"Why, Sir, you find no man, at all intellectual, who is willing to leave London. No, Sir, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford."
— Samuel Johnson
Oh, Sam. How true. And yet not.
For the record, I am not tired of London, the city. I don't think I ever will be. Even after five years and some odd months here, the city gives me a thrill whenever I step outside my flat. I love the buildings: the white stucco-fronted Georgian townhouses, the red brick Victorian terraces, even the glass-and-steel modern additions such as the Gherkin.
I am not tired of constantly being surprised and amused. Just this past Sunday, while strolling in St. James's Park, we passed a man dressed up as Wonder Woman, raising money for the London Marathon. Now I know what I did wrong when I raised money for my own charity marathon run: no superhero costumes. We also passed four Smartcars covered in astroturf, advertising a fake lawn company, and several people out celebrating St. Patrick's Day a wee bit early but with enthusiasm nonetheless.
I am never tired of stumbling across bits of history. Like the two townhouses, side by side, with blue plaques on them. One reads, "Jimi Hendrix lived here," the other, "George Handel lived here." My husband wanted to know if Hendrix ever told Handel to keep it down. But still. How cool is that?
And I will never tire of walking in the parks. Of watching dogs chase squirrels, squirrels pose for nuts, and children squeal with laughter. Of the ducks and geese and moorhens and swans, especially in the spring when fluffballs of feathers follow behind their parents.
But.
I am tired of LIFE in London. Of fighting the rain. And the tube. And the "can't do" attitude. I'm tired of being a foreigner, the outsider, the "one of these things is not like the others."
Mostly I'm tired of fighting the seasonal depression that descends during the long nights of the gray winter. Lamps that mimic the sun are just no match for the real thing.
I've finally stopped fighting the facts: I, and my husband, need to live in a sunny climate.
So it is time to move to what has consistently remained "home" in our thoughts.
It's a scary time. We don't have jobs in the US at the moment. And the economic news is bleak.
But we have friends there, and family, and a "can do" attitude that we feel will erode even further if we stay here. So bad news be damned. It's time to go home. We hope to be back by the autumn.
But first, we are going to enjoy the hell out of London before we go. Try to fall back in love with the city, before the public transport grime and constant elbows in the back and drizzle made us plead for a divorce.
2009-03-17
2009-02-22
Trolls, Fare Thee Well
It appears there are some misguided trolls out there in cyberland who feel that this is their blog, not mine, and that I should write only happy, fluffy rainbow thoughts at their discretion.
Sorry, o deluded trolls. This is MY blog, MY outlet, and I will write whatever the hell I want to on it. Go ahead and bitch at me if London is your dream city and how dare someone not love every gray, drizzly moment. But it won't make me change one word or one ounce of attitude. This is MY reality.
I'm sure I will write happy-clappy unicorns and pixie dust posts in the summer, which I do love here. But expecting a Southern Californian to be cheerful during a London winter is to laugh. And this blog is one way for me to work through my seasonal depression.
So if you don't like my therapy, go find an alternate reality. Maybe blogs about Disneyland would be more your style, mmm'kay?
And have a nice day.
Sorry, o deluded trolls. This is MY blog, MY outlet, and I will write whatever the hell I want to on it. Go ahead and bitch at me if London is your dream city and how dare someone not love every gray, drizzly moment. But it won't make me change one word or one ounce of attitude. This is MY reality.
I'm sure I will write happy-clappy unicorns and pixie dust posts in the summer, which I do love here. But expecting a Southern Californian to be cheerful during a London winter is to laugh. And this blog is one way for me to work through my seasonal depression.
So if you don't like my therapy, go find an alternate reality. Maybe blogs about Disneyland would be more your style, mmm'kay?
And have a nice day.
2009-02-15
Pronunciation: A Mini Rant
I'll concede on "al-u-MINimum" - after all, the British spell it with an extra "i" so really, "a-LUM-i-num" doesn't make sense here.
"HERbs" instead of "'erbs" - extra h, please - fine. After all, as Eddie Izzard sort of says, there's a fornicating "h" in the word.
"Respite" with a long "i" instead of a short "i" - again, that's the way the word is spelled so I'll give them that one as well.
I'm less forgiving of "in-ven-tree" for "inventory" - now Americans get the credit for pronouncing the word as it is spelled. And "left-tenant" for lieutenant - well, at least they don't pronounce the word "lieu" as "left" as well (or do they? Not a word I've heard here often.)
But what I really can't stand is Los Angel-EASE.
ARRRGH!
Makes me grit my teeth every time I hear it, mostly on the Beeb.
It's Los AN-jell-es. Not like the word angel; like the words "an" and "jell." Followed by "es" - short e, soft s. I lived there twenty years. I know.
But then, I don't know why it bothers me. We're talking about a country where Derby is pronounced Darby, Leicester is Lester, and Cholmondeley is Chumley.
So I guess LA - and at least they pronounce the abbreviation like the natives - is getting off lightly.
(Apologies to any linguists who should be appalled by my pronunciation keys!)
"HERbs" instead of "'erbs" - extra h, please - fine. After all, as Eddie Izzard sort of says, there's a fornicating "h" in the word.
"Respite" with a long "i" instead of a short "i" - again, that's the way the word is spelled so I'll give them that one as well.
I'm less forgiving of "in-ven-tree" for "inventory" - now Americans get the credit for pronouncing the word as it is spelled. And "left-tenant" for lieutenant - well, at least they don't pronounce the word "lieu" as "left" as well (or do they? Not a word I've heard here often.)
But what I really can't stand is Los Angel-EASE.
ARRRGH!
Makes me grit my teeth every time I hear it, mostly on the Beeb.
It's Los AN-jell-es. Not like the word angel; like the words "an" and "jell." Followed by "es" - short e, soft s. I lived there twenty years. I know.
But then, I don't know why it bothers me. We're talking about a country where Derby is pronounced Darby, Leicester is Lester, and Cholmondeley is Chumley.
So I guess LA - and at least they pronounce the abbreviation like the natives - is getting off lightly.
(Apologies to any linguists who should be appalled by my pronunciation keys!)
2009-01-08
New year, new attitude, new blogger - no, same old attitude and blogger
Like death and taxes, one more thing that has become inevitable is the annual "for your security" go around with my UK bank.
I've had a bank account in the US for, um, let's just say if my bank account were a person it would be old enough to attend university. It's a very big bank, one that, through the years and mergers, is now one of the largest in the US. One would think when it comes to account screwups and security breaches and customer no-service, the US bank would be heads and shoulders above a UK bank that has far less clients and covers far less geographical ground.
One would think.
In my mumble-mumble years of banking with Big US Bank, I've had zero issues. Internet banking? Sign on up! Add my new husband to the account? Here's his working ATM card before we leave the bank! Go a bit crazy at Christmas? Purchases authorized, no problem!
In my less than five years with Mid-Sized UK Bank:
Number of cards cloned: three
Number of phone calls made by store clerks to the bank to authorize my purchases while throngs of exasperated Christmas shoppers shoot me the evil eye for holding up the queue, even though the bank account was fully flush with money: too painful to recall right now, still suffering post tramautic shopping stress syndome.
Internet banking: Can't sign up online. Have to call the bank, have them send you an authorization form, send back the form, receive authorization number, then input said number within a certain number of days. Then use a plastic card reader, also sent separately, that looks like a cheap calculator to access account. Which makes accessing your account from, say, work rather problematic unless one wants to carry around a plastic card reader that looks like a cheap calculator.
I've been without a working ATM card for over a week now, which is really handy. Use a credit card, I hear some of you sneer. Why, I'd love to. Unfortunately, although the UK does use a National Insurance Number to identify you for tax purposes - but the NIN is NOT the same as your UTP, or Unique Tax Payer number - the country's banks do not use either number in the way US banks use Social Security numbers. Therefore, there is no universally accepted identification code that identifies you as, well, you.
What do the banks use to ensure they are giving credit cards to real people? Your address. And to back up the address, your voter registration.
Only one problem. We're not eligible to vote, not being UK or Commonwealth citizens. So we aren't on the voter rolls. And we're renters, so too many people who aren't us are associated with the address.
So we can't get a UK credit card. Believe me, we've tried. Not even Mid-Sized UK Bank will give us one, aside from our ATM cash card.
But we do have a bank account. Back to it: I received a phone call on New Year's Eve telling me that the police had reported my ATM card number as having been cloned. No unauthorized purchases had been made on the card, and the card was in my possession.
They sent me a new card in the mail. But it had to be authorized. Y'know, that thing you do in the States by calling a number and punching in a few answers. But according to the accompanying paperwork, it could be authorized by:
1) Going to a branch
2) Sending it in the mail
We went to the branch. Ah, but we bank with the offshore branch, so we can't use branches located on the mainland UK. The man at the mainland branch said he would fax it to the offshore branch for us. Then his boss showed up and said, no, they can't fax, but they can mail it for us. My husband rightly pointed out that, gee, we could pop it in the mail ourselves, thankyouverymuch, if that was truly all the extent of the service they could offer. Yep, that was it.
We called the offshore branch. Hey! They can authorize it over the phone! Yay!
What they failed to tell me was that my PIN would no longer work. No, THAT has to be mailed to me.
When I asked why, they told me it was for my security.
So let's review.
Mumble-dy years with Big US Bank that lets me access my account on the internet with no fuss, no muss sign-up or card reader, a bank that lets me authorize my card with a pushbutton telephone call - ZERO security breaches to date (knock wood).
Less than five years with Mid-Sized UK Bank, which makes me jump through hoops and wait for paperwork via snailmail - THREE security breaches.
Tell me again why so much inconvenience supposedly results in a more secure bank account?
I've had a bank account in the US for, um, let's just say if my bank account were a person it would be old enough to attend university. It's a very big bank, one that, through the years and mergers, is now one of the largest in the US. One would think when it comes to account screwups and security breaches and customer no-service, the US bank would be heads and shoulders above a UK bank that has far less clients and covers far less geographical ground.
One would think.
In my mumble-mumble years of banking with Big US Bank, I've had zero issues. Internet banking? Sign on up! Add my new husband to the account? Here's his working ATM card before we leave the bank! Go a bit crazy at Christmas? Purchases authorized, no problem!
In my less than five years with Mid-Sized UK Bank:
Number of cards cloned: three
Number of phone calls made by store clerks to the bank to authorize my purchases while throngs of exasperated Christmas shoppers shoot me the evil eye for holding up the queue, even though the bank account was fully flush with money: too painful to recall right now, still suffering post tramautic shopping stress syndome.
Internet banking: Can't sign up online. Have to call the bank, have them send you an authorization form, send back the form, receive authorization number, then input said number within a certain number of days. Then use a plastic card reader, also sent separately, that looks like a cheap calculator to access account. Which makes accessing your account from, say, work rather problematic unless one wants to carry around a plastic card reader that looks like a cheap calculator.
I've been without a working ATM card for over a week now, which is really handy. Use a credit card, I hear some of you sneer. Why, I'd love to. Unfortunately, although the UK does use a National Insurance Number to identify you for tax purposes - but the NIN is NOT the same as your UTP, or Unique Tax Payer number - the country's banks do not use either number in the way US banks use Social Security numbers. Therefore, there is no universally accepted identification code that identifies you as, well, you.
What do the banks use to ensure they are giving credit cards to real people? Your address. And to back up the address, your voter registration.
Only one problem. We're not eligible to vote, not being UK or Commonwealth citizens. So we aren't on the voter rolls. And we're renters, so too many people who aren't us are associated with the address.
So we can't get a UK credit card. Believe me, we've tried. Not even Mid-Sized UK Bank will give us one, aside from our ATM cash card.
But we do have a bank account. Back to it: I received a phone call on New Year's Eve telling me that the police had reported my ATM card number as having been cloned. No unauthorized purchases had been made on the card, and the card was in my possession.
They sent me a new card in the mail. But it had to be authorized. Y'know, that thing you do in the States by calling a number and punching in a few answers. But according to the accompanying paperwork, it could be authorized by:
1) Going to a branch
2) Sending it in the mail
We went to the branch. Ah, but we bank with the offshore branch, so we can't use branches located on the mainland UK. The man at the mainland branch said he would fax it to the offshore branch for us. Then his boss showed up and said, no, they can't fax, but they can mail it for us. My husband rightly pointed out that, gee, we could pop it in the mail ourselves, thankyouverymuch, if that was truly all the extent of the service they could offer. Yep, that was it.
We called the offshore branch. Hey! They can authorize it over the phone! Yay!
What they failed to tell me was that my PIN would no longer work. No, THAT has to be mailed to me.
When I asked why, they told me it was for my security.
So let's review.
Mumble-dy years with Big US Bank that lets me access my account on the internet with no fuss, no muss sign-up or card reader, a bank that lets me authorize my card with a pushbutton telephone call - ZERO security breaches to date (knock wood).
Less than five years with Mid-Sized UK Bank, which makes me jump through hoops and wait for paperwork via snailmail - THREE security breaches.
Tell me again why so much inconvenience supposedly results in a more secure bank account?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
