'Symmetry'

Now, I have shown this photo before, but since I do love it, I am showing it you again. Especially since it fits in very nicely with this week's prompt: symmetry! It's the rector's house at Wimpole Hall, now in use as a small restaurant.

It is also of course a type of house I would love to live in: all symmetrical and even, with the front door smack bang in the middle of everything. Unfortunately due to there being a restaurant in the house now, they felt it neccesary to add something on the right side of the photo, which is quite a shame.

This is my 29th entry for Photo Theme for Thursday. Why not join?

'Red'

I have always loved snail mail. There's something exiting about receiving a letter (unless it's blue: the colour of all tax mail in the Netherlands) and having to open the envelope to find out what's in it. We used to have red mail boxes. But over the years they changed colour and they are now orange. And since the theme this week is red, there was no point in putting a Dutch mailbox in this post. So, I opted for a British one.

There are many different types of mailboxes: free standing ones (pillar boxes) and ones that have been fitted in walls, some bear the initials of the current queen: E II R (Elizabeth II Regina), others the initials of her predecessors George, Edward or Victoria (GR, ER, VR). But they all have one thing in common: they are all bright red!

This is my fifth entry for Photo Theme for Thursday. Why not join?

W is for...

White Horse of Cherhill

This horse can be found about 3,5 miles east of Calne in the county of Wiltshire in England. It dates from the late eighteenth century and is the third oldest in Great Britain.

It was first cut in 1780 by a Dr Christopher Alsop who cut away the turf to reveal the white chalk underneath. Dr Alsop was also known as the mad doctor and according to legend, he shouted his directions to the making of the horse through a megaphone from quite a distance!

If left alone those white horses will soon be covered by grass and weeds again, so they have to be 'scoured' on occasion to keep them white. In 2002 major works were carried out: the outline was traced anew, shuttering was put in place to prevent the chalky soil eroding away and tons of new chalk were added (this photo dates from 1993/4).

Some of the horses found in Great Britain have a 'historic meaning', others were just made to be a bit of fun. The most common chalk figures are horses, but there are also a few men around.

For more W-words from around the world, please check out ABC Wednesday and join in the fun!

Saturday Archive 1

Well, with all those photos being scanned and cropped and named and things, I have so many photos now. And it would be a shame not to share them with you. Of course I can't show all of them: some are just showing me in a not so decent light, others have other people in it. But there are still plenty that I can show.

Now, I don't want to show you those photos every single day, that would become boring pretty quickly I think, so once a week I will show you a photo from my past with a little story attached.

The first photo of my new weekly thingy is quite a mundane photo. From 1992 until 1994 I lived in England. First in a room at the back of the kitchens of the hotel I worked in and later in a room in a house on top of the hill. The first was good because it had a private bathroom, the second was good because it had a kitchen and a washing machine in the house. This is a view of my second room.

It was on the ground floor of the house (called Serendipity) and was located between front door and garage. It was only a small room and L-shaped, but I liked it. So, let's go through what you can see: On the far right you can see a little doll hanging on the wall. I knitted it myself and represented the uniform worn by my male colleagues in the restaurant. I also had a little female doll. As window covering I occasionally used black tights. Not the most fashionable, but living with four men, they weren't too impressed if they would be drying all over the house. So, curtain rail it was.

My bedside table wasn't too big and completely covered. The alarm clock was a working one, although I do think my boss must have thought otherwise. At one point I was actually on time and all the gardeners thought they had come in for morning coffee early! But, I have also slept through four alarm clocks in one day! You can't see the other three, but they were scattered about the room to make me get up and get them to be quiet. It didn't always work though...

One other thing that is quite Dutch is plants. I always had them and you can see two in the photo. When I returned home in November 1994, I stuffed all of them in my car and drove them home. They survived for quite a few years after.

Apart from the white folding chair, all the furniture you can see was provided by the hotel. The bedding as well was provided, but I didn't really like it, so I bought my own duvet and covers and asked my parents to send me my blanket. It's hardly visible, but it peeps out from under the yellow bedcover.

Memories, memories...

What I miss

Skating in Swindon

Last night as I was working, I got to talking to a lady on the bus. Somehow (I don't recall how) we got to the subject of what I missed about living and working in England. Now, first I think I need to give you a little background information.

I moved to England in 1992, almost straight after the Club Med winter season in Tignes-Val Claret. It was the beginning of June and I arrived with two overloaded suitcases. I was shown to my room at the back of the kitchen and loved the fact that I had my own bathroom. By the end of June I hadn't made many friends yet, but it was my birthday anyway. No money, no friends, not even a phone-call from home to wish me happy birthday: I was miserable. Fortunately it picked up though. I was invited to my boss's home for a barbecue, I started hanging out with the other foreigners working in the restaurant (I worked at reception) and slowly I began to find my place.

In early spring of 1993 I got fired from being a receptionist on account of my English: it was too good! I was allowed to stay in the hotel and chose to work in the restaurant, where I stayed until October 1994. I made friends with several of the waitresses and waiters, I always had my lunch at the same table as the gardeners and maids, I passed my driving test and got a car. I was happy.

However, during the summer of 1994, my happiness was diminished. My male Italian colleagues found it quite hard to work for a woman apparently and during work it was often hard for them to do as I told them to. Besides that, because of my elevated status I wasn't allowed to do any of the 'fun' stuff anymore. Every day was the same. By late September the stress was really getting to me. I drank coffee as if it was water, which in turn gave me massive migraines. I had to go home on one or two occasions because of it. When I went on holiday to Ibiza early October, the only thing I could think of was: "I've got to back to work in two weeks". And not in a good way. After my return, I wrote a letter of resignation and on November 1st I left.

I arrived home on November 2nd and immediately knew I had made a massive mistake. During the Christmas period I was homesick and living at home was (apart from getting to know my sister) not all it's cracked up to be!

So, what do I miss? The camaraderie, the togetherness, the fun after work. I had it during my two seasons working for Club Med and I had it in England. And I miss it. I love being on my own, but the fun and laughter and 'we're all in this together'-feeling is something I would love to have again!

You're fired!

After finishing high school and a short college course (which I failed), I went to work at the ripe old age of 18. It was my first job and immediately I was thrown into the deep end: Yougoslavia! All the way by myself. I lasted the season in the Mini-Club and came back home. Stayed for three months and then it was off to Brussels, Belgium for three months as an au-pair. From there it was on to Sicily, Italy and Tignes France, both for six months. And then I had had enough with the seasonal work, I wanted to do something a bit more permanent.

In France I had had a colleague who was from Scotland originally. Andy worked in the kitchen and had worked in hotels in England before coming to Club Med. He helped me compose an application letter (which I completely changed) and I sent it off to six hotels in England. One of them hired me!

I was hired by the Manor House Hotel in Castle Combe as a receptionist. It was hard going, especially at first, to alter, to amend, to change all meant the same thing. Other words I didn't know and only found out about when I was there: Christmas Crackers (I thought they were some sort of edible crackers) and Wellies. I learned though and did enjoy my time behind that little desk.

We weren't allowed to read behind that desk. Or knit, embroider, do crosswords or anything else. We had to be on the alert at all times. And that could be so boring! When your shift starts at seven and the first phonecall you get is sometime after midday...

My English improved and in time I even got an English accent. Which in turn caused my downfall. Because my accent might be English, the language spoken might be English, I was still Dutch. After nine months two complaints were lodged against me within the space of three weeks. Both for more or less the same reason: rudeness. I never thought I was rude, but then again, I wouldn't have been considered rude if I had been working in the Netherlands. So what did I do that was so bad?

Someone came up to the desk and had a complaint about something or other. Dutch way: "Thank you, I will note it down and get it dealt with as soon as possible." English way (especially four star hotel English way): "I am so sorry, sorry, sorry, I will get the supervisor, manager, Queen herself!"

Now, if those people had heard a Dutch accent, they mightn't have bothered complaining: I was Dutch and therefore didn't know any better. But because they couldn't hear that, they thought I was just plain rude. So, I got two complaints and a call to come to the manager's office.

I got fired because (here it comes): 'My English was too good!' Have you ever heard such a thing? It must be one of the best reasons to get fired for in the world... All was not lost though: I was allowed to stay in the hotel and pick the department I wanted to work in! I picked the restaurant and worked there for another year and a half before finally returning home to the Netherlands!

So, what was the best or worst reason you ever received for getting fired?

N is for...

Narrowboat

This photo was taken in Manchester last year. Behind the youth hostel where we were staying, there was a little canal and there were several narrowboats moored there.

Narrowboats were 'working boats', used to ferry goods between communities. The boats mustn't be above 7 feet (2,13 meters) wide to be classed as a narrow boat. The reason for that was that the canals wouldn't be much wider. Because the boats are so narrow, it seems they are very long, but the maximum length is 72 feet (about 22 meter), otherwise they wouldn't fit the locks in the canals.

In the days before lorries, narrowboats were used to ship goods from one town to another. The earliest boats used horsepower to get around: the horses would walk on the towpath alongside the canals and tow the boats. After a while the competition from the trains got noticed and families started living on the boats to be more mobile and to be more available. This in turn led to most children living on board to be illiterate, because attending school would be extremely difficult, since they were always on the move.

Nowadays the narrowboats aren't used anymore to haul freight. Most of them have disappeared, the ones that are still remaining have been turned into homes or are being used in the tourist industry. Many people are still major enthusiasts for the boats and repair and restore them lovingly and with great care.

Unfortunately I didn't get to see the inside of one of the narrowboats moored in Manchester. I didn't want to intrude on their private space. If I ever get the chance though...

For more N words please check out: ABC Wednesday

From police to ambulance

Tamil Tigers (Sri Lanka) protest outside the Houses of Parliament

My trip to London started with the police, because as I arrived at work, I noticed money lying around and locks being forced open. After the police had arrived, they found that the other side of the building was hit even worse: a complete chaos! Doors kicked in, small change on the floors, stuff knocked over etc. So, whatever I wanted to do before leaving was now not done, because I had to get someone over who could deal with the police.

My dreamhouse in the grounds of Wimpole Hall. Perfectly symmetrical.

I managed to get to the school on time though and after about ten minutes the first people started arriving. Five teachers and fifty-two students (16-18 year olds) piled on board and off we went: towards Calais where we would catch the ferry. The students were mostly quiet, until right after the first stop, one of the boys became ill. He had had a party the night before and was quite hung-over. No need for an ambulance though...

The Globe Theatre

We made it to London (Bromley) in good time and after all the students had left with their host families, it was time for me to find a parking space and make it back to the hotel, where the teachers and I were staying. After finding the parking space (where I wasn't allowed to park by the way) and parking my coach, I went back to the hotel, changed and we went out to dinner.

Living Statue on the South Bank

On day two the students would visit Greenwich (I didn't get the chance), after which I would pick them up and drive them to Buckingham Palace. From there they would walk back to the Tower, where I would pick them up again before driving back to the host families. So, in the afternoon I was basically free to do as I pleased. I bought a quick lunch, took the Underground to Westminster and walked all the way back to the Tower. On the way I had an ice-cream and some cotton candy, climbed the 311 (!!!) steps of the Monument and wobbled my way back to my coach. Ambulance not needed...

One of the planes in the American Hall of the Imperial War Museum in Duxford

Day three saw us driving out of London and towards Cambridge. Our first stop was the Imperial War Museum in Duxford. Flying machines from the Spitfire to the Concorde were on show there and some were still in flying mood! We only saw one little one and I don't have a clue what that was... After the museum we went to Wimpole Hall, a few miles up the road. A lovely great big house with a bathroom that would probably hold my entire house! The bathtub alone could hold an elephant, it was just huge. It was a lovely house though and I saw my dream house as well. Then it was on to Cambridge, where there was some time to do some sightseeing. If it hadn't been for that girl who forgot her inhaler and was squeaking and whistling away. So, I took a taxi back with the teacher and the student to get her inhaler from the coach. Still no need for an ambulance...

311 steps in the Monument and I climbed them all!

Day four was another day in London. This time however, most of my driving would be done between 8 and 11 in the morning and 9 and 12 at night. Nearly a whole day off! I dropped the group off at the Science Museum, drove my coach to a coach park and took the Underground again. I wanted to visit the Imperial War Museum London. I wandered around that musuem for a few hours, before walking (limping, wobbling) back to Westminster Bridge to get some nice shots of the Houses of Parliament. My sister was in town as well, so after she had finished her training for the day, we met up and went out to dinner. We have a shared passion for books, so since we had some time left, we browsed around in a couple (I came away with one book). And then it was back to my coach so I could pick up my group again. By then however, I could barely walk properly any more, I had blisters and my ankles had swollen up something terrible! But I wouldn't need an ambulance for that...

A very fishy windvane on the top of Billingsgate Fish Market

The last day had arrived and after loading we drove back to Dover to catch the ferry to Calais again. The trip went really well and even our most feared area (Antwerp) was relatively easy conquered. We stopped at the Dutch border for dinner and I arranged with my colleague where he would take over. And that's where we needed the ambulance. One of the 18-year olds had been drinking neat wodka for about an hour and a half. Most of the students knew but didn't really know, especially since he had poured the wodka in waterbottles, so nobody realised. However, after downing nearly a liter, he was so drunk, he started passing out. By the time I stopped and handed the coach over, he was incoherent and refused to say anything in Dutch. In the end the ambulance was called and they decided it was better to take him to hospital! What an idiot!!

The Underground (above ground in this photo...)

My trip was good though: fat ankles, blisters, my sister and lots of sightseeing. Oh and a pretty much restored faith in teenagers (apart from the wodka-swilling idiot of course...).