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.

Flat packs

This afternoon has been spent trudging around shop after shop looking at bits of furniture. We're still trying to keep within budget, which isn't easy as the value of the Canadian Dollar or 'Loonie' has been skyrocketing against the US Dollar. This is good for the Canadians as they can buy more gasoline even while the world price is at an exceptional price. With the price of gold likewise high, this means the Canadian gold mines are doing better than brisk business.

All the good news like near full employment and booming business rather passed me by this evening as I was driven to my knees building flat pack furniture. Most furniture in Canada, apart from bed, sofas and the like comes as a flat pack. Tables, chairs, bookcases, shelf units the lot.

Mrs S was sitting watching while I simultaneously cooked the dinner and built two shelf units, all the while making helpful comments like "Does it have to go in that way?" or "Mind your fingers!" or "I didn't want it there." Divorces have been occasioned by such imprecations and I'm sure it was Mrs Crippens constant carping about the wallpaper and Dr Crippens prowess as an interior decorator that led to her untimely demise.

No matter, the apartment is furnished, the Windstar insured, and we're off to see the immigration people tomorrow. My wife wants to be told (For about the fifth time) that she can stay in Canada without having to leave the country every six months, and yes she can take a job. Sometimes I wonder if she's not looking for someone to say no. This is driving me ever so slightly crazy. If when she gets told everything is okay tomorrow, she goes looking for yet another opinion it's going to be "Pass me the straitjacket love, I'm going to invoke the repatriation clause of the travel insurance about mental health."

Then they can flat pack me in the hold of a 747 and drop me out at 35,000 feet because I'll have lost the will to live.

An apology

I'm trying to debug my blogs HTML code at the moment to see if it can be tidied up. This is interfering with writing posts. My other excuse is having do do a lot of dodging about because Mrs S's Social Insurance Number has now been activated, and I'm busy trying to find out whether she still needs to leave Canada every six months. This is not easy, as Mrs S is visiting Stepdaugters at college in England right now, and the bureaucrats won't tell me anything.

If anyone can shed any light on this, let me know.

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.

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.

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.

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.

BC

Well me shivering hearties ‘tis a slightly greyish British Columbian dawn and my dog and I are the only ones up at present. “Walking the Streets” is about to undergo a sea change from the eccentric observations of a Parking Enforcement Officer to the equally acerbic observations of a traveller in North America and Canada. I’ll be posting stuff about what I see and hear, with an emphasis on the ridiculous and highlighting the silly, mendacious and downright asinine, as well as comparisons with the old mother country.

This morning's recipient of the unintelligibility award is the machine gun delivery of one of the Helicopter borne traffic correspondents on the local radio. How the hell can you understand that gabble? You finish listening to the traffic report, catching about one word in five, they might as well have been speaking Serbo-Croat for all I knew. Sheesh.

A little stressed out

The past few days have been highly stressful. Although I believe the received wisdom is that moving home is one of the most stressful things you can do short of lose a close family member. How in the name of the Gods did we accumulate so much junk? I swear I'm almost vibrating with the nervous tension. Considering I used to do what is considered a high stress occupation, this is not funny at all. This is despite the kids moving out and going to live with their dad for a year or two and a comparative calm enfolding the general day to day domestics. The sensation of 'we're not coming back here again' is somewhat disconcerting to say the least.

Tell you the truth I'm glad to be getting out of soggy old England for a while. All this rain and the greyness of it all is getting really depressing.

Mrs S, the dog and I are taking ourselves out of the country on a long leave of absence to Canada on Tuesday. Flight AC897 from Heathrow is booked to waft us westwards to the far flung forests of British Columbia. I intend to spend my time travelling, writing, hunting, fishing and cooking. I'll blog when I can and let God take care of the rest.

We're having a farewell lunch with my Mother today, and I'm expecting the usual interrogation from my Brother who seems to want to find reasons for us not to go. I'm trying to be diplomatic around him, but his incessant "Have you done this?" and "Well what about that?" is really getting on my nerves because the answer is "Yes we have thought of this, and we've signed the paperwork on that. Give me a break will you?" It winds me up tighter than a spring. I love my close family, but sometimes they can be such a trial. This goes for Mother in Law who keeps calling when Mrs S and I are settling down for some quality time together.

Also today is a little throwing out party where we're trying to give away a lot of the household stuff we're not taking with us. We've laid on a mini barbeque and some booze for the neighbours this afternoon. All the good stuff we're giving away will be on a table and we're hoping for the best. Failing that the rest will all go when the house is cleared.

Just over fifty five hours left until take off. God speed the hours.

Reasons to Emigrate part 1

Ever get the feeling that we in the UK are being mugged? Mrs S and I were checking out the current average gasoline prices in the USA and Canada to cost out a fly / drive trip we’re planning for next year. Lowest average Gasoline price for unleaded premium in Texas at retail prices currently works out at £1.07 a US gallon. Not a litre - a gallon; which means that when you pay around 85 pence per litre in the UK, you are paying roughly £3.21 per US Gallon or £3.86 per Imperial Gallon. Do the sums and it works out at 45 pence per litre.

Prices vary from state to state, but 50 pence per litre in the USA is considered a high price. Ouch. I can only just about remember when petrol was that price in the UK, over twenty years ago. From what I can make out around 70% of the average UK petrol price goes straight to the government as tax. Ouch two.

Let me do a few sums on that. At 85 pence per litre we as a family currently purchase a full tank of petrol (Around 45 litres) every two weeks just for my wife to commute to work and back with occasional shopping round trips of less than ten miles. I walk or use public transport. Same for the kids. This currently costs us £38.25. The total tax on this works out at about £26.77, the actual cost of the petrol before tax being £11.47. Based upon the mileage we do, we are comparatively light users of motor vehicles. Most commutes are on this basis. Now multiply these figures by the number of vehicles used to do short to medium commutes when there is no convenient public transport link available (As is so often the case in Britain). According to the department of transport, the average travel by car per individual is 7508 miles per year. Making the assumption that average short cycle commute (Journeys of 7-8 miles each) fuel economy is around 35 mpg, this should give a figure of 214 gallons of fuel per year, per person driving, which gives us the figure of just over 975 litres of fuel each. At 85p per litre, that’s £828.75 each in fuel. Now chop 30% of that figure out (Actual fuel cost) which means you pay £248.63 for the fuel and £580.12 in tax per year. Now multiply that by 30 million (The number of taxed and legal cars on UK roads). How much do we shell out in tax on petrol alone? £17,403,600,000. Almost £17.5 billion. That’s a healthy chunk of public money, even if it does only amount to less than half a percent of the total. See here for the public spending pie chart for 2005/06. Vehicle excise licences on cars alone raises about £4.2 billion. £21.5 billion for cars alone; never mind goods vehicles and motorcycles. That’s over a fifth of the NHS budget, or two thirds of the UK’s Defence budget. Don’t ask me what the 130 billion is listed as ‘other’, and the idea that we are shelling out a grand total of £172 billion on Social Services and benefits catches my breath. £302 billion, which is almost two thirds of UK national Government spending. Holy kablooie Batman! That’s a whole pile of money!

There is a saying I think from the Godfather by Mario Puzo, that “One man with a briefcase can steal more money than a hundred men with guns”.

I’m not saying anything more, work the rest out for yourselves. It’s Valentine’s Day and my wife and I are off to have a nice civilised meal for two.