Today is an office day for me, which means that I drag myself out from underneath nice warm blankets and trudge to the office. Our new office space is close enough for me to walk or take one bus. However, bus routes aren't direct and if I'm honest and not lazy, I can walk to the office in about the same amount of time I would spend on the bus. I do try to walk, unless its dropping buckets of rain. Today the sun was shining.
And the wind was blowing. The temperatures are in single digits (low 40s in Fahrenheit) and I'm glad I bundled in layers. The walk is 1.3 miles, and generally takes me half an hour. Today, I was walking into the wind. I literally had to lean forward to take a step at times.
I do wish I could take little instant videos of what I see and share them with you as snapshots along these streets. You could see the Pakistani men calling out their morning greetings to each other as they open their little shops. You might notice the tiny white haired English lady taking her morning constitutional with her Yorkie, who is bundled up against the cold with his own little sweater. You could see the ladies from many countries in hijab walking with their trolleys as they go to get the groceries for their families. There's Rastafarian on his too small bicycle singing at the top of his lungs for all the world to hear. Even the shops tell a story of the area, with a Nigerian "mama-put" take away restaurant, the Cypriana (Greek) restaurant not far from the Russian and Eastern European grocery store, and then of course you have several places with Lahore in the title and Habibi cafe, or Desert Rose cafe all mixed in between the much older pubs. The one in my area is from the 1850's.
As I approach my last two months of living here, I know it has been a privilege. I feel content that my departure is the right decision, but I have loved living here (most days!).
Even as I write nostalgically about my last three years, I have to laugh about the things that drive me a little batty about England. I am continually amazed by the lack of customer service.
I'm currently in the midst of trying to sort out some missing deliveries. I ordered a few things online and the tracking service says they were delivered. I don't have them. Sometimes packages are left with our neighbors. They don't have them. There are two other roads with similar names...I'm guessing they were left at the wrong number 8. This results in a call to Customer Service, because calls get a faster response than an email. Customer service numbers are not free here. You pay to call to complain! Perhaps that is their way of making certain that they have a low number of complaints :) Oh and for my phone plan, I also pay to check my voicemail. Which means, I pay to call Customer Service and if they need to call me back, and miss me, I then have to pay to hear the message they leave, and then pay to call them back!
Yesterday, I had another such moment. I have worn my favorite boots down to the barest of soles. Last week, I took them to a local cobbler. They have a notice posted that there is a discount for paying in advance. I paid in advance with no discount given. The discount should have been £2.50. Is it worth raising a question over this? I decided not. Maybe I'll say something when I come to collect the boots.
They said they would be ready by Friday, but I couldn't get there for Friday or Saturday. Yesterday, I walked to the shop, which is a good thirty minutes walk away. I hand the man my ticket. "What kind of shoes?" "Black leather boots." He tried to hand me black leather ballet flats about five sizes too big for me. "No, they are knee high boots." He looked around some more. "They must still be with the repair man. I'll call. Come back later this afternoon."
I just looked at him. "No, I can't come back later today. I came here just to collect these and I was told they would be ready Friday."
He went to the back room and returned with a second man. Man 2 looked around the same, single shelf. He tried to offer me the same black leather ballet flats. "No, they are boots. Knee high boots."
Man 2 left and returned with Man 3. (By this point, Man 1 is on the phone and looks like he can't believe I'm actually making them look for my boots. Thankfully, he's speaking a different language, so I at least don't know what he's saying about me.) Man 3 came around to the front of the store and pulled out a bag with *sigh of relief* my black leather boots. He looked at me with a slightly injured look. "They were ready for you on Friday."
£2.50 is so not worth this. At this point, I'm just glad to have my boots back.
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