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Image from PixabaySummer term at the School started yesterday…

It need hardly be repeated that – for one member of staff at least – this term will be unlike any other. It is not merely my last term at the School – but my last term anywhere!

Retirement is a big deal. Retirement and emigration in one fell swoop is an even bigger one. There will, doubtless, be plenty of opportunity on future occasion to dwell at length on the emotion and intellectual chaos that will almost inevitably be the outcome of pursuing such a rash, if delightful, course – and you just know that I will avail myself of that opportunity. It is not – however – my topic for today.

Having spent my entire career in education – both higher and secondary – I am in consequence well used to that particularly perennial rhythm familiar to those whose years are divided into academic terms.

Since the age of five my annual round has comprised three concentratedly intense and well defined trimesters separated by welcome periods of recovery. When at school myself – and when later at college – such hard-earned breaks actually were holidays, rather than simply the much-needed respite from the demands of academics that has been a feature of my working life since. It will surprise the gentle reader not at all to discover that – at the School – such exeats are – in the splendidly anachronistic tradition of public school terminology – designated ‘Remedy’!

I am grown so accustomed to this familiar rhythm that I fear that life post-retirement without such a framework might take some getting used to. The ebb and flow of the academic year is – for those who choose such a life – part of the attraction.

Academic terms are simultaneously tense, exhausting and strangely exciting. So much happens in such a brief period that the senses can be quite overwhelmed. It is very much the norm for all staff in schools such as this to become heavily involved in a wide range of extra-curricular activities, and those who complain that teachers have a cushy number, blessed with long and undeserved holidays, should remember that a house master at a boarding school – for example – is pretty much on duty for eleven or twelve weeks on the trot, twenty four hours a day and with the bare minimum of time off throughout that period. Staff not in house might have things slightly easier, but will still probably find there to be little opportunity during term time for a life outside the school.

This is not – you should understand – a complaint. As I have indicated, this life and its associated rhythms really are most attractive, for its variety as much as for anything. By the end of the summer term I may not much care if I never see another boy as long as I live but, after a measured, low-key, methodical and rejuvenating summer break from their presence, the place is only too ready for their return.

The Kickass Canada Girl is wont to extoll the virtues of Costa Rica – the climate of which blessed country supposedly varies nary a jot from a steady 72F throughout the year. This is – so she claims – her perfect temperature! That is as maybe but – as I will argue whenever the topic is raised – I much prefer that we actually enjoy seasons. How can one truly appreciate the glories of the summer if one has not had to endure at least some winter? Spring and early summer are my very favourite times of year because I love to see nature reborn after the vicissitudes of the autumn and winter. The seasons’ cycle does – after all – reflect the circle of life.

I clearly have a preference for a perennial routine. The varied Victorian climate looks pretty ideal to me, and I have no doubt that we will rapidly fall into a regular rhythm – rugby and trips to warmer climes in winter – cricket, boating and the great outdoors in summer – the familiar round of pagan festivals…

I am – all too clearly – a creature of habit!

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Flashback!

Image by  Bushey on Clker.comEvery once in a while something happens that takes one by surprise – that brings one up short – that shakes one abruptly out of any sense of complacency. Well – such a thing happened to me just this last weekend. The Kickass Canada Girl flew back to Victoria for a brief sojourn to visit loved ones and friends.

Why did this come as such a shock – given that I knew well in advance that she was going?

For the answer to this question one need only look back over this journal to the entries from a couple of years ago. At the start of December 2012 the Girl flew back to Victoria to wind up her affairs there after the nine month experiment of the two of us living on different continents. Her job in Victoria had gone up in smoke, as had our plans of a rapid redeployment into retirement on the Saanich peninsular. The Girl was on her way back to the UK in time for Christmas – and our plans were on the way back to the drawing board.

This visit marks the first occasion since 2012 upon which the Girl has gone to Canada without me – and I have to say that I don’t at all care for the experience. I was not expecting such a strong echo of the many poignant occasions during those nine months when – following our all too brief visits to each other – we endured the abrupt wrench of renewed parting as we went our separate ways for a further six to nine weeks.

This period of absence brings back the sort of memories and feelings that I thought I had safely tucked away for good.

It is – of course – but a brief parting and we will soon be back together under the same roof – enjoying another Christmas together. In all probability the next time we make the journey to BC we will be traveling one way only.

All of this I know – but I still don’t like the sensation…

Sigh!

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Image from PixabayWhat is it – I wonder – about the autumn that fills me with the urge to set forth on yet another quest – a search for fresh sounds and new (to me, anyway) music?

I am aware that I have done something similar for the past couple of years – which makes me wonder if this signals an emergent pattern. On each of those previous occasions I felt moved to announce the results of my endeavors upon this very forum. Two years ago I found The Poets of the Fall; last year – Shooglenifty.

It may well be that – as the nights draw in and the world outside my window takes on a greyish (even more greyish than usual!) hue – thoughts turn once again to matters of the soul. The creative focus shifts from the extroversion of spring and summer to the introversion of autumn and winter and the fecundity of the harvest season spills over into my own projects. I have once again taken a few days off over this half term – not only to scour the InterWebNet for inspiration – but also to pursue some songwriting of my own.

With regard to the music of others, however, this quest was triggered – as is so often the case – by an entirely accidental encounter with a previously unknown artifact.

Whilst I can’t exactly claim to be an avid fan of Sarah McLachlan – a distinction that I bestow on very few artistes – I do much admire her voice. I also applaud her good taste in influences. She is apparently a long time fan of Peter Gabriel, as testified by her live recording of a remarkably accurate cover of “Solsbury Hill“. She has also recorded an excellent version of one of my favourite XTC songs – “Dear God” – for the 1995 tribute album “A Testimonial Dinner: The Songs of XTC”. This latter was a particularly brave choice given the subject matter, which further elevates Ms McLachan in my estimation.

It was – however – neither of the above pieces that caught my attention on this occasion.

For reasons that should perhaps be obvious – and which are only marginally embarrassing – I was perusing online a few of the copious  tourism videos that promote the fair city of Victoria. A link to one such had recently been forwarded to the Kickass Canada Girl, and the viewing thereof had so moved her – bringing on an acute attack of homesickness – that she was driven to arrange a visit to BC for the end of this November. Fascinated by this effect I investigated further.

The film that I discovered had an unusual soundtrack featuring a really quite hauntingly ethereal song. I did not immediately recognise the tremulous female voice and nor did I know the piece. It took a fair bit of research online to discover that the chanteuse was indeed Ms McLachan and that the song was a rendition of that hoary classic – “Unchained Melody“. I had not recognised it because this was an interpretation like no other – keeping the lyric but jettisoning just about everything else – including the melody itself!

Now – I have to admit that I have never really liked “Unchained Melody” – which I consider to be somewhat overrated. This version – however – I love! Judging by the vitriolic comments that others have posted online concerning Ms McLachan’s efforts I am numbered amongst only a tiny minority in so doing – but it was ever thus. I love the mood – the sounds – the emotion – the effect…

Of course – I now want more. The problem is that this version is stylistically atypical even of the rest of Ms McLachan’s oeuvre – so my search for something equally effecting must continue.

Unless – of course – you know of something…

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Saturday last saw the final match of the season for the itinerant band of cricketing misfits for whom I still – on occasion – turn out. The fixture took place in a gloriously bosky setting in the Surrey hills, at a venue which – though I have long known of it – I have never previously visited.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidThe ground at Holmbury St. Mary is the highest in the south of England and is reached by means of an unmade and deeply rutted track that might feel more familiar to residents of the Canadian wilds than it does to the natives here.

The track up Holmbury Hill is – however – considered a great improvement from the early days of the club, when all concerned had to trek up a narrow path carrying all of the required gear and equipment – not to mention foodstuffs and water, of which there was at the time no supply on site. At the end of the day – of course – everything had also to be laboriously carried by the weary contestants back down the hill to the village.

It struck me – as I journeyed hence – that the occasion might actually represent for me rather more than just the end of another season. It is quite likely that I will not get to play any cricket at all next year, since I anticipate that the preparations for our move to Canada – not to mention the event itself – will occupy much of our time and efforts during the temperate months.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidBy the time we are suitably established in BC I will be sixty two years old and somewhat long in the tooth for this sort of carry on. I have written previously concerning the cricketing scene in Victoria – the which would seem to be in good health – but I doubt that it will prove a broad enough church to provide a haven for a geriatric veteran of dubious ability such as myself.

If indeed that turns out to be the case then my cricketing days are over and I will have played my last match.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidI came late to the game – having effectively given up on it (as a participant – not as an enthusiast!) subsequent to my notably undistinguished career at school. I took it up again in my mid 40s at a time when I was re-evaluating many things in my life and have played consistently since. Though never achieving my fondly held ambition of scoring a fifty I have nonetheless derived a great deal of pleasure from the game – not least from some of the characters that I have encountered and from the wonderful mise en scènes in which the sporting drama is frequently enacted.

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidPerhaps – now that so many more things in our lives are changing – it might indeed be time to call it a day. Who can tell?

If this does turn out to be the case then this particular game was sadly not (the sylvan setting aside) one which by which I would have hoped my egress would be marked. We had not played the opposing side before (themselves also a wandering side) and it turned out to be a dramatic mismatch.  Having humiliated us in short order – and presumably not feeling that they had had their money’s worth – they insisted that we stay on for a further 20/20 game… so that they could crush us all over again!

I – for one – did not stay on for the beers!

Photo by Andy Dawson Reid

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidBeing in a marriage that spans continents inevitably results in a slightly uncomfortable disjoint, by which those involved effectively lead two different lives – one on either side of the divide. Two distinct groups of family and friends – two strands of shared history and experience – two evolving tapestries documenting unfolding life stories.

Every so often – however – the delicate tracery of a bridge emerges, spanning the gulf between these two worlds – crossing the oceans.

At Christmas the Kickass Canada Girl and I packed up our daily existence and took a stride across the Altantic to immerse ourselves into the richly flowing river that is life in British Columbia. We have – of course – been making such pilgrimages together at irregular but frequent intervals for the last eight years, and we are – also of course – intending ultimately to turn that stride into a giant leap – transporting our ongoing history to the other side of the ocean. Subsequent to that event our transits will be in the opposite direction – revisiting friends and family on this side of the pond.

On occasion others also assist with the weaving of this trans-Atlantic skein. Such is the case now, as one of the Girl’s best girl-friends from Victoria flies in tomorrow to spend a few weeks with us. We are very much looking forward to entertaining her and showing off the countryside as it awakens in the emerging English spring.

Welcome to the UK!

Spare a thought for me, though. Two kickass girls under the same roof might prove too much even for me!

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidAll journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.

Martin Buber

Time for some reflections on our recent sojourn in British Columbia.

The first thing to say is how very deeply grateful we are to our dear friends in Saanichton. They once again took us into their home, fed us, entertained and cared for us. They invited us to share their family Christmas – for which they cooked a magnificent dinner – and they laid on a splendid party at the New Year which was – in large part – also a celebration of my 60th birthday. They lent us vehicles regardless of their own convenience, including one for our four-day jaunt up-island. They went – as they always do – above and beyond at every conceivable juncture and I fear that we did not sufficiently express or demonstrate our gratitude. We will make up for this on future occasions. They are very special people and we wish them endlessly well.

The whole expedition to BC was quite amazing and most enjoyable. It was good to be able to visit friends and relatives in Kamloops, Victoria, Duncan and Nanaimo – as well as to be able to enjoy our celebratory down-time in Tofino. It had been a long eighteen months since my last visit to the province and there was much catching up to do…

…almost too much – though that perhaps sounds ungrateful, which I am most definitely not. When in BC I always find myself – with one eye on the future – trying to imagine the life that we will lead when we have finally moved to Canada. The demands of friends and family – though always most welcome – obfuscate to an extent the true picture of how life will be when each day is simply ‘normal’ rather than being a special occasion.

What is beyond question is that the Kickass Canada Girl and I find ourselves – with each visit – not only more certain of where we intend to end up (almost to the block!) but also more ready than ever to find ourselves there sooner rather than later. I am – however – all too aware of the dangers of wishing away one’s life so I will say no more.

I spent some time this trip re-visiting what have already become favoured haunts around the peninsular – the Inn at the Brentwood Lodge, Russell Books in downtown Victoria itself and Serious Coffee in Sidney… The Girl is in agreement incidentally – regarding the latter – that they brew the finest cup of Joe on the island, if not in the province… and I just love the whole West Coast ambiance.

One small incidental sadness – Orr’s Family Butcher – which used to be in Brentwood Bay and on which I commented here – is no more. They seem to have embarked on an expansion project that was possibly ill-timed. I – for one – will mourn their loss.

So much for looking back though. In the next post I will concentrate on things to come…

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Festal cheer

Photo by Andy Dawson ReidEach age has deemed the new-born year
The fittest time for festal cheer.

Walter Scott

First and foremost I should take this opportunity to wish the gentle reader – both regular and occasional – the Happiest of New Years. May your 2014 improve upon 2013 in every way.

Here in Victoria we were greatly blessed to be able pass the turn of the year with excellent companions – both our lovely friends from Saanichton and their sons, as well as other wonderful people to whom the Kickass Canada Girl has introduced me over the past half decade and more.

I was personally also greatly honoured that our dear friends chose to make the evening a double celebration, having prepared a splendid West Coast repast in honour of my birthday. This epicurean feast culminated in a gorgeous birthday cake of such sensual delight that it almost makes one wonder if the experience of consuming said ambrosial confection might actually be better than sex! Hmmm! Almost – but not quite…

These dear friends had also clubbed together to present me with something that I have coveted for quite some time  now… a nautical chart book covering the Gulf Islands. We may not yet live in BC – I may not yet have a boat – but I can at least get to work studying the charts of the waters that I will soon – with all good fortune – be sailing.

Happy New Year!

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cup-and-ballAs we rush headlong towards the end of what must be quite the most frantically busy year that either of us can recall – scrabbling desperately to finish all that must be accomplished before we head to BC in a little over a week’s time – it seems an apposite moment to try to put the events of the last two years into some sort of perspective – hopefully in the process providing some degree of clarity to any recent arrivals who are doubtless completely confused by the whole dashed business.

As I write my sixtieth birthday is exactly one month away. Any notions that I might have had about slowing down in the run up to retirement are clearly pipe-dreams – and wouldn’t it be good to have the time to dream just now?! This diminutive planet is a tough place to be in these days, though – I must at once declare – we are actually fantastically fortunate… many have it considerably tougher than do we. It is – regardless – still sometimes difficult to see the path ahead through the murk.

When I started to write this blog – not quite two years ago – my infinitely better half – the Kickass Canada Girl – was shortly to leave for Victoria to take up the post that was to see her through to retirement. I was – sad to say – to remain in England for somewhere between 18 months and two and a half years until such time as I could also retire – at which point I would emigrate to Canada to join her there.

Regular readers will be well aware that a variety of things went amiss with this strategem. First, we picked a bad time to try to sell our apartment in the UK and – having already moved into rented accomodation ourselves – were forced to take a tenant. Secondly – and of considerably greater import – the Girl’s job in BC failed to live up to expectations and she was forced to return to the UK to take another job here. My retirement – which had looked at one point to be on the cards for the summer of this year – had, for the time being, to be postponed.

So – where are we now?

Well – we have another plan – by which we will both be moving to Canada either in the summer of 2015 or in the spring of 2016… always assuming that we have the energy to keep going that long. At the moment this seems frankly implausible!

The housing market in the UK is picking up. Our newly installed third tenant (the second was – thankfully – a considerable improvement on the first) will be given notice in the spring that we intend to put the apartment in Buckinghamshire back on the market and – once sold – we will look increasingly hard at purchasing in Victoria whilst the market there is still favourable (hopefully also whilst the pound is still weak against the Canadian dollar!). Fingers (and legs and eyes) firmly crossed!

We are off to Canada next week to celebrate what will be my first Christmas and New Year there. I can’t wait! We will also be celebrating – at the Wickaninnish Inn near Long Beach outside Tofino – my sixtieth birthday.

Now – that will be a milestone…

 

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Photo by Ged Carroll on Flickr…”I’ve got a great idea.”

At the fag end of January 2013 I wrote – in my second ever post on this blog:

“About this time last year Kickass Canada Girl and I came up with a plan. It was a good plan. In fact, we were so impressed with it that we thought it might be The plan!”

That post was entitled “…gang aft a-gley” – a reference, of course, to the immortal Rabbie Burns’s poem “To a Mouse, on Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough”. For those – should there conceivably be such – not acquainted with that timeless ode,  the verse in question runs thus:

“But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!

I wound up my post with the observation:

“I’m sure you know the Woody Allen quip: ‘If you want to make god laugh, tell him about your plans’…”

At the time of writing I was – naturally – merely referring to our initial unforseen departure from the script – which arose both from our unexpected inability to sell our Buckinghamshire apartment and, thereafter, from the Kickass Canada Girl’s accelerated appointment to her much anticipated post in Victoria – considerably in advance of the migration date that we had originally intended. As it turned out my sentiments on that occasion proved prescient – and then some! I could have re-used the title for any number of subsequent posts as the edifice that was our beautiful strategy was systematically reduced to rubble – stone by stone. No mere chuckles for this god – he/she was definitely rolling on the floor laughing his/her a*se off!

Soooooo! You would doubtless expect us to have learned from our experiences? Ho, ho! Not us! We are such stuff as… should you slam the door in our faces, when you open it again we will still be standing there – smiling at you…

Yes – we thought that it was time once again to formulate a plan. This time – however – we are going to be a little more devious – to see if we can’t outwit the gods. Foolish we may be – but you have to give us marks for perseverance.

Here’s how it goes:

  • We have set a window. At the near end of the scale I retire at the end of the academic year in 2015 and we move to BC in the summer of that same year.
  • At the far end of the scale we aim to move to Victoria in May 2016. Under this strategy I would probably retire at Christmas 2015 – but could stay on until Easter 2016 if it were to appear advantageous so to do.
  • Either way we will look to re-market the apartment within the next 6 months – probably next spring. The housing market seems to have picked up considerably and – mindful of the UK government’s latest scheme to guarantee mortgage deposits as a way to encourage another housing bubble – it would be madness not to jump aboard the bandwagon (mixing metaphors furiously as we go) with the aim of launching into the market at a relatively high point.

That is the plan, in any case – and as we all know by now…

The title for this post comes – as you are doubtless aware – from the celebrated final scene of that classic of UK 60s cinema – ‘The Italian Job’. Michael Caine announces his ‘great idea’ lying on the floor of a coach which is balanced teeteringly on the very edge of an Alpine precipice.

Let’s hope that is not an omen!

 

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Photo by Andy Dawson ReidToday is the last day of the year – in academic terms at least. At this time last year I was on the verge of flying off to Victoria (leaving for the airport straight from the School just as soon as the boys had departed) for what turned out to be my last (to date!) visit to BC.

Time to take stock…

 

A great deal has changed over the course of the year. My visit to Victoria last June/July was not to have been the only trip of the year. I was also expecting to join the Kickass Canada Girl and our lovely friends in Saanichton for Christmas – which would have been my first such in Canada and to which I was looking forward immensely. When I left BC in mid July I was thus expecting to be back before the year end and made my farewells accordingly. By the time I do visit next – this coming Christmas – eighteen months will have elapsed and many things will inevitably have changed. If nothing else, our beloved friends’ young boys will have grown (almost) beyond recognition.

The other significance of this particular day is that – had things gone to plan – this would have been my last day of term before retirement. Though I had intended to work until the end of July the serious business of education would have come to an end. Throughout these last two weeks I have been attending the farewell presentations and speeches to the Common Room of those who are moving on or retiring. I must admit to the odd twinge of envy for some of those who are hanging up their gowns and preparing for their post-School, post-work lives. It has not been easy adjourning this particular dream, though of course the presence by my side of the KACG makes up for pretty much everything. More than anything we are both eternally grateful that we no longer have to live on different continents.

The Girl herself is thriving. She loves her new job and now has the bit firmly between her teeth, already starting to build the role into something significant and substantial. She loves her rag-top roadster – in which we are intending to meander down to the Dorgdogne for a break in the sun (hopefully!) towards the end of July. She loves being able to go the the theatre and galleries in London – and she would be loving the bucolic English summer were we ever to get one!

All is good – all is good! Our lives are so blessed when compared with the travails of so many others in these uncertain times – and it is good for us to remember this.

These blessings we count daily!

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