Holidays are comin', holidays are comin', whoohoo

Full moon, Oilean Fada.

Before I start, sincere apologies for not posting sooner. Blame Ray Cunningham and his stoopid computer game. And before that, blame some woman I met on the interweb and her even more stoopid computer game (at least Queenie can do some of the levels on Ray's game).

But I needed a few days of mindless, repetitive action, what with the complete overload of intellectual stimulation I have had in the last two weeks. So let's try to put childish games aside and fill you in on all that's been happening.



First of all WORK. Finally.

Yes, work, that thing I hated so much at home. As Columbo said in an email tonight, why would I want to be faffin' around on holidays for months on end, or something along those lines. As Colombo would say, 'quite'. Although I was very nervous heading into this as you all know. But I needn't have been. The initial reaction is lovely jubbley, as my brother used to say.

It's quite an unusual routine for me really. I go into work at least thirty minutes early every day, because I want to. I do stuff. They're all really happy with it. They tell me I'm great, which those of you who know me know is tiger balm to this girl. I do some more stuff. I go home at five on the dot. I don't think about it. 'Cept I do a bit, but in a nice way.

They've been so so so nice. I've been welcomed and chatted to like I'm an equal by everyone. All the representatives are great: really smart, really energetic, no bullshit, great sense of humour and fun. My crew, the ones I research for, are top notch, a pleasure to work for. The rest of them seem to be really on top of their game. The media is giving them a big love fest at the moment, particularly the head guy. Who has even taken time out a couple of times to come into my office and check I'm okay.

The rest of the staff all seem to be delighted I've come to work here. No jealousies, no standing against a thick wall to avoid knives in my back, no scenes, no tantrums (not even from me :-)!) The woman I replaced spent two weeks training me in so beautifully I was gagging for her to leave and let me at it. My only regret is she's leaving, because we agreed that we would have really liked to work together.

Today I did my first piece of proper work. I found an issue, researched it a little bit, wrote it up, sent it up the line. Got the go ahead, wrote a letter to the Minister. Sent it to the representative. He edited it. He was very amused that I had used the word tranche. The only other person he knew who had used it in his presence was Enda Kenny. Whom he worked with in Bosnia a few years ago. I pp-ed it and faxed it through. He rang me a few minutes later. After a few minutes of idle chit chat (Nova Scotians are great for the idle chit chat, never in a hurry, which is good), he said:

"I'm just checking, when I said sign it for me, you wrote your own name, didn't you, you didnt forge mine?"

"Yeah, yeah, I pp-ed it", I said.

Silence.

"You know, where you write pp and then your name and it means something in Latin about sending it for you?"

"Ohhhhhh, I thought you'd pee-peed on it."

Oh, the joys of being separated by nothing but a common language.

Sent it to the press goddesses, minus the word tranche and a few other bits he'd taken out (with repeated assurances that my work was great, just a bit long) and they did a little something with it. We'll see what happens. Being a little detached helps, I don't have the same need to have my ideas taken on board. However long that will last.

I suppose my main conclusion is that there's obviously a way to work with someone and take some of their ideas and not take others and still send them out the door at five o'clock with a spring in their step. Rather than a murderous heart. And I'm encountering it here and I am thriving under it.

Second of all, WEEKENDS, of which there have been two since I blogged last

I've had two great weekends, travelling out of Halifax to meet friends. Two weekends ago I went North East to River John, to meet Ian and Margaret, who are from Kingston. They have a trailer up there and we had a really nice weekend which I will write up soon. Promise.

Last weekend I went back down to an tOilean Fada and had a great weekend that included a full moon party in the by now infamous Bear Cove. Which I will definitely write up, O.F. being my favourite place in NS and in my top five internationally as well. And the most amazing fire I've ever seen. A fire that floated on water!

This weekend I am going camping with na hOileanaigh Fhaide who are descending en masse to a lakeside somewhere in the middle of nowhere on the French Shore - south west - near Weymouth. Weymouth Nova Scotia that is. There will be ten of them and seven kids and me.

I heard that. Ha ha.

They have assured me that yes, we can camp in a straight line. This is very important. It is advised on the 'how to deal with bears in Nova Scotia' website that I found (yes, there is one, well, it's part of the Dept of Natural Resources site) and bookmarked this week. Apparently, it is better to do this, as if you camp in a circle, the bear gets confused and may attack the Irish girl in the tent over on the left while looking for an exit from the circle.

And we wouldn't want that, then, would we. BTW, the OFers said that there well might have been a bear stalking me. So there! Oh ye of little faith in me.

Nyah!

These weekends are a life saver.

I don't have to deal with Halifax on the weekend.
I don't have to deal with Bruce the strange housemate.
Who is very nice, but a bit strange.
I don't have time to get homesick.
I have something to look forward to all week.
I can pretend I'm still travelling to a certain extent.

And they're rippin' good craic too.

Although Labor Day weekend is soon and then the fun quotient is down and life shifts into a higher gear (in Canada summer is for enjoying yourself and every other season is for working, I am told) I am constantly gobsmacked at how concerned random people have been that I am enjoying myself and not bored or homesick.

They're so good to me. They take me in, feed me, water me, put me up, wash my clothes, eat my cooking, take me out, drive me around, listen to me witter on about Ireland for hours, let me play with their animals, their kids, their kid's trampolines (at three thirty in the morning) their houses, their computers, their stereos, their boats, their basements and their camping gear. They let me take over their kitchens, boss them around a bit, compulsively tidy their sittingrooms.

And then after all that, when I'm gone back to Halifax, they email me to see I'm okay, ring me for the same reason, invite me down again anytime. I have Christmas invitations coming out of my ears, despite my protestations that I'm sorted for the holiday. "Thanksgiving, then, you'll have to come for Thanksgiving."

As I was being driven (seventy miles!!) to the bus (after a lengthy argument about why there was no way he was going to drive me all the way to Halifax - two hundred miles) last Sunday I said it to my host, about how comfortable I feel here, how easily it has been to slip into loads of different layers of Nova Scotian society. In typical NS polite fashion, the other person said that it might be something to do with me, that I fit in well, but I don't think so. I think it's them.

Third of all, PARTIES, of which there have been two in the last fortnight in Halifax

Yes, parties. One dinner party, which was very strange, it being of the work crowd on my second day in work, me being a bit tense therefore. And Joanna's going away do which was last night, which was great. Where I met an Irish guy, from Kerry, who has just moved here as well, for the same reasons as me. Twas hilarious, the conversation that ensued when we realised that.

Let's just say Bertie's ears were burning.

Fourth of all, FRIENDS/ VISITORS, of which there will be two tomorrow

One of the reasons why this is a promo blogpost for the next four blogposts and not a blogpost in its own right (although it is obviously, being a blog post), is because Trish and Keith are coming in seventeen hours and four minutes. Hooooray!!! We're very excited, me and Percy (yes, he's still here, he spent last weekend looking for bears in Bear Cove and didn't find any, but found a big mess of mossies), too excited to marshall our thoughts. But we have set Thursday aside for a massive four hour blogging extravaganza so Friday's the day.

And my clothes are coming.

And my boots.

And my handbags.

And my red suede jacket.

And my blue one.

And my lovely pink cardi.

And my nice skirt from Paris.

And my white coat.


......................... I'm so superficial...........................

Anyway, it's late and I have to get the room ready for the visitors *hoooray* and the phone hasn't stopped ringing all night with Oilean Fada-ers telling me their side of whatever domestic drama it is tonight so I should go do some perfunctory pillow plumping or something. Or maybe just jig up and down on the spot in excitment for another couple of hours.

Jig jig jig jig jig jig jig jig jig jig........

That really annoying Coke ad is in my brain for the last four hours, you know the one - holidays are comin', holidays are comin', holidays are comin'.... and then the Montreal train went past and went 'whooo' at the right moment (did I mention I live near the rail tracks? They're just across the road behind the trees).