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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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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidIf you know about the rice trick then there is a good chance that you – or someone of your acquaintance – has done that which I was unfortunate/careless enough to do a couple of weeks back… to drop my mobile device into a liquid! In my case it was into a hot bath…

OK – I feel the need to explain how a Capricorn such as myself (and thus naturally cautious in all things) contrived to do something so careless/stupid. Well – towards the end of the week I find myself pretty tired these days. Thursdays are particularly hard work, starting as they do with a fairly tough exercise class, continuing with a quick shower (no time for lunch!) and a rush to the college at which I teach for two and a half hours of classes and lab supervision followed by an hour or so in my office and on occasion a meeting of some sort… and then on some Thursdays on to something else in the evening.

Come Fridays I am usually ready for some relaxation – but not until domestic chores, shopping and cooking prep are done (yes – poor me!). Anyway – there eventually comes a point at which I like to immerse myself gratefully into nice hot bath.

If The Girl is out and about – as on this occasion – I leave my mobile phone somewhere to hand in case she should call. And, of course, call she did. Unfortunately I was fast asleep in the bath at this point. Being wrenched abruptly from my hard-earned slumber by the ring tone I grabbed sleepily for the phone with wet hands, jabbed at the speakerphone button and watched horrified as the device slipped from my grasp like a bar of soap and tumbled into the tub.

Fortunately instinct cut in at this point and I whipped the phone out of the water and powered it down, before getting as much water off it as I could with materials to hand. Once out of the tub I naturally turned to that source of all knowledge(!) – the InterWebNet – and discovered the rice trick.

This is the one where one gets as much moisture out of the gadget as possible by dabbing at it and turning it this way and that, before burying it in a container filled with rice. There it must be left for 24 – 48 hours so that the rice can absorb any moisture that remains in the device. Then, if one is lucky, it can be powered up again to see what (if any) damage has been done.

Of course, it helps hugely if the device is similar to my Galaxy S7 – which is advertised as being ‘water resistant’.

The good news in this case – which I sure will delight one and all – is that my phone suffered no ill effects at all and continues providing the excellent service that it has done to this point.

Phew!!

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Bob!

Public Domain Image from Max PixelThis peaceful neck of the woods has recently been the scene of local elections and in the weeks running up to polling day – as it the way in these parts – verges, hedgerows and lawns slowly disappeared under a plethora of campaign signs and placards urging the local electorate to get out and vote.

In this day and age – and with times being what they are – it is hardly surprising that it is not always easy to encourage people to exercise their democratic right, no matter how important it might be for them so to do. I am certainly saying nothing against our local politicians – if for no other reason than that I lack the necessary knowledge of them – but on the wider scene the political classes have done so much damage to themselves in recent decades that it should be no surprise that the whole damned lot of them have become anathema (or an anathema – to your taste!).

Now – I cannot yet in any case vote in Canadian federal elections – I would needs be a citizen so to do – but I have a feeling that I could have voted in the recent local poll. That I did not do so is a sign that I am not yet sufficiently ‘au courant’ with the ins and outs of local politics, which is certain a failing on my part that I intend to rectify before the next such occasion.

One of the more prominent placards planted on the roadside not far from here, near to one of our bigger intersections (always a relative term of course) advocated the re-election of a man who apparently goes by the name of ‘Bob’ (that indeed being his name) whose surname I will not reveal (to protect the innocent!). Having dealt with the matter of the man’s name the sign simply read:

The only Bob on the Ballot!

Given the current febrile political climate in many parts of the globe it occurred to me that this might indeed be just as good a reason to vote for the man as anything else that might have been said.

It is not often that one gets a laugh from politics these days!

Go Bob!

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There has of late been in these parts (as in many other places in the world) much to-do regarding the evils of non-biodegradable plastics. One area of particular concern has been their use for plastic drinking straws. Apparently Americans (which we are not – but who will do for the purposes of illustration) ‘consume’ more than five hundred million plastic straws every day, many of which end up (one way or another) in the oceans – the resultant micro-plastic fragments being ultimately ingested by seabirds, turtles and other marine life-forms.

This is – needless to say – not good!

Now – I myself very rarely ever use such (or indeed any) straws (the occasional paper parasol being an entirely different matter!) but the Kickass Canada Girl does – and she is naturally concerned. Although she fully understands that many purveyors of smoothies, soft drinks and other liquid comestibles are no longer willing to supply a plastic contrivance by which means these delights may be inhaled, she is a little taken aback that the vendors sometimes fail to provide a suitable waxed paper alternative instead.

Accepting that neither option is ideal, however, The Girl set about identifying a more permanent solution. These days – it seems – such can be found by recourse to the newly popular stainless steel drinking straw.

Since The Girl’s requirement is that such an implement be portative – and would indeed be carried around continually – it must needs come supplied with a suitable carrying case. This would ensure that – when thrust into the depths of a lady’s reticule – the item would not become sullied by any detritus that had collected therein. As a gentlemen I merely take the lady’s word that such eventualities do occur!

After some study on the InterWebNet (of course!) a suitable item was identified  – supplied by a local Canadian company entitled ‘CurrentStraw‘. Just how local I was shortly to discover.

The Girl has a not insignificant birthday approaching and dropped hints that she would like one (or two) of these gizmos to form a part of her gift package. I duly went online in the late afternoon a couple of days back and placed an order.

Imagine my surprise when – upon taking out the garbage later that same evening – I found a package containing the recently ordered straws resting on our doorstep. It had clearly been hand-delivered, presumably from somewhere very close by.

Now – that’s what I call service!

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…and what do they want?

It is – I suppose – emblematic of the ‘post truth’ world in which we live that I can quite brazenly declare (as I did in my last post) that I will spare you any more of my jaundiced thoughts on the current precarious political state of the western world – only now to bring you yet another post containing just such. In my ‘defence’ I can only plead that I realised that I had not fully covered one aspect of Brexit (and beyond) that was in consequence rather letting the villains of the piece get away with things that they should not (not that they would care!).

But we wouldn’t want that, now – would we?!

I have referred more than once to the small elite who stand to gain hugely from a hard Brexit, at a cost to those more humble souls upon whose hopes and fears they have so crudely capitalised. This coterie of already rich men (some of whom are involved in politics themselves; some in the media; some in finance and the ‘service’ industries) belong to the now much despised grouping that we might for simplicity term ‘neo-liberal globalists’. With the sort of outrageous chutzpah that is typical of their breed they wave the patriotic banner and appeal to the basest instincts of the population whilst they themselves are actually citizens of the world (if of anywhere at all!) who see nations only as opportunities to enrich themselves. In truth they actually have no ties to any nation.

These people do not just want the UK to leave the European Union – they also desperately want the European project as a whole to fail. Their wish is that Europe would revert to being a continent of individual nation states doing bi-lateral deals with each other. This would give them an excuse to drive the UK to become more ‘competitive’ – by means of a bonfire of regulations, the removal of workers rights, the forcing down of wages and the privatisation of any remaining public services (including the NHS and the BBC) – in order that that we (or rather they) might benefit from the sort of cut-price deals that they would be able to strike as a result. Once the nation has been fully stripped of its assets they would simply move elsewhere and start again.

If all of this sounds familiar, then it should be. This is – after all – the same agenda that Trump is pursuing in the US and Bannon et al are hawking to fascists all around Europe.

On the subject of familiarity I would encourage the gentle reader to think back to the last era during which Europe consisted entirely of nation states intent on making deals with each other. That’s right! I refer – of course – to the decades leading up to the Great War. Perhaps a re-reading of the history of how the continent found itself sleep-walking into that most hideous and unnecessary conflict largely against its will might prove timely, though since this year marks the hundredth anniversary of the end of that war one might have thought that it would not be far from our minds. Sadly I have no doubt at all that there are some more extreme individuals involved in the current debate for whom such an outcome would not be entirely against their interests!

How is it that this small group of extremists has managed to sway so many others to support their cause, even amongst those who would themselves inevitably be the ones to lose the most. This is one of the great mysteries of our times – as is the extent of the ‘rabidity’ that these converts display. Their relentlessness reminds me of nothing so much as the assortment of flat-earthers and conspiracy theorists that I have been unfortunate enough to encounter. The Brexiteers, having spent years complaining that British jobs were being lost to immigration  – on grudgingly accepting just how badly the economy is likely to suffer in the event of a ‘hard Brexit’ – claim that the damage will be ‘worth it’ even if it means greater job losses than immigration ever caused. This simply makes no sense.

Neither – however – does the debate on democracy. It has been suggested that the current impasse may only be resolvable by means of another referendum. The Brexiteers are implacably opposed – not on the grounds that they might lose, but because in their minds this would somehow represent the denial of their democratic mandate. Surely if one referendum formed a valid part of the democratic process a further one must do also – since it would again reveal the current ‘will of the people’…

But I fear that I am now just going round in circles, which – given the very nature of the whole debate – is hardly surprising.

And with that I will now move on to more ‘important’ matters… summer & boats & music & friends & wine and so forth…

‘Nuff said!

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(Just one – honest!)

Whilst pontificating on the subject of Brexit – and I promise that I will shut up again about it hereafter – there is one other thing that exercises me greatly about the current situation in the UK – and that is the nature, the misunderstanding and the abuse of democracy.

Two years down the line from the ill-thought-out exercise that was the 2016 referendum (at which everyone claims to have known exactly for what they were voting though, of course, none of them can now agree with each other as to what that was) the loudest cries come from the Brexiteers who demand that the democratic will of the people be honoured. Any suggestion that the ‘willofthepeople’ might have shifted somewhat since the referendum is met with sneers of:

You lost. Get over it!

It seems that to these folk democracy is a static concept and that having achieved their goal in gaining a slim majority the result is now immutable. For all time!

This is, of course, the favoured modus operandi of despots, fanatics and extremists of all hues – those who fervently demand their right of access to the democratic process – once! Should power be gained history suggests that such democratic rights as exist tend mysteriously and irrevocably to be withdrawn shortly afterwards – usually as a response to some sort of emergency (such as any opposition to those now in power).

I am not, of course, for a moment suggesting any equivalence between the Brexiteers and such fascistic regimes (though you may choose to draw your own conclusions) but I am troubled that in all of this I detect a tone – a mood – of which I had not hitherto been aware. The constant chatter of the many and disparate voices of the more prosaic Brexiteers online and in the media suggest that they believe that, through the referendum, something fundamental has changed – that those like them who had previously felt deprived of a voice have now gained one – that the dis-enfranchised, the ignored and the forgotten now have a hand on the levers of power. It is clearly this to which they refer when they talk of ‘taking back control’ and their dark mutterings against any who threaten to deprive them ever again are intended to chill.

One almost feels that one should call out a warning – so oblivious are these zealots to what is really happening. They seem blind to the obvious fact that they are being ‘played‘ by a relentlessly determined and extreme ‘elite’ who are almost certainly going to be the only ones to emerge from a ‘hard‘ Brexit (should that be what the UK ends up with) better off (in their case probably considerably so).

Further – having observed the emergence of this new mood throughout significant parts of the land, those who are actually calling the shots will certainly ensure that never again is the populace as a whole given the slightest chance to repeat this ‘show of strength‘. Control may well have been ‘taken back‘ – but not by those who currently suffer the greatest democratic deficit.

When what I should almost certainly should not call ‘the great unwashed‘ discover that not only are others going to enrich themselves at their expense, but also that their glimpse at the controls of the mechanisms of state has been but a fleeting one…

…they are not going to be happy!

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I mean… WT actual F!!

I do try – tucked away as us semi-retireds are in this idyllic corner of the planet – not to let myself get too exercised about the frankly bizarre goings on in other parts of the world. Regular browsers of these meanderings may also have noticed that I have been trying in these dog days to refrain from allowing my feelings regarding the current political – er! – climate in the western world from igniting my admittedly short fuse and triggering one of my more intemperate rants on the subject.

Sometimes – however – such a zenlike state of restraint is just too difficult to maintain…

It is bad enough having to watch the orange buffoon re-invent international diplomacy by adoption of the mores of the play pen. Following the roaring ‘success’ of his apparently entirely content free summit with the North Koreans the tiny-handed blob has clearly determined to outdo himself. His recent European tour involved giving NATO a good kicking and then lying about the outcome of the summit, followed rapidly by issuing a (twitter) declaration that the European Union is an enemy of the US! He then trashed his hosts in the UK in an interview with a tabloid rag even before the visit had properly started, announcing that the Prime Minister of that independent state had got it all wrong and that she would be better replaced as leader by the rebarbative (and recently resigned) BoJo – a buffoon even more ludicrous than the 45th president himself.

All of this was, however, merely a teaser for the climax of the tour – an historic summit with Russian Premier Putin in Helsinki during which the orange one happily threw his own country under a bus over Russian interference in the 2016 US presidential election (a position from which he has inevitably retreated once again back home). It was all that Putin could do to keep the smirk off his face whilst the cameras were still rolling. Jeez!

And what of Brexit – I hear you whimper? What indeed? Watching the tories tear themselves apart as they lurch from crisis to crisis is usually cause for amusement (as it is with Labour – though somehow never quite as funny in their case) but this has gone way beyond a joke. Having spent now fully two years getting somewhere near the point that they should have been before invoking article 50 in the first place they are now rapidly approaching the terminus with all the velocity of a runaway train and the resultant cataclysmic collision is not just going to hurt the tories as a party – it is also going to cause as yet unimagined damage to the United Kingdom itself.

This worries the hard-line Brexiteers not a jot. They simply force open the throttles and pile on the steam, whistles awailing, pounding ever onward toward their unicorn-inspired ignis fatuus of a low-regulation, low-wage economic playground in which they can all filthily enrich themselves before retiring from the resultant wasteland to live abroad.

At each of their successively more outrageous stunts Prime Minister May – seemingly almost as cowardly as her predecessor – bends over and gives them what they want. What neither she nor they seem prepared to admit is that the parliamentary topography has shifted to the extent that none of the possible options for Brexit is now likely to be able to attract a majority in parliament. Do any of them care? Eyes closed, fingers firmly in ears they simply chant “Na na na na na!” at each other.

Let us be blunt – no-one has the slightest idea what will happen next or how this farce can possibly be resolved!

Thus far the EU has itself had little say in the proceedings – and nor has it yet had to. The image that comes to my mind is that of a championship golfer – or tennis player or suchlike – who, geared up for the big match, watches in amazement as their opponent simply implodes psychologically before their eyes – gifting them an unexpectedly easy win.

Seems Putin is not alone!

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe previous owner of of our beautiful peninsula home left us a number of unwanted gifts of the variety that keep on giving! Quite enough has already been said on the matter of sun-rooms, law suits and heart-stopping contractors’ invoices and I promise that no further mention will be made thereof. There is one other (very minor but most irritating none-the-less) ghost-like and continuing reminder of the past.

We did not actually ever meet the old lady (who shall remain nameless). All of our dealings went through her whack-job of a realtor. We do know that we she moved to Vancouver, but we know not where or even if she still inhabits that other place. She and her (deceased) husband clearly at some stage had a small bank account with the CIBC. We know this because we still receive – through the post –  monthly statements addressed to the departed owners.

Now – I am a patient soul and quite capable of playing the long game. For the last two and a half years I have been marking the envelopes “Return to Sender” and popping them back in the post box. Towards the end of last year, however, I finally got a bit fed up with this rigmarole.

I called CIBC…

As seems so prevalent these days with customer service departments the world across the conversation did not go well and, sad to report, satisfaction was not to be had. Apparently the only way of stopping these statements is for the account holders themselves to write to the CIBC to request such. I enquired of the young man who was not helping me what might be the outcome should the elderly person concerned have expired in the meantime. He was no help with that query either.

I have no means of contacting the vendor and am certainly not prepared to go to any great length trying so to do. I returned instead to my previous course of action. Then – a couple of weeks  ago – one of the envelopes that I had inscribed reappeared in our post box. Unimpressed I added a further curt missive and pushed it back into the post box.

Two days later it was back again!

I visited the post office. They informed me (most politely) that had I just crossed through the address and written “Moved” upon the envelope they would have been obliged to return it to the sender. Clearly adding more invective gave them an excuse to abrogate their responsbilities

Now – this is all very irritating and one begins to marvel at the dogged determination that all concerned have shown in generating an entirely wasted sheet of paper, stuffing it in an envelope, paying postage to send it across Canada – only for it to be sent back via the same route presumably to be simply shredded (one hopes!) and thrown in the recycling back at the bank.

This sort of situation simply must arise all the time. I find it hard to believe that no remedy can be devised for such madness…

Bah – say I!

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidOn the 9:00pm ferry from Tsawwassen to Swartz Bay – en route home after a weekend in Vancouver at the Canada Rugby Sevens (of which more later)…

Though clocks have already gone forward in Canada it is yet early in the year and the light has gone completely by the time we and a hoard of other contented rugby fans are ensconced in the cafeteria, snarfing down much needed victuals after a long and rousing day of cheering ourselves hoarse and singing lustily.

We have not even noticed that our moorings have been slipped and that we are heading out across the Georgia Strait when the purser comes the Tannoy:

Would the owner of a black Chrysler 300, licence plate xxxxx, please return to the car deck. You’ve left your lights on.”

BC Ferries run a tight ship (see what I did there) and do not care to have their schedules imperiled by a car or truck with a dead battery holding up the unloading.

We all snigger a bit at the poor sap who has left his lights on…

Five minutes later the purser is back on the horn:

Correction to my previous announcement concerning the owner of the black Chrysler 300, licence plate xxxxx. The lights aren’t the problem. The engine’s still running!

Incredulous guffaws fill the cafeteria. How embarrassing is that?

Five minutes later the purser is on again. In spite of the previous announcements it is clear that forgetting to turn his car engine off is only one of this particular driver’s shortcomings. He is, perhaps, deaf as well – or at least has his head wedged firmly where the sun don’t shine!

Full of sympathy for the poor schmuck we naturally all fall off our chairs laughing…

There are no further announcements. Either the recalcitrant owner has finally engaged his brain and put in a belated appearance or BC Ferries have simply decided that enough is enough, broken into the car and silenced it!

I guess we’ll never know…

 

*Part 1 here, by the way!

 

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There are many reasons to look forward to escaping from our semi-subterranean hidey-hole and taking up residence again on our newly renovated main floor. This recent experience is just one more such to add to the list.

Our basement does have a kitchen – of sorts! It is quite small and the equipment is – er – ‘old’ to put it mildly. Like some other old things in the house it does not always function as efficiently as once it did – many, many years ago when it was still full of life and charged with the vigour of youth…

Ahem! – sorry about that!

Anyway… a couple of days ago I was roasting some vegetables in the antique oven downstairs. The temperature therein always seems on the low side so I had pushed it up a notch. Unfortunately when the cooking time was up and I opened the oven door a billow of smoke was released into the room – and into the ceiling-mounted smoke detector.

Now – when we purchased the house back in 2015 we inherited with it an alarm system. An eye-watering cancellation fee persuaded us that we should stick with it. The service – which is I believe monitored from somewhere in northern America – not only provides break-in sensors on doors and windows and motion sensors throughout, but also fire and smoke alarms on each floor. When an alarm is triggered a disembodied voice hails one through the console outside the master bedroom, endeavouring to establish whether or not this be a genuine incident.

On this occasion the alarm sounded and I had to rush upstairs to converse with the distant operative. I cancelled the alarm on the console and informed the enquirer that it was a false alarm. I was obliged to give details such as my first and last names and to quote the secret password – to prove that I was not in fact an arsonist who had broken into the house. All this time the smoke was wafting around downstairs.

As the conversation finished the alarm was again triggered. I cancelled it once more and assumed that the distant overseer would recognise that this was in fact the same incident. I went back downstairs. As I was dealing with the oven I heard a call coming in on my cell phone in an adjacent room. I did not get to it before the caller rang off but was informed that a voicemail had been left. It was from the alarm company enquiring about the second alarm. I called them back at once and patiently talked the lady at the far end through the sequence of events. After a couple of minutes of conversation she asked me if I wanted them to cancel the call to the fire brigade. “Yes!” – I exclaimed urgently, somewhat perplexed that it had taken her this long to ask.

At that moment the doorbell rang. It was a fireman! Outside in the road I could see an appliance and a couple of other fire service vehicles – lights a-flashing. I patiently and apologetically explained that there had been a false alarm and that I had cancelled it and spoken to the alarm service. Apparently they had tried to reach me over the console again after the alarm went off for the second time but I was clearly already flapping about downstairs by that point.

I suppose that I should be grateful that we are this well covered – particularly given that this is a wooden framed building – but I can’t help feeling that a little common sense on this occasion would have saved a fair bit of panic on all sides.

Hey ho!

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