One Day Off

I really enjoy meeting strangers in the street (except of course when they steal my laptop).

The other day I spoke to a couple of people. The first was an elderly man who sat beside me on the bus and proceeded to make conversation. The only problem was, though he was speaking English, I really only understood every fifth word or so. Looking back on the conversation I'm not exactly sure what it was all about. I'd throw him a "mmm hmm" and a gentle laugh in response. At one point he told me how something got its name, but I'd be hard pressed to figure out what the name was, let alone how it got that name. His accent was of a thick regional dialect. He smiled the whole time and left beaming. I hope he wasn't making fun of me.

The second stranger was a man from South Africa. He tapped my shoulder coming out of the library and indicated he needed some help copying a paper. I brought him back into the library and copied the pages for him. Identification papers I believe. I'll give whatever help I can to foreigners because I can sympathise with how challenging it can be for a person whose not an English speaker.

I had planned (or rather not planned anything) on just relaxing for my day off, but in the middle of the afternoon, Tom, one of my supervisors, called me up to know if I wanted to go for wings with him and his housemate. I was flattered and decided to take him up on it. Tom also happens to be my neighbour. His house is managed by the same landlord.

It turns out we were headed to the only Hooters in Britain, which just so happens to be in Nottingham. I was intrigued by the novelty of it. I had previously only been to the Winnipeg location. The wings were quite good. All-you-can-eat for seven quid. We also ordered some massive ciders to wash it down. I ate more than my fill and we headed off across Trent Bridge (by cab) to a pub. We were the only ones there along with some of their mates. We played some pool, and some "Deal Or No Deal?" (the British version of the show is much better than the American one by the way). I talked to a Canadian for while. He's been here sixteen years, and started out here the same way I did. He originally came from Ottawa.

After the barmaid rang the bell, we finished up our beers and headed over to the Southbank, another pub near the Nottingham Forest (Football Club) grounds. Pictures of Brian Clough adorned the walls, and Adam, Tom's housemate (not to be confused with Adam from Derby), told me all about his love for Forest, (which I know disgusts Adam of Derby, a Derby County F.C. fan, especially that a Forest fan shares his name). He also works at a local bar/restaurant and meets with Forest entourage all of the time.

At the next place we went, we met up with Gary Fleming and his wife, currently the physio guy for Forest, formerly a player for Manchester City in the 70s and 80s. Of course I didn't really know who he was, but I was told that he's a big name around here. Adam seems to know him and his wife quite well.

Another cab ride took us to a club called Tantra, where the entertainment was provided by a college age guy singing and playing guitar to various current and 90s British classics. It's amazing how little it takes to get a roomful of Brits to sing along to Oasis songs, especially when they've had a few pints. I'd be lying if I said I didn't join in. Tom and Adam were impressed that I knew all of the words. Tom gave the singer a number for one of our managers to try and set him up to play at the restaurant. We headed home after that. Time flies. I didn't get to bed until 3:00 am. That's the great thing about not starting work until 10:00 am though.

So now I'm buckling up for the next three weeks, which promise to be tiring yet rewarding. Christmas parties will abound and my new position at the larder filling live orders will be unlike anything I've experienced. Perhaps some holidaymaking in January will offset the working in December.

Cheers.

Banking Those Hours

The kitchen police have come to town with their white gloves and clipboards.

Well last night was "zombie night" at the restaurant. Once a month the kitchen staff have the duty of scrubbing the kitchen so that it is spotless. Each person is given a section to do and we try our best to get it done as thoroughly and quickly as possible. The restaurant is open during the whole ordeal so most of the cleaning is done after the orders stop around 10:00 or so. This made for a very long 14.5 hour day finishing around 2:30 in the morning. Luckily, I have today and tomorrow off. I didn't have to be there this morning when the London bigwigs came in to inspect the place and issue a grade. I'll find out how we did on Thursday.

The people I work with seem to come from many different places. Though most of the staff are British, there are people from Poland, France, Iran, and Swaziland in their employ. It's been a challenge for me to learn how things work. I can't imagine how difficult it is for people with English as a second language. Despite the slight differences in nomenclature and pronunciation there isn't much of a language barrier for me. They do find it funny how I pronounce "shallots" though.

Most of the "foreigners" in the kitchen are from Poland, the result of their recent joining with the European Union. Blair's government, who projected that some 20,000 Poles would come to Britain to do the jobs that Brits didn't want to do for less pay, has come under fire from the natives who have become angry that about 600,000 ended up coming in. You can almost hear them yelling, "They took our jobs!"

I've gotten to know a couple of the Poles I work with, one who speaks English very well and another, who I mentioned in my previous post, knows very few words, and relies on gestures, whooshing sounds, and his fellow Pole for translation. I sat down after a shift with him to enjoy my complimentary post-work drink, and we spoke to each other as best we could. It was a great experience for me and no doubt a preview of travels to foreign countries. He told me about Poland and I told him about Canada. Our best form of communicating seemed to be drawing on napkins: maps, objects, currency conversions, etc. When speaking one has to choose words carefully and keep things as simple as possible.

So I'm gradually getting used to the job. Being prep chef can be quite relaxing actually, as I can go about my thing, cutting parsnips or making onion marmelade, while orders are coming in and the other cooks are scrambling to get them out. The only live orders I have to fill are desserts. Once I've mastered that I'm sure they will call on me to step into a new position, but the stress that I see on the horizon does not entice me. The gain in skill does however. A tough choice.

When I do get time off I like to make the most of it. On Saturday night I went to Derby to join Adam and his friends for a birthday supper. It was nice to meet some more of his friends. A crazy bunch they are too. We all headed into the city after the meal to find a place to hang out but most places were too crowded and loud. I grabbed the 12:30 bus back to Nottingham and got some rest for work the next day.

So work work work for now. With the number of hours I'll be getting, especially as the holidays approach, I should be able to save up enough to do some travelling in the next couple of months.

Cheers.

Found A Job

Or maybe the job found me.

Well the job lead that Jacky gave me turned out to be a good one. I got a call late Saturday afternoon from the posh restaurant/bar in the Lace Market area, asking if I would be interested in coming in for a 6:00 trial shift. After waiting for callbacks on jobs for a week, I was in no position to say no. So I headed down there, got the quick tour and then dove in head first. The job title was kitchen porter, which is a euphemism for dishwasher and general lackey. I was working with a Polish guy who spoke very little English. So not only was there a language barrier, but I had to learn the names of things and where they went during the busiest night of the week. It was quite an experience. The time actually went by very quickly and in the end, the general manager and chef decided that I was prep chef material.

So I started yesterday as prep chef, learning as the chef put it "not just knife skills but life skills." Things were pretty easy-going on a Tuesday afternoon. I made some risotto, Thai curry base, onion puree, and some lovely dessert dishes. There will be more of that kind of thing today. I work between thirty and forty hours this week, so it will make up for the lack of work in the last couple weeks. Of course now that I have a job, the job offers are coming in, just as I had suspected.

I went to the Museum of Nottingham Life the other day, which is free for library card holders on weekdays (as is Nottingham Castle). There was a fascinating portion about the air raid shelters during the War. Nottingham is a city of caves. There is an extensive network of caves beneath the sandstone cliffs of Castle Rock. This museum, a collection of cottages in the Brewhouse Yard area, is at the base of Castle Rock (next to Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem Inn). During World War II, or perhaps before, the dwellers of these cottages, broke open their back walls and extended their space into the existing caves in the rock. The caves themselves are very old, perhaps dating back to the days of the Anglo-Saxon tribal leader Snot. The caves I saw at this museum are only a small portion of this larger network. I look forward to further exploring this in future excursions. Much like Moose Jaw and its tunnels, Nottingham has turned the Caves of Nottingham into a tourist attraction.

My experience of the air raid shelter was made more intriguing by earlier conversations I had had with the Holmeses, about life during the War. Nottingham and Derby were both hit by Nazi bombs, and there was, across the country, efforts made to hide cities by blacking them out. People covered their windows with black cloth, all electric light was shut off. In some cases they built decoys for the Nazis to bomb. One example is the Rolls-Royce factory in Derby. Evidently it worked, as the factory is still in operation. The display also explained the different types of personal air raid shelters for households. The Anderson Shelter was the most common.

Exploring will be less frequent with this recent development on the emplyment front, but I'll make the most of it. I am looking forward to working in the kitchen though. Hard work though it may be, it sort of feels like I'm being paid to go to cooking school. Good gig.

Cheers.

Some Not So Good News

Nobody panic! Everything's under control.

Well I ran into my first major hardship. Earlier this week my laptop was stolen. I'm alright and I'm coming to accept it. The worst thing about it is that my Internet access is now limited to the libraries. Luckily much of my data is backed up, but there were some losses, including all of the pictures I've taken, save for the handful on my flickr account. And as you might guess, the other parts of this website won't be updated anytime soon.

The job hunt is slow but I'm getting my name out there. I saw an ad for a great job that would be ideal for me yesterday but it's in a town outside of the city and I'm not sure how easy it would be to commute every day. Of course I will apply nevertheless and see what happens.

Today I did some exploring in my local neighbourhood. There is a large windmill atop a hill a short distance from me. One of my housemates had informed me that it is now a museum and science centre, so I decided to take a stroll up there. There is a great little interpretive science centre for kids there and a short video told me all about George Green, the man who operated the mill in the 19th Century. What's most interesting about Mr. Green is that despite his very limited education (one year total), he was a brilliant mathematician, and published an essay that posthumously became well respected in the scientific community. The restoration of the mill has included bringing it back into flour production, and visitors are welcome to walk through it as it's working. The flour is sold in the centre. There is a great view of the city from the top levels. I then went down the hill to see George Green's grave in St. Stephen's churchyard, a spot that Einstein himself wanted to visit when he came to Nottingham, but ended up missing his train.

One of my housemates and I went out last night to see An Inconvenient Truth, Al Gore's climate change documentary. I feel I need to do my duty and encourage anyone who hasn't seen to see it. Many people have recommended it to me and I am happy to have finally seen it. If you don't get a chance to see it, then do me a favour and don't believe any "scientist" that claims that climate change is not the result of human activity. That simply isn't the case. George W. Bush, Stephen Harper, and Tony Blair are not scientists.

Well the journey continues.

Cheers.

Find a City (Find Myself a City to Live In)

Well, after a very brief search, I’ve found myself a place to live.

I returned to Nottingham for a second day of exploration and spoke to a few people about potential accommodations. I ended up looking at three different places, in three different areas of the city. It was nice to branch out into the boroughs of the ville.

The first place was in Radford, to the southwest of city centre. This neighbourhood was not the greatest, but it seemed to have most of what I would need. The flat was, I guess, typical. More like a university dorm than an apartment. There are common kitchen, living room and bathrooms and then locked bedrooms. There was an in-house washer/dryer, and there was also a laundry room in a common building, along with a recreation area (pool table, projection television, etc.) Well there were places for them at least. It all seemed to be under renovation. The total price of the place was £50 per week, all inclusive. (Paying by the week is a common thing here) Not bad. I was hoping the next one would override this though. The idea of living in a gated building complex somehow makes me feel less rather than more safe.

The second place turned out to be the one. It’s a Victorian rowhouse in a much nicer part of town with lots of character. There is a fish take out shop next door and all sorts of little shops along the street. It is a quick bus ride, and a fifteen minute walk northwestward to city centre. The room is quite big and furnished and goes for the same price as the previous flat. The three guys that are living there seemed really nice. They were busy playing FIFA on their X-Box. France vs. England, penalty shootout. Jacky, the manager, was most helpful. My foreign accent didn’t seem to deter her from allowing me to move in. In fact, when she found out I was also looking for a job, she gave me a lead, and actually called me back to tell me all the details. I followed up on it the other day. We shall wait and see if anything comes of it.

The third place I looked at was a walk-in walk-out kind of thing. Though the room was huge (with a bay window and window seat) and the price was considerably less, there was a funk to the place that was not desirable, namely stale carpet. This was in the Sherwood area, north of city centre. The street had the same kind of charm, perhaps mixed with a bit of North End of Winnipeg feel, which I’m fine with. But the house was a disappointment after seeing the previous one.

I’m quickly learning my way around central Nottingham. I must say it is growing on me. There is no shortage of places that I want to check out. There are myriad pubs, bars, take out places, and ethnic restaurants, like Indian, Japanese, Thai, and Chinese. Okay so you have to pay £14 if you want a sushi meal, but I’m happy enough that there is at least a place to get one. There are markets here and there, two big universities, and of course a millennium or more of history. And hey, when a place has a Hard Rock Café, it’s gotta be top drawer (said with much sarcasm of course).

So I moved into Notts today. This evening I’ll be settling in. Now I can spend all day trekking around without the two-hour roundtrip commute.

Cheers.