Today is one of those days when the forecasts made by BBC Weather and my weather widget just don't match at all. The BBC predicts plain old grey cloud (and yes, there's plenty of that out there), while the widget predicts sleet. The five-day forecast is in a similar state of disagreement. The BBC claims it will start snowing on the same day as my widget says it will stop.
Monday 8 February 2010
The joys of snow
Today is one of those days when the forecasts made by BBC Weather and my weather widget just don't match at all. The BBC predicts plain old grey cloud (and yes, there's plenty of that out there), while the widget predicts sleet. The five-day forecast is in a similar state of disagreement. The BBC claims it will start snowing on the same day as my widget says it will stop.
Monday 1 February 2010
Extra, extra! Lazy blogger remembers password and manages to blog about nothing! Extra!
Wednesday 7 October 2009
Getting to know the NHS - finding medical services and getting help when you're panicking
Wednesday 30 September 2009
A new home for my packing boxes, and a new mouldy dilemma
Well, it's done.
I have moved out of the maths house (though I hate to think what I left behind, stuffed down the sides of the couch, behind and under beds, and stuck inside the washing machine). And now, at last, I’m establishing myself as Coventry's newest, and possibly maddest, "Australian lady".
I'm living in a packing box-piled, semi-organised terrace house, doing civilised things like walking to the shops and walking my daughter to nursery. I am, to all intents and purposes, Settling In, although sometimes I feel that confusion follows me everywhere I go. Little things shock me, too, like mail suddenly poking through the letterbox in the front door, while I'm in the front room. My daughter, hearing someone, wants to throw the door open and see who's there, while I, feeling strangely violated, want to hide behind the couch. How dare those letters and junk mail enter my house without my permission?! They could have knocked first! Or gone into a letterbox at the front gate, a respectable distance away... yes, that would be far less intrusive.
(For those of you who find this strange, I grew up in a house that Australia Post didn't even visit. All our mail went to a post office box. This slot in the door thing is quite a shock to my system.)
The house has given me some bragging rights – yes, it has a renovated bathroom, six-burner stove, huge oven, nice little garden out the back. I’m also proud to announce, to the folks back home who think attics are Rich People's luxuries, that I do have a storage loft, with cute little pull-down stairs. (My puffed-out chest must deflate slightly as I admit I haven’t actually pulled them down myself yet, let alone climbed them. But I’ve seen it done, so I know it’s possible.)
And so, thanks to the loft, all the packing boxes will have a home until the next move. They’re ready to be reused yet again. Still sturdy, I think their willingness to keep moving will outlast mine.
On the downside of the house, it is, at its narrowest (the bathroom at the rear), a mere 172 cm wide. No bathroom cupboards. No room for the little cupboard that’s come all the way from Canberra to Potsdam to Coventry. (It’s sitting in the backyard, wrapped in bubblewrap, waiting for a home in the house, and hoping it doesn’t get rained on.)
Even the lovely stove/oven has its drawbacks. Evidently somebody got a bit vigorous with cleaning it in the past, and most of the information near the dials (oven temperatures, burner settings etc) has been scrubbed clean off. The grill is also extremely difficult to get going, and almost as temperamental as I am. We came to an understanding that allowed me to grill some cheese on bread this afternoon, but I’m sure we’ll fall out again soon.
And now, of course, to the all-important question.
Is the house mouldy?
The answer, my friends, is that there are some suspicious black spots above the kitchen window. And, unfortunately, some mould in the washing machine.
At this point I’d like to open myself up to suggestions. What’s the best way to get rid of mould, and the mouldy smell, in an otherwise wonderful washing machine? Any tips will be gratefully received.
Friday 18 September 2009
Toilets: a brief comparative guide
But, honestly, I didn’t really expect all the other little differences between bathrooms. My previous trips out of Australia, prior to moving to Europe, had only been to Asia. Obviously you’d expect some differences there (e.g. squat toilets flushed by buckets of water, plumbing that can’t handle toilet paper, that sort of thing). But moving to Germany, I was qute naïve. I packed my Little Squirt, a device used for washing the soiling off nappies and directly into the toilet bowl. The Little Squirt hooked up to the toilet pipes in Australia and was one of the best purchases a cloth-nappy using household could make.
I did have some idea that the Little Squirt might not be compatible with the German toilet. However, I was unprepared for the fact that German toilets had no external pipes at all. The back of the toilet fitted directly into the wall.
My German bathroom - note the way the toilet pipes, cistern etc are all concealed behind tiles
I was unprepared for other German toilet issues, too, such as the matter of the Shelf Toilet (also known among my friends as the toilet bowl with Obervation Deck). Truly frightening, these toilets catch your bowel motions and hold them up on a shelf, out of the water, in order that they may boldly present themselves for your inspection before you flush. Nobody can help looking at the shelf's offerings, even if they don’t want to see. (An informal survey of fellow foreigners in Germany revealed that we all had the same horrifying problem of involuntary but compulsive stool inspection when faced with these abominable toilets.)
An Observation Deck Toilet (or ODT) may be useful if you live in a region (or an era) where you need to check fastidiously for worms. It may also be useful if you’ve been landed with medical orders to ensure that your stools are strictly 3 or 4 on the Bristol Stool Scale. But, honestly, I had one eye on that chart myself for months after childbirth, and I managed fine without an Observation Deck.
My hatred of the ODT was so great that, had my German flat been fitted with one, I probably wouldn’t have rented the place. It was bad enough using an ODT at a friend’s place, or in a shopping centre or café, without having to put up with one at home. Even when no bowel movement was involved, a trip to an ODT was always a revolting experience. If I needed to be put off my own bodily functions (and I didn’t, as I already found them disgusting enough, thank you), an ODT would have done it straight away.
And so, it was with great pleasure that I left German toilets behind and headed for the UK.
- Normal bowl shape: check.
- Free to use in public: check (no more worries about running out of small change to take my little girl on her third trip to the loo).
- Children’s toilets, wheelchair & pram accessible toilets and nappy-change facilities, all easily located in public: check.
The UK is a great place to be out and about, in terms of toilet availability (unlike Germany, where few parents venture out with nappy bags, possibly because there are so few baby-change facilities available that expeditions are mostly kept short and timed to occur between changes and feeds). In the UK, toilets are easily found, accessible, and in my experience, generally kept in good order. I don't need to leave the house with a mental Toilet Plan. I just go out, safe in the knowledge that there will be toilets. No need to panic.
My one, unexpected gripe is that my friendly local toilets all seem to flush with levers, rather than with buttons. And so, my little girl, who used to be so proud of going to the toilet, and wiping and flushing all by herself, can no longer flush every time. She tries hard, practising many times a day, but she’s frustrated that, just like when she was younger, she needs an adult with her for every trip to the loo.
Lever flushes, however, are a small price to pay. As far as I’m concerned, a British toilet is a good toilet.
A humble example of a standard British toilet - note the pipes, flush and normal toilet bowl
Thursday 17 September 2009
The rules: what not to do when you've been sent to Coventry
- I must not imagine I am Lady Godiva. True, she's quite the local legend, but I suspect my own figure is best covered up by more than my hair. Also, I don't have access to a horse, and riding a bicycle/scooter/rollerblades/the bus naked would probably be misunderstood by both the general public and the police, and would definitely have no influence on tax rates.
- I must learn how to respond when I approach a shop counter and receive the somewhat confusing greeting, "Arraight?".
- I must not attempt to use the above-mentioned greeting in my own accent.
- I must not attempt to use the local accent. Ever.
- I must not pronounce any local place names unless I have received private coaching first, e.g. "Cheylesmore is pronounced Charlesmore" and "Stivichall is pronounced "Sty-chill". Whoever heard of a silent V?