On The Buses

I took the bus to Gravesend today which is about 10 kms north east of Dartford. Chan and I met a woman and her daughter at a bus stop in Longfield yesterday and when I asked her where the best place to get groceries was, she told me, “Asda’s”. Apparently, it is like Walmart. Later, when I checked out the bus route, it turned out that I could catch a bus to Gravesend at our usual place (about 2 minutes from our doorstep) and it would take me right to Asda’s. Cool!

Since Chan started school today, I flew solo and I did have a wee case of the nerves when I hopped on the bus without him. I don’t take public transit much at home – the odd Greyhound or Go Train to Toronto or Niagara. And my experience with city buses from my teenage years was pretty mixed up. The bus I rode from school always stopped at the Psychiatric Hospital to pick up the day patients. There was the young guy that loved the pantyhose ads. He would say, “Sexy legs, sexy legs,” and he would tip his head back and press it against the window and think that he could look up the model’s skirt. Then there was the man with the hole in his face. Since my dad worked nearby at the Correctional Centre he had heard about him. Apparently, he tried to commit suicide by putting a gun up his nose. He successfully blew his nose off. I tried not to stare at him when he got on the bus, but it was so bizarre. Like something out of a horror movie. Probably the most interesting passenger was the extra large teenage looking man that was a skilled nose picker. Fingers went in, booger came out, he sniffed it, then he popped it back into his mouth and the process continued. Many times over, I would like to add.

Once I was seated, I tried to distract myself from the butterflies by observing the scenery but I was drawn to the passengers. Perhaps I was looking for “Sexy Legs” or “Nose Picker Boy”. In front of me, a group of kids, probably 12 or 13 years of age, joked about with each other and I barely caught what they were saying. It was without a doubt, British teenage gibber. Next stop an elderly lady with two canes got on and one of the boys in the group gave up his seat for her. I thought that showed character on his behalf and I appreciated that. I would expect my boys to do the same. Two stops later another elderly lady shuffled on with the assistance of her daughter (I heard her say “Mum” as she directed her to a seat). Another one of the group of teen boys got up and offered his seat which meant that the two seniors were seated facing each other. The second lady recognized the first and the two broke into chatter like old chums. The talkative teens exited at the Bluewater shopping centre which is where I thought they would be heading.

We wove and ambled our way around the narrow streets of Swansombe and then back onto Thames Way past the Ebbsfleet International train station (England’s Gateway), then along a chalk valley (seems to be an abundance of that here), and new housing developments on the River Thames with glass balconies, views, and a hefty price tag too. Not sure if it was the rocking of the bus, the friendly chatter of the elderly ladies, or how every exiting passenger would say, “thank yewwww” or “Cheers” to the driver, but my case of the gitters was gone.

Gravesend stop was next. And off I went with my grocery trolley in tow and all I had to do was follow the signs.

Who's Bad?

It is interesting how we have managed to find ways to entertain ourselves in the evenings due to the lack of a home phone, tv, or internet. For example, tonight when we finished our supper and before we headed out for our nightly walk (we use our map and try to explore somewhere that we haven’t already been), I popped in my newly acquired copy of “Michael Jackson King of Pop” CD which I signed out of the Dartford Library. We discovered that Channing is not built for break dancing. His attempts at spinning on his back reminded me of a drunken 100 year old sea turtle desperately trying to right itself back onto its legs. When the song, “Beat It” came on, I shooed Chan aside and took over our dance floor (aka living room or as they say in England “lounge”).

In high school, I was pretty proud of the fact that I had managed to master a particular dance move that was very popular as a result of the release of Michael’s video “Thriller”. It wasn’t the zombie boogie move or the thrush your hip to the right and grab your crotch pose (Seriously, how many times did Michael do that?). Pretty sure it wasn’t done in this particular video but it didn’t stop my high school class mates from sliding across the floor, shoes kicked off, and feverishly imitating the King of Pop. Yep, I impressed my son and my husband tonight (translation – Channing “Hey, mom. That is pretty cool.” – Rick – slap to the forehead and took another sip of wine). Not only can I do the moonwalk backwards, but forwards too and then change directions mid way and alternate between the two. Once I put socks on, I was really cruising. “Hey, look guys I am doing it backwards.” I slid by the two of them seated at the table. “Now I am moon walking forward.” Then I repeated the moves at least 10 more times. I topped it off with a flip of my heel towards my butt and then kicked forward, thrust my hip to the right and did the crotch pose.

Rick: “Ohkaayy, where’s that map?”

Bev: “We really need to get internet.”

Are We There Yet?

We went for a walk to Bluewater Shopping Centre on Sunday, or should I say, a 3 mile hike. According to our recently acquired map, it appeared to be about as far from our place as Dartford Town Centre. Channing and I had already done the walk downtown earlier to use the internet cafe so it wasn’t like either one of us was looking for some extra exercise. However, Rick had been working on lessons plans all morning and I thought it would be good to get him out for a bit.

About half way there, we (more me than them) realized that it probably would have been better to take the bus. The walking route took us along the freeway (thank goodness for pedestrian walk ways) and virtually past the mall and then finally down into the valley where the shopping centre was situation (which interestingly enough was dug out of a massive chalk pit). We tried to entertain ourselves along the way to keep our spirits up and our feet moving. Once Channing discovered that the majority of white rocks scattered along the path were actually chalk, he wrote, “I am Canadian” on the sidewalk. About 10 steps ahead, Rick wrote “Chan is an idiot” and Channing fought back with, “So is Rick”. I had to tell the two of them to knock it off.

Rick picked what he believed to be blackberries and freaked Chan and me (mostly me, really) out by nibbling on it. We joked about dragging him to the hospital (I would get his feet and Chan his top half because Rick is such a lug head) which we passed a mile earlier. And by the way, it wouldn’t be me doing the explaining to the bloody doctor about how my husband died from being an idiot by sticking god knows what kind of berry into his mouth.

I noticed that countless rosehip bushes and batches of holly bordered the sidewalk too. English Ivy formed a blanket at their roots. There was another kind of bush that looked very much like oversized blueberries. Fortunately, Rick and Channing were too busy flipping a heel at each other’s butts and pretending to toss one another onto the road (I know, mature, eh?) to notice the berries. I was still watching for signs of hives, delirium, or fainting from Rick’s earlier stunt.

I thought of Christmas time back home and how we would pay way too much for a sprig of decorative holly, and here we were passing one lovely bush after another. As well, I would have to visit a health food store to buy rosehips and they would be dried. And the English Ivy would come from the Depot in a tiny plastic pot.
Our outing made me think that sometimes the longer and more difficult path is the most rewarding.

These are a few of my favourite things

Not sure what I find more amusing here in the UK; the switch for the bathroom extractor fan above the doorframe outside of the bathroom, the way I have to remember to look left when I cross the street and bolt like a maniac to get to the other side, how a sales clerk always calls me “love” or “lovie”, the alarm on Rick’s cell phone that says, “It’s seven o’clock; time to get up,” with a British accent, or our combined washer dryer tucked underneath our kitchen cabinets that spun at helicopter speeds for an hour and a half and the clothes came out damp and the colours bled. So much for Rick’s favourite Hawaiian shirt. Looks like I got my Canadian Ass into hotwater.

You're Not in Kansas Anymore, Dorothy

Channing and I headed down to the town centre for our usual daily shopping trip which generally starts with a stop at our coffee shop. Rick discovered this place a couple of days after he arrived. They made a decent cup for cheap. We have decided that the Canadian concept of coffee and Uk’s is quite different. I have to say that Canadians are nuts about their coffee and there is no shortage of places to go to get a good cup of Joe. The guys in this particular shop were quite fascinated by our accents and when they asked where we were from and they tried to guess, one of them said Russia. Russia?! We let them know that we were from Canada and they thought we were just visiting. So we told them that no we had in fact moved here. Then when it came time to pay for our coffee, they gave them to us for free.

Today when we made our stop, I got tea for a change. Then off to the library we went to use the internet. However, Channing was trying to hand me my tea and the lid was not secured to the cup, and the entire contents spilt onto my hand and wrist and scalded it. I dumped the last bit of liquid from my water bottle but I knew this wasn’t going to help my wrist that was now most definitely on fire. I ran to bathroom in library only to find it is occupied. Between my sobbing and my accent, the girl behind the counter wasn’t sure what I was asking for. Another lady, I will call her Amanda the angel, took me to the staff bathroom and ran cold water on it and gave me directions to the Boots Drug store to get it looked at. When I told Amanda that I had just moved here on Monday, she said, “Welcome to Dartford.” She was such a sweetheart and really tried to help me.

Walking to the counter at Boots was like showing up at a walk-in clinic. The pharmacist was amazing. She whipped out these cooling pads and gauze and together she and Channing bandaged me up. Not sure that I would have received that kind of service at a drug store back home.

Back in the town centre, I had to collect my thoughts and rethink our plans for the day. As we stood outside in the square a group of at least five uniformed men and one woman suddenly marched past us. “What the heck? Is that the swat team?” Channing asked. But as they continued on their way, I could see that they had “UK Border Agency” written on the backs of their black vests and they were heading into, oh my goodness, our coffee shop.

Lesson for day four of living in another country; give soda a try.

To Dance or Dine

I delivered our 5 boxes to be shipped out a couple of days ago from the local post office which is located in our General Store. When I stopped by the store a day later, Chris, the owner, said, "I hope you are sitting down," when I arrived to pay for the packages. The total was going to cost nearly $500! I was on my way into town to drop the boys off, so I told him I needed to think about it. It wasn't exactly $100 like Rick thought it would be for all five boxes. When I got in the car and told the boys how much it was, Chan said, "That could buy A LOT of groceries, Mom!" That kid is a practical boy. Either that or he is afraid he won't be able to fill that hollow leg in the near future.

After I finished my running around in town, I went back to the store and Chris let me rummage through the boxes in the back room and I managed to narrow it down to two. I tried to make sure that each of us had a winter/fall coat, some of Rick's ties, his dress pants and a couple of dress shirts, school binders, and important paperwork, . Janet, the girl from the post office, weighed the remaining two boxes at least two more times and I still kept taking stuff out. When I finally reach a price that I was comfortable with, I confessed to Janet that I had sacrificed my tap shoes. “You'll have to hit a thrift shop over there, Bev,” she suggested. I wonder how many other women in my situation would have been willing to sacrifice their favourite pair of shoes.

Family Ties

Rick left tonight. He was like a kid on the first day of school dressed in his favourite Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants, his back pack stuffed, and hair neatly combed. It felt so strange to see him off. I wasn't quite sure what to do after Chan and I waved goodbye and went back inside. It seems that we have been constantly on the go for weeks now putting all of the necessary arrangements in place. With Molly at her mother's now, Keaton moving stuff to his dad's and hanging out with friends, I turned to Channing and said, “Well, I guess it's just you and me now, Bub.” The dynamics of our family was changing again.