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2012

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Stereotyping gets a bad press! In fact, modern usage of the term seems almost entirely pejorative, with the emphasis on the possibility/probability of negative consequences. This is a considerable distortion of the term’s original connotation as a ‘sense-making’ tool – one which is supposedly judgementally neutral. I must admit to having played my own minuscule part in the assault on this particular gambit by inveighing vigorously and vociferously again same whilst studying psychology in my first year at college back in the early 70s. Needless to say I failed the unit!

Where is this going, you ask? Well – naturally to a cringe-making admission that I now recognise in myself an unfortunate tendency to conform to at least one formerly unacceptable stereotype… that of the grumpy old man!

Can it really be that things are considerably more ‘pants’ (technical term!) than they were 40 years ago, or is it just that the young of all generations are simply immune to the inanities and ludicrosities of life? They presumably have far more important things to worry about than modern systems that don’t work properly, or facilities that appear to have been designed by the inhabitants of an entirely different universe to the one that the rest of us inhabit. Maybe all that us old folks have left in life is the desire and capacity to have a jolly good whinge about things…

Do feel free to disagree at any point!

‘Oh dear’, you say to yourself, ‘this is building up to an anecdote’. Too right!

I posted a few weeks ago on the subject of the nerve-tickling experience of Pearl’s MOT test. Since then I have had to pay her annual road tax – very probably for the last time (sniff!) – and just this last week her insurance fell due. Now – I have owned Pearl for 9 years and have insured her through the same online broker throughout that period. When I first applied for insurance in 2003 I was told that – because she is a soft-top – I would need to fit an immobiliser. This I duly did and everything then went ahead without further hitch.

This time – on receipt of the renewal reminder, a weighty document of a dozen or so pages – I called the broker and asked to renew. We went through the lengthy process on the phone and all seemed to have been settled. A short while later I was emailed the new policy documents – another hefty tome which I, being a Luddite, naturally printed out for posterity.

There was a pause.

Then – after about half an hour – the phone rang. It was my broker. He informed me that the insurers – having already issued the documents – had now discovered that they could find no written record of my ever having installed the immobiliser – nine years previously! Somehow I had had getting on for a decade of perfectly successful insurance – including one small no-fault claim – but was now being told that I couldn’t get cover because they did not have the essential document. Doh! The broker inquired sweetly as to whether I might still have the original receipts and documentation. Honestly!!

Sad thing is – of course – that I had…

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“A criminal is a person with predatory instincts without sufficient capital to form a corporation.”

Howard Scott

In a new departure for ‘The Imperceptible Immigrant’, today sees the first post by a guest writer – in this case none other than the Kickass Canada Girl herself! Her recent passage back to Canada did not go as smoothly as she might have hoped. Read on…

 

“Arrested for a roast beef sandwich…!”

Well – okay, not quite, but I did have to account to Canada Customs in Calgary – and they take their ‘beef’ seriously in Cowtown.

I had the misfortune of having the very LAST bag to come off the plane from London, and had as a result already missed my connecting flight to Victoria. Whilst waiting for the offending item to appear the Canada Customs food sniffer dog (yes – really!) – which was operating in the baggage hall – sniffed out, in my hand luggage, the one lone leftover sandwich that I had, in all honesty, forgotten about. My boarding pass and passport were confiscated and – once Customs had located my missing case – I joined a few ‘serious’ criminals and foreigners flaunting lots of loot from abroad in the ‘special area’. Unlike the guy from Africa I wasn’t put up against the wall and bodily searched, though my bags were (well – not put up against the wall, of course…). They were presumably looking for further contraband food and other items… because once you have f***ed with Canada Customs they take their job seriously!

I was asked for receipts for various items that I had purchased in the UK. Fortunately I had pocketed the one for the necklace that I had bought for my niece. The Customs dude was well impressed that I had accumulated the £120 worth of Tesco vouchers that I had used for this purchase – or maybe he was just incredulous at my 3 for 1 offer explanation.

He then went away for several minutes with my passport and when he returned commented suspiciously that I ‘travel quite a lot’.  Believing that too much explaining usually indicates lying, I kept my justification short. I wanted to leave the ‘special area’ as soon as possible – and not in the direction of Guantanamo!

Customs man then commented that I had a lot of paper and stuff.  My explanation that I always pack this way clearly impressed him further – or perhaps just left him incredulous again. Something in the tone of his voice…

He filled out an extensive document called an ‘abandonment’ form (basically a receipt for my beef sandwich – that’s what the form says – ‘beef sandwich’ – really!). I was bricking it as there is a $800 fine for not declaring MEAT on your customs form, and trying to sneak through a roast beef sandwich can, apparently, single-handedly cause a nationwide outbreak of mad cow disease…  or so I was told – with a very serious face and tone.  I was informed that I am now in their system in case they have any further trouble with me. I asked if this would ‘flag’ me for all time and was told ‘no’ – but if I do it again then they would have a real ‘beef’ with me! (Okay – sadly, I made that last bit up – Canada Customs have absolutely NO SENSE OF HUMOUR!).

When I was finally released I had to rebook with Air Canada and then sat alone in Departures eating a crap chicken burger (without the bun) waiting for my 19:40 flight and hoping to be home in Saanich by 21:00 BC time.  It had been a long day… Sigh!

 

Oh – and they kept the tupperware container… Apparently it had been ‘infected’ with the foreign beef! This makes me wonder about all those other ‘law breakers’ out there who get away with it – because they didn’t forget to eat their food.

I didn’t get a receipt for the container either…

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People of our time are losing the power of celebration. Instead of celebrating we seek to be amused or entertained. Celebration is an active state, an act of expressing reverence or appreciation. To be entertained is a passive state–it is to receive pleasure afforded by an amusing act or a spectacle…. Celebration is a confrontation, giving attention to the transcendent meaning of one’s actions.

Abraham Joshua Heschel

It’s official! Kickass Canada Girl is now also Kickass Brit Girl! Hooray, hoorah and huzzah!

In a citizenship ceremony that will take longer to write about than it actually took to perform, the Girl acquired a second citizenship to go along with her Canadian one. The registrar briefly confounded by asking the Girl why she wished to take such a step now, but we concluded that this had merely been a way of extending a ceremony that otherwise – consisting as it did simply of reading a brief pledge of allegiance, being welcomed as a citizen and listening to a rendition of the National Anthem played on a small ‘ghetto-blaster’ secreted behind a display of flowers and Union Jacks – would have barely have justified the fee that must be paid if one requires a private ceremony.

Well – it is done now – and apart from the elegantly boxed certificate itself having to go back to have the hyphen removed from our surname (tut!) the Girl’s progress is complete. I suspect that my own journey to acquire a similar status in Canada will take a great deal longer, though to be fair she does have 8 years of residency under her belt, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain.

The Girl was most impressed that Her Majesty had chosen to mark the event with a four day celebration in London featuring a flotilla on the Thames, fireworks over the Palace and lots of soldier-boys in pretty uniforms. She thought that some of the acts at the concert on the Mall were a tad on the ropey side, but gave full marks to Stevie Wonder for blowing everyone else away. Oh – and she liked the little African girl singers too!

After the events of the last week the Girl also now knows more of the words to the British national anthem than she does to ‘O Canada’ – even if she still doesn’t know the second verse (she is, of course, in good company there).

I have put my foot down concerning the now defunct sixth verse with its references to ‘rebellious Scots’…

 

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“Doctor, doctor – gimme the news…”

Robert Palmer

I am now the proud possessor both of an Association of Chief Police Officers (ACPO) ‘Police Certificate’ and a signed and stamped ‘IMM 1017 Medical Report – Section A’…  these being amongst the numerous forms, appendices and other items that must be submitted in support of my application for Canadian Permanent Residency.

I attended for my medical examination at a clinic at Maidenhead in Berkshire here in the UK last Friday afternoon. I was there for nearly two hours and there was a point at which I thought that I would have to walk away empty handed and start the process again from the top.

The confusion arose because of the plethora of different routes by which application for Permanent Residency can be made. The most common case clearly encompasses those who need or wish to move to Canada to work. In such cases application is made in the home country – the UK in this case – and at the appropriate point in the process Citizenship and Immigration Canada send to the applicant a blank ‘IMM 1017 Medical Report – Section A’ form, with one of the photos that has been submitted with the application affixed to it and bearing the appropriate stamp. The applicant subsequently makes an appointment with a Designated Medical Practitioner and arrives for the medical, form in hand.

The fact that I had turned up bearing a blank form – no photo, no stamp – threw the clinic into a complete tizzy! Now – those applying for residency through a sponsor based in Canada – as I am – have to follow a different route, as outlined in ‘IMM 3901E – Sponsorship of a Spouse, Common-Law Partner, Conjugal Partner or Dependent Child Living Outside Canada – Part 3: Country Specific Instructions’ (for Western Europe). This specifies that all the forms and supporting documentation must be completed and gathered together before being forwarded to the prospective sponsor – in Canada – for submission to Citizenship and Immigration Canada along with the latter’s own application to be a sponsor.

To cut a long story short, after a lengthy search in their records the clinic eventually discovered an email relating to the only previous case that they had had for this form of application, and duly agreed to carry out the medical and to affix the photo and stamp the form themselves.

Hooray!

Having been given the green light it was then full speed ahead. I was subjected to a chest x-ray by the radiologist, to measurement and urine sampling by the nurse, to medical examination and general chit-chat by the doctor (who had been at medical school with the School Doctor at my previous school!) and finally to blood tests by another nurse.

End result? Unless anything untoward shows up in the blood tests (including the extra £60 test that they thought I should have, to add to the £250 I was already paying) then I am fit as a fiddle and possessed of the constitution of an ox!

Well – I could have told them that…

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As an accelerated passage to self-knowledge living on a different continent to one’s loved one is not to be recommended, though – conversely – precisely so to be. Such antithetical circumstances are doubtless sufficiently commonplace that I need not expand further upon them here, except to say that I firmly intend to remain humbly grateful for whatever lessons are handed to me.

Learning is, of course, all about the unknown, though I have come to recognise that – at the risk of being swept into waters Rumsfeldian – some lessons come as a greater surprise than others. In the case of my voluntary separation from the Kickass Canada Girl some lessons were easily anticipated. Others came as more of a surprise.

I had – before the Girl’s return – been focusing on the emotional mechanics of living apart – on the maneuvers necessary to maintain a relationship over a long distance… the frequent if sometimes prosaic communication – the need to remain engaged in one another’s life and so forth. I had paid considerably less attention to the things that I was doing to sanction my newly solo existence in the UK. Some of these latter stratagems only really became apparent when the Girl arrived back in Berkshire last Thursday.

It seems that – having shared this living space joyfully with the Girl since last September and having then had to come to terms with inhabiting it alone – I had put in place numerous little routines and rituals that were designed to prevent myself from becoming lonely, or from suffering too many morbid memories. I had clearly applied these defences sufficiently assiduously and conscientiously that I had achieved a sort of emotional plateau, on which – though I naturally missed the Girl hugely – my existence could be maintained for much of the time in a relatively pain-free fashion. Further, this had apparently been done entirely sub-consciously without me even being aware that I had done so.

As a result for the first couple of hours being together again in our apartment in Berkshire felt slightly odd – as though some protective levee had been breached and I was in danger of all my careful defences being swept away in the ensuing flood. Fortunately – notwithstanding my fears – this did indeed turn out to be the case, and the emotional rush of being together again performed its familiar magic as a wave of joy washed us up gratefully on the sun-bleached beach of togetherness.

I’m not sure that I will ever truly become accustomed to that roller-coaster moment when one crests the rise on the big dipper – but thankfully we will not have to do so too many more times.

In that – as in so many things – we are fortunate.

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“…Weren’t you always
distracted by expectation, as if every event
announced a beloved? (Where can you find a place
to keep her, with all the huge strange thoughts inside you
going and coming and often staying all night.)…”

Duino elegies – Rainer Maria Rilke

 

I hope that you will indulge me – over the next few days – if I seem a little distracted. The Kickass Canada Girl arrives at Heathrow in about 2 hours from now for her first visit to these shores since she went back to Victoria at the beginning of March. Understandably – as you might imagine – my mind is elsewhere…

She will be here for just over a week – including, as it happens, the Jubilee weekend – before returning to Canada following her citizenship ceremony a week today. This might seem a long – and expensive – journey to make for such a brief – though important – event, but such is the strangeness of life in these days that very little seems exceptionally unusual. We live in interesting times!

Now – if you will excuse me – I have a drama class to teach, and then I will head for the airport…

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Oh it’s such a perfect day,
I’m glad I spent it with you.
Oh such a perfect day,
You just keep me hanging on,
You just keep me hanging on.

Perfect Day – Lou Reed

Well – a perfect weekend really… with one glaring and – hopefully – blindingly obvious exception.

Following last week’s unbridled incalescence the temperature dropped a couple of degrees, the heat haze dissipated to leave the sky a cloudless cerulian and a playful breeze tempered even the most febrile of brows.

Friday evening found me in the company of a group of School staff at a buffet reception in the High Master’s garden; a most agreeable way to unwind after the week and a good way to prepare for the weekend ahead. The final weeks of the summer term can sometimes almost overwhelm with their abundance of social events – a last frantic ‘hurrah’ for the leavers and a long slow exhalation for those others for whom – unlike me, sadly – the long school summer holiday hovers tantalisingly on the horizon.

On Saturday I packed a variety of bags and set off in the 300SL for Sevenoaks in Kent. A beautiful leisurely drive – wind very much in hair – through the Surrey hills delivered me to our good friends – who live at another school not dissimilar to this one – in plenty of time for an aperitif before dressing for the main event – a splendid black-tie ball organised by the parents’ association. Though I am not, myself, much of a dancer I am always happy to don the tartan for such an occasion, and the combination of good food, good wine, good friends and good conversation meant that when the 1:00am deadline for carriages rolled around no time at all seemed to have elapsed.

Waking only a little the worse for wear to find an equally lovely day already well under way I bade my grateful farewells and retraced my top-down tracks as far as Guildford, where I was to play my first proper game of cricket of the summer. The ground was up on the downs (I realise that may sound counter-intuitive to Canadians and other non-Brits!) above the town and offered splendid views over the Surrey countryside towards London. The match was played in a suitably amiable spirit, I scored a few runs and the right side won. It was, all in all, a most satisfactory result and I rolled home close to 9pm tired but happy.

One thought, however, nagged at me throughout… one cause for a scintilla of sadness, regardless of the loveliness of the days, of the caliber of the entertainments or of the pleasures of the bucolic countryside. To whit  – what could possibly be the purpose and meaning of such joy if not shared with one’s consort? I have been fortunate enough to have experienced many wonderful things and exceptional times – both in the UK and in BC – but without the Kickass Canada Girl at my side nothing is as ambrosial, as piquant… as exquisite… as it is when she is!

 

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‘…till May be out’ 

English proverb.

Last weekend – on one of the last chilly days of spring before the sizzling summer burst upon the UK – I visited the RHS gardens at Wisley to catch the end of the wistful azaleas and the aggresively abundant rhodedendrons. I took some photos…

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As you may have gathered from my last post, after nearly 8 weeks of incessant rain, below average temperatures and unbroken cloud cover, the weather in the UK has suddenly and dramatically broken. In a 24 hour period the temperature has soared by 10 degrees (Celsius), the sun has broken through the cloud cover and summer appears to have arrived. The Brits have emerged – blinking – into the light, dug out their bikes, un-garaged their convertibles and are basking as only a people more accustomed to the gloom and the cold can. To the optimists (me, me, me!) this is the start of the long hot summer. To the pessimists it will all be over by next week. Either way – we will make the most of it!

 

Back in the world of bureaucracy, form filling, visas and immigration I am still making slow progress toward the submission of my Canadian permanent residency application. Before I can bundle together all the necessary forms, photos and other supporting evidence and forward them to the Kickass Canada Girl for submission there are two further documents that must be acquired – the Police Certificate and the medical report.

Applying for a Police Certificate is relatively painless and all the necessary details can be found on the Association of Chief Police Officers (ACPO) website. All that is required is:

  • The completed application form.
  • Two proofs of current address – recent utility bills or suchlike.
  • A copy of my passport – showing photo, signature, expiry date, nationality and any extension pages.
  • A colour passport photo – endorsed by a responsible person (the ACPO site provides a list of those professions that meet the criteria).
  • A second form completed by the endorser of the passport photo.
  • The correct payment.

The Police Certificate costs £35 if one is not in a hurry – or £70 if one is!

Acquiring a medical report is – sadly – less straightforward and considerably more expensive.

The medical examination can only be carried out by a ‘designated medical practitioner’ – and the list of such in the UK is not extensive. I chose a clinic reasonably close to us in Maidenhead. To make an appointment for my examination I had first to fill out and submit, by email, a ‘Booking Request Form’. The clinic then phoned me to make an appointment. They informed me that I would need to bring the following when I attended my medical:

  • A completed application form – the clinic’s own ‘Immigration Medical Registration Form’.
  • Documentation regarding existing medical conditions and details of any prescription medication.
  • My passport.
  • One other form of identification – incorporating my current address.
  • 3 colour passport photos.
  • Any prescription glasses or contact lenses.
  • Credit card details.
  • A completed Canada immigration form ‘IMM 1017 Section A’.

This last item is the cause of some controversy. The details given on the Citizenship and Immigration Canada website suggest that for those applying for permanent resident status sponsored by a family member  – as I am – and with the sponsor in Canada and the applicant elsewhere, should use the form that is in Appendix C of document ‘IMM 3901E – Sponsorship of a Spouse, Common-Law Partner, Conjugal Partner or Dependent Child Living Outside Canada – Part 3: Country Specific Instructions’ (for Western Europe). The clinic demurred and said that I should instead bring ‘IMM 1017 Section A’. I said that I would bring both, at which they enquired as to whether my ‘IMM 1017 Section A’ had been stamped. I replied that it had not – since I had downloaded it from the Citizenship and Immigration Canada website.

The clinic receptionist then suggested that I should contact the Canadian High Commission in London. I agreed that this would be a good idea – if for no other reason than to obtain a definitive answer.

I phoned the Canadian High Commission. I was bounced around a stack of automated menus before being finally spat out back where I had started. Apparently one cannot call the Canadian High Commission – one must use email. I then followed the complex chain of links on the website to which I had been referred, and found the email submission form – along with a list of conditions under which it could be used. Apparently it is possible to email the Canadian High Commission on visa matters only after submitting one’s application. If one is eager to check that the application is correct before submission, one can neither call nor email the Canadian High Commission to verify that this is the case. Something tells me that if I were to submit the wrong form they would be only to keen to tell me so. What a pity that they cannot do so in advance!

Regardless…

My medical examination – for which I must pay £250 plus any extras deemed necessary – is fixed for the end of next week. In the meantime I think I will go and bask in the sun for a while…

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“Summer Dress

The Surmaster would like to announce that from now on pupils will be allowed to wear summer dress. This means that ties do not need to be worn with shirts. However, if pupils wish to continue wearing jackets or pullovers then a tie must be worn. If a t-shirt is worn under your shirt it must be plain white only.”

 

Hooray! My favourite work day of the year. The announcement of Summer Dress means that I don’t need to wear a tie again – until September!

 

As the Canadians are wont to say – ‘Awesome’!!

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