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2015

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Stormy weather

November 19, 2015 in Life in BC | Permalink

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe recent storm that has troubled parts of the UK has been brought to my attention by the ever helpful BBC website on the InterWebNet. This storm is the second to have been considered powerful enough by the Met Office to have been given a name under their new classification system – though it must be said that compared to ‘Hurricane Joaquin‘ and ‘Typhoon Champi‘ – ‘Storm Barney‘ does sound a little – well – feeble! (My apologies here to any who have suffered damage or inconvenience. I certainly don’t mean to make light of your troubles).

It is marginally by coincidence – this being November on both sides of the Atlantic – that the past few days have also seen the first real storm of the season here on Vancouver Island.

It was only this morning that we could – for the first time in a week and then but briefly – make out Mount Baker through the cloud cover. For the last few days we have been ‘socked in’ – as the parlance has it (according to the Kickass Canada Girl) – and it has both rained heavily and at considerable length and blown half a gale for good measure.

In our little spot on the east side of the peninsula we seem to be quite well protected from the winds but there is still a considerable quantity of detritus on the roads and in our yards (UK: gardens!) from the evergreens. I guess this is just nature’s way of whittling out the dead (not to mention the weak and the feeble) wood before winter really sets in. We also seem to have had a bumper fall of pine needles this year – possibly because the summer was so dry.

The other sign that storm season has arrived manifested on the dot of midday yesterday – when the power went out! One rapidly realises once resident in BC that, in rural areas in particular, virtually all power cables are above ground on poles – and that there are also a lot of very tall conifers around. Add wind to the mix and the outcome is hardly surprising.

The helpful man at BC Hydro told us that the estimated time to fix (“It’s because of the storm” – “No kidding!”) was eight o’ clock in the evening. In the event the power was back by five – but by then we had packed up our lunch makings and scurried over to our good friends’ farm in Saanichton to commit an act of piracy on their kitchen.

We are in the process of having natural gas laid on (they should be doing the install tomorrow) and we are aiming to get a gas log fire for the drawing room and a gas range for the kitchen. We will then at least be able to cook and to keep warm should there be further outages…

…which is – according to the Girl – highly likely.

“Welcome to Victoria” – she muttered wryly!

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Against faith itself

November 16, 2015 in Life as we know it | Permalink

Image by Jean Jullien

Image by Jean Jullien

A deep sense of dismay filled us on Friday evening last as the terrible news began to filter in from Paris. For a second time this year we looked on aghast at the horrific scenes from that most beautiful of cities. Our hearts go out to those who have had loved ones torn from them in this senseless slaughter and our thoughts are with the injured and bereaved.

It is deeply depressing that – whereas but a few days ago across many of the world nations had joined in remembering those who gave their lives in previous conflicts – here we are again grieving afresh. It is difficult not to feel anger along with the sorrow – anger that we seem incapable of conducting our international affairs in a manner that can prevent such hideous and wicked acts.

It is further – given the apparent motivation for these atrocities – impossible not to revisit critically the role of religions in the grisly affairs of man. We do altogether too well at glossing over the difficult questions that should be asked.

My issue with the major faith-based religions is not that they require their adherents to accept absolutely their textual and historical sources – and by extension to believe in their spiritual creeds – without adequate evidence. Frankly, this is in itself of little concern and the endless debates concerning ‘truth’ amount in many instances to little more than sophistry. The argument is in any case un-winnable either way.

No – my issue is with what is clearly the central tenet of such faith-based religions… that we mere mortals must surrender ourselves – subjugate ourselves – to some higher power which has a ‘purpose’ for each us that we are to fulfil without question. If the faith does allow us to retain some element of free will this usually simply concerns whether or not we accept our essential nature as a tiny cog in the supreme being’s omnipotent machine – there being inevitably some form of ‘punishment’ should we make the wrong choice.

Most religions insist on the belief that only by such submission to a higher power can humankind truly know and achieve its greater purpose. Such claims are doubtless made in good faith, but the dangers must be all too clear. It takes but a slight corruption for an ardent adherent to believe that they have been charged with committing an act of violence and wickedness as part of their gods’ purpose – thus not only essentially absolving themselves of responsibility but also justifying the unjustifiable.

The world’s major faiths would doubtless – and understandably – defend themselves by claiming such instances to be a perversion of true belief. History, however, demonstrates repeatedly that the basic premise is supremely vulnerable to corruption, and that the end result is more often than not some form of extremism.

Again the faiths would probably argue that secular society is no less corruptible than the spiritual, and that demagogues can spring up from all sides. This is absolutely correct. There is no such thing as benevolent dictatorship – whether spiritual or secular. However – misguided governments may be voted out – dictators and tyrants may be overthrown – oppressive regimes may find themselves the target of revolution.

Supreme beings are – by definition – inviolable.

Free men and women are absolutely entitled to seek consolation from any faith (or indeed from none) that works for them. There is no right, however, to impose those beliefs on others – and to commit acts of violence in the name of a belief can never – never – be justified.

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Remembrance/Armistice Day

November 12, 2015 in Life as we know it | 4 comments

Image from PixabayToday was Remembrance Day – the eleventh day of the eleventh month – which marks the falling silent of the guns on the western front at the end of the Great War.

In the UK it is a normal working day and the occasion is marked – for those who mark it at all – by a two minute silence at the eleventh hour. The UK has always made more of Remembrance Sunday, which is held on the nearest Sunday to Armistice Day itself.

In Canada the day is a public holiday!

Either way it is entirely right and proper that there should be an annual reminder of – and a chance to reflect upon and give thanks for – the sacrifices made by those obliged to become engaged in armed conflict on behalf of their countries and who have paid the price thereof. It is a time also to extend thoughts and sympathies to those left behind.

I have always personally felt ambivalent about the wearing of the poppy, though it is a splendid symbol and the campaign raises essential monies for a truly worthy cause. During the sixties and seventies – when I was in my youth – the campaign in the UK featured the tagline “Wear your poppy with pride”. The prevailing mood at the time seemed very much to celebrate our glorious military history.

I couldn’t help feeling that – whereas pride might be an appropriate emotion for the combatants themselves, given the part they had played – for those of us with no direct involvement neither pride nor glory had a place in the remembrance of loss and sacrifice. It was surely more appropriate to feel sadness, regret and shame… shame that our country had been obliged to ask its young men to kill the young men of other countries and to make the ultimate sacrifice themselves.

Whatever one’s notion might be of ‘just’ war it is indisputable that of all the conflicts that have raged throughout history wars that could truly be thus classified are far outnumbered by those that could have – should have – been avoided. It is a shameful reflection on humanity that, whereas we continually spend vast fortunes and devote considerable ingenuity to developing newer and more hideous ways to kill each other, we are incapable of making a similar investment towards bringing war itself to an end. We struggle even to terminate the most prosaic of conflicts.

Perhaps on this day of remembrance we should also turn our minds to all those who are responsible – through their madness, their bigotry, their misguided idealism, their fanaticism, their political ambitions, their misplaced xenophobia and jingoism, their greed, desire, lust – for any part in fomenting or promoting armed conflict.

It seems – tragically – that remembering the dead alone is not enough to bring an end to war. Perhaps we must also keep fresh in our memories all of those whose actions – or lack thereof – have helped to sew the seeds of conflict.

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The Big Yin

November 9, 2015 in Flotsam and Jetsam | Permalink

Image from Wikipedia.enSpeaking as I was only recently (in the sense of posting to this picaresque periodical) of living legends… cf. Mr Richard Starkey… not more than a couple of weeks have elapsed since that joyous outing until I found myself again heeding my own dictum – ensuring that no such opportunity be missed to catch these legends whilst there is still time.

Billy Connelly – like Ringo – is in his seventies, though he is by comparison a mere youthful seventy two. Unlike Ringo however (who has the air of a man intent on going on for ever) Connelly not only came through a recent prostate cancer operation and the subsequent treatment, but has also been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease.

This hardly seems fair – though fairness naturally plays little part in such things.

When Connelly shuffled onstage at the Royal Theatre in downtown Victoria (whence we had gathered with dear and good friends on Wednesday last) for the second of two shows in a city of which he is clearly very fond, his painful lack of mobility and apparently fragile voice caused one’s heart momentarily to skip a beat – for a second wondering how on earth he was going to get through the show.

Two and a quarter interval-less hours later we had our answer and the capacity audience responded by giving the comedian a generous standing ovation. No encore was expected or offered – which seemed in the circumstances to be entirely appropriate. One should never forget that Connelly is a Glaswegian, that he started out as a welder in the shipyards and that whatever has happened to him since he is undoubtedly hewn from that tough stuff for which the inhabitants of that tough city are reknowned.

Not everybody gets The Big Yin. Not everyone appreciates the genius of his comedic talent. For me he is simply one of the funniest men on the planet, and that is before taking into account his award winning acting career and his heart-warming TV travelogues.

Respect – I say. Respect – dammit! I wish the man nothing but the best and I am delighted to have had the chance to catch him here in Victoria whilst he is still touring.

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A room with a view

November 2, 2015 in Life in BC, Photos | Permalink

I really do hope that I am not going to turn into a massive bore about this, but one of the most splendid features of our new North Saanich home is the view from the reception rooms and the master bedroom of the sea and the mountains. Just to clarify with regard to our location – we are on the east side of the Saanich peninsula – facing east. Our view is of Bazan Bay and of the most southerly of the Gulf Islands, and thence on to the American coast beyond the Georgia Strait.

The garden is well screened by trees and mature shrubs which gives the property a blissfully private feel, but there are also two significant openings through which the vistas are revealed. Through the southern of these can be seen Mount Baker – more than 70 miles away on the American mainland. If – when I get up in the morning –  the sun is showcasing the mountain in glorious silhouette it is virtually impossible not to want to take yet another picture of it…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidThe northern opening looks out over Bazan Bay, with Sidney to one side and Sidney Spit to the other. This view is also extremely pretty in the morning light, but also regularly features the Anacortes ferry – threading its way from Sidney out through the islands to the American coast – and flotillas of yachts of a wide variety of sizes enjoying the sunshine and the peaceful waters.

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid Photo by Andy Dawson Reid Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe full moon a couple of nights back demonstrated that it is not only the sun that can reveal this landscape in all its glory.

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

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Starr quality

November 1, 2015 in Flotsam and Jetsam | Permalink

Photo by D Sharon Pruitt on FlickrA few weeks back (there having been so much to write about over this last period that I have been struggling to keep up with it all) I went with one of our dear friends from Saanichton to a concert – or perhaps more accurately a gig – at the Memorial Centre here in Victoria.

Peter Gabriel visits aside I don’t venture forth to big gigs that much these days. I find that large impersonal arenas, the gridlocked post-gig car parks and the obligatorily aggressive comestible marketing all too often result in a somewhat wearing night out. Granted that modern technology usually now produces a auditory experience that would have been unimaginable when I first started attending live concerts (a good thing too as my ageing ears would not otherwise stand the strain) but that does not altogether compensate.

So – it takes something pretty special to get me out of the house of a night. In this case the something special was provided by Ringo Starr and his All Starr Band.

Now, I am a long time – a very long time – Beatles fan, but to this point I have never seen a Beatle perform live. There have been numerous opportunities over the years to catch McCartney in London and Ringo has been making these All Starr forays since 1989. I have not before, though, felt the slightest need to catch either of them – so why now?

Part of it is clearly the ‘London’ effect (other options available). Like London buses, if you miss one there will be another (or possibly two or three!) along in a moment. Cultural events are just so thick on the ground that if you miss a big show you can almost certainly catch it next time round – or just choose something else from the extensive selection on offer. For Victoria it is different. If the big names do land here the opportunity should be grasped with both hands.

Another reason is that there has been little incentive to see either Beatle right now. Yes – seeing either of them might be on the bucket list – but where’s the hurry?

Well – Ringo is 75! That’s right…

Fair enough – if I look a fraction as good at that age as does he then there would be serious suspicions that my loft housed a pretty decent collection of art. The point is that neither of these guys will go on touring for ever. In the same way that – a few years back – I decided not to miss a single Peter Gabriel show in case it turned out to be the last – I didn’t want to let this opportunity slip.

As for the show itself… It was excellent! The format is thus: When not bounding around the stage like a teenager flashing peace signs Ringo sings pretty much all the songs one would expect. The All Starrs – Todd Rundgren, Steve Lukather (Toto), Gregg Rolie (Santana) and Richard Page (Mr Mister) – each get to lead the band for three of their own best loved numbers. One thus gets to hear seriously good versions of songs such as ‘Africa‘, ‘Rosanna‘, ‘Black Magic Woman‘, ‘Oye Como Va‘, ‘Love is the Answer‘, ‘Broken Wings‘ and ‘Kyrie‘.

Best moments? Ringo announcing a song that he used to do with: “That other band I used to be in… Rory Storm and the Hurricanes!” – and Gregg Rolie commenting of one of his numbers that: “We played this at Woodstock!”

Blimey! It’s enough to make one feel old!

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Full house

October 30, 2015 in Life in BC | Permalink

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThree months and eleven days have elapsed since I landed in British Columbia clutching my Confirmation of Permanent Residency (COPR) documentation.

In this post – dating from a few days before we left the UK in July – I mused upon the unsettlingly stateless limbo in which we found ourselves at that point, having divested ourselves of all of those accoutrements by which one’s existence is normally defined.

As documented a few days subsequent to our arrival in Victoria I had rapidly commenced the task of constructing a new Canadian identity. It has taken a while but I am delighted to report that the process is now pretty much complete.

Over the past few weeks a variety of critical markers – in the form of credit card sized identity cards – have dropped into our Community Mailbox…

A digression for non-Canadians… Until recently the majority of inhabitants of this brave young country were blessed – as we yet are in the UK – with a postal service that provided door to door deliveries. Now – for all of the usual painful reasons – that service is being curtailed. Even since we took up residence in our North Saanich home the familiar sight of the year-round shorts-appareled post person has been replaced by a roadside stack of ‘Community Mailboxes’ for which we have all been issued keys. In our case this now means a quarter of a mile trek up the road – in all weathers naturally – to see if we have mail. That’s ‘progress’… and indeed ‘service’!

Enough! Back to identity cards. I have recently taken delivery of the following:

  • my Permanent Resident card. Hooray! I now officially exist.
  • a permanent Driver’s License – to replace the temporary document that I have been toting around with me.
  • my British Columbia Services Card. This precious piece of plastic signifies that I have now not only met the residency requirements for eligibility but am a fully paid up member of the BC Medical Services Plan (MSP).

I think it is now safe to say that I am no longer a non-person.

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Cultivating our garden

October 25, 2015 in Flotsam and Jetsam | Permalink

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidOne of the incidental side effects of adhering to Voltaire’s immortal dictum – as given voice by the eponymous Candide in his final utterance – is that the Kickass Canada Girl and I do indeed now have a garden to cultivate.

I make no bones about it – unlike my father and my grandmother I really am no gardener. I have in the more distant past taken a share of the responsibility for what was quite a large garden, but for much the last two decades the stately properties in parts of which the Girl and I have lived have had the advantage of splendid communal gardens – maintained by splendid communal gardeners.

We now find ourselves the fortunate owners of a very lovely and quite mature ‘yard’ – as Canadians have it (and I invite you to consider that “We must cultivate our yards!” really doesn’t quite have the same ring to it).

One good thing about taking on such a responsibility at this particular time of the year is that there is perhaps slightly less to be done than there would be in other seasons. This is handy as it gives us the opportunity to watch and see what happens rather having to pile in – all guns blazing.

Grass – on the other hand – waits for no man and thus it was that I found myself last week – having borrowed a mower from our dear friends (who, you may recall, have a landscape design business) – for the first time tending to our acres (actually just under half an acre).

Mowing a lawn is a splendidly manly occupation (man in control of powerful machine, working in harmony to bend nature to his will!) and I found myself enjoying the chore considerably. It quite took me back –  though not to my previous gardening days for it had then been quickly established that the steeply sloping lawns of that garden were beyond my meagre capabilities and a pro was engaged to carry out the task instead!

Rather I was put in mind of my cricket club days. I was for a period the honourable secretary at the sort of village club where there was no professional groundsman and everyone was invited to muck in to help out with the ground maintenance. As ever volunteers were few and far between and those of us who did throw our hats into the ring consequently spent considerable amounts of time tending to the greensward. I didn’t mind that much as I found following a mower up and down a cricket square to have quite a therapeutic value.

Some who follow this blog will – during the summer months – doubtless continue to be similarly engaged. I will now instead rather be spending my time cultivating what might one day merely make a decent enough croquet lawn.

What is it about the English and their lawns?

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Apologia

October 22, 2015 in Flotsam and Jetsam | Permalink

image“Never ruin an apology with an excuse”

Benjamin Franklin

I have been corrected regarding a lexical matter by a much valued Canadian reader who is also a very dear friend of ours and – in particular – of the Kickass Canada Girl.

Our correspondent correctly points out my repeated – nay, habitual – misuse in these posts of the word ‘peninsular‘ for ‘peninsula‘.

She is – of course – absolutely right!

The Oxford English Dictionary gives us this:

“The spelling of the noun as peninsular instead of peninsula is a common mistake. The spelling peninsula should be used when a noun is intended ( the end of the Cape Peninsula), whereas peninsular is the spelling of the adjective ( the peninsular part of Malaysia).”

Since my usage of the term is normally as an abbreviation for ‘the Saanich Peninsula‘ the spelling should clearly be that for a noun. The fact that the OED offers in mitigation that this be a ‘common‘ mistake is absolutely no comfort whatsoever. In a blog which prides itself on its enthusiasm for language (if not for its learning) there can be no excuse for such sloppiness.

I am only mildly surprised that my error had not already been pointed out to me by someone from my educational background, given what sticklers they are for accuracy. When I started at my penultimate school I had – as an early task – to write a five year IT plan for the governors (known there as the Fellows) in justification for the really quite considerable sums of money that we were proposing to spend on infrastructure. After a couple of weeks hard work I presented for comments to my boss – the Director of Studies – what had by then grown into quite a volume. He ignored the content entirely but corrected a couple of instances of contentious punctuation. ‘The Fellows‘ – he observed – ‘would notice such things‘.

With regard to my Canadian orthographist I did wonder whether I should argue the toss on the matter, noting such oddities as the legend that I spotted on the back of a local youth’s sports’ apparel which read “Peninsula Soccer” (is that not strictly an adjective, mayhap?) before deciding that such a course of action would simply be somewhat graceless and instead offering my humble apologies, congratulating my tutor on her perspicacity and promising not to do it again.

 

My brother – incidentally – who is currently designing us a new kitchen (a task only marginally complicated by his being resident in the UK) has replicated in his scheme a feature of the current kitchen… a peninsula!

He won’t thank me for pointing this out, but guess how he spells it…

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The Brave!

October 19, 2015 in Flotsam and Jetsam | Permalink

photo by Gary Henderson on FlickrBy 4 o’clock (UK time) in the afternoon on Sunday last three of the four quarter-finals of the 2015 Rugby World Cup were already done and dusted…

…as was northern hemisphere involvement in the tournament!

Almost!

The English were not present, having a pressing engagement elsewhere for the start of the Aviva Premiership season.

The Welsh had fought valiantly against the English, against the Australians and against the human frailties that had robbed them of an in-feasible number of their stars. In the quarters the South Africans were just too strong – too wily – and found the means to shut them out at the last.

The fancied Irish also ran out of steam and out of their characteristic good luck, but in a rather more dramatic and emphatic fashion, being well beaten by an Argentine side that suddenly looks as though it does after all belong in the top-tier.

The French came up against the All Blacks. The latter – who had throughout the pool stages looked far from being themselves – mindful maybe of their embarrassing and uncharacteristic defeats at Gallic hands in the 1999 and 2007 competitions, now suddenly switched into overdrive, burying the French in a manner (63 – 13!) from which recovery will take some considerable time.

The remaining quarter-final pitched the form team of the World Cup to date – the Australians – against the lowly Scots. For those of the Scottish diaspora the omens – let alone the odds – looked anything but propitious. Before the game the bookies were offering 9 to 1 against a Scottish win, with the Australians as favourites to score the first try – the last try – to be leading at 20 minutes – at half time – at 60 minutes and at full-time. The minimum anticipated margin of victory was 11 to 15 points, with some suggesting that the Aussies might even better the total achieved by the All Blacks the previous day.

Had one of such a mind switched to the coverage of the match with a little over five minutes remaining he or she would have been quite taken aback to observe the Scots running in an interception try – and making the subsequent conversion – to take the lead – 34 – 32! For four magical minutes it looked as though the Scots might actually maintain this slender advantage, until an outrageous refereeing decision (and we rugger fans really don’t like to complain about match officiation) by South African Craig Joubert handed the men in yellow an undeserved penalty which gifted them a one point victory with less than a minute to go. Joubert further incensed the Scottish fans and commentators alike by sprinting from the arena immediately after blowing the final whistle, eschewing the customary hand-shake with the captains. This does all rather smack of an altogether different sport and is to be firmly deprecated.

No matter. What’s done is done. The Scots actually exceeded their own expectations of the campaign, and there is no small irony to the 6 Nations’ Wooden Spoon holders being the side to get closest to a semi-final berth. It is no secret that many Scots are well and truly sick to death of having to wear the ‘plucky loser’ tag. On this occasion – however – I think that it may be borne with considerable pride.

Bravo the Scots!

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