Flooring: Day 1

The penultimate process of kitchen refurbishment began today, as the kitchen (and hall) flooring began to be laid. First order of business: lay a wide enough strip to store all the remaining materials, thus ensuring they all only need to be moved and restacked once, and then prepare as much of the plywood sheeting that carries the oak boards as possible, to enable rapid floor laying on Day 2.

Progress was hampered by our desire to install a "hatch" - replacing the original - to allow access to the subfloor void without destroying sections of floor if and when new services need to be installed. And also by the scribing, removal, and cutting of any doors that happened to be in the way.

By the end of the afternoon, things were looking... um... different

Another side-effect of starting the floor laying process is, of course, the sudden lack of a kitchen sink. Yes, from now until the worktops are fitted in approximately two weeks' time and the sink can be installed and made waterproof, we'll be filling the kettle and the coffee maker from the understairs cloakroom sink, and washing up in the bath. What was that I was saying about things getting worse before they get better?

Manchester calling...

*tap* *tap*
This thing on?
*cough*
Hello!
Welcome back. To me, that is. You've probably been here all along, wondering where I was. Turns out *I* was here all along too. Just not saying much. Shit happens, they say. And shit is pretty much what has been happening. I might even write about it one day, but not right now.

So, when last we spoke, Nikki & I were in Toronto. April 26. Good grief! Was that really the last entry? That's almost three months ago!! *slaps wrist* Well that pretty much puts the mockers on my usual "chronological" approach to blogging. As regular readers (if I have any left!) will know, I like to keep things in order. Even if I'm writing the entry two or three weeks behind the event, it'll still have the real date on it. The date it actually happened. That's not so bad if I'm only three weeks behind, but three months? No. I'd never catch up, and besides one of the reasons for blowing the dust off this cobwebby part of the Intertubes is a pointed request for pictures of our CURRENT project. If I wrote up everything (significant) that has happened in the interim then the kitchen would be finished before it even got started, if you see what I mean.

No the only way to do this is to package up the last three months into a little box and leave it over there in the corner. Over the next few months I might open up the box and take one or two choice pieces out for display purposes, but for the time being we need to get started with what's going on right now.

Although perhaps, before we get to that, I should tidy up the news from our Toronto trip. I wouldn't want to leave us hanging there, so to speak, having apparently only just been lunching in the distillery district and then magically transplanted three months into the future back in Manchester. Here, then, are the rudimentary details of the few draft entries I'd queued up covering the remainder of that trip, with their prospective titles drummed into service as headings:

Man-daRIN
(Family joke). Shirley & Neil took us for dinner at the Mandarin all-you-can-eat restaurant. Now, we have AYCE outlets in Manchester - the ones we visit most often being the No. 1 Chinese buffet, and the Nawaab Indian - but even though they are both firm favourites and very good value for money the quality is nothing like Mandarin. Wow. Absolutely fabulous Chinese food, lots of it, masses of choice, and everything tastes as fresh as if it had been cooked to order. This place became a firm favourite almost on the first mouthful. We'll definitely be back.

My fortune cookie for the evening: Accept no other definition of your life, accept only your own.

How apt.

Kensington
Shortly before our return, Paul took us for a wander around Kensington market. We lunched at Big Fat Burrito (delicious) and picked up some cool Christmas presents from the various shops and stalls.

That evening we had dinner at the Tulip steak house, which surprisingly (the place looks a little run-down and basic) proved by popular acclaim to be the best steak we had all holiday. And also, after a little persuasion, the best rack of lamb!! (*ahem*)

JB @ JB
After a last minute trudge around Walmarts to pick up those few essential items that just aren't available in the UK, we returned to Jawny Bakers for dinner. Hard to beat for atmosphere and quality (in my opinion - but I admit to being completely biased since this place holds very fond memories for me), it ran the Tulip a close second for steak quality but it's somewhere I couldn't imagine visiting Toronto without going.

Pack it in
Packing for the return trip became interesting, and a little Dickensian:

Suitcase #1: 25kgs

Suitcase #2: 20kgs

Allowance: 40kgs.
Result: misery.

Ah, but... at this stage, Carry on #1 weighed 2kgs and carry on #2: 2kgs, with a carry-on allowance of 10kgs. So after some judicious redistribution of contents...

Suitcase #1: 20kgs
Suitcase #2: 20kgs
Carry-on #1: 4.5kgs
Carry-on #2: 4.5kgs
Result: happiness.

I was also going to post something humorous about the pharma ads on Canadian/US TV. Honestly, if you haven't seen one check it out. Little beats them for unintentional black humour. I might still do a post on that at some stage. (Probably during our next trip, when I'll be exposed to them again :o))

And finally...

I just read this back and realised that I've waxed lyrical about all the wonderful meals we had OUT, but nary a mention of all the many wonderful meals we had IN. So many grateful thanks to Shirley for repeatedly proving that home cooking easily beats bought. Amongst numerous other successes, a roast turkey dinner to die for - or, at least, worth travelling 3,000 miles for!

How did this happen?

Something about our flight to Toronto yesterday triggered one of those gestalt moments for me. A chilling realisation of a modern truism. And it's this:

When I was young, the world was geared around older people. Us youngsters had to defer to our elders, treat them with respect, shut up and get on with doing as we were told, and not make a fuss.

Now I'm older, the world is geared around younger people. Us elders(*) are invisible. Virtually ignored by marketeers, shoved out of the way in queues and generally not given as much respect as people of our age commanded in "those days."

So it seems, or at least yesterday it seemed, as if somehow everything had flipped 180° and I'd missed that crucial nexus - if it ever existed - when I was the "right age" for the world.


(*)OK, 54 isn't THAT old, but... you know... sometimes it FEELS as though it is.

The oracle says

My Google horoscope for yesterday was uncannily accurate, I meant to mention. I usually read these things with casual indifference, but this one induced a small double-take:
If you have been blinded by your own dreams, your high hopes may be dashed in an instant today when you realize the truth of what's actually happening. But this flash of awareness also contains the seeds of a more realistic plan that can pave the path to your future. Don't be overly dramatic about your own version of paradise lost. Just pick up the pieces, adjust your plan and try again. A touch of disappointment can fuel your greatest success.

Hmm...

Bad news from New York

I emailed that New York agent this afternoon. The one I've been waiting on for 12 weeks. Thirteen, actually, as I realised this morning that I'd counted up wrong. They were a week overdue, so I sent them a memory jogger email. Hello, it's me. I'm still here. Still waiting. How are you getting on?

I received a reply within five minutes. Basically it said "thanks, but no thanks." But she didn't pass up the chance to pepper the 'no thanks' with a little disdain. Just for added piquancy you understand: "I had the chance to read it and while I enjoy the premise, I didn't feel the execution made the book stand out from others in its category."

Ouch.

Gotta tell you lady, it's still better than a lot of the crap I've waded through in the last three years of being a book club member. But reactions like that are frowned upon in writing circles. You have to suck it up, grit your teeth, and get on with it. Which is exactly what I did. Since receiving that dismissive reply I've sent out another ten queries. And I'll keep sending them out until I get that 'yes.' That one yes. The only yes I need.

The thing that pissed me off more than the rejection, was that the tone of the rest of the email implied she'd finished reading the manuscript (or read as far as she needed to make up her mind) weeks ago, but hadn't bothered to let me know the result. So I've wasted weeks of potential querying time waiting for someone who had already decided to say no.

You can bet I won't be making that mistake again.

Shop til you drop

I hate shopping. Have I mentioned that before? I mean the kind of shopping where you don't really know what you want, you wander aimlessly around the mall or the city centre streets looking for something that you're not sure exists, battling against crowds and elbows and noise and smells.

That kind of shopping, I hate.

I can just about cope with short bursts as long as I know what I'm going for, where I'm going for it, and we can get in and out and done in as short a time as possible. And sometimes, like today, I realise it's unavoidable.

Because I'm off to Augsburg for a two-day business seminar (plus a day's travelling) on Tuesday and the dress code is business casual in the day time and smart casual in the evening and that gives me a big problem. For months I've been working at home most days, slobbing around in Ts and jogging bottoms. Even on the days I've been hauling myself into the office, I've been wearing jeans. Not a good image for Augsburg; something had to be done.

Then, a miracle happened. We arrived at the Trafford Centre just as it was opening up, went straight to BhS, found two pairs of large-waisted chinos and two decent shirts for not much more than fifty quid, found a few extra Christmas presents for people we'd been struggling with, picked up Christmas cards for close friends and family, had a rather nice panini and coffee while listening to the Sally Army band blowing their way brassily through some Christmas favourites and were home by one o'clock! Result!

If shopping was always this quick/painless/successful I wouldn't have a problem with it.

And really, the fact that we somehow managed to also pick up almost a hundred quid's worth of movie DVDs and music had nothing to do with my feelings of satisfaction.

Warning: philosophy alert

I've had this throat infection for two weeks now, and the antibiotics haven't really touched it. That is, I've stopped sweating, shivering and sleeping badly, but I'm still coughing. Perhaps it's an Aftermath. Anyway, with no remaining excuses (or, more pertinently, days left on my sick note), I went back to work yesterday. God, I'd almost forgotten how boring it is.

Still, it could be worse. It could be as bad as it was six years ago when I wrote this. Or, on a slightly more global scale, it could be Myanmar bad, or China bad. But we each have our own challenges to rise to, don't we? For some poor unfortunates, it's watching their bloated dead babies drift away on the outgoing tide, or wondering if they'll be able to catch enough rainwater off the roof to stop their family dying of thirst. On that kind of scale, my challenge - the challenge of dragging my sorry arse into work every day when I'd rather be at home writing - seems more like something I should be celebrating. And therefore: whinge over.