The answer is yes, you can. You could choose to pack a year before going somewhere, and that would be ridiculous. And packing two weeks before a big trip abroad would be as much a recipe for disaster (and forgotten necessities) as packing two hours prior to departure. So folks, after having experienced travel across the world on multiple occasions, I think the smart money is on: first a list, then a pile of items all put together in preparation, then left to ferment somewhere, and then packing your slightly fausty (but much better for it) clothes and miscellany about a day or two before leaving. This ensures that you have time to add things, have no time to worry that you have left that completely unnecessary nose-hair trimmer (or other item) that you feel you *may* use abroad, and have impetus to wash your clothes with more rapidity when in a foreign country. The last point is important, as we are all loathe to wash our clothes when we think that the 4 sets of underwear and three shirts we managed to squeeze into a suitcase can just about last for three weeks...
They can't. And even if they could, they shouldn't.
The magnitude and difficulty of this task is multiplied several-fold when moving to a new country and leaving the old one containing all your stuff behind. Those of you who are feeling flush will waste money on freight... And poor graduates who are moving in order to EARN the money they are lacking (like me) will try to fit a whole life into one economy class flight. People say "good luck with packing" and all I hear is "I don't envy you at all, thank God it ain't me!"
So, here I am, with my 'to-be-packed' pile (a veritable mountain) and my suitcase, ready for the 'big pack-athon', hoping that flying over East Asia won't result in a hijacking by Gojira (that's 'Godzilla' for the terminally uninformed). But honestly, the nervousness I felt about heading to China has dissipated like the grey after a bad storm - the storm is still there, but I don't know and I no longer care.
Excited.
I'm starting to wonder whether I should turn my journey in China into a part-gastronomic adventure. I have a list of things I'd like to try as long as my arm, and although I have managed to tick off such wondrous foods as kangaroo, horse, lamb sweetbreads (of the testicular variety) and so on (btw, I'm listing the NICE ones), I still have a long way to go, and I know I'll be able to get some foods I can't in the UK. So onwards and upwards with such delicacies as dog and snake.
Details will come when I've actually had the chance to sample some of these delights, so until then, I'll keep it simple.
And on that bombshell (Jeremy Clarkson, you are a legend), I shall say good night.
2012年2月14日火曜日
2012年2月8日水曜日
Wild, free, and warmer than ever!
The postal service is crap. But they saw to it that I got my package, so I shouldn't fault them. Even if they no longer deliver twice a day (yeah, I remember Royal Mail circa. 1900), and postage is expensive, and they take a break for lunch at 2pm. British people do not take siesta. Seriously people, when will we learn that complacency breeds poor service?
So earlier, I skipped heartily through town wearing my new coat from eBay, well, I jogged happily...okay, I moved swiftly through the streets to avoid the gazes of the town rats AKA chavs. $380 of down coat for £36 - BARGAIN! But I won't plug eBay like I did with nikuman... (see old blog on blogspot). It was warm, a little too warm, but perfect for a jaunt through the bitter cold of winter in North China, which is (funnily enough) where I'm going. Forward planning YEAH!
Seeing as I'm a charity case myself, it seemed suitable for me to wade through clothes in the charity shops, holding my breath where possible to avoid collapsing the nauseating smell of old perfume. They should have badges for that - like the ones in nuclear power-plants.
[Charity shops need badges]
But kudos to charity shop workers who trawl through the muck that gets dumped outside their shops to find the little gems amongst soiled trousers and half-used toiletries. I picked out two pairs of non-jeans, so now I should be ready to look like an old man/teacher for those kids in China. With my TWO pairs of trousers. For a whole year. Here's hoping I can buy loads in China.
And on another note, I'm hoping the train service in China is better than here too, since it can't get much worse. Example: Cam & Dursley Station to Yeovil Pen Mill. One train... £29. But what is that, national rail? I can get it down to £21 if I buy two tickets - one to Bristol, then one to Yeovil from there. ON THE SAME TRAIN? Wow, national rail, way to make the prices nonsensical. I guess I'll look forward to a service where just trying to figure out the pricing system isn't a massive mindfu*k.
...readers! I'll hold him back, escape before he mentions politics!!!
And if you are still here, I'll leave you with a picture of my other dog, almost 17 and still strong (though a little clumsy, somewhat blind and SELECTIVELY DEAF). I give you... SOX!
["Throw me the ball, throw it!"]
Later!
So earlier, I skipped heartily through town wearing my new coat from eBay, well, I jogged happily...okay, I moved swiftly through the streets to avoid the gazes of the town rats AKA chavs. $380 of down coat for £36 - BARGAIN! But I won't plug eBay like I did with nikuman... (see old blog on blogspot). It was warm, a little too warm, but perfect for a jaunt through the bitter cold of winter in North China, which is (funnily enough) where I'm going. Forward planning YEAH!
Seeing as I'm a charity case myself, it seemed suitable for me to wade through clothes in the charity shops, holding my breath where possible to avoid collapsing the nauseating smell of old perfume. They should have badges for that - like the ones in nuclear power-plants.
[Charity shops need badges]But kudos to charity shop workers who trawl through the muck that gets dumped outside their shops to find the little gems amongst soiled trousers and half-used toiletries. I picked out two pairs of non-jeans, so now I should be ready to look like an old man/teacher for those kids in China. With my TWO pairs of trousers. For a whole year. Here's hoping I can buy loads in China.
And on another note, I'm hoping the train service in China is better than here too, since it can't get much worse. Example: Cam & Dursley Station to Yeovil Pen Mill. One train... £29. But what is that, national rail? I can get it down to £21 if I buy two tickets - one to Bristol, then one to Yeovil from there. ON THE SAME TRAIN? Wow, national rail, way to make the prices nonsensical. I guess I'll look forward to a service where just trying to figure out the pricing system isn't a massive mindfu*k.
...readers! I'll hold him back, escape before he mentions politics!!!
And if you are still here, I'll leave you with a picture of my other dog, almost 17 and still strong (though a little clumsy, somewhat blind and SELECTIVELY DEAF). I give you... SOX!
["Throw me the ball, throw it!"]
Later!
2012年2月5日日曜日
Snowdog
My dog is cold. And that is not a euphemism. My furry dog is shivering...wait that sounds even worse.
Okay, my dog, Harvey, is cold:
[He has tiger stripes...can you call a dog 'tabby'?]
It snowed earlier, and the temperatures were hard-pressed to creep over the 0 degree mark (yes, Celsius... we are civilised in the UK). So I was dragged along on an adventure into the brick and tarmac wilderness by my little sister. The tiger-dog Harvey was then forced upon me, along with a pair of gloves and a hat (conveniently placed on my face by my sister).
So with sister and dog in tow, face stinging, and regrets already looming, I headed towards the park. There were already some people, and a rat-dog at the park - now honestly, why do people buy dogs that stand at little higher than your foot? They are mangy, not cuddly, and the fact that they fit in your bag is not an attraction, it is an invitation for dog sh*t in your bag. Nonetheless, Harvey played nice, and my sister and I had a brief but epic snow fight.
It would have ranked among the great battles of history - had it not been for the fact that it was a little snow fight between a man and a small girl. So hold the victory parades, I'm not coming back triumphant...just embarrassed.
As the darkness began to fall, and the other people at the park left, we began a snowman. Great success was enjoyed by all, particularly Harvey, who seemed to take it upon himself to try and consume more than his body weight in snow. Well done, dog. Well done.
The 'fun' was abruptly ended with a rock-like snowball to the jaw at point blank range, and as I was not feeling like re-enacting scenes from Saving Private Ryan for my sister's pleasure, we returned home. The dog shivered. Uncontrollably. And much to my chagrin, I discovered that the resourcefulness of my little sister is not limited to humans - NO, she had created a garment for the dog. So no more shivers! Just Harvey looking sorry (warm) as a metrosexual accessory.
There is something I hate more than rat-dogs...and that is dogs in clothes, but I must admit that there was something humorous to Harvey lounging around in one of my sister's old pink jumpers...
Nicely done.
So now I've done dogs... tortoises, anyone?
Later!
[He has tiger stripes...can you call a dog 'tabby'?]
It snowed earlier, and the temperatures were hard-pressed to creep over the 0 degree mark (yes, Celsius... we are civilised in the UK). So I was dragged along on an adventure into the brick and tarmac wilderness by my little sister. The tiger-dog Harvey was then forced upon me, along with a pair of gloves and a hat (conveniently placed on my face by my sister).
So with sister and dog in tow, face stinging, and regrets already looming, I headed towards the park. There were already some people, and a rat-dog at the park - now honestly, why do people buy dogs that stand at little higher than your foot? They are mangy, not cuddly, and the fact that they fit in your bag is not an attraction, it is an invitation for dog sh*t in your bag. Nonetheless, Harvey played nice, and my sister and I had a brief but epic snow fight.
It would have ranked among the great battles of history - had it not been for the fact that it was a little snow fight between a man and a small girl. So hold the victory parades, I'm not coming back triumphant...just embarrassed.
As the darkness began to fall, and the other people at the park left, we began a snowman. Great success was enjoyed by all, particularly Harvey, who seemed to take it upon himself to try and consume more than his body weight in snow. Well done, dog. Well done.
The 'fun' was abruptly ended with a rock-like snowball to the jaw at point blank range, and as I was not feeling like re-enacting scenes from Saving Private Ryan for my sister's pleasure, we returned home. The dog shivered. Uncontrollably. And much to my chagrin, I discovered that the resourcefulness of my little sister is not limited to humans - NO, she had created a garment for the dog. So no more shivers! Just Harvey looking sorry (warm) as a metrosexual accessory.
There is something I hate more than rat-dogs...and that is dogs in clothes, but I must admit that there was something humorous to Harvey lounging around in one of my sister's old pink jumpers...
Nicely done.
So now I've done dogs... tortoises, anyone?
Later!
A cold day, and a warm...mouse?
[Posted yesterday on wordpress]
I'm not feeling my need to write a blog waning yet, but it is early days. And I'm making this an extended tweet if I continue on about 'how I feel about blogging'.
So, on to the main topic:
Warm mice. And not of the personal computing kind. Of the living, breathing, hundreds of heartbeats per minute kind. I woke up this morning to the pained mewing of a cat. The cat was ravenous, obviously, and I was equally as tired. So being the provider of food, I went outside in the cold to buy a package of meaty sustenance for my loud, furry friend.
[The fiend]
I DID NOT. Fatigue won out over the pressing need to see my breath spread white in front of me in the chilled morning air - and I slept in my nicely heated room, enjoying the silence that comes from putting the cat outside. An hour later I could sleep no more, so I got the food, put it out, and tried to find the cat. No cat. Anywhere. Where the cat should've been, I looked down to find a little mouse looking at me. 'Cute,' I think, for the briefest of moments, before I realise the the little fur-ball is only half a fur-ball, bloody and matted, staring lifelessly up at me.
Not so cute anymore.
I'm not grossed out by things like that, and I was unfazed by the condition suffered by the dead rodent (namely its lack of intestines). It was the fact that instead of waiting for a tasty meal of duck in jelly, processed from the finest of cat-safe meats/offal, the cat chose to eat the ass-end of a mouse, and then drop the rest off just to show me: "look at what I can do, bit*h!"
So, Smidge the cat, I now know that you are a force to be reckoned with, and that your impatience knows no bounds.
[One satisfied cat]
And now I have used one of the dirtiest tricks on the web: pictures of cats. Next time, cute babies! Or maybe not...
I'm not feeling my need to write a blog waning yet, but it is early days. And I'm making this an extended tweet if I continue on about 'how I feel about blogging'.
So, on to the main topic:
Warm mice. And not of the personal computing kind. Of the living, breathing, hundreds of heartbeats per minute kind. I woke up this morning to the pained mewing of a cat. The cat was ravenous, obviously, and I was equally as tired. So being the provider of food, I went outside in the cold to buy a package of meaty sustenance for my loud, furry friend.
[The fiend]
I DID NOT. Fatigue won out over the pressing need to see my breath spread white in front of me in the chilled morning air - and I slept in my nicely heated room, enjoying the silence that comes from putting the cat outside. An hour later I could sleep no more, so I got the food, put it out, and tried to find the cat. No cat. Anywhere. Where the cat should've been, I looked down to find a little mouse looking at me. 'Cute,' I think, for the briefest of moments, before I realise the the little fur-ball is only half a fur-ball, bloody and matted, staring lifelessly up at me.
Not so cute anymore.
I'm not grossed out by things like that, and I was unfazed by the condition suffered by the dead rodent (namely its lack of intestines). It was the fact that instead of waiting for a tasty meal of duck in jelly, processed from the finest of cat-safe meats/offal, the cat chose to eat the ass-end of a mouse, and then drop the rest off just to show me: "look at what I can do, bit*h!"
So, Smidge the cat, I now know that you are a force to be reckoned with, and that your impatience knows no bounds.
[One satisfied cat]
And now I have used one of the dirtiest tricks on the web: pictures of cats. Next time, cute babies! Or maybe not...
Now it really HAS been a while...
I have a new blog @ goingdutchinjapan.wordpress.com.
It must be pointed out that wordpress charges for custom site building, so this one looks more...friendly? Personal? Ridiculous? I'll leave it to the reader to decide. But for the time being, I shall copy posts between the two...
Back soon. Very soon!
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