From rat race to jungle: adventures in wonderland

Charting the adventures of a twenty something, leaving the 'better the devil you know' of London, and heading out to rural ayrshire for six months to live with boyfriend, before jetting to central america, for a 4 month expedition in the jungle.

Monday, November 27, 2006

Team Raleigh

Here's a photo of Team Raleigh, taken in Dulwich
last weekend. It's a great team made up from lots of seriously successful people who have decided to jack in unfulfilling careers to risk a little and live a lottle.

It's something like 7 weeks and counting until I leave.

Today I had my Hep A and B boosters and typhoid. I then went and played squash and lost 6 games. It was quite a good indication of how unfit I've become since hurting my back and doing no exercise at all.

As for my passport - I'm sending the new application off this week once I get the counter signature to fill in Section 10. Such a faff, honestly.

Friday, November 24, 2006

The sun has got his hat on

Joy, delight, happiness! The Sun has got his hat on, hip hip hip hooray!

All of yesterday's doom and gloom banished with the last of the rain clouds. :-)

Thursday, November 23, 2006

Rain, rain and monkeys

I think I need a SAD lamp. It's dark when I wake up, it's dark when I go to bed and even though we moved house 2 weeks ago, I haven't seen my new house yet in daylight. Glasgow seems to be darker than London, possibly due to the lack of street lighting and possibly because of the hills (which must deflect the light at odd angles. My clever brothers could probably explain this). If you look at it objectively and squint a little, Central Glasgow could be like San Francisco. It's cold and misty most of the time and it's got those crazy hills that level out at cross roads. But that's really where the similarity ends. San Francisco is quite cool whereas Glasgow is just depressing.

In my two hours in central london this last weekend, I sat in a cafe on the Kings Road with two great friends, drinking hot chocolate, and it felt so rich and safe. Everyone is chic in London. London is beautiful.

So, I'm feeling quite gloomy at the moment at being here in the cold and wet, horizontal rain blowing in from the street whenever you open the front door, and never seeing the light of day. I am sick and tired of being cold and wet and wrapping my icy hands around a hot cup of coffee that never gets drunk because I'm sick to death of instant coffee. My one solace is Where the Monkey Sleeps - a deli in the centre of town where you can get great sandwiches and coffees and feel almost trendy simply by being there in the first place, surrounded by all the other Glasgow trendies. (If there is such a thing. Perhaps I should re-qualify it as 'girls who wear red slouch boots over leggings and long t-shirts' and 'men who don't carry flick knives')

But, it's only 8 or 9 weeks to go now til I leave for Central America, and even though I remain a little freaked out following my 'development weekend' due to the intensity of the weekend and the people, and (to answer the comment received today) I don't have a scooby do which project I'll be working on I know one thing: I won't be in need of a SAD lamp. Possibly in need of a good bar of soap and some strong tick tweezers though... Goodness, who would have thought it..?

The thought of needing tick tweezers makes me almost happy.

Monday, November 20, 2006

Sign of the Times

The Gods are laughing down at me. I have been far too blessed for far too long, and it's my turn for atonement. My weekend can only be described as a Series of Unfortunate Events. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.

It was a dark and stormy night. The rain fell in diagonal streaks forming whirlpools in the dirty streets, lit only by the oily orange glow of the low energy watt lightbulbs. She had left the office quickly - her London-bound flight was leaving in little over two hours and she had a long drive ahead. Tucking her scarf around her cold neck, she tottered down the steep streets, avoiding drunkards as they passed, leering and jabbing their fingers at inexistant mockers. Arriving at her car, she paid for her ticket and turned the radio on, windscreen wipers attempting to keep up with the pace of the rain. Chaotic driving through the mean streets of Glasgow ensued, biting her lip each time there was a near miss, she was relieved to arrive at Prestwick in good time, and patted her handbag instinctively to check everything was there.

Her heart stopped.

"My passport!" she gasped and patted again. Irregular heart beats mimicked the garage beat on the radio. She turned it off in a panic.

She drove on into the carpark, rain crashing down angrily, and turned the car engine off. Where on earth was her passport?! Had she managed to lose it between leaving the office and getting to the airport? Surely only a really sad unlucky person would manage that! Impossible!

With her heart in her feet, after a long search in the car, she realised it wasn't there. She had lost her passport. Her only option was to go into the airport and see if she could fly on a driving licence. She stepped out of the car, the wind whipping her hair into a wild matted frenzy, rain soaking her to the skin, her feet immediately soaked and numb.

Fast forward: Ryanair were strangely helpful and she arrived at Stanstead, having called Strathclyde police and logged the lost passport (and house keys).

Lost and lonely on the coach to Victoria, she was woken from her drowsy sleep from a vibration in her pocket. "I'm sure I didn't pack that..." she thought as she felt her pocket and then pulled out her mobile.

"It's me", said me

"Hello me" she replied.

"I've just had a call from Strathclyde police and they have your passport"

"HURRAH" she said in jubilation, waking all other sleepers on the coach with her joy.

Fast forward: She had a strange weekend in Dulwich meeting all other staff members on her Central America expediction, being taken through an uncomfortable number of 'awareness' and 'icebreaker' games followed by introspective reviews and psychoanalysis. She wondered not for the first time what on earth she was about to do - leave her lovely house in scotland with her lovely boyfriend, dog and lifestyle, to go and live in the jungle as a youth worker. She spent some time panicking in the loos wondering whether a sudden pregnancy, broken back, psychotic episode etc etc would be realistic ways of informing Raleigh that she was no longer able to participate. However, being tough and resilient ('quiet and resourceful' being actual feedback given after the weekend, ha!) she stuck at it, and it was with relief but insight that she returned, tired and emotional, to Stanstead for her return flight to her beloved Scotland.

"Madam, any liquids in your bag?"

"No" she lied sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes.

"Madam, would you mind if her checked your bag?"

"For fuck's sake" she thought to herself "if you take my new lip gloss I'll be sooooo angry"

"Madam, would you care to explain why your bag contains explosive materials?"

"erm, does it?"

"We are going to have to dismantle it and swipe it again"

"erm, ok"

"Madam, your bag and contents have set off the red-alert of our swipe machine, can you explain why?"

"Erm, I've just been at a Scout camp all weekend, doing overseas development work training...I haven't been in touch with any explosives..what are you going to do?"

"Madam, I'm afraid if it goes off again, we will have to confiscate your bag and blow it up"

The blood drained from her face. She smiled nervously and surrepticiously removed her wallet, mobile phone and car keys from the bag and hid them in her pocket with her new lip gloss. She was damned if they got blown up too.

Fast forward - having proved unequivicaly that there was nothing explosive about her bag, beyond the trapped fart smells in her sleeping bag, she was allowed to continue into departures and flew with relief back to her beloved Scotland where she landed in a force 10 storm, and thought not for the first or last time, that it was time to recite the Lords Prayer.

On arrival back in Scotland, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, applied some of her new lip gloss and called Strathclyde Police.

"Hi. I understand some kind soul has returned my passport to you"

"That's correct Madam."

"Lovely. I'm coming into town tomorrow - do I need a reference number to collect it"

"Well, it's not as simple as that madam"

Her heart sank. A tear prickled her nose.

"What do you mean?" She concentrated on keeping her voice low, calm and reasonable.

"Due to a nameless and totally pointless European Directive which serves no purpose other than to make your life as difficult as possible, which we as the Police are more than happy to uphold, I am unable to return your passport to you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Your passport has been sent to England to be destroyed"

"you are JOKING" she screeched. "THAT WAS A NEW PASSPORT YOU HORRIBLE MAN"

"Madam, there is no need to be unreasonable, I am just following the law. You are however able to come and collect your house keys"

"So there's no European Directive which says they need to be detroyed too? How frightfully remiss of you"

Fast forward: she sits at her computer angrily typing her blog, wondering why on earth it has come to this. In one fell swoop she has discovered that nothing is sacred in this earth. A lost passport does not belong to anyone other than HRH and if HRH wants that passport to be blown up and destroyed forever, then that's what HRH and her sodding European Directives can do. I am stunned at the red tape in this country - even though there was less than 10 minutes between the time of loss and the time of it being handed in, apparently my passport could have been expertly copied and my identity stolen.

I am going to have to go and talk to the kind people of the post office and apply again. The cost of passports is now £70. I have basically had a complete shocker.

The only upside? Well, I didn't like the photo anyhow.

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Moving House

We have moved house. I am traumatised by the amount of effort it has taken and the sheer volume of work still to be done. Having moved up from England 4 months ago, with a little white van containing all my precious posessions, and spending a couple of weeks unpacking with relish and with all the time in the world, it was a totally different experience trying to shift a whole houseload of goods in just a weekend, clean house # 1, and unpack house # 2. The experience wasn't helped by a series of disasters, and disaster as we know, always comes in threes. Three being a special number, the father, the son and the holy ghost being the original muckers.

Disaster Number 1: in a slight temper having been up since 8am, not eaten since breakfast and hating the torrential rainstorm that decided to happen THE day we were moving, I reversed my little blue car without due care and attention...into a trailer. The trailer was fine. The bumper was ripped off my car. I found the whole scene of watching Hugo open his car door, run towards me and try to push it back in, quite wierd, almost in slow motion. I opened my dashboard and opened a Fox's boiled sweet. It was delicious. The car is ok, we pushed it back in, afterall, that's what bumpers are for.

Disaster Number 2: meltdown in the barn after finding out that a friend of hugo's needed a bed for the night. The poor bloke had to get a flight early the next morning from Prestwick (we live near the airport) and I had a 'THIS IS NOT A HOTEL' moment, culminating in me throwing the logs we were collecting at the time, in a rage at Hugo holding the wheelbarrow.

Disaster Number 3: Hugo, getting his own back following disaster Number 2, asked me to help carry a chest of drawers from 1 part of the house to the other. As I lifted it, I heard this wierd cracking noise and my whole back shift. The chest was dropped onto the floor as I did. We carried on carrying boxes, shifting furniture all day, and the result was I had a totally frozen back for the rest of the evening / night and it is still crunching now. Images of being chucked off Raleigh for being paralysed engulfed my dreams that night. (Not a drama queen or anything). Anyhow, I'm seeing an osteopath on Thursday just before I fly to London for my development weekend with Raleigh when I get to meet all other staff (hurrah!) so hopefully he'll sort that out.

As for the house, well, it is absolutely gorgeous with loads of room, set on the bank of a river with an enormous garden. Well worth three little disasters I think.

Friday, November 10, 2006

Parsley Experiment


Right, with apologies for the delay in getting these photos on the web (blame BT Broadband which has gone kaput at home, so I'm doing this from the office), here is my final installment of the Parsley Experiment.

photo 1: parsley in a mug

The good news is that it's growing. The bad news is that the roots have grown out of the soil and it's all coming to a bitter end. The shoots are weak, the colour is peaky and the stems look rather droopy. This is a case of the hare and the tortoise and I fear, triump is going to evade my previous number 1 growers.

Photo 2: parsley within the jamjar

With excitement I notice two things; one is that the herb has managed to
reach over the confines of the jamjar despite all odds. Secondly, the size of the leaf is much larger and healthier than demonstrated that growing within the mug. Maybe throwing in a few barriers to growth spurs on these little beauties...who'dda thought it?

Photo 3: parsley within the plastic container

With amazement I post this image onto my blog. This is the parsley that was so weak and feeble only 5 weeks ago. I transferred the plants into a larger plastic container and it would be fair to say the improvement has been unlimited. With much more soil and room to spread, these have become the happiest of the lot.

However, it is time to make a confession.

Being rather hasty in my blogging and rather ditzy in my research, I overlooked one key factor.
Reading the label. After seeing the rather coriander-esque features developing in my herbs, and after tasting them, I have realised with rather red cheeks, that this whole experiment has NOT been about parsley after all. I have, unwittingly, grown a whole load of corriander, which some have been known to describe as 'the devil's food'. An unfair comment I think; it goes very well with meatballs and scrambled eggs, a well known Mauchline delicacy.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Fame at last!



I think it's a sign of success when you find yourself in the local paper! Here's a copy of Tuesday's Ayrshire Post with me and Hugo circled in red next to the famous Rosemary Shraeger.(The paper was my number one source of job hunting when I first moved up here - potentially also the reason it took me so long to find a job...) It's a great read though if you like looking at pictures of primary school children dressing up as Guy Fawkes. It is nothing like as good as the cerebral Shoreham Herald, which a great friend used to write for. Now, that was a cracking read. There's something about local papers that warms the heart, and fuels the fire. Now that I've tasted fame, I'm going to have to keep going to these local events to see if I can get into the paper again! I can see this becoming an addiction.

A parsley update is coming soon - an interesting development has arisen...

Saturday, November 04, 2006

Blogging at the airport

Being me, I hadn't printed out instructions for how to get to a rural cottage in Devon for this hen weekend. it sounds ridiculous, but somehow during the week I'm always too busy. Anyhow, i paid a good £1 to use the internet cafe at Glasgow airport and having managed to download maps galore, I have 2 minutes 40 seconds left, so thought I'd blog the world to let you know i'm sitting next to Starbucks Cafe and I'm about to go and get a latte. Lovely.

Friday, November 03, 2006

Sheep, farmers, sheep, farmers


Argh, too many sheep, too many farmers talking about sheep, and too many anti-English jokes. I need some CITY TIME!

Last night was spent (5 hours of it) at the local Farmer's dinner. I think the point that my sense of humour evaporated, unfortunately for Hugo, was about half an hour before actually getting to the dinner, when I found myself locked out of the house with the swirling mists enveloping my car in the cold frosty farm courtyard. I've been here over 4 months and we still only have one set of keys. Unbelievable.

It's fair to say, I applied my make up with attitude last night. Not that I needed to - I was the youngest person on my table by about 30 years (not counting hugo). I had some interesting conversations about working in Glasgow, moving to Scotland and Raleigh.

"So, where are you going then?"

"Costa Rica or Nicaragua - we won't know until we get there"

"Ah, lovely. I've never been to South America."

"Er, nor have I, but I'm looking forward to going to Central America"

"Yes, yes, I came close once. I nearly had a business trip to Rio."

"Riiiight. And have you been to Central America?"

A sharp glance

"Central America? God no"

and that, generally is how conversations about the geography of Costa Rica go.

but I shouldn't be too judgemental. I dated a guy (a lawyer nonetheless) a couple of years ago who said in reply to my comment about wanting to go to Costa Rica (yes, it's been a long-held desire):

"Costa Rica? I'd rather go futher afield than Europe this summer"
ARGH

Needless to say, that one was nipped in the bud fairly quickly.

Anyhow, I'm off to Tiverton tomorrow for a hen weekend, so although I won't be getting much in the way of bright neon lights, I will be going for long country walks with lots of good girl friends, and that's almost as good.

Photo is from the peak at Degnish, Argyl (West Coast)