...and now back to work.

Okay the OSCEs could have been worse. Most of them I felt I did well in and will have passed - one or two I was even told as much by the examiner. There are 3 or 4 that are in question - I made a silly minor error here, blanked on what they were trying to get at there, but I think it's all down to the individual examiner as to how harsh they are. I imagine I'll be back for retakes in the Spring, mainly because most people have to retake on or two sections. But I'll know where I went wrong and I'll damn well not make the same mistake again!

In the meantime, word has got out that there's a new midwife in town (we're a rare commodity!) and, following a flurry of activity, I now have a fairly decent caseload going on. Hurray!

Being practical

Hello! As I write I am sat in the Super8 in Calgary (which I don't recommend one little bit incidentally) revising for my OSCEs - Objective Simulated Clinical Examinations - tomorrow. This is basically a whole day of being shoved into a room with a clinical scenario and having to deal with it, just to prove that you can. Some of them are emergency situations - I'm anticipating shoulder dystocia, post-partum haemorrhage, undiagnosed breech and neonatal resuscitation - and the others are likely to be normal clinical skills, such as an abdominal palpation, suturing or a neonatal examination, and yet others will be discussions on subjects such as vitamin K administration, metabolic screening and circumcision. They use real women where possible/appropriate (I assume shoulder dystocia would be on a model!) so that does help a bit I suppose, but I HATE doing these kind of exams. It's funny, the actual clinic skills I have no problem with and feel confident when I'm in a real situation, but having someone in a room watching, and critiquing, your every move is horrible. My tendency is to try to rush through things and in the process to forget something important, so I'm going to focus on breathing deeply and relaxing wherever possible. I did a practice session yesterday and was relieved to find that I did generally remember things - I was also relieved that everyone else was as nervous, and some were less experienced, than me. Anyway, we get 10 scenarios and have to pass at least 8 of them, 6 of which are mandatory. I can retake individual scenarios if I do fall to pieces ;-)

Wish me luck!

This explains a lot...

I have an addendum to a previous post: when I had my leaving do from Treetops, my Aussie boss, Mike confessed to me that he had been telling every customer for months that I was also Australian and that I loved to be asked about my home country as I was homesick. Although there were still days he wasn't at work that I was asked about being an Aussie, so I know it wasn't all down to him, it certainly does explain why some people were so damned convinced about my heritage. What an Ausshole!

The great confessional

Much has happened since my last post and I make no apologies for not prioritising writing about it, since I've been too busy living it.

I mentioned, almost in passing, a while back that I'd been accepted into the International Midwifery Preregistration Programme (IMPP) in Toronto. I went to the orientation day back in July and began work on a series of distance modules prior to the official start in September. However, I was chatting to my lovely friend Megan, who you may or may not remember had been my student back in London when she was training to be a midwife before coming home to Canada, and she told me that her midwifery partner Gaelyn and her had decided that I should come and work with them in Edmonton, Alberta. For those of you unfamiliar with Canadian geography, that's around 3,500kms away from where we live in Ontario. The idea of working with Megan certainly appealed to me (as did living only a 3 hour drive from Banff) I looked into what would happen if I completed the IMPP and then moved - long story short it was a bureaucratic nightmare. The Ontario system is set up so that you don't become a fully fledged midwife until at least 6-12 months after you finish your training and so you're effectively tied to the province until then. Since it was going to take 6-9 months to complete the course itself, this would delay any move for at least a year and quite possibly more. Hmmm.

I decided to look at what the requirements for registering directly in Alberta were instead. It turns out the only things that Alberta required was a midwifery qualification (a UK one would do) minimum of 60 births in the past 5 years and to take, and pass, a practical and written exam. As luck would have it, despite not having practised for 3 years, I still had over 60 births in the previous 2 under my belt. This wouldn't be the case for long so I had to get on it asap. I got all the required paperwork together - oh it sounds so easy but really it wasn't! - and applied: I was accepted to sit the exams. A quirk of the system meant that if you are judged eligible to sit the exams, you can actually begin practising on a restricted licence with a named Supervisor straight away. Crazy but true.

Having by now dropped out of the IMPP, I packed up all my stuff and Isaac and I drove across Canada - staying, by some miracle, ahead of the winter weather - we arrived in Edmonton two weeks ago. We actually had a brief stop off in Banff, which was a fabulous trip down memory lane and even included meeting up with friends, Andrew and JK, who were back for another ski season working at Lake Louise. We made a quick stop at Sunshine Village, which was not yet open, to pay homage to where it all began for us. It was a lovely interlude, but sadly I got ill on the second day there and spent a rather hellish couple of days shivering and puking while we headed north via Calgary.

We immediately launched into looking for a place to live and found a lovely 3 bed house very close to Megan and her husband Craig in Leduc, just south of Edmonton. Isaac flew back a week ago to Ontario where he'll remain, looking after our house and Tiger the cat, until after Christmas. I've remained in Edmonton, staying with Megan and Craig, preparing to move into our new house in a week's time. I've spent the last week calling and arranging to meet my new clients, and even attended my first birth in over 3 years as back up for Gaelyn. It was a home waterbirth, which will happily be the large majority of my work here. I'm flying back to Ontario to spend Christmas with Isaac's family and my sister Jenny and her boyfriend James, who are flying out from the UK to visit. I'm flying back here at the beginning of January and Isaac will drive back out with his friend Matt and his brother Reilly, so we have both our cars out here in Alberta, then Isaac will be joining me here permanently.

So that's pretty much where we are up to now. I'm loving living in Alberta again - I like living out in what amounts to suburbia but close enough to a city to have access to all a city has to offer: I'm 15 minutes from Ikea and the South Edmonton Common retail park, including the Gap Factory Store (where I indulged in a spending spree when I got my first paycheque the other day). I'm really enjoying being back in midwifery (bit nervous too) and I'm excited about our new house! I can't wait to see Jen & James at Christmas and I'm really looking forward to having real money to spend on people's presents for the first time since 2006. Such a relief.

So apologies for once again just having a 'I did this, then I did this, then I'm doing this' kinda post. I'd rather just be musing on ideas and throwing around the one liners, but I don't get to do this as often as I'd like and blah de blah de blah. Which brings me on to...

While I'm spilling my guts about things I would also like to admit a rather shameful secret: I've been Twittering for a few weeks. At first I told no one and happily tweeted just to myself. Then, the other day, my nephew Benj found me - not sure how - and began 'following' me. A few more people (strangers!) followed suit. So I thought I'd come clean and if you feel like following my random thoughts then look for @midwifemia. No obligation though, it is of course merely the whitterings of a madwife.

Fall and land

Was that really my last post? Shameful. After all that gumph I wrote about promising to do less facebooking and more blogging. I really am full of shit, aren't I?

As a matter of fact I am halfway through a draft posting about our holiday in England so I'll get a shimmy on that one and finish it. And so much else has happened in the meantime! In the meantime, I just wanted to say that today I watched a float plane land on a Canadian lake, with a backdrop of the most fantabulous array of Autumn colours I've ever seen. That, I said emphatically to Isaac, is the Canada I expected, the Canada I came to see. Wonderful. On that note I'll disappear back into the information superhighway, as once we called this internet malarkey. Hopefully I'll be with you again in a jiffy.

Blighty

As usual, it's taken me a while to get round to writing this one up. If only I was willing to précis everything it might be easier, but goddamnit I always want to tell you everything.

So. At the end of August, Isaac & I flew to England for a two week holiday, cleverly planned around a) my sister Toni's wedding and b) my having a crown done. The former had been planned for some time of course, whereas the latter was something I had recently been trying to fit in and around the wedding, necessitating, as it does, two visits to the dentist with a gap in between. The crown was something that had needed doing for a while - I won't bore you with the story but I had one tooth that was, by now, merely a shell full of composite, and I was expecting every mouthful of every meal to 'do for it', as it were. The crown had been recommended before I went to New Zealand, but since I had neither the time nor the funds at that point, I had been babysitting it ever since. Dentistry is notoriously expensive in Canada (along with mobile phones; groceries; car insurance and every other sodding thing I have to buy) and the same crown would have cost me somewhere in the region of $3000 to have done here, whereas I paid 'just' £400 n the UK (around $650 CAD currently) so the saving was considerable.

We flew in to Gatwick to be met by my dad and we made a stop off at his allotment on the way home to pick up some beans, courgettes and a few cornflowers. In the coming days we managed to catch up with Sophie and Dan (for the first time since they officially became Mr & Mrs), have the obligatory Pizza Express (oh Lordy how I've missed you), go to the Wings & Wheels show at Dunsfold Park, which was AMAZING - see pics here - have a great lunch with Raquel, Darren and Aaron, and take a walk along the tow path next to the Thames from Kingston to Hampton Court, all in the glorious warm sunshine. Ha - take THAT, those who think it rains all the time in England.

On 31st August I went to the dentist in the morning to have my temporary crown fitted. At one point I swear the dentist had both hands and at least one of his feet in my mouth. Back home for Jacqui's homemade courgette soup (Isaac: 'I don't think I'll like that, I'm not a big fan of zucchini.' Me: 'Well just try a spoonful of mine and see what you think'. Cut to Isaac eating THREE bowls of the stuff) and then the train up to London. I told Isaac we were going to go to Harrods, which of course he'd never heard of. He kept saying 'Why are we going to a department store? I'm don't even like shopping that much.' I told him to wait and see, and of course when we got there, he saw exactly why. We had fun visually devouring the food halls and looked at all the expensive stuff we'll never be able to afford, like a £10,000 toy car and a £45,000 gun. Then we hopped on a bus up Piccadilly and went to the studios of Absolute Radio, where Geoff Lloyd had just started his show. I've been a huge Geoff Show fan for years so I decided to take him up on his oft quoted offer to 'just drop in and visit us if you're passing'.

We were welcomed to the studio by the security guard while I explained that we were just visiting. The moment I heard his voice I realised it was none other than Martin the Security Guard, regular contributor to the Geoff Show. I behaved like a proper fan and asked if I could get my photo taken with him. He was lovely, though shy, and complied, then got Nelson the producer to come down and take us up to the studio. Isaac had never been in a radio studio before and was struck dumb, so it was left to me to do all the talking for once. Shame. Geoff, Annabel and Nelson - my constant driving companions via podcast in Canada - were consummate hosts and we spent 2 hours watching them put the show together, which was delightful and exciting for me at least. I even contributed one sentence to the show: 'Yeah, me too, I get very confused'. We left when the show was almost over and took the bus up to Leon's at Ludgate Circus, the traditional get-together location for Guy, Chris, Debbie and I - Jonathan and Janet were unable to make it sadly - and we had a fab meal and it was all over too quickly as usual. That's the most frustrating thing about living abroad: when you do meet up with friends back home you have to squish a year's worth of friendship into a few short hours, and you always leave unsatisfied. Sigh.

The following morning we headed up to London again to take the train from Kings Cross up to Hull, where we were met by my sister Jenny. She was putting us up again, and had planned all sorts of exciting activities around Toni's wedding, on the Saturday. We had a grand day out at Flamingoland, where we rode every roller coaster including Mumbo Jumbo, the 'World's Steepest Roller Coaster', 112 degrees dontcha know, which we rode twice, and Kumali, which was our favourite and we rode three times. We visited the self-styled 'Strangest Place in the World' - the Forbidden Corner - which was indeed very strange and well worth the beautiful drive through the North Yorkshire countryside. We also had numerous delicious meals. More than that, I spent the entire week in hysterics - Jenny and I have always been able to reduce each other to a heap on the floor with little more than a well-timed glance. It was great to spend some time with her, her boyfriend (and Isaac's official English Dad) James, and my niece Mini-Me, oh sorry, Liddi, before she heads off for a few months travelling, starting in New Zealand the lucky beggar.

The wedding was the main focus for the holiday of course, and on the day, Jenny and I picked up the flowers and balloons (plain red hearts), dropped off the bridal bouquet and buttonholes, drove to the golf club where the reception was taking place and decorated all the tables. Then we drove back home where Toni was meeting us, and we all got ready in between eating smoked salmon and bagels, as is traditional. The wedding was lovely and no one fell over or shouted anything rude, which is always a relief. The reception was beautifully decorated *ahem*, and the playlist had been designed by my sister's new husband Rob before he even asked her out, or so he told us during his speech. That sounded sweet and romantic of course because they DID end up getting married but he was lucky - if she had never agreed to go out with him that might just sound like a stalker! Various people got rather drunk, others got rather drunker. Some very funny things happened, but most of them are best retold elsewhere, where one can do the accompanying funny voices and/or walks. Anyway, suffice to say, everyone had fun.

Eventually it was time to head back down to Surrey; train again. The dentist replaced my temporary crown with a proper one (I had a tooth again!) and I even managed a curry at the Hussain, my favourite curry house in the world. Oh that bhindi bhaji! And my final walk around Waitrose almost had me in tears: so much food I wanted still to eat; so little time.

So caught up a little here, making no promises for the future since I always seem to break them, but have much more to tell...

"Unnecessary"

Hurray, I'm famous! Oh hang on...

G'day cobbers!

Pardon me for having to get something off my chest, but Canadians seem to be the only nation on earth who literally cannot hear the difference between an English person and an Australian one. A day does not go by when I don't get mistaken for an Australian - occasionally a Kiwi but that's usually as a tentative second guess - and I must admit I'm long past being all British and apologetic about it ["I'm so sorry but I'm not, I know we really do sound similar, it's probably because I spent a year in New Zealand blah blah"]. It actually just pisses me off a bit now, though obviously I do still try not to be overly rude to people when they ask (seeing as it's usually when I'm at work). But I mean really? Who do I sound more like: the Queen or Crocodile Dundee?! Every day someone says something like 'Oh I bet you're missing the beaches back home!' To which I'll reply 'Well the beaches in London aren't all that impressive, so no, not particularly.' The other day at work a cocky sort of chap asked me what part of Oz I was from and when I said actually I am English, he said 'Oh. Well, you're close to each other though, aren't you?' A short and somewhat terse geography lesson ensued, in which he seemed totally uninterested.

And I think that's the crux for me. They just don't really care. A large number of North Americans - and yes, I'm lumping the Canadians in with the Americans for a moment - stay in North America, listen to North American music, watch North American telly and films and don't really pay any attention to the outside world. England might as well be next to Australia for all they know or care. And this goes even for the ones who ought to have a bit of a clue - I've had conversations that have started with 'Oh my dad is from England!' and ended with 'I'm not sure where, somewhere near Edinburgh.' It always reminds me of the line in Anchorman where Brian Fantana, while talking about a woman he may or may not have been in love with, claims that she was 'Brazilian, or Chinese, or something weird.'

And something weird is kind of how I feel most days. At work for example, although we all get on very well indeed and have a lot of fun, I'm often the butt of a few gentle jibes about my 'Englishisms'. Usually it's when I use a word or a phrase quite innocently over the radios that causes much hilarity because it's completely unknown here. For example, the other day I described people coming over to the Red Course as coming 'in dribs and drabs' - turns out this is not common parlance over here. When I told another guide that a customer was wearing a 'purple jumper' she looked at me in horror and asked what on earth a 'jumper' was. But the thing is, we've grown up with American telly and films so we already know that they call rubbish 'garbage', a boot a 'trunk', and a bum a 'fanny' (snigger) and so on. We indulge them when they come to England and say 'elevator' or 'flash-light' because we know what they really mean. They, however, may have seen Four Weddings and a Funeral but that hasn't taught them that we call such things a 'lift' and a 'torch' and so it seems to come as a bit of a surprise that we don't use the same words they do. In fact when I told a friend that I was just going to get a torch so we could walk next door, she got all excited that I was going to come back with a huge flaming piece of wood. Bless.

I do not however intend to give up my Englishisms. It is part of my heritage, it's what makes me me, and there's a little piece of me that resents saying I'm going to fill my car up with 'gas', just to make myself understood, because to me it isn't gas (and actually, it isn't a gas at all of course, so they're obviously just being silly). No, I'd rather face the blank looks and find myself having to explain that a saucepan is what we call a pot, and at least I'll be educating people one word at a time.

Musings on blogging

Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear. I did it again, didn't I? The thing is, even though every time I blog I have every intention of updating more frequently, I don't seem to get round to it anymore. And I blame Facebook.

You see, I meant to blog way back when I got a fantastic pair of winter boots at Wal-Mart. They were on sale at $29 down from $90 and were lovely and warm with a twist: there are figure of 8 sections on the soles that you can flip up and turn around, so that when you replace them you have metal studs on the bottom to grip onto the ice and snow. Not only do they work brilliantly, but soon after I bought them I saw they were reduced further to $19. A few days later they were down to $9 - I complained to customer service and they refunded me $20. So brilliant AND the bargain of a century. But this momentous event passed unblogged.

I meant to blog when a chap got attacked by a bear just a short distance from where I live. It's a new experience for me living somewhere where there are things that kill you. Of course, many people say that I shouldn't be worried about bears since they're terrified of humans and anyway, moose kill more people than bears over here since moose are a) absolutely huge and b) driven insane by hallucinogenic plants they eat. But then again, I heard a moose making moosey noises from my back garden the other day. We regularly have raccoons on our back porch - we've named them Roger and Doug - and I can smell a skunk from where I sit in my lounge, so they must have been around here too. But all this has gone unblogged.

I meant to blog when I started back at Treetop Trekking at the end of May, which is STILL the best job I've ever had. I was worried that I'd had such a good summer there in 2008 that going back could only be a bit of a disappointment, but my worries were unfounded. A great crew still - some people still there or back from before - and I still can't get enough of climbing and zip lining for a living. But it still went unblogged.

And I also meant to blog when I applied to, and have now been accepted, to Ryerson University in Toronto, to take the International Midwifery Pre-Registration Program, which is my gateway to registering as a midwife over here. It'll take 6-9 months, but it turns out I'm eligible for funding from immigration for the course fees and I only have to be in Toronto (or TO as it's often known here) 2 days a fortnight for classes. Applications for the course were already closed at the end of April, but after forwarding a copy of my CV (resume here of course) and my dissertation, they agreed to making an exception for me. The entrance exams had been done already, but they ran them again just for me and I got offered a place. So I start in September and hope to be finished, all being well, in March or thereabouts. But not a dicky bird was heard here on my blog.

And finally my dad has just been over for a last minute visit and it was lovely to see him. He was only here for a week but we managed to cram a fair bit in. We went fishing - he caught his first smallmouth bass which was the biggest fish any of us caught this week - visited various local points of interest including the Big Chute Marine Railway, which is, to use the vernacular, well cool. And in a most unexpected move, I took dad to visit where I work and he actually rode the Big Zip, the 1000ft zip line and, what's more, enjoyed it thoroughly. The pics will no doubt very shortly be up on dad's Flikr account.

But going back to my original point, all these and many many more interesting things that have happened to me have remained unblogged because - and it shames me to say it - they have instead been reduced to pithy one-liners masquerading as my Facebook status updates.

It's hard to deny the power of Facebook, and I'm well and truly in its grip I fully admit. It's just so easy, and so quick to knock off a quick pun or obscure quote which may, or may not, lead to more explanation depending on if anyone asks. I have yet to fall under the Twitter spell - which is of course basically just a series of status updates as far as I can determine - in fact I've completely and totally avoided reading any Twitter at all, primarily because I think I'd probably like it, and since Facebook already takes up more of my time than it should, I want to leave a little bit in my life for eating, sleeping and going to work. But where I used to find myself composing blog posts in my head as events were unfolding, I now find myself thinking up status updates instead. Worse, now I have an iPhone (another major, and unblogged, event) I can update my Facebook on the go as and when I think of an update (though I try very hard not to update it more than once a day, unless something big happens). It's pathetic, isn't it? As though anyone's really that interested! I suppose the same could be said for this blog of course, but I've always maintained that it's really for me, to practice my writing, and for my family now I live so far away, so they can catch up with what I'm up to. With that in mind, this time I am REALLY going to try to spend more time here, and less time there. I promise.

p.s. Hope you like the new look.

Welcome to the world

Many congratulations to Megan - my former midwifery student and lovely Canadian friend - and her husband Craig on the birth of their first daughter, Esme Ruby Dusterhoft. A home waterbirth - of course!

Crossing the Rainbow Bridge

This Rainbow Bridge, however, is not the one leading to Asgard, rather I refer to the bridge over which you must cross to reach the American border at Niagara Falls.

On 1st May Isaac & I drove down, through what can only be described as England-style traffic, to the nearest border crossing to us in order for me to complete my 'landing' as an immigrant. The plan was to get to the border, ask to be 'turned back' so I could go straight back to the Canadian border, complete the paperwork and then spend the night at Niagara Falls to celebrate being newly Canadian. As we queued for the US border I began to get sweaty palms and butterflies and, upon handing over our passports, I explained to the guard that I was there to land. "Park over there, follow the crosswalk to that building take the elevator to the 2nd floor" he told us in a rather perfunctory fashion, and, not wishing to be shot or whatever it is the Americans do to people who do not obey in a timely fashion, we hurried along to do just that. Upon entering the building I realised I had not collected our passports back from the guard and checked this with one of the many other border guards hanging around the building, seemingly without purpose, and he confirmed that was all above board and correct. We took the elevator - sorry lift - to the 2nd floor - which is of course actually the 1st floor - to find ourselves stuffed in a room with around 150 other people, all of whom appeared to be unsure of what they were supposed to be doing there. No one official was available to ask, but a small sign informed us to 'take a seat and wait for our names to be called'. Due to the number of people both sitting and standing we were unable to take a seat but began waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Every so often an official would come to the door and say a name and a country of origin, and another person, couple or family would disappear with them, but the order in which this happened seemed to have no rhyme nor reason. Some people had clearly been waiting for much longer than us, then others who came in behind us were called in almost immediately. After a couple of hours we managed to secure seats and I got chatting to the couple sat next to us. She was English, married to a Canadian, and had had Permanent Residency for a year. They had decided to go over the border to do a spot of shopping and had been sat for over 3 hours waiting for reasons they knew not why (later on, Isaac pointed out that the fact that they were black might have been a factor, something that hadn't even occurred to me.) After 2.5 hours of waiting our names were called and we went in. The officer was brusque but efficient, and asked if I wanted to do this the 'easy way or the fast way'. I said fast please! He said if we paid $6 he'd admit us to the US and we could turn left and left again out of the border station to return immediately to Canada. The alternative was to refuse us entry, but this meant that next time I try to enter the States I'd have to explain WHY I was refused entry, and my many dealings with American customs in the past meant I knew this could only mean trouble. So $6 was paid, we collected our passports and entered America for approximately 30 seconds.

I had expected that it was the Canadian side of the deal, with all the paperwork that needed to be completed, that would take the majority of the time, but not so. On approaching the Canadian border I was greeted by a lovely older officer, who gave me a big smile and, when I explained I was here to land, he exclaimed 'Oh how exciting!' He gave us directions to the office and we went inside. There was no queue so we went straight up to the desk, whereupon a surly faced woman told us we needed to take a seat until we were called up. We sat, and immediately got called up to the same desk by the gentleman next to her! He took my passport and Confirmation of Permanent Residency and said he'd do some paperwork while we sat. A few minutes later we were called back, I signed a couple of bits of paper and was told that everything was done! The only thing left to do was complete a 'Goods to Follow' form, on which I listed everything I could think of (following an agonising mental tour around my garage back home) that I might want to bring over to Canada, which meant that I would be able to import them duty free.

After checking into our hotel, a walk around town, and the procuring of a few pictures of me doing 'Canadian things', we went for dinner and promptly began falling asleep over our ribs, the whole excitement/boredom continuum of the day proving a little too much for us both. And so it happened that, five months to the day since I sent my paperwork, I became a Permanent Resident of Canada.

Drop the dead donkey...

...this is far bigger news. I realise I'm way behind (as usual) on blogging and like to do things (roughly) in order, but I found out this week that my Permanent Residency here in Canada has been granted, which is fabulous news! I checked e-CAS the other day and instead of 'In Process' it said 'Decision Made', which sent my heart racing. In most cases this is good news but occasionally it isn't, so I didn't want to count my chickens...but the following morning I received an email asking for my passport to be sent to the London office so they can issue my visa...hurray!

I hurried down to UPS to courier my passport yesterday, which ended up costing an extortionate $140 to get to London and back! But I suppose it's worth it for the peace of mind and as soon as it's back I can go down to the border to 'land'. Then I'm all done and legal. Phew, what a relief.

Worth the wait

We finally bought a vehicle. The reason it has taken us so long is that, as I mentioned previously, we had fairly disparate lists of desirable vehicular features - I wanted something cheap and economical both to buy and to run, something that was certified and e-tested* for peace of mind and something that was within fairy easy distance for viewing. Isaac wanted a big truck. Or 4x4 at the very least. Everytime he'd look through the Super Shopper (like Loot or Exchange & Mart) and would say 'Hey, there's a Blahdy Blah truck for sale here', I'd immediately google it and shout '15 mpg ain't gonna cut it!' Then I'd find a small car of some sort and say 'Shall we go and look at this?' and Isaac was so uninspired he couldn't even be bothered to answer.

Every week Isaac bought the Super Shopper and every week I'd look through it and think what a waste of money it was. Half the ads didn't say what car they were actually selling, the number was wrong, the price was incorrect or if they were any good they'd gone by the time you bought it on the day it came out. The last time he bought it, I couldn't even be bothered to look at it. I waited a whole week till the new one came out and then had a flick through - a 2001 Kia Sportage listed certified and e-tested for $2750 OBO leapt out at me. I called the number with very low expectations but was amazed to find it still available and the chap sounded very nice indeed. I said I'd chat to Isaac and call him back. It was down in Keswick (here they pronounce the 'w') which is about an hour and a bit away south of us, but then our friend Sarah said she was going down south that weekend and did we want to come? We asked if we could make a detour to Keswick, called the guy and arrangements were made.

I still had low expectations - everything we'd looked at had turned out to be rubbish in one way or another - but as soon as we saw it we both knew we'd found a winner. We drove it - fast, slow, 2WD & 4WD - and found it was a lovely smooth and worrying-noise-free ride. There were a few rust spots around - Ontario salts its roads in winter and it eats cars alive - but nothing Reilly couldn't handle. It had only 187,000kms on the clock and even had all new tyres including the spare - All Terrain ones at that. We offered him $2500, he said yes, and we arranged to pick it up the following Wednesday after the paperwork for the safety and a wheel alignment had been done. Then we went to the mall to celebrate!

So we picked Mia's Kia** up on Wednesday and have driven around pretty much constantly since. The other day we went and drove muddy roads around cottage country - even getting stuck on a muddy trail and having to use our 4WD to get us out - just because we could. Then yesterday I went to visit my cousin Tine, who lives just over an hour away and I really ought to see more often, for a lovely lunch. In fact we've actually managed to put over 700km on it in 3 days. Ha ha ha.

The thing is, in Canada you can't get anywhere without a car. It would take me about an hour to walk to the local shops, so the sense of freedom you have when you have a car is amazing. I know we've been able to borrow Isaac's parents' cars most of the time, but when you ask to borrow someone's car you leave them without one, so you feel like you have to justify your trip. Now I can go anywhere and do anything, with no reason at all! Hurray! She was worth the wait.

*for Brits: the Canadians don't have an MOT equivalent as such but here you have a fairly stringent test that each car has to pass when changing owners called a safety or a certify. It can be done by the seller, in which case they will get more money for the car, or it can be sold 'as is' and done by the buyer, which can be risky. It also needs an emissions test or e-test to make sure it's only mildly damaging the environment.
**we're still working on a name so this will have to do in the meantime.

In Process

One of the most frustrating things about the immigration process is that most of the time, you're totally in the dark as to how things are coming along. The only thing we have to go by is something called e-CAS - or electronic Client Application Status - where you log in using your client number and it gives you a one or two word idea about where your application is up to. It's not updated very often and the information is fairly vague, but when you log on for the hundredth time to find your status has changed, it can be very exciting. For a while now, Isaac's name has had 'Decision Made' next to it, which occurred when they approved him as a sponsor (though we had to wait till they sent us a letter before we discovered what the decision was) and mine has had 'Not Available', since they hadn't started processing my bit yet.

However, after sponsorship was approved the file got forwarded to the London office and today I finally got a status change: 'In Process'. It doesn't say much, but it's amazing how two words can put a smile on your face by confirming that someone, somewhere, has received the file and is doing something with it!

So fingers crossed everyone please, for a swift resolution to this interminable process. Even though I only sent the application in December I've had the paperwork in my hands since November the previous year and have been slowly putting it together and digesting it all since then. Because we ARE a genuine couple, it shouldn't - in theory at least - be that complicated a process but with medicals flying around the world one way and police checks flying the other, plus background checks on me* you just have to hope it all comes together quickly and positively.

*though as a long-confirmed 'good girl' if anything untoward came back I'd eat my hat! My new one that is, which I just finished last night and is probably my current favourite.

Surprises

I'm constantly finding things surprising here in Canada, sometimes in a good way and sometimes in a bad one. For example, I had a poster made for Isaac for his birthday and I've been trying to find those hard plastic things you slide on the top and bottom to hang it up but still keep it in good condition, but such a thing does not seem to exist over here; what's more, they don't use Blu Tack* either, so I'm left wondering what the hell you're supposed to do with posters if you're Canadian! Sellotape - oh no sorry, it's just tape here - seems to be the most oft-suggested option but it's hardly ideal. The search for a viable alternative continues...

Anyway, yesterday I had an example of a good way. We parked in the centre of town to pop into the shops - it costs $1 for an hour so we put 4 quarters in the parking meter and headed off to buy Isaac some shoes. We ended up chatting in the shop for ages to one of Isaac's friends, so when we headed back to the car, we saw a parking attendant writing us out a ticket. Oh no! We legged it over and Isaac said 'So...what if we were just leaving?' Ha ha, yeah right I thought. You know what these f*ckers are like, once they've started with a ticket there's no stopping them. "Well..." he began, "you'd have to put another quarter in the meter." he said. "Okay" said Isaac, and proceeded to do just that while the parking attendant put his book away and walked off, leaving me opened-mouthed, reeling, and only 25c poorer than before.

*in fairness, you CAN get it in a few places, but it's not commonplace at all and most Canadians look at you blankly - or in horror! - when you suggest it.

Take a weird break

I miss these kinds of mags, they always made me feel more normal. If you happen to have a pile you have been meaning to drop off at the doctor's surgery, pop them in the post to me instead and I'll show the Canadians how strange British people really are.

The Beginning

So basically, I've moved to Canada. Temporarily for now, since I'm on a visitor's visa at the moment, but hopefully for good if all goes well with my PR. This is still taking me by surprise a little bit, though obviously I was aware of what I was doing, and it's not like I was drugged by Isaac and dragged back here under protest. But still, the thought that I'm no longer travelling and this is my life now still hits me every so often like it's a whole new idea.

Since we arrived back on Nov 30th it's been all go. I got my PR application in on 1st December, as intended - hurray me. Sadly, there was no snow when we arrived back so the start of the snowboarding season was delayed, but on the plus side it gave Isaac and Reilly to fill a hole at the side of the house and do some off-roading before we got our first big dump. As soon as the ski hills opened we hit the slopes, giving me my first taste of Ontario skiing. We don't have mountains out this way so memories of Sunshine - and even Cardrona - gave way to what can only be described as ski hills. Sorry, ski bumps. Ah well, a season pass, a decent amount of snow and my lovely snowboard and I'm definitely not complaining.

Christmas came round pretty damn fast and it was a bumper haul, that's for sure. On Christmas Eve we went to Isaac's Oma's (German for Grandma) house for the annual gift exchange. This involved everyone bringing one present, up to $50 value, which goes under the tree. Then everyone picks a number out of a Christmas Stocking and whoever gets number 1 goes first in picking any present they like and opening it. The person with number 2 goes next, as is traditionally the way with the numeric system, and they can either open a new present, or they can steal the present that number 1 has, which means number 1 has to take a new present. This goes on, with everyone either taking a new present or stealing anything they fancy from anyone who has gone before. Once all the presents have been opened and everyone has a gift, the numbers are picked again and a second round commences. This is where it gets tactical, with partners, siblings or parents & children ganging up to ensure they keep the best presents for each other. Higher numbers are preferable obviously, because you are less likely to have the present you steal stolen back from you. In the past couple of years, bereft of his sibling and ally Isaac, Reilly has come away from these present exchanges rather short changed, but this year with Imo, Isaac & I all on side, we managed to obtain what we considered the best four presents there - a saw set in a case and set of 12 drinking glasses (Imo); a lazy susan with dip trays and microfleece blanket (Reilly); a slow-cooker (Isaac); an iPod docking station (me). We were made up! It was a fun night and it was nice to finally meet Isaac's dad's side of the family.

Christmas day we had a lovely breakfast and then opened presents here at Imo & Mary Lynn's house - I got a great set of pjs, slippers and the softest greyest dressing gown you ever did see and Isaac & I also got an electric blanket, which is lovely when you live in a place that goes down to stupid-cold. I gave Isaac a t-shirt with some cougars on it, which was supposed to be funny, but he's worn it almost every day since. Then we traipsed over to Reilly's to do a third Christmas there and Isaac opened a gas-powered remote control truck from Reilly and BB guns from me. Boys will be boys...

New Year's Eve was Reilly's birthday but he had to work so Isaac and I went to a friend's house, followed by a party in a garage. I must admit to having a bad day that day, was feeling pretty down what with one thing and another, so I didn't feel thrilled to be going to stand in someone's garage with a ton of very drunk people I didn't know, but I'd offered to be designated driver so I went along anyway. The very first thing I saw was a big fat guy stood outside in the driveway, peeing whilst facing towards us walking up the road. Hmmmm, fat guy's cock, I thought to myself, that's a nice welcome. The same fat guy came bounding up to us not 2 minutes later and he grabbed my hand inbetween his until-very-recently-full hands and begun to shake it vigorously whilst introducing himself. Hmmmm. We headed into the garage whereupon Isaac was immediately targeted by a guy who hadn't seen him for over a year, who elbowed me out of the way to get to him, spilling my coke all down my front. Hmmmm. I started mopping myself up with a tissue when the fat guy from earlier appeared behind me and started dry humping me, shouting 'I don't even KNOW this girl!' in an exuberant fashion. Hmmmm. At this point I decided this party wasn't really for me so I took my leave and quietly waited in the car.* Not my best NYE, but not quite my worst either!

Isaac was offered some work at his cousin's appliance store doing some deliveries so he's been over doing that for the few couple of weeks and I've spent my days either snowboarding, catching up with friends or bits and pieces online, reading or playing Reilly's PS3. I can't work, as I'm currently here on a visitor's visa, so until my PR comes through I'm a bit stuck really, but I'm not complaining as it's been all go for the past couple of years so it's nice to take a bit of a break from constantly travelling and planning.

And talking of my PR application, after a month of waiting, my entire application was returned to me a few days ago. As it turns out, I had misread one small section which asked for 'copy 2 of Section A' and had sent a copy of, not the original 'copy 2 of'. Silly me. In addition to this, the letter they sent with my returned application claimed that I had not sent the passport photos I need with my application, though I knew I had. I was very cross and stomped around complaining that I had to go all the way into town to get more taken, before deciding to go through my application one last time and found the envelope with all my photos in it, hidden inside a different section, where it shouldn't have been. Clearly someone at the Canadian Immigration had popped it in there and then 'lost' them. Grrr. Anyway, I got it all in order again, swapped out the copy of Section A for the original and took it down to resend it at the post office. Which was closed for lunch. Bah. I drove on to the big town near us, Orillia, as I knew that their post office was more likely to be open at lunchtime and spent another $22 sending it Priority Post to make sure it arrived back with the Immigration office as soon as possible. In theory this means they will now make a decision within 7 days of receipt, which is great, but this is only stage 1 of many sadly. This is approving Isaac as a sponsor, which since he's a Canadian citizen, over 18 and not currently bankrupt or in jail, should be fairly straightforward. Once that's done they send it on to the London office where they look at all my stuff, get my NZ police check from Australia, my medical details from another office and do UK background checks on me. Given that I am both a good and a healthy girl, they shouldn't find anything untoward! I'm keeping everything crossed anyway and hoping for a swift resolution.

So we're up to date. We're currently looking for a car/truck**, so we can be more independent, and I'm learning all about what you do with snow, but I'm sure that will come out in future blogs. In the meantime, let's be careful out there....


*I feel compelled to point out that I insisted Isaac stayed and caught up with all his old friends, as best he could given the state most of them were in, and did not make any attempts to cut short the evening in any way. I may not have felt able to join in with the celebrations myself at that point, but I am not a party pooper. So there.
**I'm looking for a car, but Isaac is looking for a truck. I guess whoever finds the best deal first, wins.