Category: Life, The Universe and Everything

I didn’t realize when I set out on a run this morning that today was the public Boxing Day holiday.

I just assumed that the streets being zombie-movie deserted were ’cause Dawnise and I were among the few who didn’t cram onto trains to escape the city before the stay-at-home order went into effect. (I do wonder how many of those people “escaped” to places that came under the same restrictions a few days later, and how many of them contributed to that outcome.)

If I’m honest, it being a holiday makes a lot more sense, and explains why my Monmouth order placed before Christmas hasn’t yet arrived.

The 21st was our wedding anniversary (twenty four, but who’s counting). The DVSA finally acknowledged on Sunday evening that my Monday morning driving test was canceled, so with no need to leave, we spent the day at home. We had managed to buy each-other the same gift – each snagging a tricky-to-find copy of Horrified, so we punched out a bunch of cardboard chits and spent a while saving the villagers from Dracula and The Creature from the Black Lagoon.

For the past few years it’s been our tradition to have anniversary Beef Wellington at the Goring Dining Room. Of course, our booking for Sunday evening also fell victim to Saturday’s “Tier 4” announcement, so after considering delivery, we decided to have a go at making it ourselves. Dawnise watched a couple helpful videos, friends helpfully pointed me to Turner & George where I picked up a Chateaubriand sized for two, and we got the needed bits via Waitrose delivery and a quick trip for remainders. The result might not have earned a Michelin star, but it wasn’t far off, and was absolutely delicious.

We exchanged a few gifts on Christmas day – including more two-player friendly cooperative board games. A copy of The Captain Is Dead: Dangerous Planet, which we played (and lost) the other night, and a copy of Mysterium, which I expect we’ll play soon.

Though not strictly intended as a Christmas gift, I got her a copy of Superliminal, which she’s taken up and is enjoying even as I type.

I’ve taken off work through the 4th – and have been spending time reading, playing aforementioned games, and thinking a bit about work – what’s going well, what could go better, and how I might nudge things in that direction in the new year. I finally read Dune, after multiple aborted attempts in the past. I’m glad I did, but feel no particular compulsion to read the sequels

In other news, case counts in our local area are trending in the wrong direction, and I expect the current restrictions to be maintained or tightened when they’re reviewed in a few days. I don’t see a path to relaxing these restrictions that doesn’t involve acceleration vaccination, which in turn seems to hinge on the ongoing review of the Oxford/AstraZeneca vaccine.

This is likely my last note of 2020, and with it we send our best wishes for your new year to start well, and to improve on 2020 in every meaningful way.

Stay healthy, stay sane.

Moments ago it was announced that London and much of the south east of England will enter a newly created “Tier 4” starting tomorrow morning, with restrictions largely matching the previous national “lock-downs.”

The oft-discussed plan to relax restrictions for the days around Christmas – clearly a concession to what people wanted and not driven by any rigorous rational reasoning – have been scrapped in areas in the new highest tier, and restricted to “just Christmas day” for less restricted areas of the country.

I’m waiting for the seemingly inevitable confirmation from the DVSA that my driving test Monday morning has been canceled. It’s fine. I’ve only been working on it since July.

London has put on its holiday cologne.

I noticed it the other morning when I left for my run. A smell that hadn’t been there a few days earlier, and then was. It took me a moment to realize it was familiar and strongly associated with being in Europe over the holidays.

I’m not sure what it is. My guess is it’s the smell of home fires burning. We live in a smoke control zone, but smokeless doesn’t mean odorless.

That’s not the only sign of the holidays. Christmas tree lots have sprung up around the city, and trees of all sizes can be had at your local market. And Christmas trees are being erected and lit in public spaces and in private windows. A welcome bit of cheer.

We normally get a tree early in December. We broke with that tradition last year – we were traveling in the run-up to Christmas – and got a tree just before my sister, brother-in-law, and niece arrived for a visit. (Aside: how can something seem both mere moments ago and ancient history?)

We had an appointment on the other side of London the last day of November, and not knowing how long we’d spend in transit I had told work I’d be out all day, so when we got back, we took the attack of opportunity and got a tree.

The tree lot we found last year and liked is about a mile away – so we trundled over, picked out a suitable specimen, and for the second time had the slightly surreal experience of carrying a 2 meter tall Christmas tree down a major thoroughfare in central London to our flat.

We didn’t bring many holiday decorations when we moved, and we sorta expected to be back in Seattle before this holiday for a visit and be able to retrieve a few more. That obviously didn’t happen, but that hasn’t stopped Dawnise from sprinkling the place with Christmas.

Since we can’t go to the Christmas markets, we’re going to bring bits of them to us. We’ve bought the bits to make glühwein, and the “upgrades” to make feuerzangenbowle. Sorta surprisingly we can’t locally source individually sized zuckerhuts (sugar loaves) – and shipping from amazon.de is pretty ridiculous, so we’re going to “make do” (that’s British, right?) with some rough cut sugar cubes. They’re the wrong shape, but once the over-proof rum gets involved, the shape won’t matter.

After brunch this morning we took a stroll to Konditor and got some mince pies.

So we’ve laid in the critical bits – booze and baked sweets. I figure that should keep us, at least ’till we have to sort out Christmas dinner.

Happy Holidays. Stay healthy, stay sane, take joy where you can find it, and we hope to see you in the coming year.

I started to title this “Home Is Where Your Stuff Is…” It sounded good on paper, but what if you have stuff in two places?

It turns out that on reflection most of the stuff isn’t that important. If we need something we already have in Seattle, we can usually just buy another one. Yay mass production and global distribution.

The cats on the other hand… well, that’d be tricky to say the least.

Hence: “home is where the cats are.” Seems legit.

We’ve been in the new flat for just over three weeks, and overall it’s gone well. Better than we had any right to hope for, really, considering we decided to move, found a flat, and arranged movers in the span of a couple weeks.

We had to buy a dining table, which arrived a week or so back, and the rug we picked to go under it arrived Friday.

How did we do these things before the internet?

As expected from a place that’s been empty for a few months, there’s been a small punch list. Just little things that need fixing. The property management company so far is “typically British” – they do their best to ignore me and the problem until I shake their cage. I’m pretty good at being a demanding customer, and not afraid of fixing thing myself, so ultimately they’ll either they’ll fix it, or I’ll fix it and deduct the cost of repairs from rent.

Despite all that, we’ve quickly settled in. Our last flat was purpose-built as a rental. The new place was lived in by the owners, who remodeled it a handful of years ago before moving abroad (and kept and left nearly all the manuals, I love these people already). The contrast is significant – the space, the storage, and the kitchen are just that much more usable. Like someone, you know, gave a crap.

Dawnise and I agreed that despite the short time we’ve been here, it feels more like a “home” than the last place, though neither of us can quite put our finger on why.

I’ve run into our neighbors, once while they were taking their two kids to school, and once while they were going down to collect their milk delivery. We exchanged names, and I’m hoping to be more properly introduced once lock-down relaxes.

The weather recently has been what you might call “variable” – some beautiful, clear crisp days (12C/mid-50’sF), some downright chilly (2C/mid-30’sF), and occasional driving wind and rain. So far all the rain has stayed outside, which was really the point of this, after all.

This morning I walked to our favorite local cafe and picked up “take away shakshouka” for breakfast. The owner hadn’t done take away before, but decided to make a go of it this time. Chatting with her while waiting, I was happy to hear it’s been going reasonably well so far.

The same can’t be said, I’m afraid, for COVID in the UK generally. Case counts, hospitalization counts, and death rates are all still trending up, though our immediate neighborhood seems to be in reasonable shape for the moment.

These worrying trends, combined with the news last week of the efficacy of the Pfizer vaccine, suggest that continued conservatism is a sensible course. Not gathering with friends and family over this holiday season will suck, but getting sick now – while medical systems strain under the load and a vaccine is “on the horizon” – means that the “downside risk” is increasing at the same time as the “investment horizon” shortens.

If that’s all gibberish and jargon, another (intentionally provocative) way to say it is “no one wants to be the last soldier to die in Vietnam.”

Stay safe, stay healthy, stay sane.

By all accounts, the UK will follow the lead of Germany and France and institute a second national ‘lockdown‘ on Thursday, expected to last ‘at least a month.’ As was the case with the first lockdown, this one is likely a reasonable move being made a bit too late.

The specifics of the restrictions are still evolving. They’re being layered on an existing hodgepodge of already unclear regional restrictions, and imposed on a population struggling to dig their last few fucks out of the sofa cushions.

Most things will close, but not schools or universities – ’cause young people are sure to socially distance, and there’s been no evidence of the youth being asymptomatic spreaders.

I’m sure it’ll all go swimmingly.

I doubt we’ll be greatly affected. We’ve really only gone out to get food – ignoring the whole move house thing – and aside from brunch at our local cafe, that’s almost exclusively been from the grocery store.

I’ll go try to get a haircut this morning, and we’ll make it a point to lunch in our local cafe over the next few days, as they don’t really do takeaway and will almost certainly close for the duration.

Things have been a bit busy lately so I’ve not had as much time to read as I’d have liked, so I was pretty happy that yesterday afternoon I finished The Deficit Myth, the first I’ve read about so-called ‘modern monetary theory.’

I found it intriguing, and will plan to find and read a more rigorous treatment of the subject.

In other news, once the move was sorted out I booked the first available driving test… in late February. So I paid £10 for an app that monitors cancellations at the DVLA and helps you reschedule. I’m now scheduled for 21 December.

On the one hand, two months sooner for £10 seems like good return on investment, on the other hand it seems an odd status quo.

Test scheduling, like many other things, doesn’t actually work, and that doesn’t seem to bother anyone.

The movers came back this afternoon and retrieved the empty boxes. Aside from re-homing a few things the owners left behind, and waiting for the dining table and rug we ordered to arrive, we’re “done moving.”

I can see how with practice, and discipline to not accumulate “stuff,” one could get good at moving. I’m not convinced it’s a skill I want to develop.

So this weekend will be a time to recharge before the inevitable goat-rodeo that is the US presidential election kicks into high gear next week.

Despite being largely disconnected from social media, I’ve been fairly inundated with encouragement to vote. Usually accompanied by a specious claim that the advice giver “doesn’t care who you vote for, just that you vote.”

Of course they care. They want you to vote for who they’re voting for.

Both sides are convinced it’ll be the end of the world if “the other side” wins.

Maybe one side is right. Maybe both sides are.

So I guess I’ll add my voice to the chorus.

If you’re eligible to do so, please vote.

Vote against kakistocracy. Against the normalization of lies. Against divisiveness. Against misogyny. Against xenophobia. Against kleptocracy. Against willful ignorance and sciolism.

Just over four years ago I was in Edinburgh, struggling to come to grips with the election, and wrote this.

I wonder what I’ll be writing this time.

And when the dust will have settled enough to write it.

It’s been a hell of a weekend.

Lemme me explain.

No. There is too much. Lemme sum up.

We’re moving out of our apartment. We’re not sure exactly when we’re moving, or where we’re moving to yet, but it turns out by not fixing the roof during the dry weather – when they had the chance – the building management company lost any hope of keeping this apartment habitable.

Over the rains this weekend, leaking doors and a couple dripping lights turned into heavier leaks and more leaky lights, and a few spots of wet plasterboard became many spots, growing quickly. We disassembled the “not leaking yet” former-guest-bedroom-cum-office and turned it back into a bedroom.

A roofing contractor came out yesterday (on a Sunday, so you know that cost someone a pretty penny) – looked at the interior, went out onto the terraces and climbed onto the main roof in the dumping rain, and gave us his professional opinion:

“The building needs a new roof, all this decking has to be taken up to replace the roof under it, and to do any of this, it has to be dry.”

Of course the building management couldn’t take him at his word, so today a building surveyor came out, looked at all the same stuff (but did it in the dry) and gave his professional opinion.

“The building needs a new roof, all this decking has to be taken up to replace the roof under it, and to do any of this, it has to be dry.”

It won’t be dry enough, for long enough, for months.

So it’s time for us to beat a hasty retreat.

So we’re working on figuring out where we (two humans, two cats) can go in the short term while we look for a new place. We’ll be out looking at flats tomorrow afternoon and working through the logistics of getting our selves and our belongings moved out of an increasingly leaky flat. And figuring out who’s going to pay for it (hint: not us).

The owner of the apartment wil be left with an empty, decaying apartment. And unless they can find a way to at least stabalize the roof and contain water once we leave, the water will undoubetdly affect the units below us.

They’ve turned a medium sized problem into a huge problem by ignoring it.

Fixing the roof was important over the summer, but it wasn’t urgent. The pandemic certainly didn’t make roof work easy, but the building sites in view of our apartment kept working through most of the summer, so it was possible.

Now, thanks to waiting for the bad weather to return, fixing the roof is urgent and has become effectively impossible.

If this were my property, and I was a customer of the building management firm, I’d be lawyering up.

But it’s not my property, so my goal is to extricate us from this accelerating fluster-cluck.

Stay tuned.

Our apartment is on the 5th and 6th floors of the building. Our kitchen and living space are directly under the building roof, and our bedrooms are under exterior terraces.

Last year, as the fall rains started, we had a couple leaks in the roof, including one that had water dripping out of an electric light fixture. We contacted the property manager, given how paranoid the Brits are about having electricity anywhere near the water in their bathrooms, pointed out this was probably a “health and safety” hazard, and that “we’ll have someone out in a few days” wasn’t sufficient.

They managed to find someone to come out that very day, he went up on the roof and did a temporary repair, and they painted over the damp plasterboard with an anti-mold paint.

“We’ll schedule a proper repair in the spring.”

I bet you already see where this is going.

Despite multiple building sites in sight of our building remaining active through most of lock-down, no “proper repair” works were scheduled. So yesterday, on the first “real” rainy day of the season, it was hardly surprising that it started raining in the bedroom.

Again.

We’ve got catch basins under the dripping light fixtures in two of the three bedrooms, and are once again invoking the well worn “health and safety” argument. It’s gotten us from “if I don’t have a date from the contractor by Monday I’ll contact an alternate” to “there will be an electrician out today and a roofing contractor out tomorrow morning.”

But getting what seems the obvious right thing to happen has taken far, far too much energy and angst.

And discussing our options and how to respond to this latest crisis has revealed a(nother) fundamental difference in world view between Dawnise and I.

To me, in a business context, you don’t get credit for effort. You get credit for results. Dawnise gives you points for trying.

I think it’s reprehensible that we teach children in the US that they’ll get “partial credit” for incorrect answers. As a teacher, partial credit is often used as an incentive to get students to “show their work.” By rewarding them for “thinking out loud” you have a better chance of understanding where they’re going wrong and correcting them. And that’s good.

But it doesn’t extend to the rest of life.

The property manager and building manager are being responsive, and seem to be trying to engage the right people and processes to solve this problem.

At the end of the day, I don’t care if they’re trying, I care if they’re succeeding.

P.S. The lift is still broken.