Travelogue

Thanks to the Vintage Ad Browser I have whittled away most of the morning and will now take you on a wonderful journey through time and space (no no no, this is not the Twilight Zone..or the Outer Limits). You will see many amazing sights and sites, bask in the sunshine of foreign locales, soak up exotic culture and travel via the finest and most luxurious trains, ships and cars available. 

* I've added a new feature so that each of the pictures will open up zoomed in a lightbox format if you want a closer look.

Planning Your Itinerary:

  

America!!! For only a dollar??!! Yes let's go!      

Canada too...because there's The Rockies and...

       

giant natives and ....ALASKA! (who knew?)

How To Get There: 

Fly or sail?

 
Not so sure about the Titanic...let's book a stateroom on the Olympic, k? 
All Aboard Kiddies!

 

In America we will be visiting some of the most famous places....

....and meeting fascinating new people!

Could this be any more exciting? Stay tuned for future travelogues...

All photos courtesy of the Vintage Ad Browser

Groundhog Day

I could blog about how teenagers never fail to amaze me in their ability to commit acts of extreme stupidity...

I could rant about how the state of parnoia currently infecting the citizens of certain nations has passed from interesting through funny to downright absurd, but I would need admin to help me devise new and wonderful expletives to use....

I could tell you a story that involves Facebook, an unnamed international school and the above elements that would have you shaking your head and wondering how the world has come to this....but again I would need admin's help and I'm ready to put the last week and all of its stupidity behind me.


So instead, I give you this:

*So that you won't have to go to all the trouble to sign in at youtube, I've posted the link from 24 heures ( a Swiss newspaper that isn't afraid of sex, sexuality or poking fun at such things) scroll down to the embedded video.

Enjoy!

Wednesday Wedding in Wintery Winnipeg

  Wonderful!

*I don't have any pics of the ceremony (it was short and sweet), all photos will be posted next summer after the 'big wedding'.

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Well, not really in the morning...noon to be exact!

Dreamy and Scattered

I'm a little overwhelmed these past few days. After so many months of regulated solitude, I'm finding life awfully busy these days.There's the 'getting the house' back in order to contend with and I manage to get a room a day done.This is not to say that Big G and The Max were utter slobs, in fact they did a very admirable job keeping house while maintaining an insane schedule of work, school, and travel.But there's stuff that needs to be done and done kinda the way I like it...because I'm picky that way.

Settling back into Swiss lifestyle hasn't been too difficult (I gained another kilo..grrrr) but there are adjustments that I have to think about; my mangled, strangled not even close to adequate French, driving (I didn't drive the whole time I was in exile), quiet Sundays where everything is closed, so you have to plan ahead for Sunday.

Then there's The Max...and school...and I alternate between hope and despair, as does Max on semi daily basis. Last spring he set the bar very very high for himself and insisted on taking the IB Diploma program, against the advice of most of the faculty at his school. At the time, I had thought it would turn out ok, because he's very bright, but lacks 'student skills' and it was my intent to work with him on those skills (how to write a proper paper, how to organize workload, etc). And then I was in exile...and Max had to contend with an insane commute as well as the demanding IB program. And he's not doing well, not academically, not emotionally and he's stressed. 

The ongoing visa application, new passport, wtf is up with schengen issue...yep, still hammering away at the bureaucratic brick wall and I'm not only crap at that kind of thing (because I have no patience) but it makes me both fearful and weary at the same time.

Oh...and Big G and I are flying to Manitoba on Saturday to get married! So I'm excited and worried (because there's bureaucrats involved and what if they don't let me back into Switz and OMG) and feeling all blissed out and frantic at the same time. The kittehs will be on their own for 4 days, The Max will go stay with a friend up in Bern (so he doesn't have to get up at 4 am to get on a number of trains to get to school) and I'm leaving the house again and I just got back and I don't want to go but I really really really want to get married and....

So you see how it is.

The wonderful Spot gave me an award the other day (yesterday??) and I'm not sure if I properly thanked her (um...Thank you Spot!) and I haven't had the available brain cells to do the 'award post'... yet.I haven't commented much lately, but I am reading all my favorite bloggy bloggers.So, it's me folks, not you and I promise I will return to better form shortly...just have to catch my breath a bit.

Must go pack now...

You Like Me...You Really, Really Like Me! (or at least some of you do)

So one of my favorite bloggers has bequeathed a couple of honours on me, because apparently reading my ramblings actually makes her smile sometimes.The fact that I can bring a smile to anyone's face at any given time makes me happyinthepants  kind of happy and to get some pinky hued bling to throw up on here is just icing on the cake.Apparently there are some rules/regulations/conventions to follow once you have received such honours and if you know anything about me, you know that rules and me are a bit of a bad mix.But I will attempt to be a good bloggy scout and play along.

 

This is the Happy Torch Award.To keep it lit one should:

a) List 10 things that make you happy

b)Tag 10 bloggers that brighten your day

c)The 10 bloggers who receive this award are supposed to link back to this blog and create their own version of this.*(I just know this part is not going to work for me, but whatever) 

 

This is the Lemonade Stand Award.To keep it lit one should:

a) Put the logo on or within your blog

b)Nominate at least 10 blogs with great attitude or gratitude.

c)Let the nominees know they have received this award by commenting on their blog. *(There was a whole bunch more to this but I'm starting to get cold sweats and a headache from all these rules)

Yaaay! Now for the fun part. Ten Things That Make Me Happy!

1.First place goes to da boys, Big G and The Max, whose presence in my life is not only a blessing beyond measure, but they do actually make me smile and laugh a lot.

2.My painted Swiss cow. I'm not one for being attached to 'things', but this 'objet' brings me such pleasure.One day I will blog about it (and other of its kind) at length.

3. Fresh cut flowers.It's an indulgent extravagance, but I love having fresh flowers in the house.

4. Kittehs. My kittehs in particular, and this lovely guy, Dante is most special to me, but really in a pinch, any kitteh will make me smile.

5.Grappa. I don't know if it's wise or politically correct to admit that liquor makes me happy, but feck it...Grappa makes me smile. 

6. The interwebs! Oh yes, you lovely, distracting, enriching, timewasting web of people, blogs, images ,funneh stuff and information, you make me verra verra happy every day!

7.Expensive, freshly laundered and ironed sheets on my bed.

8.My wonderful warm and cosy coyote trimmed slippers from Churchill, Manitoba.

9.Candlelight. We have candles lit on and around the table every evening meal. 

10. The Beatles. Can't help but feel giddy and happy when I hear the 4 moptops, and this song is a great example.

Now a list of 10 blogs that I do truly admire:

Bluepaintred - another Canuckian mommy blog who's life is as funny as any mom of three boys could be and writes about it.

Loveallthis - a design blog of sorts. This woman posts pictures of the most beautiful things. 

idleprimate - a fellow Pajiiban commentor and a very eloquent and thoughtful fellow in his own right. 

teabelly - another find through the Cannonball Read II, but with a Brit twist.

alternate1985- can't remember where or how I stumbled on this site, but 'shortround' is one of those caustic New Yorkers that always has an open eye.

blackheathbugle - I found so much to love and use with this blog while I was in Blackheath, and now it's like checking in on an old friend.

blaster- this is the great doc spender's blog, and I wish he'd write more often.

lovelylisting.com - For shits and giggles...the best of the worst of real estate listings.

learnsomethingeveryday - Because the web shouldn't be an utter waste of time. 

27bslash6 - David Thorne is an Australian misanthrope that is either a writer of great brilliance and imagination or the most irritating asshole you might ever cross paths with.

*Most of the above blogs do not 'follow' me, nor do I suspect they even know of my existence, so I exempt myself from passing on the torches to all but Spender and idleprimate...suck it up guys!

Santa Swiss Style

Santa Claus is a relatively new import into Switzerland, and like all things that are the result of culture creep, sometimes the final product goes a bit awry. For centuries, the Swiss version of the Christmas saint was, of course, St. Nicholas, and he looked something like this:

 A kindly looking gentleman in the tradition of Father Christmas, yes?

But then along came 'Santa', and I'm not sure if the steeply sloped roofs of the Vaudois houses prevents the reindeer from landing atop the tiles, or if the chimneys are too crooked, but Santa has a whole different modus operandi in modern Switzerland. I present to you, B & E Santa!

As you can see, Santa has no reindeer, no sleigh, but has developed a system of ropes, pulleys and ladders that are somehow in tune with the Alpinist dear to the Swiss' heart. Although there are no reindeer or elves, Santa mysteriously has cloned himself for the Swiss portion of his global gift giving journey and has been seen working in teams.

 Swiss Santa is so brazen that even shops open for business are no deterrent to his B&E antics:

                                                

Most troubling of all is Swiss Santa's seeming propensity for taking advantage of his new method of entry...the Peeping Santa:

Puts a whole new twist on 'He sees you when you're sleeping' doesn't it?

But all occupations have hazards and unfortunately, even Santa is not immune to the known dangers Alpine climbing:

 

When the snows have melted, and spring is blooming in the alps (meadows) the Swiss will rescue the corpses of last Christmas Eve and pray that Santa will be more careful next year.

Happy New Year's Eve everyone....I'll try and post tomorrow with some hangover cures and perhaps a resolution or two.

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Well this seems appropriate...and when you don't know what to listen to, there's always Steely Dan.

HOME AT LAST!

I made it everyone! Merry Christmas and may your Christmas be as happy and as filled with joy as my heart is right now! Later  taters!

When you wish upon a star...

(or the very BEST Christmas present ever!)

Way back in September, when I first encountered the Schengen troll and realized I would have to spend some time here in the UK, I thought I'd be home for Christmas, no problem. As the weeks dragged into months, I'd given up even wishing for such a thing, thinking it would only make me miserable to dwell on something that just wasn't going to happen.So I made plans to have Christmas vicariously with the Big G, the Max, Matthew, Adam and the kittehs with the help of a webcam and video stuff and was pretty pleased with my state of mind. I wasn't coming apart at the seams, I didn't snivel everytime I heard a sappy Christmas carol or looked at all the Christmas decorations around Blackheath.

Last Friday, the Big G flew over for the weekend (as he has diligently been doing every single weekend since I got here) and we had our usual lovely, perfect time together. As he was leaving Sunday night, I was a little more anxious than usual, because it would be 10 whole days until I saw him next, so he could spend Christmas at home.But there was something in the air...and on the ground and the runways,a snowstorm had closed the Geneva airport! I was thrilled, it meant a couple more days with my man and a few less days of being without him.On Monday, we strolled around Mayfair in London, window shopping all the posh jewelry shops, high end galleries and tippling a few pints in a cozy pub watching the weather alternate from snow to sleet to rain.It was romantic and magical and I was so damned happy just have him for an extra day or two.

When he left the flat this morning, I vowed to suck it up and not be sad or whinge about anything, because I'd had those couple of extra days and I wasn't going to get all ungrateful on my own ass.I settled into some serious (or frivolous) web surfing and when the phone rang a few hours later I knew it was the Big G letting me know he got home okay.But...(it gets better...sooooooooo much better) what he really had to tell me was a letter had arrived from the canton ( the local authority in Switzerland) stating that since we are going to be married in January, I can go stay with him (er...go home, but shhhhh) while awaiting my visa application to be processed.What does this all mean? It means I'm getting on a plane on Christmas Eve and going home! It is possible that the Schengen troll may have some issue with this, but as I now have a piece of paper from the government saying I can go to Switzerland, I think I can whack him over the head with it until he crawls back under his bridge. And what kind of heartless meanie would turn me back at the Geneva airport on Christmas Eve, with my fiance waiting in arrivals for me? Hopefully no kind at all. Somehow, someway, back in the early crisp autumn nights walking down Lee Park Road, I wished on the right star...I guess miracles need some time to be created.

.... I'll be posting from Switzerland next time!

Obligatory Seasonal Post

To make up for yesterday's heartwrenching, tear inducing post, I give you this and it will make you smile, I promise!

Experience Mobile Mobile from James Théophane Jnr on Vimeo.

Beautiful, eh? 

 

Last Minutes with ODEN
There was a guy I used to work with who had the most amazing dog, Buddy, and it wasn't just that he only had three legs, it was Buddy's insatiable zest for life and laughter that always pierced through whatever cloud of ennui that I was surrounded by. When Buddy finally had to go, I know it broke Cory's heart and it was a few months before we were in touch and he told me. I hope this video doesn't make you unbearably sad, but I hope it makes you cry, because then you'll know you're human. For Cory and Buddy.
Last Minutes with ODEN from phos pictures on Vimeo.

  Blue Monster

So I've been in a bit of blue funk of late. It might have something to do with the fact that it's pitch dark by 4 pm here in London (I'm beginning to think that London is actually further north than Edmonton latitudinally), that is, if the sun even makes an appearance from behind the clouds. Or it might be the impending season of jollity, joy, shopping and Santa that has me feeling like I should just stay in bed with the covers over my head. Not that I've been doing that. *ahem* The Cannonball Read II ? Oh, I've been reading up a storm, but since I don't have the gumption to fill out even a passport application these days, a review is, quite simply, beyond me.

In fact, I've been into 'that London' a few times in the last week or so.A friend of a friend came over for a week long visit and we met up, trudged around in the rain, went out to eat at the fabulously strange Hungarian restaurant in Soho and....went to see Cat Stevens/Yusuf Islam!! It was sublime, he played so many of his old tunes (and some new ones, of course) and the Royal Albert Hall is most likely the most perfect concert venue in the world.

I'm getting some of my Xmas shopping done, little by little, although I will have to start sending it back with the Big G on Sunday nights now so that the presents will be under the tree in Switzerland.Last weekend I finally got CS4 and now I can start rebranding the Big G (minds out of the gutter y'all), although it's been a couple of years since I've done any serious graphic/design work and I'm predictably rusty. So what with that and the ongoing effort to improve my French I should be able to hand that blue monster a can of whuppass and cheer the fuck up.

Or I could just go back to bed....

He didn't play this last night, so I thought I'd track it down.

That is all.

Assfuckery & an Apology

Just a quick heads up to most of the blogs and the wonderful bloggers I follow, some of you use Blogger style sheets..er..templates that have the comments embedded instead of a pop-up window. This is not a bad thing, your pages look nice and read smooth. But the assfuckery that is html and browser compliance and all kinds of geek talk you don't want me to ramble on about has me losing my mind some days.There is never a day when I can post a comment using Firefox (my favorite browser ever), some days (but not today) I can post comments using Safari and some days (like today) I can't post any comments on all your wonderfulness at all. Which makes me frustrated and angry and growly...grrrrrrrrrrr.

So, just so you know I'm reading you and thinking about you and  desperately want to comment, you'll have to make do with these:

The Lunch Hour: Happy Anniversary you two! And you know, it's the little shit that counts. I love that he washed the sheets...there's so much lovin', lustin' and all round sweetness in that one act of goodness.

Xtremely Ragey: Tall you say? Like how tall? I'm the shortest one in my family at 5'10".You don't scare me ya ole busted up, cement head nerd. I know you're a teddy bear and do all kinds of sweet things for your loved ones. 

Everyone is Entitled to my Opinion: Me and Deist had a pity party and you weren't invited! So there! Seriously, you are awesome and your awardees are equally full of awesome bloggy goodness!

Now so long as GP and Spender don't post some do-not-miss-blog-must-read today, perhaps the wicked goblins that reside in my browsers will go back to sleep so I can comment again tomorrow.

A Fairy Tale

I don't usually post things that are personal in nature, you know, the stuff about my relationships, or my family. But now that there are a few people who might occasionally read this crap, I wonder if they are confused at some of my posts that refer to my exile, etc. So I thought I it might be time to tell you a little about my situation, as it were. And it's a pretty good story, romance,star crossed lovers, mean, faceless government officials, rude, over officious Germanic (was that redundant?) immigration employees, a little house built of sweetness and bread and history and full of kittehs...yep this a grand story. So here we go, snuggle down in your bedding and lays your little heads on the pillows...

Once upon a time, in the middle of the cold, snow blown Canadian Prairies, there lived a girl (Brite) who had a couple of brothers (their names don't matter, they are totally superfluous to this story...and they don't read this blog).One of Brite's brothers had the most fabulous friend; a tall, skinny and brilliant boy who also happened to secretly be a prince of purest heart (in fact it was so secret, I'm not sure he knows his true self even now).The heretofore unnamed brother (ok..his name is Jamie) and his prince of a friend, the future Big G, let Brite hang around and occasionally drove her to the Big City (Winnipeg) to watch Monty Python on Friday nights, where much laughter ensued.But lo...it was the 70's my children...the decade of me, me, ME and Brite was far too busy indulging in all that 'me-ness' to realize that the love of her life was right there.

And so, the 70's turned to the 80's; Big G moved far away and Brite languished in the deep, wet forests on the Wet Coast.And the 80's dwindled into the 90's and a whole new millenium began. Brite had wearied of the endless drip drip drip on the mosses of the forest floor and moved herself and her young cub (the Max) back to the tundra.One sunny day, less than a decade into this new era (you know, a couple of years ago) the Big G sent an email (because the interwebs had finally been invented) and showed up on Brite's doorstep forthwith.But the Big G lived in far off Switzerland, land of chocolate, mountains, cows and cheese and had to return to his kingdom.The interwebs (bless its little soul) allowed the geographically challenged lovers to pledge their troths (er...you know...send sappy love letters back and forth and chat aimlessly while supposedly at work) until Brite could stand it no more and packed up the Max, the kittehs and all her worldy belongings and moved to the Big G's domain, Switzerland, albeit not entirely with a visa or permission or all that bureaucratic crap.And it shouldn't have been a problem...but there was this witch...a fairy tale always has to have a witch.I will not dwell on this witch and all her evil ways, except to say that her prevaricating, procrastinating ways prevented (oooooh alliteration) Big G from being free to marry the fair (albeit middle aged at this point) Brite.And as long as they remained in the wonderful land of chocolate and cows this posed no problems.

So the Big G and Brite bought a little house, a former bakery with its very own grange in the backyard, roses, a cave (wine cellar) to stock and roaming room for the kittehs.It was such a perfect home that one day, a beautiful and most forward kitteh decided she would live there.The Max attended school and Big G and Brite were ever so happy.But it was the summer of 2009 and the call of their homeland could not be ignored.There were festivals to attend, people to see and lakes to be dunked in.But returning to Canada was perilous, not only because we were flying in an Airbus, but most importantly because the Swiss had changed the rules in the past year.Suddenly Brite was no longer allowed to return to her happy home( a little more alliteration), because of an evil troll called Schengen .Schengen said that Brite was persona non grata, not welcome, fuck off and cancelled her visa application that had been grinding its way through the Swiss bureaucracy for 2 !!! freakin years (oh I'm sorry...shouldn't swear around the kiddies).Luckily, the troll Schengen did not notice the Max and he returned to the land of cows and cheese and continued his education.

Brite stood on the Dover shore, watching the ferry sail off to schengenland, bitter tears coursing down her progressively wrinkling face. Exiled,with nowhere else to go, she turned north and found a flat in twee ole Blackheath. The Big G makes the journey every weekend to soothe and reassure Brite of his love and faithfulness and over tasty meals in fashionable eateries they have 'the visa discussion' until they are weary.But there are good things to come...a wedding (at last) in January and perhaps the troll schengen will be appeased with a document that says Brite and Big G are legally bound to one another.I am convinced there will be a happy ending to this tale...but it may take some time yet. G'night chilluns...sleep tight.

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So the Big G has gone home to Switz...and I'm here, looking out from my lonely room.(until he's back again on Friday ...yaaay!)

Look what they've done to my art, Ma...

The horror...the HORROR! The National Gallery in London has ripped out my heart, macerated it ruthlessly and spit the shreds out onto the wet pavement of Trafalgar Square. But worse than that, they have destroyed, utterly, irreparably destroyed countless works of art.Why, why would the national conservators of such treasures perpetrate these heinous crimes on the beautiful Botticelli's, Raphael's and countless other masterpieces? All in the name of 'restoration'. But these paintings have not been restored, they have been bleached, blanched and cleansed of countless, painstakingly applied( by the original artists), layers of varnish that just so happened to have collected a lot of dirt of the years. So let's just throw out the baby with the freakin' bath water in the name of cleanliness and a 'modern day asthetic'.These 'restored' paintings are but a white shade of the glory of the originals acheived by the great masters of art.

Oh, oh! I am so aggrieved! As a teen, I spent weeks roaming these galleries,studying, absorbing and imprinting these images on the core of my visual memory. I loved,with all my soul, some of these masterworks of the Early and mid Renaissance.Today,as I started to stroll through the galleries, my initial shock and disbelief soon turned to nausea.After merely an hour (when once I spent entire days at the NG) I fled to stand in Trafalgar Square, smoking a cigarette and choking back tears of anger and despair.

Restoration/conservation has always been a controversial topic in the art world; for the National Gallery, the debate goes back to the 1840's when it's most virulent critic J. Morris Moore wrote scathing letters to The Times under the pseudonym, Verax.More recently Harper magazine published a withering review of modern restorations in the August 2005 issue entitled 'Inglorious Restorations'.

 

(photo from Harpers August 2005) 

I have also had mixed feelings about restoration in principal and in experience. I followed the 10 year (1984-1994) saga of the restoration of the Sistine Chapel closely, and although I reserve judgment until I see the final product with my own eyes and compare it to my earlier viewing in the late 1970's, overall I feel the team managed to 'clean' the frescoes and yet still retain some of the original varnishes.As I wandered through the Louvre in Paris last spring, I had the same feeling of disquiet as I did today in London; paintings I had studied all my life and had nearly prostrated myself in front of in the 1980's, were now eerily bright, white and almost cartoon like in their lack of depth and shadow.But the French restorers were more subtle and light handed than their English counterparts, preferring to peer through countless layers of dirt to capture a master's brushstroke.The Italians fall somewhere between the two, depending on the restorer and conservator in chief.But the Brits have done something vile...in fact it is criminal.In fifty years art historians (backed by the anguished cries of today's critics) will posthumously call for the evisceration and flaying of the fools responsible for the destruction of the finest paintings ever produced by the human species.

And it cannot be undone.We no longer know how to create those delicately flavoured lacquers (ask any luthier or violin expert about this), much less how to apply them as Raphael and Michelangelo did. In the pursuit of 'the original masterpiece', struggling with the knowledge that much of the wonderous detail of the works was obscured by centuries of dirt, the conservators of the National Gallery collection had the temerity and the misplaced confidence in 'science' to CLEAN masterpieces, remove the dirt even if it meant removing the artists' original brushstrokes.

I am sick at heart over this, I cannot return the those galleries I loved and knew so well.I will spend my time at the NG in the Impressionist galleries...for the conservators haven't fucked with them....yet.

Track Back

Yesterday over at Pajiba, they had a comment diversion that revolved around what movies took you back to your childhood.So I got to thinking about what songs take me back to that place of small chairs, big people and not being able to see what was on the back of the counter. I'm talking early childhood here, like before you were 8.  

When I was but a slip of a girl, I absolutely adored this song. I swear I had visions of being freed of family trappings, happily living in some 8x12 four bit room (although I probably didn't know what 4 bit meant) and thought that 2 hours of 'pushin' broom' didn't seem like such a bad deal if that meant you were King of the Road. I swear, all my wandering ways are the fault of Roger Miller.

So fess up...what song takes you waaaaaaaaaay back?

Knobbly Bits

The Big G lived in the UK for some years before moving to Switzerland and he has said, with some affection,"The Brits are a nation of eccentrics." I prefer to think of all those little quirks and tics as 'knobbly bits', much like the tactile paving that is used to facilitate the blind on almost every street corner (I might add that they make navigating in heels a challenge).

So during my exile sojourn here,whenever I run across something that is British in that peculiar way, I say 'knobbly bits' to myself (and invariably giggle out loud).The London Review of Books is a bimonthly publication with well written reviews, interesting editorials and completely 'knobbly' classified personal ads.For your consideration:

 

Okay. I can actually see some logic in this. But then there's this:

  

A bit knobbly, I'd say. But the KBOTD (knobbly bit of the day)Award goes to this submitter:

  

Very knobbly indeed.

Track Back

Cuz, it's ya know...Tuesday.

(and I haven't posted a track back in ages)

CBRII: Farewell to the East End by Jennifer Worth

As I am currently staying close to the East End of London and spending some time wandering around this area, the title of this book on display grabbed my eye. It is a wonderful memoir of a nurse/midwife who took her early training at a religious house of nursing nuns, in Poplar, East London in the early 1950's.The book is formatted into short stories of life in the Docklands of that time (and some that go back to the early 30's as well) and are a rich eyewitness account of what was a rather grim life in that impoverished and bombed out district of London.The author switches from true memoir to narrative story, weaving characters and plot with historical background and midwifery technique.Be warned, midwives like to talk about vaginas, placentas,umbilical cords and other womanly bits in a frank and open manner.A glossary is provided for medical terms at the back.

The first few stories of the book introduce the author and her fellow midwives,the nuns of the order and the women of the district, many of whom had too many children and never enough money. Tales of the harrowing birth of triplets in a dark,cold shell of a building; the death of a newborn; the sad reality of infanticide,backstreet abortions and illegitimate birth (during a time when this was a fate worse than death itself), told through the eyes of the midwives.As the book progresses, the personalities of the midwives and nuns fill out, the world of Cockney culture and the grey, run down streets and tenements of East London and the colorful characters that lived there come to life.And oh! what characters, I was particularly fond of the elderly Sister Monica Joan, a refined but rebellious, recalcitrant nun that behaved in ways most un-nun like.The sisters MegandMave, the desperate Hilda and Bill Harding and the intriguing Captain's Daughter are not fictional and the author lets us into their lives with humour and without judgement.

The life of a nurse/midwife was not all babies and births.Before the days of the NHS, a nurse/midwife was the first, and often only, stop on the road to medical care.Nursing also included looking after long term patients, doing daily injections of the 'new' drug insulin for diabetics and occasionally mending injuries for those that refused to go to hospital.Despite the bleakness of the area, a crumbling shell of a once vibrant, albeit historically impoverished, community, these memoirs reveal the resilience and humour of the people who lived there.

I found this book to be a good, light read and may be inclined to venture back into the long gone world of London's East End in her other book Call the Midwife.

Cannonball Read II Preempted

So I know you're all waiting with bated breath for my first review, a curious little book called 'Farewell East End' by Jennifer Worth, but I got sidetracked this weekend into re- reading 'Measure For Measure' (which doesn't qualify as a novel) so that I can help out the Max with his IB English program.I haven't read this play since a very intensive English Lit course in university, and as always with the Bard, I'm struck by how the themes of his plays (and poetry) ring as true today as they did 400 years ago.

'Measure For Measure' is ostensibly a comedy, but there is little in the meat of the play itself that is amusing.Power, corruption, law vs. morality, cultural mores vs. individual circumstance...you could pluck out the names of Antonio, Isabel, The Duke and supplant them with any number of people who make headlines today.

At any rate, I promise to return tomorrow with my first CBII review.

"Yet (by your gracious patience)
I will a round unvarnish'd tale deliver"