Oh so cold

It has been bitterly cold here in the Kent countryside. We actually had snow the other day, which was awesome! Not awesome if you are in southern Ontario, like some of my family, who are digging their way through 30cm of the stuff. However, this is a place that sees only a few days of snow a year and it doesn’t last much beyond noon so you need to love it up while it is there. The thing is we don’t have central heating. Yes, I know I talk a lot about this but in every other place I have been, heat is taken for granted. Here, heat is a treat. So while my life has been whirling around at mach speed, when I do get home to have a break… the cold penetrates me and it is all I can think about when it comes to writing.

I got it!

I have the song lyrics "Here I go again on my own, ? ? ? road I've ever known" on repeat in my brain.

45 minutes until my test.

Barf.

I have to make sure I bring the right money.

Barf.

The right paperwork.

Barf.

Put on deodorant.

Barf.

Not look too hippy. Not look like I am a stiff.

Barf.

Try to relax.

Barf.


The truth is, I don't care if I pass or fail. I care about being tested. In four hours from now I will either be happy with a new license, or happy, broke and without one.

Just to further a pointless post, I will add that I am having an ideal night. After a day of cleaning, it is well deserved.

A GREAT beer:


































A GREAT meal:


















That was cooked in:














and a movie that cracks me up from beginning to end.





Add in a fire in the fireplace, two knitting needles with some yarn and you have one happy Canadian living in England.



The end.

Here I go again…
I have to take another driving test. This one is to show I can drive a stick. Wink wink nudge nudge. How long has it been since I last took a driving test? AND the UK test is oh so hard. You can fail on attitude alone, or so the man booking it said to me after I snapped a sarcastic response to a lame question. Thanks for the tip, fucker. Anyhow, I have the test booked for a week from today. Barf. I hate tests! I hate the dentist. Good thing I am not going to have to do both in one day. This post is going no where…

Sorry.

I have been having strong reactions. Pouncing on people who are giving me flack. A verbal slap without much thought warrants two, not just one, extended middle fingers. Right there, up in your face. Angry. Angry. Angry. I am angry all over the place. But it feels good. I don’t normally get angry. I get sad. I don’t pounce, I reflect. Now I am out there. All over them, all over you. I can’t help myself, it flies out of my mouth, all over the front of you like vomit. Then I have to apologize and make it clear that it isn’t the fact that I had the feelings, it is the fact that I couldn’t control my delivery. That is why I am sorry.

I want to believe

I didn't sleep much at all last night. I have been reading The White Tiger, the recent Booker Prize winner, by Aravind Adiga. I am stuck in it. Not really enjoying it but unable to put it down. The style is unique and after reading four female Canadian authors in a row, I am feeling a bit of an adjustment to the protagonist. He is an Indian man. It brings back lots of memories of my trip there over ten years ago (holy cow). I read one chapter before I go to bed at night. On Monday nights I go to bed early because I need to leave the farm by 745ish to get to Brighton in time for work. One day a week I have to do this. Not everyday like some folks. One day I need to read one chapter and call it good. Put the book down- go to sleep. I went to bed at 10pm, by 1am I was cursing Adiga as much as I was cursing myself. When I headed out this morning, I had toothpicks supporting my eyelids to keep them open. Five miles down the road my car died.

Skipping the details of getting back home and organizing my life, I will cut to the fun part. I spent most of today watching the new X-files movie "I want to believe" and ironing teabags. This is my homemade gift for Christmas this year. Most of my family will be recieving an eight bag box. I have blended a nice mix of organic chamomile, lavender, and lime leaf. Then I have mortar and pestled the living shit out of them and am now filling bags up with a teaspoon, ironing the tops and getting sucked into the good ol' Mulder/Scully drama I used to live off of. I just need another movie to get myself sitting down long enough to make the boxes.

A bit of good has come from this whole car mess. The only real bad bit was that I was going to snuggle next to my man tonight in Brighton, which is where he is working at the moment. It is strange to know he is only an hour away. It makes me miss him all the more.

Election rant

It is hard not to think of tomorrow as some sort of long awaited decision about the future of my family. I have read in different places how, regardless of who gets elected tomorrow, life isn’t going to pick up instantly. Also,that the problems in Canada and the UK aren’t as tied to the US economy as we are all saying they are and how we are using the States as a scape goat for our own problems. And as true as this is, I have been told by a spa that they pay their massage therapists lower wages because Americans aren’t traveling as much and they aren’t having the high turnover of wealth they once did. I have also seen my husband’s career plummet because bands and organizations (in America) aren’t spending as much on their tours as they used to, and downsizing his department is one of the ways to cut costs. My parents, who have lost more than a small house worth in their American pension from the exchange rate alone, are still paying the same amount for my father’s Parkinson’s meds. So as I sit here in the damp cold autumn of Kent with my bowl of porridge and the election news being set to refresh every few minutes, don’t tell me that what happens tomorrow doesn’t effect me.