Summah and Long Runs.

Today, for about 30 minutes, I went without a jacket. This is very exciting. For, you see, that means it is soon to be summer. And in summer, you can be without a jacket for maybe an hour. And sometimes, maybe sometimes, you can be without a jacket for TWO hours.

I went to ice cream. Because when it's 60 degrees out, it's ice cream weather. I got two scoops and a waffle cone. It was from G&D, which is like Amy's in Texas, all home made. It's not as good as Amy's (as nothing from home ever is as good as when you are technically not home), but it's close enough and excellent quality. They also make bagel sandwiches, which is nice, as I miss my bagels from my proper bagel shop.

I noticed today people were literally traveling across the parks with the sun. If the sun moved, so did they, quietly packing and moving their blankets like little sun dials all around Oxford. Myself, I'm still shopping picnic gear. With some events and visitors on the way I figure we must be proper English people and picnic. Preferably after pushing ourselves around on a punt all day. Or, at least, making my younger brother push us around. I believe that is the entire point of having younger siblings.

In other news, I am going to queue for the London Marathon. I've run numerous halvsies, and will run at least one halvsie this year (though I want to run two). Surely this to is one of the stupidest things I've ever done, but I've been at the halvsie game long enough that I should mark a marathon, before happily returning to halvsies until without any rhyme or reason, signing up for another marathon. Preferrably in Antartica. We'll see if London takes me, I hear it can be tough, but I'm sure I will run for charity, which should make it slightly easier.

This all sort of wraps itself around and back to summer due to the fact that in the interviews after the finish people were complaining it was too hot. It is those people I feel need to be given entry into the DisneyWorld Marathon, which can either end at 40 degrees, or somewhere closer to 90. It's like the seesaw of races, as it takes place in this incredibly odd transition point where, for no known reason, a bout of winter hits. Thing is, you don't know if it will hit that week, or the week after. It's a toss up. It's the only race where I pack both winter and summer running clothes. No joke. I think everyone needs the experience of going 40 to 90 or the other direction, once in their life.

There is also the Dubai Marathon, but I digress.

The short of it is as thus - today was another lovely day in Oxford and I'm foolishly going to attempt to run in the London Marathon next year. And that, as they say, is that.

Not following a pattern.

I'm getting sick. This stinks. I was told that within my first year I will end up ill a lot, all those "British Germs" invading my system. But what they didn't tell me was this whole new pattern of illness thing.

I've been ill once before and it didn't follow the same pattern as this one, which is a sore throat and weird light-headed feelings. In the states I would have it the other way around. Before this I just got really sleepy and then sneezy. It's if my body is going, "Okay, this is not a good thing. I'm ill, but this is not something I've experienced before so I'll switch around all the feelings I normally get until something stands out as familiar. Err go, I start reaching for meds."

Or something like that, I really shouldn't be writing, feeling as I do.

I could get into the whole doctor thing here, which I'm immensely grateful to shove part of my paycheck to knowing I can see someone - but - for some reason people in the UK are less apt to medicate. I've argued in the past with colleagues, obviously ill, who will swear up and down that a bit of aspirin will do them fine. Like they WANT to feel the pain. I recall specifically one colleague who insisted on taking only half a set of over-the-counter meds because we were traveling. It amuses me greatly. Outside of that I was purchasing honey in droves.

Anyways, I'm just a bit miffed because of this, as there is that since that comes now and then of being 'foreign.' Just when I've figured something out or felt a bit more British (I did postage today and learned all about weight and mailing types) I get something strange knocked at me, like weird illness.

Okay, to bed with me.

Weather.

I shouldn't ever complain about English weather. I have no right to. When coming from two of three states where you have two seasons: Summer and Not Summer, actually experiencing seasonal change should be relished.

On Thursday walking to an early pub lunch one of my colleagues bemoaned the weather. "Oh, it's that might-rain weather. I hate that." I, of course, can think of the anywhere from 3-7pm daily shower and rain so hard you can't see an inch in front of you. "This isn't bad! I had to work the DAY after a hurricane at a water park, that was bad." And I lived 10 days without power, and I resided in a flooded city, and... and... and...

England has some rough winds and overcast days that stretch on a bit longer than they should. But, then again, they are an island. They have snow sometimes, and rarely but occasionally, warm sunny days. I did notice not too long ago that I was becoming paler than normal, and that the area where my running top used to leave light tan lines is gone. I recall mentioning to my best friend how his hair seemed darker. It was never darker, he said, he just doesn't get much in the way of sun when he goes out.

But you can go out without first not checking if this is an 'Ozone Warning' day. For those not in the know, an 'Ozone Warning' means that there is a pretty good chance that if you were to die of heat exhaustion, or fancy that opportunity, now is your chance to take it. There is also that whole knowledge that you can go out in England at nearly any time, where in my home states, if the sun is up then you may need to think about it. You also may want to consider the purchase of a vat of DEET, which is the substance you bathe in in order to ward off the numerous flying insects. (Did I mention Oxford has a lot of birds? I really like them because they eat the bugs, thank you.) I've had a few bee problems here, but that is because they were wandering around flowers, which bloom here, rather than wither and die.

What this all really points to is that for the past two days I've been grumbling about the weather. The almost-rain and windy weather. I've had to keep my winter jacket out, and realized that the pictures I've been posting feature this jacket almost exclusively. But nonetheless, I went out. I wandered about. I didn't have to hose myself with sunscreen and DEET and make sure my water was near and that the Ozone Warning would fry me to pieces. So I will take almost-rain thank you. And cold, and windy. Yes, I will take it and I will relish it.

Hooray for the British / European Holiday System.

Chalk up another reason why I may never move home again: HOLIDAYS.

In the US there really aren't any holiday laws. By all account you are able, should you wish to sign up for it, to work every single day of your life until you die. There are no laws stating you should get time off. Though, when you do, HR makes a fuss over the fact that you are using it.

Of course I believe that this has eventually lead to the "use it or lose it" policy. In which you, as a person who is made to feel horrible requesting vacation, must take vacation or it will disappear. This sort of rule came into effect after people, realizing that they would be subject to guilting if they took vacation, horded hours (which is money technically owed to you). Then, when they left the company the company would have to cough up months of vacation never taken. I recall a professor at my former school was owed a years pay on top of his retirement when he left. I had never thought I had seen a man so happy he messed with the system.

Fact is, on holiday Europe has it right. People need time off. People need to be able to go places, or go nowhere. In short, people need to live. In the US it's all about work. Work, and apparently, accumulating debt. Here I have never been so happy to join in Friday pub sessions and realize that I could plan long weekends driving/busing/walking around England and exploring because I could, no guilt needed.

My brother will be making his first trip to Europe in June, and I can take time off to wheel him about. In the US, having been on the job less than six months I would've had to beg for a long weekend. It's so great I can't even describe it. I think it should be mandatory everywhere. While now I'm happily on a government sanctioned holiday (4 days! Woo!) I know that in a short while I'll have about two weeks where I can watch my brother be surprised and shocked and awed and everything with the UK.

And that is just wonderful by me. :)

British Shopping.

So they say that the British are all about queuing. That if you stick them in a neat little line they will stand there, obviously miffed about it, but enduring it. The queue is, after all, the English way.

Put them in a supermarket, or shopping mall, or anywhere else that people have to go to purchase things, it's mass pandemonium.

This is most obvious in the supermarket. Mostly because, unlike in the US where we have large and well spaced aisles, you are looking at a store the size of most US living rooms. Within that you have the aisle listings, often found in strange places, and often listing things you don't actually want. I have run across the 'Canned Fish' aisle, for instance. So what you do instead is roam the aisles, looking at each shelf for whatever they might have, and often doubling back because you later find out that the canned fish is right next to the rice, which last week was next to the bread but they aren't carrying that much bread, so they put chocolate there.

If we were to place English markets in the land of Buddhism, then we would be looking at change and change acceptance at it's highest level. Nothing is constant in the super market, and if you accept this, you are a far better shopper than most.

The other shopping experiences are what I would refer to as 'flocking.' You go into a mega store, ex. Primark - land of stupid cheap clothing, and you go to a rack. It could have the most horrific neon yellow belts with orange and puke stripped bags, but go there, and just look as if you are mildly interested. Within moments you are flocked to by shoppers, who obviously are drawn to your mild interest, who then push their way in front of you and grab and snatch at these items solely because they are there. Moments later, as you wander towards the exit, you will see those items deposited randomly on top of a pile of riffled through but decent shirts. It's the way of shopping in England.

Outside of, of course, the closet store.

The closet store comprises the majority of all independent shops in England. This, of course, is actually quite fun if you are in the mood for it. Usually you have to shove your way in and are greeted by 15 other people, who have been trapped there since who knows when, and a cashier at the till, who carries the greatest amount of space behind him or her. It's best to know what you are coming in for, because if you don't know then you will be there for days on end. This is because only the cashier knows where things are. They are the keeper of knowledge. So, unless you really just want to browse and find a full tea set under a stack of newspapers, go in with knowledge of your end game. And best of luck in getting back out. Oh, and by the way, mind the step, because all these shops have steps, either up or down or both ways, because that is the rule.

I suppose I wouldn't consider this a ranting, just sort of a catalogging of my shopping experiences so far whilst here. When you come from mega huge store land, like I do, it's an adjustment. I'm getting the hang of it. Now, if you don't mind me I need to go to TopShop. There are some things other people are looking at which I need to look at too, right now, and I hope there is stairs.