On My First Days: This Is LONG

August 24, 2008

So I’m initially writing this in WordPerfect, because I don’t have internet access at the Bed and Breakfast in Swavesey (I found out it’s pronounced Swa-veh-say, after saying it Swa-ves-sey to the cab driver)....at least not at the moment. The woman who runs the B&B is on holiday, and no one is really around for me to ask.

Getting here was easier than I had thought. I took the shuttle to Gatwick Airport, from my hotel, and was able to easily find out where I had to go to catch a train to London. I couldn’t get one directly to Kings Cross (the main station) in London, but the sales lady informed me that I could take the underground from London Bridge to Kings Cross. It cost me 9 pounds to get the train to London Bridge, which I thought was decent enough. It took about 30 minutes, so the journey went by quite fast. Unfortunately, I had to stand the entire time...for a train coming directly out of an airport, you’d think they’d have wider aisles in the train, but they didn’t. I couldn’t fit my suitcase down the aisles, so I had to stand in the doorway of the train. It was a bit annoying, and embarrassing, because it made me look glaringly like a foreigner. I wasn’t alone in looking stupid though, as two Americans were standing across from me as well, with absolutely no place to stand. (OOO I must interject here for a moment...I have the television on here as I write this - it only has 4 channels though, since it’s got through bunny ears - and have it on T4...and guess what is on?!?! FRIENDS! Its surprisingly VERY comforting to see my FAVOURITE show on the television here. Makes me feel less anxious).

Once I got to London Bridge, I followed the signs to the Underground. I found a tickets/assistance booth, and asked how I could get to Kings Cross. The man was quite friendly with me, and told me I had to buy a ticket and then use the North Terminal. I bought the ticket for 4 pounds, and went in the direction that he told me. I headed in that direction, and noticed it required me to get up a short flight of stairs. Looking down at my suitcase and other baggage, I wonder how in the HELL I was supposed to lug it all up the stairs. My suitcase is VERY heavy; I did, after all, have to pack my entire life into it. I approached the stairs with apprehension, and then turned and tried to walk up the stairs backwards, pulling my suitcase up step by step. This was a lot harder than I had assumed it would be. I got it up two steps, and was clearly struggling with it. My two carry-on bags were sliding down my shoulders, causing me to lose my balance, and stumble sideways. Frustrated and embarrassed, I righted myself, and tried to figure out my next move. Fortunately for me, a lovely British gentleman saw me struggling, and offered to carry my bag up the stairs for me. I gladly accepted his offer. At the top, I thanked him profusely, and he kindly said “Not a problem!” Next hurdle? In order to get to the different platforms, you have to put your ticket into a machine and then these gates will open for you. I walked over to the oversized turnstile, so that I could fit through with my baggage, and put my ticket in the slot. It sucked it up, but nothing happened. I started to panic, because I didn’t want to have to pay for a different ticket. A lady with a young boy came up behind me, and giggled.
“You’ve just got to pull the ticket out of the top, dear” she said, pointing.
I looked to where she was pointing, and noticed my ticket sticking out. Feeling embarrassed once again, I thanked her and pulled it out. The doors immediately swung open. I walked through, and hurried towards Platform one.

Again, in order to get there, there was a flight of stairs, this time going down. (Off topic...on Friends, it’s the episode where the girls learn to play poker. Joey just said the funniest line of the episode: “I fold like a cheap hooker who got hit in the stomach by a fat guy with sores on his face”. Ha ha! Had to interject!) I sized up the stairs, and decided I should be alright if I just pulled the suitcase down behind me. Bad idea. I got down a few stairs, and the suitcase started to gain momentum, being heavier than me, and crashed down to a small landing. I almost cried, I felt so frustrated. What kind of transit system doesn’t have RAMPS?! I looked around, and never once saw a ramp. How do people in wheelchairs get around these terminals?! Anyways, I was struggling to pick up and organize my bags, when the same gentleman who’d helped me up the stairs earlier came up to me.
“I hate to see you struggle,” he said. “Would you like me to help you?”
“Oh yes please, if its not too much trouble!” I gushed.
He went to grab the handle of my bag, which had broken in the fall.
“I may have broke the handle...” I said.
He laughed, “I believe you have! It’s an awful long way to come to break a bag!”
He must have noticed either my accent of the Canadian flag on my bag, or perhaps my bumbling stupidity and awkwardness had made it all too obvious that I wasn’t from England.
I laughed as well, and said “Yes well, I’m a klutz regardless of country...”
He picked up my bag, and carried it to the bottom of the stairs, then wished me well and took off for his own train.
I got on the underground, which came as soon as I got to the platform, and sat down as soon as I got on. I was sweaty and disgusting, and totally flustered. It took about 10 minutes to get to Kings Cross.

Once in Kings Cross, it was easy to see where I had to go. I got in line for ticket sales again, and bought a train ticket to Cambridge. The man told me to hurry to platform 7, and that I might be able to catch the 11:45 train. I rushed out, but found I had missed it. I walked back to the board with all the train times, and looked out for the next time to Cambridge. I saw that one was leaving platform 9b at 12:15, so I decided to go find the platform. It was a bit of a walk (well actually not too far, but it felt like forever lugging my extremely heavy baggage), but luckily no stairs this time. Again I had to go through some gates, which sucked in my ticket and then spit it back out and let me in. I hurried quickly over to the train, and got on. I didn’t want to have to stand this time. I grabbed the first available seat, pulling all my baggage around me. Finally sitting, I was able to relax a bit. I had my ticket out, in case anyone came round to check it, however no one ever did. In fact, at no one point did anyone PERSONALLY check any of my tickets...I slid them into the machines to get past the gates, but that was it. It seemed a bit weird! Ah well! I got on the train at around 12:00, so I had some ten minutes to pass just waiting. I spent most of that time just watching and listening to people. A very tall, well dressed man got on and sat opposite the aisle from me. He looked a few years older than me, and rather well to do. He pulled out a Blackberry Curve, and was texting on it most of the train ride. Just as the train took off, it jolted rather hard, and my suitcase tipped over, hitting him on the legs.
“Oh gawd, I am SO sorry!” I said to him.
He laughed, and up righted my suitcase saying, “It’s quite alright! Bit startling though, all I saw was a big Canada flag come flying at me!”
He was referring to the bag tag I have on my suitcase, courtesy of Sheena! It’s just a large Canadian flag.
“I’m so sorry, I’ll hold onto it better!” I said back to him.
“Not a problem,” he said, smiling.

Embarrassed, I turned to the window, and steadfastly stared out it. This trip was a tad longer than my first train ride of the day. It left at 12:15 and got to Cambridge at 1. It was a nice trip though, mostly through the country and a few other small villages. When it pulled into Cambridge station, I noticed it was nothing more than a single platform with a few vendors on the outside. Nothing special, that’s for sure. I was, however, dying of thirst, so I walked up to one of the vendors and noticed he had a bottle of Lemonade on display. I asked him for a bottle of Lemonade, pointing to it, but he seemed really confused. He went to the fridge, and pulled out a Sprite.
“Is this what you want?” he asked.
Not wanting to be a bother, I said “Yep, that’ll do!” and passed over the 1.25 it was worth.
Lesson learned: if you want Lemonade, try asking for Lemon juice instead, or perhaps just plain Lemon. The man clearly had no idea what I meant by Lemonade.

I walked outside the station, and saw that there was a place to line up to get a cab. I forget what they call lining up over here....something that starts with a Q....sounds like the letter...but I know it’s not spelt that way. Anyways, I got in the line, and in less than a minute I had a cab in front of me. It was some make of Ford I’d never seen before, but it was nice and spacious, and brand new. A cute little old man got out and came round to the trunk to help me throw in my stuff.

“Where you ‘eaded?” he asked (They don’t pronounce their H’s very much here, hence the accent).
“Is it possible to get a cab to take me to Swavesy?” I asked (pronouncing it the wrong way).
He looked at me, totally puzzled. I started to panic again, unsure of the pronunciation.
“Um....Swavesey? Between here and St. Ives? I’m staying in a Bed and Breakfast there....” I said nervously.
“Ohhhhhh! Swa-ves-sey!” he said. “Of course I can take you there!”
“Great, thanks!” I said, relieved.
I climb into the back seat (I had sat in the front seat my other two cab rides, and had gotten confused looks from the drivers, so I’m assuming people don’t sit up front in England, like they do in Canada), and made myself comfortable.
Driving through Cambridge was a real treat. It was ABSOLUTELY beautiful...to date the most beautiful place I’ve ever been in my life. Everything was so OLD, and beautiful. The streets were quite narrow, and everywhere I looked were ancient looking buildings and churches. It was also ridiculously clean, compared to the brief glimpse I had gotten of London (which was very brief indeed). We stopped at a set of lights at one point, beside a beautiful little church. I was looking at it in wonder, and decided to take a picture (which I did). We also drove past the University (one of a few in the city, I believe), and I caught sight of an utterly FANTASTIC looking old building. I am going to make taking a trip to Cambridge a priority VERY soon, as I would absolutely adore having a closer look around.

The drive to Swavesey took about 10 or 15 minutes; it isn’t far at ALL! It cost me 15.60 to get from the station in Cambridge to the B & B, which is good to know! Not as much as I thought it would be....though if you convert it to Canadian dollars...YIKES. But...lets not think that way. As the cabby drove away, I walked up the driveway to what I thought was the front door. I tried to open it, but found it was locked. Odd. I saw a doorbell, so I rang it. Nothing. I stood there for about 5 minutes, unsure of what to do, then rang the bell again. Still nothing. I turned around, to face the road, and pondered what to do now. A million thoughts ran through my head, one of them being that I had been swindled of 150 pounds (which I had wired over as a money order to secure the room). Almost about to cry, I noticed a car slowing down, and then it turned into the driveway. A young blonde woman waved at me, and I felt relieved. She obviously was expecting me to be there.
“Oi, have you been waiting long?!” she asked, as she got out of her car.
“Oh no, I just got here about 5 minutes ago....I’m a tad earlier than I said I was going to be, so don’t feel bad about my waiting!” I replied.
“Righto! Well, if you want to walk over to that door over there” she said, pointing to a door I had noticed before, “ I will go in and round and let you into your room!”
I nodded agreement, and went over to where she had pointed, waiting patiently. A few moments later she came and let me in.
“Right, so Karen, who I assume you’d been corresponding with previously, is actually on a holiday this weekend, so she asked me to come round to let you in! She’s left a note for you on the table, and I can show you around.”
I nodded, and entered the small hallway. There was a table in the middle, with a chair at each end, a tiny menu resting against the wall, and a note addressed to me in the middle.
“This portion of the place is yours alone. All the rooms are self contained, and this door” she said, pointing to a door at the end of the hall, “is locked from the other side.”
She opened a door on the left and handed me a key, “This is your room, it has its own bathroom through the other side. There’s the telly on the wall there, and outlets all round....”
I smiled, nodded, and made small talk with her, trying to be bubbly and friendly. She asked me what I was doing in the area, and I told her I was going to be teaching at the Village College. She laughed, saying she had went there as a kid. Then she asked me what I was going to be doing for dinner, since Karen wouldn’t be around to help me find something to eat. I wasn’t quite sure, so I asked her if there was a grocery store around that I could go to.
“Ooh, unfortunately no. It’s such a small isolated village, there’s not actual a grocery shop here!” she said.
“What about a convenience store? I could surely pick up SOMETHING to tide me over for tonight...”
“Well, it being Sunday, most things are closed...but how about I take you in my car, and we check?”
“Really? Do you mind? I don’t want to be a bother!” I said.
“Oh my no! I couldn’t possibly leave you here with NOTHING! I would feel awful! I can drive you!” she said.
So we hopped into her car, and she drove me to the shop, which was unfortunately closed. The whole time, she was quite chatty and friendly, so I made sure to be chatty and friendly back. She was very pretty! I don’t know what people were saying, telling me British girls were ugly, because she certainly is not!
“Oh dear, they’re closed!” she said. “Well, I know where I can take you, so don’t fret!”
“Okay, as long as you don’t mind!” I replied.
“Oh no, its no problem at all! I will take you to the Tesco in Bar Hill...it’s 5 minutes away!”
“Oh geez...I can give you gas money!” I told her.
“No, no! Think nothing of it! It’s the least I can do to help you feel settled!”
We chatted the rest of the car ride there. Once we got to the Tesco, she called her Mom to tell her she’d be late, as she was taking me to the store. I could hear her Mom on the other side tell her to invite me to dinner, and she did. They were having chili, I think she said. I politely declined, but thought it was quite nice of them to offer; I am, after all, a complete stranger!!! We went into the store, and I asked Mel how old she was. Turns out she is exactly the same age as me (23, turning 24 in October). We walked around the store, picking out various things, as we talked about how she had been out drinking the night before, and was still feeling a bit off. It was nice to talk to someone my own age, about things that were rather universal! I picked up some juice, two nectarines, a bag of chips (crisps?), a bag of coussants, and a pasta salad. Nothing special, but hopefully enough to tide me over for the time being. She dropped me off, and gave me her number, telling me to give her a call if I wanted to get a tour of Cambridge, or just to hang out with people my own age. I thanked her profusely, and went back into my room to settle in for awhile.

I plan on going for a walk in a few moments, just to see the village, and perhaps walk to the school. Karen, the owner lady, just got home and came to see me. She’s a cute lady, I’d guess in her late 30s or early 40s. She asked me what I was doing in the area, and when I told her I was teaching at the Village College, she said her daughter was starting there in the fall. Interesting! When I asked her about a phone, she seemed surprised that I’d want one. I’m thinking people come here to get away from the world...and just relax, and have no use for a phone. She said I could use the house phone though, so I may try to use that tomorrow. If a phone had been in my room, I would have used it today to call some people, but seeing as I’ll be using her home phone, I won’t bother her much now about using it tonight. I’m now a bit nervous about how I will get around, since this place really is horribly isolated. I should have written down more information. Hopefully she will let me use her internet as well...as I will need to check some things.....

Ah well. For the moment, I will occupy myself without the luxuries of technology. The room itself is gorgeous, so its not so bad. I’m off for a walk now though. I will post the pictures on Facebook, once I get internet access (as well as posting this entry), which will probably be Tuesday when I have to return to London.

Cheers!

August 26, 2008 10:30am

Still internet-less for the time being. I’m currently sitting outside, typing on a lovely little wooden table that Karen has set up. Since none of the windows seem to have screens in there in this country, I was able to toss my power supply cable out the window, to provide the power to run this old beast of a laptop. It seems that my stupid idea of leaving my laptop running all the time, while plugged into the wall, has effectively rendered the battery useless on its own. It can only sustain itself for about half hour to forty-five minutes, before shutting off with little warning to me. This is just another reason why I am chomping at the bit to purchase a new laptop. This one has outrun it’s usefulness to me. I’ll gladly return it to my Dad, at Christmas. It’s still in fine working order, it’s just starting to get a little too old for my liking. The only bad thing about getting a new laptop over here is that I will have to try to inquire about purchasing different adaptors for North American use….I don’t relish the idea of having to purchase an adaptor for Canadian plugs when I return home….Oi!

I went to bed last night at ten, after watched the British version of Big Brother. They do it a bit differently than the Big Brother in the USA, in that there is no “Julie” character; the woman outside the house that the housemates correspond with. Instead, they’ve really adapted a much more “big brother”-ish persona (or personas), in that a disembodied voice, which is either a monotone male or female, will talk to the housemates and tell them their tasks. They don’t interact with any “people” other than the people directly in the house. I quite liked the British version, and found myself really getting into it. I’ll try to watch it when I can, should I get a place with television.

I slept fairly well last night. However, I was up at 4am, and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I laid there until 5 and then finally resolved to get up, proper. I made a cup of tea (a cuppa, as I’ve heard it called) and turned on the TV. Not much was on until 6am, and then I watched GMTV (Good Morning TV, on the ITV channel). It was informative enough, basically just like Canada AM, except a little less informal. Not as informal as CityTVs Breakfast Television though; they still had one of those wishy washy studios with the fake sunrise out the fake window. They ran through the different headlines in all the papers for the day, which was interesting. They also cut to an NBC story on Barack Obama choosing his new running mate, some old fart whose name I can’t recall. Joe something? I think the catch phrase they used was “Jobama”….but I could be wrong. It was something silly like that, at any rate. What I found interesting was that the British population would even care what was going on in the United States. I can understand Canada airing American stories (though we never use their broadcasts as directly as they do over here…they literally ripped the entire story off of NBC’s broadcast), because of our proximity to the US. However, why the Brits would care to air entire stories and segments of American news is quite beyond me. I guess that just goes to show that whatever happens to the US really is of importance to the rest of the world. It’s a bit unsettling really, to think that they’ve got so much control on the entire world. Ah well….if history teaches us anything, it’s that large empires rarely survive intact past a few centuries. Look at England! It’s not nearly the powerful nation that it once was; it cows to the United States now, just like the rest of the world. I think that China’s time will soon come, and the US will be left in the dust. But time will only tell on that one…

Breakfast was decent enough this morning. Karen brought me a nutty, granola cereal and milk to start, then some tea and a standard English breakfast, which is much like the standard Canadian breakfast. The only difference is instead of greasy hash browns, it was served with fried mushrooms and tomatoes. The bacon was also much thicker, and I wasn’t really a fan of it at all. I took a few bites out of it though, so that she didn’t think I was overly picky. The sausage tasted like Canadian sausage, which I never have been a fan of, but again I ate one of the two links. The eggs I asked for scrambled, as there really is no way to fuck that up; the other eggs can be ruined easily, and I hoped to avoid all that. I ate what I could, but couldn’t make my way through the entire thing. When I was sufficiently full, I sat back for a moment, and was hit with another wave of sadness and self pity; I started to miss home again.

I am missing home a lot more than I could be, since I literally have no contact with the outside world right now. Not having a phone or the internet is very difficult. I feel totally cut off, and I am not enjoying this solitary feeling. I am quite glad to be heading to London tomorrow, so that I can get in contact with people at home via MSN and Facebook, and also to interact with people. The Dream induction is Wednesday, for the entire day, and I am hoping to make a few acquaintances at the induction, as well as just enjoy the company of people like me; new arrivals to the country, who are about to embark on a strange journey.

I am a bit scared at the idea of starting my teaching career in a week. On Monday I go into the school for a staff meeting, and then a department meeting. Scary stuff! I have to make a call today, to one of the staff in the English department, to arrange to meet her at the school for a talk and tour. I hope to be able to meet with her on Friday, since the rest of my week is rather full. I also am going to call a fellow named Frank from St. Ives, and inquire about renting a room in his house. I’ve talked to him in e-mail, and he seems to be the friendliest out of all the people I’ve talked with. I am hoping that the room is up to my standards, as I would like to make this as easy as possible for myself. If I can accept the first room I see, that would be freaking awesome. However, I’m trying not to get my hopes up.

Well, I suppose I should get back inside. It’s a bit cold out, colder than I am used to for this time of year. It’d be better if the sun were shining, but we all know that the sun and England aren’t the best of mates. I will write later, to update on how the rest of my day went.

Cheers!

1:56 pm

So I made some calls, to check out some rooms. First I called Frank from St. Ives. When he answered the phone, it was clear to me I had woken up him. I immediately apologized, and suggested perhaps that I call back later. It was obvious that he was likely hung-over, and he admitted to having been out too late the previous night. I apologized again for waking him. “No, no…I need to get up anyways. Don’t worry about it,” he said.
I asked him when I could pop around to have a look. He seemed a little out of it still, and couldn’t really give me a solid answer on when he’d be around. Finally he said he would be home most of the day on Thursday, and that I should just call before popped in. I agreed to that, and hung up, feeling less than thrilled. Next, I called Henry in Willingham. Willingham is a county bus stop away from Swavesey, and not much bigger. However, I do recall him saying in one of his e-mails to me that there was a grocery store in the village/town, so that’s pretty much all I can ask for, given the present situation in Swavesey. Henry didn’t answer at the home number he provided, but he did answer his cell phone. When I introduced myself, he immediately clued into who I was, and seemed genuinely excited and happy to hear from me. He was very friendly, when asking when I was free to stop by for a look. I told him I was free Tuesday morning and unavailable until Thrusday afternoon.
“Well, what about today?” he asked.
“Ah, well I’d have come today, but I don’t have a car at the moment, and was just going to take the bus,” I said.
“Ah! Where are you staying?”
“In Swavesey, at a bed and breakfast,” I said.
“Oh that’s close, I can easily swing by and bring you around!”
I was quite relieved that he had made the offer, and willingly accepted. We planned for him to stop by around 4, and call the B&B if anything came up. So now I’m waiting around for him to come and get me in a few hours! I am secretly hoping I like it, so that I can end my search today. That would bring a lot of comfort to me. I’m still going to try bringing my laptop, to see if I can perhaps steal some wireless for a few moments.

While I was killing time, I decided to go for a walk around town again. I headed in the opposite direction that I went yesterday, out of town towards Over. There wasn’t a lot to see, except for a really old and awesome looking church. I believe its called St. Andrews…but I can’t remember, and I don’t have the internet to check to be certain. Anyways, it looked quite old, and while not the largest church I’ve ever seen (I saw much larger during my drive through of Cambridge), it was certainly the oldest and most impressive (considering the historical value of it). I walked up as near as I dared, but heard some dogs barking somewhere, and got scared. I would have liked to have walked around it, just on the outside, but I couldn’t work up the courage. Instead I walked around the graveyard outside of it. Some of the gravestones were so old the words had been weathered right off of them. They were also very skinny, which was yet another sign of severe weathering. I tried to read some of the really old ones, but the oldest I could see was 1804. Regardless, that seems pretty old to me! I mean, considering Canada wasn’t even a COUNTRY at the time….pretty cool beans. COOL BEANS! Cool beans. The trees in the cemetery were also impressive. They were very fat, which meant they too were very old. I took a picture of one of the larger ones, but you can’t really get the right impression of the size if you’re not there. I’d have taken a picture next to it to show you, but that was pretty much impossible seeing as I was the only person around.

After walking through the graveyard, I decided to try and find the footpath to the Fen Drayton nature reserve. I walked back to the B&B, and then went down the road that went behind it. Just a short walk away, I saw a sign pointing me towards the footpath, so I followed it. It was just a gravel road, wide enough for one car to get through easily. It wound easily through the countryside, with wild green bush surrounding it on both sides. Every now and again a break would come in the brush, where I would see a gate that lead onto a field. Most of the fields were empty, though two contained some sheep. I stopped to take a picture of these fields as well, since they seemed to me to be the picture of Britain. After walking for about twenty minutes, I started to wonder when I would ever reach the Fens, but finally I saw a blue patch between the brush, and realized it was a pond. Smiling at having finally reached my destination, I hurried my pace to get their quicker. I noticed another gate, and walked over to it. It was locked, so I hopped the fence, to get closer to the pond. I saw that it was full of swans! I took a few pictures, but since I was too far away, they didn’t look as impressive on camera as they did in person. I hopped back over the fence, and onto the path. Continuing on, I stopped at a few other gates, hopped them all, and took more pictures of Mow Fen (as I soon found the pond was called).

Eventually the path came to a fork, complete with a signpost directing me of the paths I could take. I decided to follow the path towards the Great River Ouse. I knew from my research that that’s the river that flows through St. Ives, so I figured I’d see just how “great” it was. This time the fence had a plank to help you hop it, so I walked over, and started my way down the path. The path here was mostly just patted down grass, instead of the gravel of the main path. Wildflowers and marshland plants grew up all along the side of the grass path, and a small crick ran along the left. The crick was full of water lilies, cat tails, and a bunch of other plants I couldn’t hope to know the names of. I found the walk to be very idyllic and quaint. I had to keep reminding myself of where I was. The very history of the land itself put me in awe. I couldn’t stop thinking about how people centuries ago could have been walking through the very field I was walking now.

It was fairly warm out, but not hot, because the sky was clouded over with dark grey clouds. I wasn’t afraid of rain though, as the clouds didn’t look threatening, and the sun poked out every now and again to remind me of its presence. I had worn a hoody sweater, but quickly found I was too hot, so I slipped it off and put it in my purse (if you know me you’re already aware that I have MANY large purses…large enough to hold a sweater. Good ol’ Roots leather bags!). It was also quite windy out, and my hair was constantly whipping in my face. Whenever I tried to take a picture, I had to push it out from in front of my eyes, and position myself so that the wind didn’t whip it immediately back at me. I think I managed to get a few decent shots though, which I will post on Facebook. Shortly, I reached the River Ouse. I must admit some disappointment in the river; it wasn’t nearly as great as I had thought it would be. It was winding, with cows grazing on the bank opposite me. However, it wasn’t nearly as wide as the Thames in London, Ontario. In fact, it reminded me more of the Otter River in Tillsonburg! Ah well, I suppose we call that river the “Big” Otter, and it certainly isn’t big…so why can’t the Ouse be “Great”?

Walking back, I noticed two swans in the crick, which I had passed before but had failed to notice. I snapped a few shots of them, because they were so pretty! They also didn’t seem to care that I was so close. They didn’t get aggressive, like the swans I am used to in Canada. They just watched me closely, and went about their business.

The walk back was quicker than the walk there, perhaps because I knew where I was going this time. Now for some more time killing to take place….I’ll be back in a bit.

5:39pm

Well, I’ve just returned from Willingham, where I’ve viewed a mediocre house. It was a bit messy, but Henry apologized profusely for the mess, saying they’re in the process of moving in….so I kind of discounted that factor. That said, it was mostly a townhouse style place, and it wasn’t too bad at all. It smelled a little of curry, which was a good sign, as it meant they won’t mind me cooking up some curry. They also have a year old kitty; she’s a tiny little short haired tabby named Weeder. I had wished the cat would be long haired, but a cat’s a cat, and frankly I am quite glad to have the addition of a pet. I don’t know that I could live without a kitty around for an entire year. The room itself was of a fair size, though probably one of the biggest I’ve rented from, by far. It has a double bed, with a few shelves around the room. There is no closet, but it has one of those hanging rack things, which I would hang my clothes on. They also said they’d be bringing in some dressers etc. within the coming weeks, as Henry’s girlfriend, Sam, is currently in the process of moving in. I’d have my own bathroom in a short while, as they’re working on adding an en-suite to their own room. This works well for me, as I much prefer the idea of having my own bathroom, considering my stomach issues. There’s also a bathroom downstairs, which means that there should always be a bathroom available to me (again, I use the bathroom frequently…stomach issues…). I think I could do the room up nicely, to make it my own. I also had a decent enough feeling about Henry and Sam, they seemed quite friendly and laid back, and seem like people I could easily get along with. I didn’t foresee there being any problems. I factored in that I could do some cleaning myself, of the place, and that with a bit of a tidy up it wouldn’t be bad at all. The kitchen was a fair size, as was the dinning room. The backyard was also decent, though a bit overrun. However, that seems to be kind of the norm around here. I decided fairly soon that I would rather just settle for living there, because of the proximity to the school (I could bike to the College if need be), and the fact that it was on the bus route to Swavesey, it had a grocery store (a Co-op….I’m not sure if that’s good or bad?!), and three pubs. Henry said the population is about 8,000, which is about the size of Aylmer. He took me for a little drive around, and it seemed nice enough. It reminded me of a slightly larger Swavesey, at any rate; Very old, quaint, and tidy. They asked me a few questions, and I asked some in return, and in the end I decided to take a chance, and make the move. It just seemed the most convenient, as I am just eager to find a place to live…being homeless is quite nerve wracking, and while I feel perhaps I should have viewed a FEW other places…the need to just find a place to live overrode me though, so I accepted. I don’t think I will be unhappy in my decision, and should I be, I only have to give a months notice, and then move out. Henry is going to come pick me up Friday afternoon, between 4 and 5, and then the move will be official. At that point, I will be able to be online 24-7, as they’ve got wireless internet! HOLLA! I cannot wait to be connected to the world again. Being internet-less is really frustrating, as awful as that sounds.

They also have a spare room, aside from my own, in which the said I am more than welcome to have people come stay in. This was another plus to me, since it meant that my friends and family could come and actually stay in the house, should they want to, upon their arrival. I also discussed with them travelling (they told me I could fly out of an airport in Cambridge if I wanted to travel to Europe, instead of going all the way to London), buying a cell phone (they told me to get T-Mobile or Virgin, for better reception in the area), buying a new laptop (Henry has a friend who owns a shop), and finally about getting a doctor (there is one just down the street who is accepting patients). It all seemed to be easy, which is exactly what I am looking for.

However, I had a bit of a scare once I returned. I told Karen that I had found a place in Willingham, and she seemed a bit quiet on the subject. However, I had a phone message while I was out, from the 2nd in English at SVC. She gave me the message, and handed me her house phone, so that I could call the woman back. I did immediately, and was greeted by a very friendly and bubbly woman. We agreed to meet at 10am Tuesday morning, to look around the school, see the department, and my classroom. She also told me that she will show me all their resources, and that I am free to use them as I want. I think I will grab a few resources for the first week or so in all my classes, just so that I have a starting point. Once I get comfortable teaching, and with the students, I will start to add my own personal touch. I just think its almost impossible to start right off the bat with my own teaching. Anyways, after we had arranged to meet, I hung up and set the phone on the table in the hallway. A few moments later Karen came to collect it.
“I don’t mean to be nosy, but where in Willingham are you going to be living?” she asked.
“Oh…I can’t recall the name, let me check, I know I wrote it down,” I said, searching for the paper. “Ah…..[insert street name here].”
“Oh okay, that’s not bad,” she said. “It’s just that I worked in Willingham, as a real estate agent, for a few years…and it has a bit of a reputation. Again, I don’t mean to be nosy, but we [she motioned towards the house, and presumably her husband] thought it would be best to warn you. You see, it has a permanent population of…and we’re not supposed to call them this anymore…gypsies.”I was unsure of what to say, because I was equally unsure of what being a gypsy meant. If I use my general knowledge of the term, I’m assuming that they’re rather questionable, sketchy people, who talk “white English ghetto” (with really poor sounding accents), and are known to be a bit shifty. I’m thinking like trailer trash people here. “Oh, okay….” I said. “I will be sure to be careful!”“Well, I just wouldn’t recommend walking around at night alone. You’d likely be fine during the day…I know that people who live in Willingham love it, and don’t have any problems, but the people in the surrounding villages and towns…well we wouldn’t live there…” she said.
A bit taken back, I was speechless again.“I don’t mean to scare you, I guess we’re all just biased. It’s not a bad place to live, I am sure, but people around here would certainly not move there….I don’t know how to explain it…it sounds bad…” she said.
“Ah, well I kind of know what you’re talking about…” I said, thinking back to my thoughts about Aylmer, or Langton, or Norwich. I wouldn’t want to live in ANY of those places, because I just think of them as dirty. However, if I am rational about it, they really aren’t that much different from Tillsonburg, aside from perhaps their having larger populations of Mexican Mennonites or the Dutch. I’m going to, in my ignorance, equate these gypsies with the Mexicans and the Dutch. People can be biased and rude about different cultures; it’s been proven to me again and again throughout my life. I might be careful walking around at night, but I definitely won’t refuse moving to Willingham on account of a group of people living there.

I thanked her for her advice, and made sure to make her feel I truly did appreciate the warning. However, like I said, I’m not entirely sure I will take it to heart. I’m sure my Mom will read this and worry about me, but again, I ask you to be rational about it. I won’t discount a place based on village to village rivalry and “smack talk”. The moment something bad happens, I’ll be the first to leave. However, Henry told me that a cop lives next door, a widower across the way, and a single mother with two young children live next door. I’m not concerned.

Here’s to hoping that I can clean the place up, and make it like home!! Hope they don’t mind if I clean like a mother hen!

Hopefully I will be in London tomorrow with internet access, so that I may post all this!! It’s certainly going to make for a long read!!!

Cheers!