Where's the Beef?

Today's adventure brought me to the butcher shop. I have the desire to make lasagne (yes, even in this heat) for dinner tonight. Grandma B's recipe calls for one pound of ground meat, I use turkey (I don't eat red meat). First things first, I've learned that in Britain they don't call it 'ground' meat but rather 'minced'. As soon as I grasp that terminology, I go forth to the butcher shop. Thinking I'm all smart now and can speak butcher-talk, I waltz into the shop and ask for a pound of "minced" turkey meat, please. The butcher now looks at me like I have three heads and one of them is breathing fire...I've totally caught him off guard with this.

He doesn't say this, but I'm pretty darn sure he's thinking, "What next from the crazy Americans?"

Instead he politely replies, "I don't have any of that today. Ring ahead next time and I'll make sure we do it for you, aye?"

Dejected I leave the butcher shop to purchase chicken which I then use for the lasagne after dicing it up. Next, my flatmate enters the kitchen, sees me cooking the chicken and furrows her brow. She now asks, "What are you doing?!?!"

Let me explain what her concern was...I put the uncooked chicken in a skillet and boiled it in water (just like dear ol' mum does it :-P ). I find it healthier than my flat-mate's response to put chicken oil and fry it in the pan.

Again I'm sure she's thinking, "What next from the crazy American?"


Ahhhh but I dinna care, I'm going to eat it and if the Britons are feeling adventurous, they'll have some too. ;-)

Garfield and Friends

In the garden with the cats. Sounds like the start to a nursery rhyme. But it's not, it's just where I like to spend me free moments to gather some clarity, bask in the sun or read a good book. Slowly they start coming around, one by one, the cats that is. Today whilst getting ready to go out in the garden to read, Sox pokes his head in the conservatory door to ask if I will come outside to play. I know, I know, don't name them unless your going to keep them. Och aye! I'm not about to keep any of the wee devils but if they would like to visit from time to time, that'll be just fine by me. Animals inspire me. I love to sit and watch them. Sox has arrived this evening for a visit, (back to the name game-- I haven't been verra creative with their nicknames and Sox is just a grey tabby with...you guessed it four white paws. He also has a white patch of fur on his chest). I settle into a chair and give him a pat or two on the head as I read a book and he continues to rub himself around my ankles. He stops short, sits down and looks up at me with those fiercely green eyes of his as if to ask, "is that it? No more scratches behind the ear? No more pats on the head?"

 I go back to my book. Next thing I know, Sox is on the chair I'm resting my feet upon. Still no response from the Human reading the Book. So he moves to the table--at this level he can stare straight at me and demand more attention. So a few more pets, rubs under the chin and good kitty coos. Sox is bored with that, leaps from the table and lies beneath my feet. He spends quite some time there before wandering off through the garden thus ending his visit. And I with my nose in a book, wait for Garfield and Nermal to show up and have a lover's spat in the garden. Garfield, you guessed it- is a big fat orange tabby. Quite frankly, I don't know how he gets over the garden walls with all his fluffiness. He's what I call a "Grumpy Gus". He stands in the middle of the garden path letting no others through. And poor Nermal is a sleek gray tabby who likes to test Garfield limits. O, the kitty drama. Perhaps this is where the writer got his material for the American comic strip..who knows?

What still raises my curiosity, (careful I know curiosity killed the cat), is the amount of cats that just turn up hoping to for a pat or to be invited inside. (I will mention that England, like Hawai'i has no rabies on the island. No fear of that disease here. Which is nice with random cats all about). None are what I call feral but I'm not quite sure if many of them are "owned" (let's be realistic here....even 'owned' cats aren't "owned").  A friend and I were walking to the park and came upon a black cat. In the sun though, this cat had brown and black fur, verra cool coat by the way. Anyway, this kitty just walks right up to us and rubs our legs until we pet him and he has been satisfied that he has made some new friends and strolls off. Now in this same day walking home from the park, we come upon another black cat sitting atop a stone wall. This cat is black. He stands up when we walk by and looks for attention. We name him Frederick, give him a few pats on the head and go home. I just can't get over the randomness of lovely cats in England. My mum and dad had a cat that would come to visit them from time to time letting himself in through the window of their cottage, but that's a story for another time...

Money, money, monnnneeeey!

Language barriers, travelling differences and currency exchange rates...all things needing adjustment in a new culture. Many say that the UK language isn't different from the US (those of you haven't spent much time in the UK or spent time listening to Scots--still takes me a few times to recognise just what they are saying).

Today's lesson is a monetary one. If you are preparing for a trip to the UK and wanting to convert your American Dollars for Sterling Pounds, I suggest you do so BEFORE you've entered the country. Otherwise you will lose money on the exchange (let's be real, you're going to loose money regardless, just less of it if you do your banking at an American branch and not the airport). Right now the current exchange rate between the US and UK is $1 to the £1.61. Americans, we're getting the raw end of the deal. :(

When comparing the actual details of the money it is as follows:

~The US dollar is a bill (as seen above) v. the UK Pound is a coin (as seen above). [For the record I really dislike carrying coins...grrrrr].
~American $2 bill isn't very popular but the UK  £2 coin is. (Not pictured).
~There is no "quarter" in the UK instead there is a 20 pence (p) and a 5p coin (the 5p coin is the size of the US dime).
~Pennies are all the same (in addition, the UK does have a 2 pence).
~The UK 10p is about the size of a US quarter.

Early on I've learned to be careful when digging in my pocket for change, feeling for a coin is not going to cut it...you have to look at it as well or risk grabbing the wrong coin and feel silly at the queue (aka. the check out line).

When I find a grrrreat job, that pays lots; I'll show y'all what BIG MONEY looks like. :-P
Until then...

"Uni" Days

Being a teacher was never my calling. I lack the ability to...well... patience, I just don't have any. I've never been a patient person and have difficulty teaching some one to do something, getting frustrated when they don't understand or "get it".  I am well aware of my lacking ability to be a teacher however, being an exam proctor is something I am good at.

Here in the UK, college is known as "Uni" short for University. I compare my "college days" to their "uni days" and not much has changed. I still get mistaken for a grad student on campus here at Reading College (which cheers me up whilst I am feeling old among the young 20s buzzing around). I've been hired by the University as an invigilator which basically means I get to "babysit" college kids during their exams making sure they have their questions answered, get exam breaks but most of all, discourage cheating.

I spotted a few differences in my college days compared to students taking exams at Uni today, (not that I've graduated THAT long ago....) At Penn State University (PSU), our exams were a few hours long in buildings with the A/C cranked so high, I had goose pimples whilst trying to concentrate on my exam. The students at University of Reading (UoR) swelter, and I along with them on hot days in the old buildings for upwards of 3.5 hours/exam). We (PSU) were not permitted to leave the testing room during an examination. These students are permitted to take toilet breaks as long as an invigilator goes along to ensure no cheating in the loo. (How awkward it must be trying to pee knowing some one is out there listening to you, making sure your not wrinkling paper to a cheat sheet. And I have a hard enough time peeing in a public restroom...sheesh). But hey, at least they get to take pee breaks, Penn State never allowed us that luxury. :-/

Penn State also shut the doors during an exam. If you were late to the exam at PSU, you failed. Doors locked. You are S.O.L. kiddo. Here at UoR, they leave the doors open during the entire exam, which I find some what distracting and students are allowed to mosey in up to 30 minutes after the exam has begun. Backpacks are not permitted like when I was in school, nor the use of mobiles (cell phones). It's a whole different story now with mobile phones, you can just google.com your answers away! The kids will always find new ways to cheat. I do remember feeling like I had just entered Fort Knox when I took my GREs. We were shuffled into tiny cubicles with nothing more than a writing utensil. No bags, no mobiles, no calculators, no scrap papers or notes and we sat for hours whilst being watched through a double sided mirror at the test centre. We left the testing room with our pens and a key to the locker which contained our belongings. Can you imagine? And I thought these kids at UoR had it rough. But I do enjoy my job, getting to know the students and staff, and having the campus "feel" again. The Whiteknights campus is GI-normous and B-E-A-U-tiful complete with it's own lake (and swans, those buggers are EVERY WHERE). But alas, only a few more weeks of exams to go and then, summer here we come!

I spy

Did you ever want to be James Bond when you were a kid? And have a cool code name like  007? And have your martini's shaken not stirred? And how about their cool spy toys??? Well now Heathrow international airport is giving you a chance to feel like a secret agent. (Most of you might be more like Austin Powers; I get it).

Upon my return to the UK, I visited customs at the airport. (Okay, so visit is a strong word...not really a visit--because a visit can be optional). Customs is more mandatory-like. (Don't believe me? Try opting out once).

Those of us carrying European Union (EU) passports were sorted out the quickest. You now have the option to have your iris scanned at Customs in order to enter the country much faster through the airport at terminal 5. Not spy- like enough for you? Or just hate having your retina tested? The newest passports also contain a microchip full of your information (height, hair color, sex, etc.) on the back cover. Feeling like the cat or dog at the vet's office yet? Just like them, TSA uses a scanner over the 'chip to "see" what information it contains. No more stamps. They were soooo last year... And whilst we're on that subject (of scanning), did I mention that most all airports now ask you to step up into a cylindrical containment chamber allowing them to scan every inch of your body (using what's close to gamma ray technology) to insure you are "safe and secure".  I mean I'm not that much of a frequent flyer but exactly how many scans will it take before I "HULK" out?? Please don't make me angry, you won't like me when I'm angry...

Welcome to Slough

Slough, wonderful little town-of- nothing-to -do-in-it, Slough. Seriously, if you're on the train and headed to Slough, DON'T GET OFF stay the way to London. Aye well, I'm not being fair to Slough. They do have a Tesco 24 hours (which is an equivalent to Walmart super-center--and everyone knows I loathe Walmarts).  Onward, it has only taken me eight months, but I've finally figured out how to ride the train (properly, without getting lost) and I found that I can give directions from town to town as well from the train! Case in point, I'm on my way to my train when a woman stops me and asks me if I can tell her which train goes to Maidenhead (yes, that's an actual town--no snide remarks please). It so happens I'm going that direction, so I offer to show her to the train and get her a seat. We spoke for a wee bit, and she tells me she's visiting from Norway. Very cool. Apparently she is visiting her daughter in Maidenhead. During our little chat she asks me where I'm from. My typical response is, "Every where and no where." She tells me I have a very lovely accent, which I then thought she would say was American but catches me off guard with Scottish??!?!? Rrrrrrrally. I dinna ken. HAHA. Yes, she tells me a roll my R's. *crinkles nose*

So back to Reading then, eh? I stop at the local chemist (Pharmacy) in search of Neosporin or triple antibiotic ointment for 1st Aid. The chemist assistant (pharmacist assistant) and I have a few words and agreed to disagree that TAO doesn't exist on the shelf in the UK. He informs me that I need a bloody prescription "over here" (the UK)  for an antibiotic and goes on to tell me that "over there" (the US) they do things differently. Bet your knickers, they do! It's OTC in the bloody states! What is soooo difficult about this?? *sigh* I give up. I then ask, quite afraid of this answer, if I could purchase hydrogen peroxide. Oh why yes. This they sell to anyone, at 6% instead of the typical 2% in the USA. Go figure! (Quick aside here...when I was in college doing research they gave us 100% peroxide in the chemistry lab and I thought it harmless, dumping a large quantity on my hands finding it burns the skin and turns it ghastly white!) So the higher percent, the more "toxic" peroxide becomes. So my question now is, why can't I have Neosporin when I can have 6% hydrogen peroxide??? Alright I'm giving it up. Case closed. I must stop or I'll have to change my blog from "Adventures in the UK" to "Rantings and ravings of a crazy woman."

So let's discuss my experiences shopping. I go to a place in Reading I like to call "little America." Here you will find a shopping plaza with some famous motherhood maternity shop, ALDI's, TGIFriday's and (much to my delight) a wine warehouse! Yes! An entire warehouse filled with wine!! You betcha, I went in. Wine gets better with age and I get better with wine! So now I'm off to top up my glass. Cheers!

PS. 'top up' means to refill :-P

The Return

I find it rather strange to feel so at "home" so quickly upon my return to England. It's as though I've never left.
Travelling from London across the countryside I spy rolling hills of green pastures speckled with white dots. Across the horizon, the white dots of course once closer, reveal themselves as sheep. Ah, gotta love the sheep. (Mainly because they are everywhere). But it's lambing season and that's exciting too. We drove by as I watched the babies frolic behind their mamas. Ah, good ole' England, not much has changed. Of course there has been an outrage at the post recently. As the Royal mail has increased the cost of the stamp (you should try keeping up with the US of A post office fees...ouch)!

England is an expensive place to live, I bought groceries the other day (and take note) a tin of tuna was 1.29 GBP (or $2.08/can)!!

 The weather is as it is in the rest of the world = warm then cold, verra strange. Oddly, cool for May. Yesterday was cold and rainy (and yes mum I know, "it IS England...blah, blah, blah.." :-p) I'm still adjusting to the measuring units from degrees Celsius to Fahrenheit. For if you tell me it's 11 C outside that means nothing, I was never good at math to begin with and can't convert the temperature to save me life.

I am remembering to look right, then left before crossing the road and soon it will become second nature again. I must admit that I did have trouble in the States when I returned on holiday whilst crossing the street in the small town of Jim Thorpe. (I looked the wrong way first and stepped out into traffic--YIKES)! I remind myself that every day is a new adventure and everyday I get to live, is a day I get to live!