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Life in BC

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Whisky Galore

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe Girl and I attended – jointly or severally – two whisky-based events of late that proved to be just the ticket for whiling away the long January nights as we wait for the first signs of spring to appear. And what an excellent way to pass the time!

The first of these was a whisky tasting – one of the events that comprise the Victoria Whisky Festival. I had acquired a wodge of tickets for this evening at an Intrepid Theatre charity event last November, as a result of trying to drive up the bidding (wearing my board of directors hat) and getting caught unexpected with the lot when the music stopped. Not that I was complaining…

As it happened I got caught out this way on several other items, but all of them have (or will) come in most useful. A gift voucher for Orr’s Family Butcher provided us with our Christmas prime rib and a similar token for Fig Deli furnished goodies for our holiday entertaining. I still have some vouchers for Flying Fish Winery (where we make our ‘own’ wine) and I need to head over soon to place an order so that our wine rack continues to overflow.

The whisky festival runs over four nights at the Hotel Grand Pacific by the Inner Harbour and this was the fourteenth incarnation thereof. The tasting that we attended was led by the knowledgeable Mike Brisebois of Distell Malts, which outfit owns the Bunnahabhain, Deanston and Tobermory Distilleries. Seven whiskies were tasted from the range offered by those three concerns – and very good they were too.

Deanston I did not know. It is a lowland distillery, not too far from Stirling. It was established in the mid-sixties in a disused old cotton mill on the banks of the river Teith, and has built a reputation since then. The Tobermory Distillery, the only such on the island of Mull, dates back much further – to 1798 – and is one of the oldest in Scotland. Bunnahabhain is a much loved distillery on Islay that – unlike most of the other distillers on the island – does not foreground the peaty tones for which Islay is known.

We were most impressed by the almost sweet tones of the Palo Cortado cask finished Special Edition, but pretty much everybody present agreed that the Bunnahabhain 18 Year was the whisky of the evening. Now – if only I could afford a bottle!

The second event of the month was the wild celebratory night that we spent this Saturday just passed at the Caledonian Distillery and Twa Dogs Brewery, where we enjoyed a fabulous five course Scottish menu (including, naturally, haggis, neaps and tatties) by Truffles Catering, who are locally based in Brentwood Bay. To accompany this feast we tasted a further five of the Caledonian’s whiskies, particularly enjoying their guest whisky – a blend of Blair Atholl and McDuff single malts. The evening was admirably hosted by the Caledonian’s resident hairy Scot and much reciting of the Great Man’s poetry and accompanying merriment were the order of the day (or night!).

Never let it be said that the Scots do not know how to celebrate!

 

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Give us a sign

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThere are major differences in house construction between Canada and the UK. When it comes to individual dwellings it is true that there is now a fair bit of wood framed construction in the old country, but here is BC there is virtually nothing else – certainly if the construction were done in recent times.

Such differences extend also to the estate itself. In Canada they do not go in for boundary fences… walls… hedges… dividers of any sort. The norm is that the open space between houses is just that – open. We have a lawn between us and our nearest neighbours with the actual boundary running somewhere down the middle of it. When either of us cuts the grass we make a ‘mood’ judgement as to how far to go. If we are feeling generous we take in an extra couple of metres to save our neighbours having to do it. If, on the other hand, we are feeling surly… or lazy… we don’t.

In many cases there is little or no division between individual properties and the public road either. As it happens we have a screen of shrubs, bushes and trees in front of our domicile, but many do not. They are simply open to the public in a way that would make many Brits feel somewhat uncomfortable (I am trying very hard not to slip into Brexit metaphors here – but it is not easy!).

One side-effect of this lack of dividing infrastructure is that there is often nothing at the front of the property to which to affix a sign bearing the house number or name. Our property has its number displayed on the front of the building itself, but as the house is set back somewhat it is not very easy to see from the road.

I seem to recall that in many parts of England there is a fairly relaxed attitude as to whether or not house numbers are prominently displayed. Here in BC it is considered important for emergency reasons that each property has a sign that is clearly visible from the public road. These are known as 911 Address Signs and they usually take the form of a vertical reflective sign at the very edge of the roadside. Given the relative speed with which wooden framed house can be destroyed by fire it makes good sense that the emergency services be given every opportunity to locate a property as quickly as possible.

For reasons unknown we did not inherit such a sign but with the advent of The Girl’s new venture looming it seemed important to make our residence more visible to the world.

Given that these things are everywhere I assumed that they would be easy to source. They are not – and I guess that the fact that most properties already have them means that there is little demand for new ones. Some Fire-Halls offer programs through which they may be obtained but ours did not obviously do so.

I eventually found a source online through one of Amazon’s third party suppliers. I duly placed an order and sat back to await the manufacturer making contact to check the details.

I received instead an email telling me that the product had been shipped!

Huh?!

I replied to the email, enquiring as to how they had managed ship my order without first asking me what house number the sign was for.

“Oh!”, came the reply. “There was an option on the order form if you wanted to customise the sign”.

I pointed out that I did not consider having the right number on my sign to exactly be ‘customisation’, that the option on the form was not at all obvious and asked who in their right mind would order an address sign with some random number on it anyway?

They seemed to take my point and agreed to refund the purchase price.

“What should I do with the random sign?”, I enquired. They told me that I could keep it.

Fortunately I discovered that – with a little careful effort – the numbers could be scraped off without causing damage and that Staples could supply suitable replacements – this time with the correct digits. A Home Depot mailbox post, some brass brackets and screws, a little white paint and a club hammer later we had a new 911 sign.

Now – ain’t that pretty?!

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…with apologies to those gentle readers who don’t have the good fortune to live in Victoria BC (or are currently holidaying in Mexico!)…

Click the images for the big picture!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

It’s the second week of January. Must be time to take the boat for a spin!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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“Not many those mornings trod the piling streets: an old man always, fawn-bowlered, yellow-gloved and, at this time of year, with spats of snow, would take his constitutional to the white bowling green and back, as he would take it wet or fine on Christmas day or Doomsday.”

Dylan Thomas – A Child’s Christmas in Wales

Our Christmas Day constitutional was to Island View Beach. There was no snow and the sun broke through in a most pleasant manner…

Very lovely!

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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Blow winds…

“…and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!”

‘King Lear’ – William Shakespeare

The first serious storm of the season ripped its way across the southern end of Vancouver Island yesterday afternoon – tearing dead wood and fresh young fronds alike from the trees, decimating the power grid and scattering bins and other appurtenances to the four corners of the earth…

It certainly seemed that way!

We lost a number of large branches from the trees that border our garden and our power was out for a little over five hours – fortunately being restored at around 5 pm just as it got dark (which it does here later than in the south of England at this time of year).

We were lucky that we got off lightly. The BC Hydro (our power provider) website shows that – 24 hours later – the southern end of the island is still subject to 256 outages affecting 33,777 customers. Our friends in Saanichton did not get their power back until midnight – by which time they were already fast asleep!

Reports suggest that the storm was quite the worst seen in the area for some seven to eight years. Tragically, one person was killed by a falling tree. BC Ferries cancelled 130 sailings on 14 routes and the ferry dock on Penelakut Island was severely damaged. On the mainland a man had to be rescued by helicopter after becoming stranded when the wooden pier at White Rock was broken in two by boats that had been torn from their moorings.

It is the norm in this neck of the woods for the winter storms to start – and indeed to be at their most severe – during November. That did not happen this year (November being particularly mild) which may well be yet another sign of the world’s weather systems being seriously out of kilter.

Bizarrely, however much damage did result the winds proved insufficient to blow away some of the less attractive inflatable Christmas decorations which ‘grace’ front gardens in this part of the peninsula!

Make of that what you will…

 

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There are those – particularly across the pond – who think that if it is winter – and if it is Canada – then it must be snowing!

To be fair, some Canadians (though somewhat less on the West Coast) do little to disabuse outsiders of such views.

Here on the island the closing months of the year are far more likely to look like…  well – like this:

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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Image from PXHereThis is a Canada Post post…

…and this will not be the first time that I have muttered darkly about the services offered by Canada’s postal office – and in particular the vagaries in the delivery thereof.

I still haven’t quite gotten over having our doorstep deliveries whisked away from us when we had barely had a chance to get used to them, to be replaced by an impersonal postbox stack (as decreed by the now recently discontinued communal postbox program – and if it is no longer policy why can’t we have our home delivery back?!) at the wrong end of our cul de sac (dead-end road). That I now get some much needed exercise every day and the opportunity to say ‘hi’ to our neighbours is completely beside the point.

Regular dippers in the pool of these dribblings might remember previous  grumbles concerning the problems that I had getting Canada Post to stop delivering communications for one of the former owners (now deceased) of this abode – or the time that it took so long to deliver an item that I had dashed near expired myself in the meantime.

Things have been busy of late, which is how the run in to Christmas has snuck up on us virtually unnoticed this year. I realised somewhat abruptly that if I wished – as I do – to fire off Christmas cards to my nearest and dearest in the UK I had jolly well better get on with it – particularly as Canada Post’s army of workers have of late been indulging themselves in industrial action. A more cynical expat from the UK might feel almost nostalgic for the days of militant postal workers and wildcat strikes causing millions of urgent correspondences to be dumped in sacks at the back of  the sorting offices (before Thatcher put a stop to all that ‘sort of thing’!) – but not me, of course…

No, my first eager move was – as ever – to trust the efficacy of the InterWebNet. I surfed to the Canada Post site and looked eagerly for the banner headline advertising last posting dates for Christmas.

There wasn’t one!

In fact, the whole site looked distinctly un-Christmassy. I used the search box to look for ‘Christmas’. I was offered some stamps!

I tried ‘Post dates for Christmas’ and was directed to a page telling me how to write a letter to Santa! I don’t know about you, but my Santa writing days are long behind me and, anyway, surely the kids these days send a text or use whatever messaging app is currently trending.

I searched on and on, but to no avail. Canada Post is not giving anything away when it comes to last posting dates for Christmas. Realising I had better get my skates on I rapidly scribbled a whole bunch of cards for the UK and elsewhere and headed for my local Canada Post office. The staff there were most helpful with regard to selling me stamps, helping me to stick them onto my cards and popping them in the box for me. However, when I enquired as to why their website was so lacking in festive spirit – not to mention essential information – they informed me that as a result of the backlogs following the strike they were not guaranteeing any delivery times – to anywhere!

There was – therefore – no point in advertising such!

Bottom line for those eagerly awaiting a card from the wilds of (west coast) Canada is that one will get to you – eventually (probably!)…

Previous advice re: holding breath is still pertinent.

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Image from PublicDomainPictures.netThere are those – it would seem – around these parts who save themselves a whole bunch of time come advent-tide by getting out their Christmas decorations at the same time that they put away their Halloween furbelows.

Wait… what?“, I hear the Brits cry (at least – those who view/listen to too much Americana and don’t mind being a bit behind the curve!).

OK – for the average Brit (should such a thing there be) there is probably a fair bit to be unpacked from that opening statement. Please allow me to elucidate.

Halloween is certainly a much bigger deal in the UK than it used to be, and much of that is undoubtedly down to Hollywood and to American TV. We used to get pestered by the occasional trick-or-treaters, though they were usually adolescents rather than children and not afraid to throw eggs! One year a bunch of scruffy teenagers showed up demanding alcohol. I may have given them some small bottles of French beer and told them to go and play in the park… I may not. Depends who is asking!

Anyhow – when I were a nipper we had other things on our minds come this time of the year – like Bonfire Night (or Guy Fawkes Night for the purists). Instead of trick-or-treating the idea was to put together an effigy – fashioned from some newspaper-stuffed jumble sale clothes and a cardboard mask – stick it in an old pram and go door to door demanding – “Penny for the Guy“. (For non Brits a ‘penny’ was a… oh – never-mind!). When it came to larks after dark we were much more into chucking a few whizzbangs about and setting fire to dummies (or indeed to pretty much anything!) than we were into ghosts and ghouls – but it takes all sorts.

I was completely caught out this year, which only goes to illustrate the gulf between the nations. The Girl was out on All Hallows Eve and I was at home alone and unsuspecting when the doorbell rang. Upon investigation I found myself faced by two elaborately costumed but extremely diminutive boys. I could see parents hovering in the background.

Trick or Treat?“, the slightly older boy explained.

Being unprepared – having forgotten completely what the date was – I had nothing to offer.

Oh dear“, I said, mournfully. “It had better be trick!“.

A look of panic crossed the child’s face. This option had clearly never been requested before – the norm being simply to hand over the sweetmeats! I tried to explain to the parents about Guido Fawkes and the immolation of Catholic fundamentalists (in effigy) but I could tell that they weren’t buying it, presumably just thinking that I had put up a pretty poor show and let the side down.

I tended to agree…

Now – North Americans (in addition to trick-or-treating) are prone to decorating the outside of their houses (and their front yards and driveways) with all manner of baubles, gewgaws and absolutely enormous illuminated inflatables. They do this for Halloween as well as for Christmas and, frankly, there doesn’t seem to be much of a gap between them these days. December was still at least a week away when the first pneumatic protoplasms pumped themselves up with the fading of the light. I don’t mind a bit of jolly Christmas-tide stuff from about mid-December onwards, but I am still dashed if I know what storm-troopers from Star Wars have to do with it!

My Scrooge-like attitude will, of course, eventually dissipate and I will doubtless string a few discreet twinkly lights along the front of our abode.

I’ll post a picture when that happens. Don’t hold your breath!

 

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More autumnal images. Although it has rained a fair bit in recent weeks the weather here on the island has been surprisingly mild and balmy. Today the sun shone and it was 14 degrees C! A nice day for a walk…

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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“October is a symphony of permanence and change.”

Bonaro W. Overstreet

Images from the Fall… (double click for the full effect!)

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson ReidPhoto by Andy Dawson Reid

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