Non-transient

(written not in Blogger first, since internet at home is on crack for second day running)

Oh hoorah!

I shall be transient no longer & shall have own cosy flat!

It is in the city centre, in a quiet, clean area just a stone’s throw from the River Wensum. It will be about a 5 minute walk from the Central Market (which has been the location for the market since Anglo-Saxon times!) and v. easy for me to get to work either by bike (if it is sunny and someone is not being dozy in the morning) or bus (if it is icky and freezing). My move-in will be on 11 May, and discussion has begun at work regarding a flat-warming party. However, this will probably have to take place in shifts as it is really quite teensy :)

It is the ground floor flat of a 16th or 17th century building; the neighbourhood has crookedey doors and bendy-out beam and stucco buildings – perhaps I ought to go outside and read Shakespeare occasionally. A green (and former cemetery) of a churchyard is outside my front door, but the church is now some sort of children’s discovery centre or something. Inside are exposed ceiling beams, tile floors and one part of the main room wall is exposed brick. There is a fireplace (unsure if it is decorative or utilitarian), built-in book shelves, central heating and a large cupboard/closet. My own kitchen is a fantabulous excitement and v. nicely appointed shower room. This is quite possibly the cleanest rental property I have ever seen.

Sarah and Rob say they are disappointed to see me go, and they have been really lovely to live with the first few months here. They will be some of the first to have an invite for a glass. But it will be good for me to settle and actually succeed in unpacking all of my belongings at one time (or at least the more manageable amount of STUFF that is on this side of the pond – no sniggering or sidelong smirks). Those of you who have been in previous incarnations of the Amrie Domicile of Dead-or-Alive will appreciate how difficult being at such loose ends for nearly three years now (remember the move in 2004 to the parental abode, which separated me from lots of my items of frippery). Perhaps a cat will adopt me…

******
In other news, this Saturday is Yarn Day at the Castle!!!! (This exciting tidbit is a result of mine and Kneece’s cultural venture last weekend). It promises to include: Vikings braids, beer mat weaving, friendship bands, fancy knitting, crochet, spinning and dyeing! E is absol. thrilled that this event coincides with his visit. (If, for some strange reason he is bored, he should go and see the hand, which was cut off in a duel in 1600 and which resides in a cigar box in a personal collection donated to the museum by a dentist in the 1800s. Kneece and I were quite enthralled by this horrific thing. You can see the clean cut of the outside arm bone. Ewwwww. And ouch.) Really, though, I shall repay him by a nice boat tour of the city and out into the Broads (it probably won’t be me driving the boat…). He is also arriving in time on the Friday for Sasha's leaving-do, to be held at The Belgian Monk, so that will be another fun activity.

Sunday evening, the office has been asked to participate in a welcoming boat trip for some recruiting agents from Asia; excursion will be on The Broads, from Horning. The boat is named Southern Comfort, and everyone thinks this is quite funny. It is a Mississippi river boat and there is to be a jazz band. Mark is concerned that the visitors may forget which country they are in. We have been instructed not to overdo the free bar :) Hee hee.

Work is going well and today I have been working on my first expense report in this job. And we all know how good I am at those (ha).

My next trip for work will be the week before my move and will have me toodling to New Jersey (and to NYC). It is rather amusing and also slightly frustrating to me (who has never been to The Big Apple) for British people to be so horrified by my neglect of NYC (No, I have never been. It costs as much to fly from Shreveport to NYC as it does to drive 3 hours to Dallas and fly to London. Hmmm – such a difficult choice to make, Eliza Doolittle. And I would bet that I have seen a significantly higher percentage of my country's land mass than you have of yours.).

However, as soon as they finish their demonstration of shock and horror, they will insist upon asking me innumerable questions about said city. Why? What sense is there in that? My bank of knowledge does not include travel advice for NY. I do not know which are reasonably-priced-yet-chic places to hold receptions. My acquaintance with the public transport system is pretty much limited to spy novels, Friends, and the same movies involving Mafia and theatre-types that you have seen. I admit some amusing skill at imitation of a Bronx accent and Janice’s laugh (‘Oh. My. Gawad. Chandler Bing!’), but really, truly, honestly… that is IT. However, perhaps after my 6 hour foray into the city I shall write a book of advice on all these things, cementing my aura of expertise on Everything American! I am additionally chuffed about this trip as will be able to pay La Cousine Lindsey une visite :)

Speaking of being foreign (yes, it is a leap, but it’s not that far), we have learnt something new today! Wayne is my Line Manager (= boss) at work and is quite happy to have me there as he has been the sole American for about 7 years, maybe. Now, being the only American does lend itself to a bit of isolation in mockery, whether one is in France (poor Kneece – she is much stronger than myself), England or Australia – or probably anywhere else. Except maybe Mexico; Mexican people are lovely and kind and too laid back for direct mockery in mine and K’s experiences. But I digress…

Today’s lesson involved the word ‘bap’. Now, the word ‘bap’ is just a stupid word in the first place, unless it is sensibly being used in a comic book sense as in: ‘BAP!’, ‘BIFF!’, ‘ZOW!’, etc. In Britain, they have decided that ‘bap’ is a good word for a bread product similar to a hamburger bun (and I don’t need any commentary on the word hamburger, either. Thank you.). Really the only difference I find between a ‘bap’ and a bun is that it is lacking the handy-dandy pre-separated base and lid parts; this separation is created with a knife by the person making one’s sandwich for one. So, being the good Brit proselyte, Wayne does an outstanding job of using local terminology and sometimes I am confused even. At lunch today, Craig had a very large sandwich, and Wayne commented, ‘My! What an extremely large bap you have there, Craig!’. I returned from a meeting to find the entire office in hysterics and Wayne looking slightly confused. So they had to ask me what I thought a ‘bap’ is… and then it was all explained that bap is indeed a slang term as well and in the plural, as in ‘baps’ refers to a significant duality characteristic of the female figure. It was, therefore, amusing to the Brits, and it was a good thing Wayne said this to Craig instead of to one of the majority of ladies in the office.

Such pitfalls await us at every turn.