Pageantry

Although have probably mentioned this before, I do love British pageantry.

Have just caught the end of BBC1 commemoration of the 25th anniversary of the Falkland Islands’ Liberation. This may be on purpose for the Queen’s birthday, or it may just be a coincidence. There was a ceremony at the Horse Guards Palace and now 9,000 soldier parade (not including the bands!) down the Mall. And thousands of people lining the streets. Baroness Thatcher is dressed in a lovely very fuschia dress, coat and hat; she is 81.

It is all very inspiring as they march past Prince Charles, who is returning salute to the March-Past as it proceeds past the Victoria Monument. One of the officers marching next to Prince Andrew Duke of York, has to keep doing this little skip trying to keep in time with Prince Andrew, who is not marching in time to everyone else. Tee hee.

A Fly-Past is going to happen any minute now.

Slurpee Susie

Today is Susie's funeral in Dallas.

She was an amazing person whose sparkle never dimmed even as her body failed her. She was an absolutely inspirational person the whole time I knew her, whether she was trying to help me get a job at the Dallas Museum of Art or just hanging out with the pups. It would have been so cool to go for the Girls' Weekend in Dallas almost three weeks ago... Over the past two years, it has been always so cheering to get an email from her letting me know how much she supported my 'British adventure'.

One thing that makes me sad is that she may not have gotten my last card in time.


I hope there is a Slurpee machine when she gets there.

Figures...

No. It doesn't.

Today, the cost per week figure on the same room as ranted on yesterday has been given to me as ... £53.48!!!!

(Apparently, the figures PUBLISHED in the brochure were WRONG. Riiiiiiiiight. Because that is a Good Practice way to communicate with customers. Let's not make little correcting labels and correct our bloody error or anything. Surprises are much more fun!)

In addition to our shekels and goat conversions (thank you, Eamonn), we should also keep in mind (I have been told) that PRICES ARE COMPLETELY DIFFERENT in both per week and per day costs whether the student is:
* Autumn only
* Spring only
* Full Year

Oh.
My.
Gawd.

This just gets more baffling. I swear I am being driven to campaign for more MATHS and logic!

Maths

Now, admittedly, I am not the most clever of creatures when it comes to maths. I like to spell.

However, numbers do have some sort of odd amusing quality for me (esp. when am not being assessed on my abilities to make them do things), and so I do have a basic understanding of if the map of numbers is working or not.

Today, have been doing expense reports. At the best of times, this is painful (although, the sneaky receipt from Santa Fe Restaurant in Tarrytown, NY DID reappear after hiding in the Minneapolis pile just to peeve me and watch me tear my desk apart, because I knew I had seen it not 2 hours earlier). In the good old admissions office at Cemetary College, I had quite the reputation for delaying the expense report as long as possible after a trip, even if money was coming back to me (yes, we know this is silly), just because it is such a horrifically mind-bending experience (I mean, the balance of my own bank account is mostly determined by a delicate balance of telepathy and hunger... I am not a bean counter, even if beans are due me). Timmy Prowly McCrowley had to chase those forms out of my office. And today... I miss those darn forms. (gasp!)

There is not one form with all information on it here in the IO -- there are three. Or at least three that I know of -- one for credit card charges, one for cash from the office accounts, and one for cash of your own which you have stupidly used. I will just let readers infer what trauma this has inflicted on my Monday brain.

*******
So, finally, two of the reports were done. Tomorrow will be for the 'cash of your own that you stupidly used' (you big twonk).

No more maths!

Or so, I thought...

Here is the fun conjuring problem for clever monkeys to puzzle over. Accommodation Office has yet to get back to me on this one (smirk).

SCENARIO:
* Student A pays Organisation 1 for the privilege of studying at University Q in England. Hoorah.
* Uni Q (amusing language reference here) is supposed to bill Org1 for costs of tuition and room. Just to make it more fun, this information is not written down anywhere for people new to their jobs to know.
* Uni Q bills students directly for more than they paid to Org 1 in first place.
* Uni Q employees get a new eardrum perforation from person in charge of Org 1.
* When Org 1 person-in-charge is invited to party at a conference, he is much nicer, although still rather irate (in the nicest of irate ways, and completely understandably) about the fact that Uni Q has cost him quite a bit of money and this needs sorting.
* Placating New Employee of Uni Q agrees and makes attempt to figure out difference between what was quoted and what was billed, so as to propose to boss that difference be covered out of our budget instilling feeling of Customer Service into relationship with Org 1.

This is just a part of what PNE found in the instance of Student A (all the others are different -- fun!):

1. there is no proof of what was quoted
2. accommodation brochure 2006-07 lists costs per week at £54.39 in Hall Z
3. student has been billed per night for 88 nights
4. 88 nights = 12.57 weeks
5. £54.39 * 12.57 weeks = £683.76
6. student account has been billed for £794.64
7. if we take £54.39 and divide by 7 for a daily rate, we get £7.77 per night
8. if we take £794.64 and divide by 88 nights, we get £9.03 per night
9. Hmmmm

CONCLUSION:
Something is wrong here. And it is NOTHING to do with my math!

Moose

Thanks to the organisational skill (and generosity) of an Eamonn-ish person, we now have a photo of moose. This is a photo taken by Sally with her phone and then sent to E, who then transferred it to his computer and emailed it to me.

There are more photos still on my camera, which show the hat off to its fullest dashing capacity. Shall post these when my brain begins functioning again (it is, after all, only Monday).

How can www.weather.co.uk say that today's forecast for Norwich is 'mostly sunny' and we have seen not even a HINT of blue sky at all today? It is grey, grey, grey :)

Knit Wit

Last evening, finally managed to make it to the legendary, and very difficult to confirm, knitting group that meets at The Forum in Norwich city centre on Thursday evenings from 7-ish to 11-ish! Clem (from my office) went with me and took her tapestry; v. convenient, as she lives right around the corner from me at the moment. It was a v. diverse group (although not as much fun as the Knit Wits in Shreveport yet) and I actually sat next to another American – a lady from Boston who moved here 3 years ago. Clem is also technically American, as she was born stateside AND another first-timer was born in Delaware, although she has no trace of an accent as she has lived here most of her life. I like to think of it as a reverse rebellious invasion.

My project (which is now finished, although I have no photograph to post yet) was/is a blue jumper/sweater and tiny hat for a moose. Readers may be wondering what drug I am now taking. But here is the story: on her first trip ever to the US last week, Sally made the dizzying decision to buy the cutest stuffed moose. Well, he has been photographed with Bear (of course). Bear does have a jumper/sweater, and Moose cannot be walked around au natural in company with other clothed animals. It is just not the Done Thing.

As well, I would like to point out that I am not completely nutters (or maybe just that there are more nutters out there, too) for knitting clothing for stuffed toys – another girl at the knitting group brings her bear everywhere with her, and he has an entire wardrobe of knitted clothing. Last night, he wore a lovely purple turtleneck. Next Thursday, Bear shall accompany me and Clem. This will be a nice educational outing for him.

FYI, tomorrow, 9 June, is Worldwide Knit in Public Day. Even if there is not a location near you, you should go sit somewhere outside your natural habitat and knit. There are a lot more places than are listed on the site above, if you Google it.

*******
Speaking of Sally’s trip to the US, a couple of notes.

She, like E in March, noted the presence of fire hydrants/fire plugs on the street. I believe a photograph was taken. This is interesting as I don’t really even notice that they are there unless they are being cleared and gushing water all into the road, which will then splash up on my clean car right after it has been bathed (although this really hasn’t been an issue of late).

She also noted that loos/toilets/ladies’ rooms/restrooms/bathrooms in the US are really unfortunate. And I have to agree. This is not because they are dirty necessarily, but because of the visibility of people in stalls. There has been much amused discussion in the past two years over the American aversion to the word toilet (Eww. Ick. Bleugggh! Such an unfortunate word that conjures images that quite simply needn’t be conjured.), and Sally finds it amazing that a people who are so prissy over the use of this word can find it completely acceptable to have stalls that a) have walls and doors that are way off the floor and that b) have space around edges of the stall where people using the toilet can be seen doing their business. Yes, this is an interesting observation and I certainly concur.

******
Speaking of Done Things, there are certainly some stupid Done Things, such as the religious dedication to hierarchy. In the workplace of the 21st century, surely we have more opportunity for a flattening of interpersonal communication. I mean, hey! We've got women in here now, too (AND we can vote!). Anyhoo, regardless of who is whose boss, there are times when it is just sensible to ask someone a question instead of wasting time with chains of command.

To give an example: some exchange agreements (which are my personal responsibility and primary remit in my position) need signing and/or renewing. These are signed by the Vice-Chancellor. I organised them and took a whole passel down three weeks ago. Some of them were signed and returned and some were not (and these latter were the ones that I had agreed to deliver to the partners by hand during the NAFSA conference last week -- naturellement). Since, it is my responsibility, I requested them a couple of times from the VC's PA (not unusual, no?). One day before my departure, my boss/line manager returned from his own work travel in Africa and forwarded a chain of emails to me (and referencing me). This is gist of the chain:

* VC's PA emails my boss's boss about some questions that the VC has about the validity of these agreements (one of which has been in place for 20 years and the other which was agreed to by my predecessor).
* My boss's boss emails her back saying that he would prefer to ask my boss about them (even though he came into the office very late that same day and talked to me in person about something completely different).
* VC's PA emails him back saying that I had been 'chasing' and she doesn't know what to do (WHAT to DO? What, what?).
* My boss's boss emails my boss (who is out of the office, remember) to ask him to ask me to 'stop chasing'.

The outcome of this was that my boss (also American and who also agreed with my query, 'What the bleep is this?') had to ask me to prepare notes for him and explain to him the reasons for my outrageous (sarcasm) actions (since theoretically, I/yo/myself/moi/me am the person who is supposed to know what's going on with the bleeding exchanges), so that he could to go and explain the reasons for these to his boss, after which he was instructed to schedule a meeting with the VC to explain these reasons YET AGAIN.

This is the most inefficient practice I have ever seen (well, maybe not the pinnacle, but still an excellent example). Five people to be involved in scheduled meetings, not to mention email composition time, where it would have been easier for the silly PA to ask me straight out if I could shed some light on the situation...

I must have lunch now.

Goons

Have been introduced to The Goon Show. Am quite amused, even though about 1/3 of what they are saying is beyond my ears’ ability of comprehension. It makes me think of several clever and slightly mad friends and relations of mine, namely Matthew the Runner, Pablo the Wombat and Lindsey the Cousine.

In case (like myself), readers are unfamiliar with TGS, it was a live radio show which ran on the BBC from 1951 to 1960 and starred Peter Sellers, Harry Secombe and Spike Milligan. Storylines are absolutely absurd, detectably post-war psychology, completely politically incorrect; my closest cultural touchstone here is that it is rather like Fibber Macgee and Molly gone off further into utter chaos of hilarity. There are funny voices. There are small linguistic jokes. There are large linguistic jokes. There is ethnic mockery (one of my favourites being the invasion of Red Hairy McLegs the Scotsman).

Here is a small sample of script:
Bluebottle: What time is it Eccles?
Eccles: Err, just a minute. I've got it written down here on a piece of paper. A nice man wrote the time down for me this morning.
Bluebottle: Then why do you carry it around with you, Eccles?
Eccles: Well, if anybody asks me the time, I can show it to them.
Bluebottle: Wait a minute Eccles, my good man...
Eccles: What is it fellow?
Bluebottle: It's writted on this bit of paper, what is eight o'clock, is writted.
Eccles: I know that my good fellow. That's right. When I asked the fella to write it down, it was eight o'clock.
Bluebottle: Well then, supposing when somebody asks you the time, it isn't eight o'clock?
Eccles: Then I don't show it to them.
Bluebottle: Well how do you know when it's eight o'clock?
Eccles: I've got it written down on a piece of paper!

*******
In other news, have managed to return from Minneapolis and still retain the use of y’all in everyday speech.

However, a note for the pseudo-clever traveller and/or money launderer: one ought to not try to exchange any sort of foreign currency in the US. Bank employees merely stare gape-mouthed at you as if you were asking for a dead light bulb, 17 rachets, some gopher poison, a left speaker wire connection, pink gardening gloves and one bent hairpin (single eyebrow raised and lip curled completed the social interaction). This was very annoying and frustrating and involved an immersion on my part into angry reverse culture shock (i.e., having the opinion that the new culture is best and more sensible). It is funny how one gets used to what used to be inconvenient (like being unable to purchase gallons of milk, or even milk at all after 5pm on a Sunday) and how certain one is that one’s own culture will have the same conveniences of the new culture – LIKE CHANGING FLIPPING MONEY!

It appeared to surprise US postal employees, Western Union personel, and bank tellers that one would wish to buy US dollars with any other form of tender (‘what is that?’). [Now, with the current state of the dollar, I suppose, but still…]. Anyhoo, Wells Fargo does change pounds into dollars, although this was at a lower rate than my bank offered in Norwich -- stingy stinkers. And they charged me $5.00 to buy my more valuable notes. AND they would have charged me $25.00 to wire to another bank account (forcing a return to the USPS for a $1.50 money order to mail to the mama and papa, for deposit in the personal bank account so as to pay one’s personal bills).

To explain: in Britain, one can change currency several times on any one street, even if the street is four shops long. The Post Office changes currencies; every travel agency changes currencies; shady-looking Turkish shops exchange currencies; some grocery markets (such as Marks and Spencer) change currencies; and of course, any bank is happy to get rid of dollars. And a lot of these places charge no commission. This was just such a goat rope. With no goats.

*******
In linear culture shock (as opposed to reverse), arranging phones in this country continues to baffle one who continues to be under the delusion that one is in a first world country with ellecterissity and technomolology. Difficulties in acquiring phone service of a normal sort requires almost as large a herd of goats as changing money in the US.

One can only start out with one company here – British Telecom. One may switch later, after one has been with the monopolisers for 3 months. Getting a new order with BT is impossible through online services unless one is installing a brand new service in a newly renovated 13th century building, which needs an engineer to install wiring. So one must call. If one is phoning a phone company, one would perhaps expect that they might have enough people to actually man their phones. Fortunately Skype allowed me to phone from my hotel room (at 5.30 one morning last week) for free, as this took 45 minutes, including the hold time and the time spent deciphering a gorgeous Scottish accent.

My phone was supposed to be turned on Tuesday(since my home is not a newly renovated 13th century building and already had an outlet on the wall), and it was expected that it would come on automatically. My mobile phone had been provided so that the ‘engineer’ could phone me if there was a reason to need to get into my house. He phoned. He did not leave a message or a call-back number. He did, however, leave me a flyer through the door that he MUST HAVE ACCESS. Idiot. Now, the next appointment available is for the 13th. I shall be forced to sit eagerly next to my front door from 8am to 1pm. This is idiotic.

*******
To comfort myself, Tuesday night was cookie night. Brought Nestle Toll-House chocolate chips from Minneapolis and my work colleagues ate a box full today (Wednesday). This made me happy (as I quite enjoyed having some dough and the smell of baking. I have shown no symptoms of worms from eating raw cookie dough.). On Monday, I went out and got cookie sheets and four matching dry goods containers (for 99p each!) for my counter (to go with the wooden spoons, spatula, and measuring cups and spoons bought at Target last week and smuggled into the country to avoid UK taxes). Hmmm. Although I do not consider myself overly materialistic, my two favourite things to buy are kitchen accessories and shoes (yes, I also visited DSW last week). A Well-Shod Chef. Yes, I like it. (The US TAS people were either confused or amused by my suitcase, which also included in addition to the four pairs of shoes, kitchen implements above, three jars of peanut butter, a Swiffer mop, Swiffer refills, Olde English Scratch Cover, new socks and some Orbit gum. If only a folding table and chairs would have fit, that would have been perfect for my little breakfast on the front walk on Saturday mornings. Oh well – perhaps that would have been a bit overboard.)