun one with a printed black and white street scene. We hit a few purse stores as well, and while we didn't get the five hundred euro one, we did find one she liked that was more in our price range. We even picked up some fancy mustard from the Maille shop. I don't really have a good image for this paragraph, so I am using a jaunty sign indicating that there is absolutely no dog prancing allowed. Either that, or it's indicating the end of the dog prancing zone; I can never tell in Europe.

Overall, we had a fantastic time visiting Paris again. It was nice to take things a little easier, and seeing the city again in a different season was great. I suspect that we will be back a time or two during our stay here, and will continue to find pleasure in our visits. If nothing else, we have a boundless capability to find joy in the details. For example, this dude is positively infested with headless cherubim. Also, what's with the tiny alligators? What if the whole city is beset by tiny men and we didn't even notice? Clearly we need to visit again, just to check.

Afternoon Tea

Between a bit of a crazy travel schedule (Paris for a weekend, then two weeks later Rome for a week) and picking up a few new video games, I will admit that I have been pretty crap about keeping the blog updated. I do plan on posting about both trips, but since those will take a bit more thought, I figured I'd update with something we did even more recently: Fancy afternoon tea.

While afternoon tea with some small snacks is very common here a big fancy one is not necessarily, and is certainly not part of our normal lifestyle. Still it feels like something every visitor should do, so Mary set about researching. She came upon one that patterned all their desserts off fashion items, and since the photo had little shortbreads iced to look like handbags, she was sold. We were not sure how much proper food to expect, so we went in hungry but not starving. We started with tea (duh) and some small sandwiches. We had four sandwich quarters, though we did order another tray because they were delicious. Mary was quite taken with an egg salad sandwich, and I with one that had some form of salad on it with figs. There were also ones with roast beef and horseradish, smoked salmon, and cucumber (naturally.) All crusts were removed, as we are not savages.

After the sandwiches, they brought out the trays. These included small savory items as well as desserts. The savories were great, with very intense flavors in one or two bites. I was quite taken with small cones of crab salad, which had a nice heat and peppery bite. Mary dug one with a small piece of melon topped with goat cheese mixed with mint. There were also little pie-crust coffins filled with roasted veggies, and a small fois gras shooter with some odd crispy substance on it. We could not always understand our server, so there were some mystery items. The desserts ranged from iced cookies (in the shape of shoes and lady torsos) to mousses to cookies topped with mousses. There was quite a wide variety of flavors and textures, and we both found things to fall in love with. Whenever we would get close to finishing off the items on a tray, a new one would be brought out replenishing our giant pile of sweets. It was good fun, though it did cause us to question our memeberships in the clean plate club.

In the end it was a very fun experience, and we came out of it stuffed. We definitely got enough food. Coming in the late afternoon, it was a fun sort of un-brunch that I could see repeating when we have guests in town. It did make me a bit wistful for my Pastry School days -- such as they were -- but I think I will leave the icing of bikinis to the pros, for now. Next week: Paris photos and commentary, really!

Mussels Near Brussels

Now that we are settled into London, our mind turns to a favorite pastime of all London dwellers: leaving London. For our first European trip since moving here, we decided to go to Bruges, Belgium.

Bruges is an uneventful four-hour train ride away from London, with a transfer in Brussels. Mary and I agree that Brussels needs to go by its French name of 'Bruxelles' more often. Rock that x, girlfriend. Bruges is fairly small and heavily gothically architectured. It is a fairly common destination for European tourists but not very well known in the US. This is probably due to its small size, which makes it best suited for a weekend trip. It is also, as is true of most verbs and all nouns, a running joke between my wife and I.

Most of the first day was spent wandering around the streets and parks. There are a few picturesque canals in town, and four windmills at the edge. The architecture of the main squares is a very overstated gothic style, which is quite striking. Getting away from the main squares, you can start to appreciate the charm of the narrow houses and stepped facades. We had a ton of fun just wandering and looking.

Also fun to look at? The language. Bruges is in the Flemish part of the country. While while Flemish doesn't sound all that odd (very German-like), it looks a touch bizarre when written. We amused ourselves on our walk by attempting to read the street signs

One of Bruges's local specialties is frites (french fries) with mayonnaise, which you can get from every restaurant and some street vendors. These were amazing. The fries are always cooked fresh to order and the mayo is more of a hollandaise sauce or aioli. It was rich and salty and suited the crisp, hot fries perfectly. When we got the first batch we both knew we'd be making a habit of it, and we were not wrong.

Sights-wise, the highlight of day one was the Church of the Holy Blood. While this sounds like a christian heavy metal band, it's actually a church built to house a vial of Christ's blood, which was brought home by a returning crusader. Unlike many of the churches we have seen in Europe, this is a much humbler affair. The columns and walls are all stone, with very little adornment. It's a powerful place and tells a lot about the reverence and piety they felt at the time.

On the second day we hit up a few museums and then partook of a local delicacy: mussels. We got them cooked in wine and herbs and they were delicious. We had local beer to go with it, as well as an order of frites. Delicious. We kept lunch light in order to ensure that we could snack all day, as it is important to set your priorities and stick to them.

After lunch it was off to a brewery tour. This was of the last functioning brewery in town, where there were once eighty. Since the brewery was so old, the tour took us through a whole history of brewing, showing not only how things are done now but also some of the equipment and processes from times past. The history of brewing is also quite tied to the history of Bruges, and it was a neat lens to view the town through. The woman giving the tour was quite animated and we had a great time. Naturally it ended in some sampling and we grabbed a six pack to bring home.

Next up was stairs. It just wouldn't be a Europe trip without stairs. In this case, it was up the clock tower at the town hall. The tower has a very cool mechanism for playing the bells and I could not resist getting a few pictures. The view was neat too.

After the climb we figured that we had earned a snack so it was off for more frites. Then, of course, we had to walk off the ftites so we just wandered around town a bit and headed to dinner. We ate at a place known for rustic local fare -- I opted for a beef stew and Mary a chicken one. Both came served over, you'll never guess, frites. For those counting, this was our third of the day. I regret nothing.

After dinner, we wandered over to a carnival that had been set up on the edge of town. It was a wonderland of bright lights, loud music, and illegal usage of licensed characters. It seemed as if every single ride had a half dozen popular characters stenciled on it, with little thought to how they relate. Jack sparrow and Dora the explorer with a gremlin and a WWF wrestler? Why not! It was a surreal and fun end to the day.

The final morning we bought some snacks on the way out of town (chocolates, caramels) and hopped a bus to the train. There was some brief drama where we thought I may have gotten us on he wrong train, but that ended up sorting itself out. We planned a long layover in Bruxelles to do a bit of sightseeing, and after Bruges it seemed like a huge city. Most of its touristy stuff is cantered around one square which was quite close to where we came into the city, so it was quite walkable in a half day.

We did a walk that brought us around the sights and terminated at the site we most wanted to see: the mannequin pis. This is a diminutive statue of a pissing boy who has become the symbol of the city. Visiting dignitaries bring outfits for him to wear, which is equal parts strange and awesome. He was dressed in a sort of matador outfit when we were there, very dapper.

All in all, it was a great trip. We really loved Bruges, and definitely plan on heading back at least for a weekend before we leave. The atmosphere was relaxed, the food was great, and french fries are canonized. Where could be better?

Changing Lightbulbs With Mr. Right

My next post was going to be about our lovely trip to Bruges, Belgium but then I bought a ladder. The ladder itself was nothing special, mind you, nor was the tasks it was purchased to enable all that thrilling. No, the topic that you are about to read a blog post about is the page and a half of instructions and warnings that came with the ladder. You're welcome.

I suppose I should start by mentioning that London (and I assume all of England) loves rules. They are an orderly people, and you can find a lot of oddly wordy warning messages and signs if you start to look for them. They never seem to use ten words when twenty could suffice. This has become a bit of a running joke between Mary and I, but the ladder instructions really are the pinnacle, at least thus far.

Among the helpful tips are:

Ensure that you are fit enough to use the ladder. Certain medical conditions or medications, alcohol or drug abuse could make ladder use unsafe.

I like that they give the drug abusers the benefit of the doubt. Just because you are on crack does not mean that you don't care about ladder safety.

Ensure that the ladder is suitable for the task.

I feel like this one is so overlay vague. Where is the treatise on determining ladder suitability?

Before using a ladder at work a risk assessment should be carried out respecting the legislation of the country in use.

Consult an expert in international ladder law as required.

Ladders shall not be positioned on slippery surfaces (such as ice, shiny surfaces, or significantly contaminated surfaces)[...]

While I get the ice thing, the calling out of shiny surfaces is just weird. They mention this non-specific contamination several times, which makes me imagine Karen Silkwood changing a lightbulb.

Maintain a handhold whilst working from a ladder or take additional safety precautions if you cannot.

Firstly, the Brits love them some 'whilst' -- you see it all the time. Secondly, additional safety precautions? Sheesh.

Do not use the ladder as a bridge.

Also, ladders do not make suitable chairs or babysitters. Do not taunt the ladder. Do not lend the ladder twenty quid, it will just blow it on cheap beer. Do not feed the ladder after midnight or get the ladder wet.

To date, I have broken six ladder commandments.

Also entertaining for us are the diagrams that show the safe and unsafe behaviors off. I mean, just look at Mr. Right Way. Is that someone you want to share a pint with? He looks like Ward Cleaver on a slow day. Mr. Wrong Way on the other hand makes using a ladder look like a blast! This is clearly someone you want to party with. Also, he looks like he has some Captain in him (a clear ladder rule violation.)

Ok. While I strongly suspect that this will not be the last post you will see on safety warnings and/or funny diagrams -- after all, we still need to compare and contrast the relative comfort levels of the silhouettes from the "do not put your feet on the seats" signs on the train -- I do think that I've gotten it out of my system for now. Next week I really will post pictures and commentary from the Bruges trip. Until then, please ensure that all ladder repairs are carried out by a competent person.

The Telly

When we were talking about the move to London, one of the things I declared was that I wanted to go more digital and have less stuff. This meant breaking my addiction to shiny plastic circles of various forms, as well as shifting even more towards the Kindle from books. It also meant that I was finally going to figure out how to make streaming work for us. With that in mind, we decided not to get cable and just go with streaming, some form of netflix-like service, and broadcast TV.

The last of those takes the form of Freeview in the UK. Freeview is almost indistinguishable from basic cable circa 1990. We have a few BBCs , a half dozen home shopping channels, a TLC-like channel that actually shows the more historical/learning stuff (rather than all the reality dreck on there now), and a handful of channels that mostly show repeats of old US and UK sitcoms and crime dramas. The Brits love the panel show, wherein a series of comedians get together and talk about the news or other trivia. Some are very enjoyable (QI) while some are just baffling (we caught one last week where the guests were doing arithmetic. On TV. For entertainment.)

Given the fairly limited lineup, the most fascinating bit of watching is often the ads. We haven't seen any US ones that I can recall and even the ones for US companies often have a local spin.

One very odd example of localization is the "Mom's New Boyfriend" McDonald's ad. It tells the story of a boy whose mother's new boyfriend moves in. The boyfriend tries to befriend him but he is having none of that. Finally they bond over McDonald's fries and all is better. I just can not imagine this ad running in America, even though we have our share of single mothers.

Another interesting group of commercials is those done by significant US stars. Kevin Bacon spouting non sequiturs while getting a spray tan? We got it. Yoda selling wireless internet? We have that too. Bruce Willis in a bathrobe shilling for broadband? Sure thing. I knew that there was a bit of a trend for this (see Lost in Translation) but it's still odd to experience it firsthand. There is a real aspect of "is that...no, no it can't be" to it. The Yoda one is pretty funny, though I can't find it on youtube, sadly.

For now, we are remaining steadfast in our not-paying-for-cable ways. I'd like to not pony up for it, though the streaming feels fairly limited here especially since we can't get Hulu or most other US-based sites. I am told there are ways of spoofing a US IP address, and I certainly know many folks who go outside the law for these things both in the US and the UK, but for now my respect for Intellectual Property and Mary's general law-abiding attitude are holding out.

The Practical Implications of Allowing Shopping Trolleys Four Swiveling Wheels

When we went to our first larger grocery store here, I was quite pleasantly surprised to find that all four wheels on my trolley swiveled. This, at least, is something they got right. I took great joy in maneuvering around the aisles and all the obstacles in them. "Why don't we do this in America?" I wondered.

Well, it turns out that trolleys with four swiveling wheels are like nuclear weapons: when I have them they are awesome, but when other people have them they are a menace.

American carts with their two fixed rear wheels subtly enforce order. They are designed to move only forward, and make fairly wide and easy to predict turns at the end if the aisle. While it is harder to extract yourself from a snarl, it's also harder to get into those snarls and easy to predict the flow of traffic.

With four swiveling wheels however, all bets are off. There is no way at all to guess where folks will move, as the carts can go any direction at any time. This leads to constant snarls and mutually assured destruction. It's pure chaos.

In the end, and this is getting absurdly deep for a post about shopping carts, I think that it's worth the sacrifice of a little person freedom in the name of greater harmony. That doesn't mean that I am going to cancel my uranium enrichment program though.

Home Sweet Home

We have finally gotten properly settled into the apartment, so the time has come to write a post about the place. While we have some outdoor space, it's still quite messy from the construction that was done before we moved in. I'll post some pictures of that once the landlord cleans it up and landscapes, but the apartment is ready for photos now.

You enter the apartment through a small foyer. It has a door that leads to a passage to the back yard and a small closet. The closet is entirely filled with our suitcases, so we have a coat tree and shoe rack for storage. We also have a small chest in which we are storing our spare towels and some other odds and ends. We figured that in theory we could sit on that to put on shoes but for some reason it never happens.

To the left of the entryway is the master bedroom. It's actually large, even by American standards. It manages to fit our new bed, our sofa, two nightstands, and one of the wardrobes without feeling cramped. There is also a french door leading out to the back garden, which allows our cats to have elaborate stare-offs against the neighborhood strays. The bed is currently pulled away from the wall due to some water infiltration, but the landlord is working on that. The cats actually love having the sofa in the bedroom, both for napping and chasing games that involve leaping from sofa to bed and back.

Speaking of chasing games...to the right of the entryway is the Hallway of Truth. It's another fantastic place to tear down like a crazy person if you are a quadruped. It is way narrower than any standard-sized American hallway, and a lot of not-that-large furniture (our sofa, for example) is disqualified from the living room thanks to it. Off the hall is a second small bedroom, the bathroom, and the main room.

The second bedroom is currently serving primarily as an office/closet combo. We have the second wardrobe in there, the dresser, a small desk, and two bookshelves. We also set up the drying rack in there on laundry days, as well as our dehumidifier to help that process. It's a fairly crowded space when everything is in action, but it suits our purpose well enough. Once we get internet, I will hook up the computer and start spending some quality time in there.

The bathroom is small but functional. The tiny sink is absurd to shave in, though at least it fills quickly. In the UK all water heaters are tankless, so we do have very good warm water and surprisingly good pressure. We have a weird thing where the water will alternate between too hot and too cold if you turn on both taps, but since I like very hot showers anyway I have just been going full-tilt hot. There isn't much storage, but that's life here.

The main space (the sitting room) serves as open kitchen, living room, and dining room. We've fiddled with the layout a few times, and have finally settled on one we like. The dining table is the one that served me in my first post-college apartment, and has spent much of the time since then stored. It's smallish, but works well for the two of us and affords a nice people-watching post through the front windows. It was another item that needed a bit more dis-assembly than we expected to get into the room.

The kitchen is also smallish, but we are doing alright with it. There are three small sections of counter, so one can usually find a place to prep that is out of the way. It's also somewhat limited on storage, and we expect that we'll find ourselves picking up a portable island from Ikea sooner or later. While it appears to have a lot of cupboards, once you start opening them you soon notice that the largest ones all hide utilities (fridge, boiler for hot water and heat, washing machine.)

Since our sofa didn't fit in the living room, we decided to buy some inexpensive chairs from Ikea. They are a touch larger in the space than we realized, but they do still fit nicely. The coffee table from Chicago didn't quite make the cut, so it's currently huddled in a corner behind the seating, gathering odds and ends. We also got the best TV that one hundred fifty pounds could buy from our local Argos. We can watch DVDs from home via Mary's laptop, and it has a built-in player for the ones from here, so that's our entertainment worked out. There is also limited free programming via Freeview, but that's another post.

All in all, the place has quickly grown to be cozy and a decent home base. While there are many things that we would change about it, it really does feel like our space, and coming back to it feels like returning home.