Time to move on

And so, the end is near, well it's here actually. I've got to the point where posting here on "Walking the Streets" about expat life in Canada seems, well, inappropriate; so I have elected to shift all my writings on various subjects to here.

Why? The well of Parking Enforcement stories has run dry, and the newer stuff just doesn't fit into the category any more. The Wordpress blog doesn't fit either. Ergo the new location, and a slightly new look with some nicer gizmo's and tidier HTML. Visit me sometime.

I love my dog.......but

Afternoon walk with dog (Off leash) down to the shoreline to see what the storm had done at the waters edge. Dog (See centre of poor picture below) goes out of sight while I'm doing a spot of beach combing. Dog is not required to be on a lead in this area, so I'm quite happy to let him run free.
Stopped to watch Sea Otters fooling around in the water a couple of hundred yards away and didn't notice that Dog had gone his own sweet way. Spent a short while replacing a few rocks in the home made beach stairway (It's a sort of a local thing, everyone who uses the path helps fix it) so I could easily return to the woods from whence we had arrived. I was so busy that I did not worry that Dog was nowhere to be seen. Usually, he never strays far from me, so I didn't concern myself overly with his absence.

A quarter hour later, having finished what I was doing, I set off up the steep slope home. Called dog repeatedly, worried somewhat if some of the more carnivorous local wildlife had invited him for an informal lunch. I couldn't hear or see anything of him, which was less than usual. Swore under my breath at the disobedient animal, then climbed the track and strode down the short lane to our house, hoping that the stupid animal was okay. Went to the back door and called him. No response. Called for Mrs S repeatedly. Neither responded. Turned the air a pale shade of cobalt with my language, shut the door and quickly retraced my steps.

Mrs S was coming up the other path from where we had been beach combing, obviously worried sick because dog had arrived home without me. We returned home, glad that everybody was fine. "When Dog came back on his own, I thought you'd fallen down the cliff." She said. "I waited. but it was getting dark."
"No, the damn animal buggered off without me." I responded, and gave her a hug for caring.

Dog has forfeited post walk biscuit for running off home without me and worrying Mrs S sick. I hope he understands why.

On the lighter side, it could have been worse, I could really have fallen and been unable to call for help. Even so I was carrying my phone to call for help if need be. We're out at the edge of civilisation here, and the downside of living here is that there are Bears and Cougars around, and even I would be an easy lunch for one of them had I really been hors de combat. As Mrs S remarked. "There's a lesson here."

Yeah, keep an eye on the dog, and don't let him prance off on his own to worry everyone else to death. I do love my brain dead mutt, but sometimes, just sometimes.........

Debris

Woken up in the middle of the night by a huge thunderclap at the height of the storm we’ve just had. That, as we say over in BC, was a doozer! Dog was fretting like nobody’s business all night, and I think something moderately large and feline was stalking around outside. I found what looked like wet pawmarks on the wall outside his room late this morning, so mister Cougar had probably been trying to find out what was nice, juicy and edible inside the two-legs box thingy. Mister Cougar will get a big headache if he pulls that stunt because this particular two-legs has got a large axe inside the door.

Largish fleabitten moggies notwithstanding, the fun is over. The skies are blue, and everyone is picking up the pieces, especially the logging company. On Saturday we saw this pootling down the straits. Today half the log boom was scattered all over the bay making navigation difficult. Phones and power are down further south, but otherwise no panic. We had our power cuts in the early part of Friday morning, and here’s me needing my beauty sleep more than anyone else.

Naked greed and hatred

Ahem, I am caving in here to commercial pressures and put a little 'PayPal' button on the sidebar so that any dear, sweet, (Hurls breakfast - sorry about the mess) reader who feels charitably inclined towards this poor old, knackered (Coff, and even more pathetically, coff, coff) ex-enforcement officer can make a direct donation towards keeping this bog alive. I've tried putting stuff up for sale, writing a book and Google's Adsense, now this. Spare a penny or two guv'nor(s) and I'll keep the rabid drivel even more rabid. Hells bells, I'll even (Oh dear God the shame of it) do request items.

Tell you the truth, I've had a day. Immigration were not sympathetic and said bluntly about Mrs S's updated and activated Social Insurance Number; "Oh dear, they shouldn't have done that." The 'They' being Services Canada. Apparently, according to Immigration, even though the Tax people said that the opposite was the case, until our Permanent Residency application is processed (An event I am told which is three years in the future), my wife cannot use her SIN number to get a job. We have to still go the long way round, despite the fact that she is officially a 'Landed Migrant' and the SIN cards legitimacy has never been questioned by anyone else.

Now if you'll forgive me, I'm not a little miffed about this. I've put a lot of emotional capital into this emigration thing, and to be constantly rebuffed in this manner is something I thought I'd left behind on the streets of England. At about half past eleven this morning I announced to Mrs S; "Sorry love, I've lost the will to live." and went and sulked in the car reading John Grisham's 'King of Torts' while she went to the other two appointments she had arranged for early afternoon.

All the extra immigration rules that have come in since the events of 9/11 have made the lives of us ordinary folk just that much harder, and I not only blame the politicians for tying the hands of the security services and Police, but I also blame Osama Bin Laden and his fellow travellers for declaring a pointless war on the West. If it hadn't been for that egomaniacal half wit, Mrs S and I would be well on our way to being citizens of Canada right now.

When he dies and is buried, should the opportunity arise, I intend to take a pilgramage to his grave, and then I am going to piss all over it. I suspect I may have to join an extremely long queue. This is not because I have anything against Islam as a religion, just that particular cunt. Then when I die, I am (If there is such a place) going straight to Hell and volunteer for a job as a demon just so I can torment that motherfucker and all his little friends for the whole of eternity. He'll be there, no one can kill that many and go anywhere but. It'll be worth it.

Business as usual

Life must be terribly hard in the managing evil empires business. One minute you're commanding the massed fleets of the evil Empire against the rebels, the next busking with a violin in Victoria BC. Showbiz, eh?

Hi ho. It's all part of life's rich tapestry.

Is this legal?

Man taking close ups of pigeons. "C'mon baby, pout for me, you know you want to."

Bear dressed in skirt (Wrong material for a kilt I was told)

New piccies

As I am no longer in the law enforcement business, I have taken the liberty of making a few alterations to the blog. Posting will resume as I have now got a decent place to live over in BC with a 5Meg internet connection. Anything more will be a waste as my old laptop can't go faster than that anyway. Well, not without an electronic version of an asthma attack.

Lots to write about. A fair bit of backdated stuff. Back to England in December before coming back to learn how to ice skate and not get creamed on the Hockey rink.

Busy, busy

Not much time to blog at the moment. Too much to do with new apartments, hunting for jobs etc. Still, we've found a great little place out of town with sea views, Deer wandering down the road, Sea Otters (Half a dozen of the critters) startling the dog.

All we've got to do now is get some furniture in. I for one will be happier when our bed is delivered this friday (Along with other stuff) and I'm not sleeping / sitting on the cussed floor. Also need the phone and internet sorting out so posting and writing can continue as usual.

The truth about cats and dogs

Passed my RCMP check and have been busy helping out with the Canadian Red Cross. Mrs S likewise.

Our major hurdle has been trying to find somewhere to live. This would not be a problem if we didn't have a dog because so many landlords say "No pets", even to one as obviously cute and well behaved as ours(Apart from being a world champion scrounger and kitchen hanger). That's the problem with having a pet; it either makes a nice between meals snack for some of the bigger wildlife (Plenty of cats go missing, and it ain't roadkill), or nobody wants it anywhere near their property.

Fortunately there are exceptions; and we're waiting for a phone call on one of the nicer places We've had to kiss a lot of frogs to find our preferred place, I'll write about one horror story once I can think about it and keep my breakfast down. It's just the right size for the three of us and my fingers are tightly crossed.

Most apartments and houses over here are priced in the 800-1300 dollar range per month, with and without various things like water, sewerage and electricity paid for. The great news is that there is no extortionate 'council tax' to double up on the bills. You pay for your local services out of local income tax. You also pay for garbage collection separately, but that's cheap as chips compared with the UK.

In closing, another thing I'd like to mention; Rain. It has chucked it down for the past day and a half, but unlike the UK there are few reports of flooding, and no one is panicking. Everyone just carries on. It feels surreal, but maybe that's just me and what I'm used to.

New Project

I've been wondering of late what to do about documenting our there and back again trip across Canada. Yes, yes, I know I haven't been to Labrador and Newfoundland, but that is a side issue as far as I'm concerned. The goal was to start at the Pacific and go to the Atlantic. This we did. Eleven thousand (ish) miles later I'm busy hitting the keyboard with a vengeance.

The project I have in mind is a book with the working title "Dear Doug" after the series of humorous E-mails exchanged between us and an old family friend as we travelled cross country. First 2000 words will be done by Monday, and off in the post to a few parties who read the original book of this blog and have expressed an interest. All of a sudden I'm feeling quite sanguine about life.

Here is a snippet of information from Alberta; If you have out of Province Registration plates, you likely won't get a parking ticket. You might get towed, but you won't get a ticket because, according to one Parking Officer in Moose Jaw, he couldn't book out of province vehicles. Don't ask me about the rest of Canada, but I took no chances and stayed legal.

Serendipity sometimes serendips

Sometimes, just sometimes, you want to get down on your bended and kiss somebody's feet. Today has that kind of feel. After what feels like months of beating one's head agaist the concrete barricades of immigration officialdom, what Robert Heinlein called 'the Fairy Godmother Department' in his novel 'Glory Road' opened it's doors and invited us in.

I went to the local offices of the HRDC to enquire about applying for a Canadian Social Insurance Number, only to be told I didn't need to apply if I was only going to do freelance work for an English company while I'm here and simply paid my taxes back home. Mrs S was to get a bigger surprise. Just in passing, I asked the clerk about how long a Canadian SIN lasts. "All your life." Responded the clerk.
"Really?" Quoth I.
"You aren't eligible at present. Does your wife have one?" She asked.
"Yes she does." I responded. "Would it still be valid?"
"I can't tell you that." Said the clerk. "But I can tell your wife if you bring her."
"Stay right there." I said and dashed off in search of Mrs S.

Half an hour later I crossed paths with Mrs S and we returned to the HRDC Pensions Office after an anxious call to Bathurst, Ottawa, confirmed that we had to go back to the local office. Two hours and four puzzled pensions clerks later, we were told that the SIN card my wife had been issued with at age 15 was still valid, as was her "Landed Migrant" status. All this after being turned down flat by another clerk at the Canadian High Commission in London three years before.

As we left, we were assured that the SIN card, which had been 'Dormant' would now be updated and reactivated, and provided the local HRDC Offices decision was upheld, my wife wouldn't need a work permit at all as she was already entitled to work legally in Canada (So we were told).

This means (All being well and provided the respective decisions are upheld) that we can both work without falling foul of officialdom and get deported for being naughty. I'm feeling happy about this already, although I'm having a lot of trouble walking properly with my fingers, toes, nostrils and eyes crossed for luck.

Just in case.

Looking for clues

The word is this; people keep telling me that Canada is crying out for skilled workers. This seems to be true, my job hunt is turning up all sorts of possibilities. I'm amazed at the feedback I'm getting just by walking into places and asking "Got any work?"

Just need to get an offer from someone who'll help me with that all important work permit. Hi ho, per ardua ad astra and all that jazz.

Did I mention it's raining? Well it is for the first time in weeks. I think I'm okay with that.

Meeting the Mounties

While looking for houses and work, I’m doing a bit of social networking to move things along and see if I can get a job that way. Mrs S has signed up for a day or so a week doing literacy training, while I’ve opted to give the Canadian Red Cross a hand, humping and shifting things and just generally being useful on a Friday afternoon. You never know, it might turn something up.

To do this you have to jump through a hoop called an RCMP criminal records check. This costs ten dollars (For me) and shouldn’t take long as I’ve only been in the country a month and a bit. I haven’t been here long enough. Although I did get nicked for speeding in Ontario (Not watching what my right foot was doing, unmarked Police Cruiser, do I need to draw a picture?) Paid the ticket like an honest citizen and vowed not to be so careless again.

Now I never thought I’d ever see a real live, honest to God Mountie in full dress uniform outside of a special event, but here one is, large as life. Girls, they’ve got a few of these chaps over here and they come in economy size (Everything over here is 20% bigger than the UK and costs 10-20% less with a few exceptions), so buy yours today!

This particular chap I’d seen around town on foot patrol the day before with a beat buddy in tow. In full dress uniform no less. I was truly gobsmacked and impressed as hell. What teed me off somewhat was that I’d left my Camera in the car at the time.

The sad reality is that they wear only full dress when one of the big cruise ships full of rich elderly Yankees come to visit. The rich Norteamericanos come to Canada and want to see real live Mounties, Bears, Cougars etc; so the local cops put on a show to motivate them into spending their money. Quite impressive really, and makes good economic sense.

Update: I had a chat with a couple of the guys, so if any UK PC's are looking for a job with plenty of winter sports, I'm told the RCMP are looking for good coppers from the commonwealth, just log onto their website and apply online.

Work Permit

A conversation held in the immigration department of the Canadian Government Offices (Open one day a week for four hours only with one solitary clerk on duty). We take our place in the queue and chat to a few other hopefuls until it comes to our turn.
“We’d like some help finding out how to get a work permit.”
“Do you have a job?” Says the clerk.
“Well, not yet, we need work permits.”
“I can’t help you. You have to have a job.” She responded.
“Oh, but we keep getting told that we need a work permit before we can get hired.”
“You’re a Permanent Resident of Canada?” She asked us.
“Erm not yet, no. We’ve applied.”
At this point Mrs S digs out her old ‘Landed Migrant’ status card and Canadian Social Insurance number. “I grew up here, and I have these, but we got told that I’ve been out of the country too long.”
“That’s correct, you have to have spent at least three out of the last five years in Canada.”
“I’ve got my Canadian Social Insurance Number here.” Mrs S hands over the original. “It’s in my maiden name.”
The clerk typed the SIN number into her computer. “Oh.”
“Is it valid?”
“I don’t know.” Said the clerk and then ran a Computer search on my wife’s ‘Landed migrant’ status. “It’s too old. It’s not in the system.”
Mrs S tried another tack. “What if we started a business here?”
“You can’t do that, you’re not permanent residents.”
“So no job, no permit, and we can’t work self employed?”
“Not really, no.”
“But we can open a bank account, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Is it okay for us to buy a house, car, that sort of thing?”
“Oh yes.”
“Can we do voluntary work?”
“So long as you aren’t paid for it, yes.”
“But we can’t legally work?”
“Not without a work permit, no.”
“Oh.” Thoughtful pause. “So what is the actual process of getting a work permit?” I asked carefully.
“Well, you can’t apply for a work permit within Canada.”
“Ri-ight. I thought you had to be here to apply according to your web site.”
“That’s incorrect.”
“Oh, that rather puts the tin lid on it. Say I was offered a job, what would I have to do?”
“You’d have to leave the country.”
“Say again?”
“You’d have to apply at your port of entry for a work permit.”
“Oh.”
“You could do it this way. Say you get offered a job, your would be employer writes to us for a market opinion to make sure you’re not putting a Canadian out of a job. We write back to them, you go down to the US border and leave Canada. Then you come back across the border and apply at a main border crossing for a work permit.”
“So that is how to get a work permit?”
“Providing the market opinion is favourable, yes.”

We left. You know it’s funny. You want to work, make money and contribute to the local economy and there’s stuff out there to do that is screaming out for your talents, but then there’s this seemingly huge adamantine wall of bureaucracy in the way.

On a similar subject; last week I was listening to a radio interview of a First Nations Project Manager who seemed to be having similar problems with the Governmental rule book. The First Nations elders ended up just ignoring the rules and went straight ahead and completed the projects anyway. The permissions came through in the end. They have a word for it. It sounds like “Wa-ey-ya”, which translates as “Just do it.” This is very tempting.

I know what's bothering me

It's just how quiet it all is. There's a boat zipping around half a mile away but no traffic roar, no aircraft, no noisy drunks. All the sounds I'm used to. I mean how is a chap supposed to get some sleep around here?

Rat, Ship, Sinking

Well I never, so I'm not the only one bunking out of the overpriced UK. The famed author of the Policeman's blog has gone over to Edmonton, Alberta. Best of luck with the RCMP Dave, their dress uniform is spanking.

As for me, I'm just collecting my thoughts having driven all the way across Canada through the Rockies, across the great plains to the Maritimes and back again. Don't ask me why, just that I was fulfilling a promise to Mrs S who grew up on this side of the pond. I have touched the waters of the Pacific and Atlantic and feel some kind of Rubicon has been crossed.

More soon when I'm not bound to using flaky wireless connections and Library resources that won't let you cut and paste from a data key.

Blogless

I’ve been finding it difficult to write of late. It’s not just that I’ve lost the urge. That’s been as strong as ever. It’s more to do with being overwhelmed by everything in Canada, and not much opportunity to write on the old laptop due to lack of battery power. Never mind the fact that reliable wireless Internet connections have proved far and few between, so no blogging.

In less than two weeks we’ve crossed Canada from Vancouver to Halifax, about 8000 Kilometres, or 5000 miles by my reckoning. I’m sure others have done it faster, slower, longer, or by cycling, walking, running or Golf Cart, but that’s what we elected to do.

There is so much stuff from the journey rolling around in my overcrowded head that I’m going to have to prize it out with jackhammers and a JCB. This may take some time.

Notwithstanding; Mrs S and I recently looked at our budget, after travelling from Vancouver to Cape Breton and many points between, looked at the weather and the quality of Motels we’ve stayed in (I’ll write a list of some pretty unhappy stops if anyone wants to know where to avoid on the Great Plains, specifically Medicine Hat and Moose Jaw), and by the time we got to Moose Jaw decided that we were paying a lot for not much and decided to go camping the rest of the way.

Since making that decision I’ve been used as table de hôte by every sodding biting insect within a five kilometre radius and developed a pathological hatred of Mosquitoes. The Quebec Mossies were the most aggressive, and got worryingly close to my important little places despite several layers of heavy duty insect repellent. Several days running I woke up looking at each new crop of little itchy lumps wondering “How the hell did he get up there?”

Now I’m out and pitching in the workplace, seeking a job over in the west side of Vancouver that isn’t to do with the fast food or retail sector. The car is holding up well, and the Mosquito bite marks and prickly heat are healing. I’ve got to the stage where Karma be damned – those little suckers are going to die. My attempts to reach the status of Bodhisattva are going to have to wait. Pass me the RAID, Buddha.

Blog entries are going to be backdated, and I promise whoever reads my rabid drivel that the quality and quantities of entries will improve.

Regards

Bill

What they do over here

Just been reading the Telegraph this morning (Afternoon in the UK – 8hrs time difference) with all its stories on street crime in the UK. Next to me is a copy of the local newspaper with the crime statistics from a Ski Resort called Squamish and its suburbs in British Columbia. In one week the crime statistics read as follows; 309 open files, 14 Complaints of erratic driving, 4 impaired driving, 18 false alarms, 24 abandoned 911 (Emergency) calls. Confirmed arrests & ‘crimes’; one theft from vehicle, one breaking and entering, one drunk and disorderly, one outstanding warrant; six bear sightings in the middle of town.

All this in an area over ten kilometres long. On a walk through town, we saw two RCMP patrols doing what Coppers from time immemorial have done best; go out looking for trouble. Over here the courts seem to be better at nailing malefactors to the nearest wall, especially the petty stuff, which the local cops come down on hard & heavy. I’ve never felt more relaxed – now if only they could keep those pesky bears out of town.

Crime in Rural British Columbia

I’ve just worked out why there are so few muggings and so little street crime in rural BC Canada and I had to look at the waste bins in town to work out why. They all have special catches on the lids so that the only creatures that can use them have an opposable thumb and fingers. All the rest of the predatory animal kingdom can do is sniff around the trash in frustration and push off to go and hunt anything smaller and not quite as quick off the mark.

As for the muggers, the Bears, Puma’s and Wolves tend to eat them all. Jolly good stuff this natural selection, what?

New rules

We bought our first car in Canada on Tuesday. A 1998 Ford Windstar. Not the best liked of vehicles, but as both Mrs S and I find it comfortable and apart from a couple of minor niggles like the column gear shift and a warning light that stays on, even though there isn't a problem, not a bad piece of kit.

Being a cautious soul, I am sticking to the posted speed limits, which seemed to annoy one person in a Budget rental pickup that roared past us with much obscene gesticulation, indicating that he was much displeased with my obedience to the traffic laws. I did not respond, basically because I already knew what kind of person he was, and didn't need to make my feelings known by word or deed. That boy needs to grow up a bit.

That said, it feels odd chuntering along in Kilometres an hour, and don't ask me how weird it feels being able to turn right on a red light. I'll get used to it, eventually.

Oh yes, welcome to another Police related site to the sidebar www.police.info