I would like to take a moment to discuss our current living situation in Bury St Edmunds. We absolutely love the town--it's old and historic with lovely architecture and cute little shops and restaurants. My favorite little French place is "downtown" in the square, and we recently ate at a new lovely Italian place. Tesco--the best grocery store in the world--is just around the corner, and the famous gardens are just down the street. The town is 30-40 minutes from work, but the commute is pleasant and scenic.
Our HOUSE, however, leaves a little something to be desired. By "something", I mean "heat." It is regularly 25-30 degress F outside, and it's been snowing since Thanksgiving, but houses here are primarily heated by hot water radiators. This would be just fine, except that the pump that circulates hot water through the house is not in good working order. (That is to say that the "pump that SHOULD BE circulating hot water...")
This means that there is not only no working hot water in any of our sinks (the shower has a separate pump and works fine), but there is also no heat function in our radiators. They are purely decorative. Don't get me wrong, as radiators go, they are as attractive as any I've seen, but I would prefer they actually provide one microscump* of warmth.
Due to the lack of hot water to our sinks, we boil hot water in the tea kettle for washing dishes, we brush our teeth and wash our faces with freezing cold water. This is delightful, let me assure you.
We felt ourselves quite clever when we purchased a space heater, which effectively warms one room.
"Perfect!" we exclaimed to each other.
"We are only in one room at a time, after all--this will keep us warm during the frosty, frozen weeks until we move into our new house with lovely, amazing, wondrous gas heating."
It was a wonderful solution until I began working the nightshift, at which point I began sleeping during the day, whilst Travis continued to sleep normally during the night. I, of course spend my nights off in our living room while Travis is sleeping upstairs in the bedroom. We have begun fighting over the heater. We may need to buy a SECOND space heater, in order to heat both the bedroom and the livingroom, in order to preserve our marriage.
...Waiting--rather impatiently--to move into our glorious new house...soon, soon.
*Very technical term--measure of heat.
Wednesday, 1 December 2010
Best Restaurant Experience Yet
My delightful husband took me to a terrific dinner the evening after my PT test, in light of my hard workouts, strict diet, and er--very slightly elevated stress level during the preceeding weeks. We went to a local Italian restaurant in Bury St. Edmunds, where we are currently living in our temporary house.
We shared a delicious pizza and pasta combo; the atmosphere was lovely and the waiter prompt and polite. All in all, we were carefree and relaxed, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
When the waiter brought the check at the end of our meal, he expressed surprise at Travis' handing him a British "chip and pin" debit card. (We were required to start a British checking account for the house purchase, but most U.S. military personnel do not, as it's a bit of a hassle.)
Travis gently asked the British waiter to shed some light on an ongoing debate, "Sir, could you tell that we were Americans when you approached our table? Or did you only realize that we were from the U.S. when we spoke?"
The waiter replied that he only knew we were not locals when he heard our accents--that we did not, in his estimation look any different from the local customers. "As a general rule," he continued, "It's very easy to spot Americans from across the room--they have a sort of confidence about them." He continued to describe the American affect, pausing to emphasize a particular brand of egotism.
"There are a few American military bases not far from here, actually, and when the U.S. Air Force chaps come in--[at this point he puffed out his chest as though to show a cocky, muscle-bound Kronk-like figure]--"they're so loud--they shout across the room and swagger about...."
He must've described the "U.S. Air Force members" for 45 seconds or so before he noticed either Travis' haricut or the look on our faces as we attempted to maintain a sort of polite interest in his observations.
He paused for a moment and said, "You're not Air Force, are you?"
We laughed and told him that we both are, as it happens. The poor waiter was thoroughly embarassed and immediately began a stream of apologies, but we were all laughing within a few moments; we told him we knew the sort of military personnel about whom he spoke.
All in all, a lovely dinner and a lovely time at the restaurant...we chuckled about it most of the night, and I still think he was a terrific waiter!
We shared a delicious pizza and pasta combo; the atmosphere was lovely and the waiter prompt and polite. All in all, we were carefree and relaxed, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
When the waiter brought the check at the end of our meal, he expressed surprise at Travis' handing him a British "chip and pin" debit card. (We were required to start a British checking account for the house purchase, but most U.S. military personnel do not, as it's a bit of a hassle.)
Travis gently asked the British waiter to shed some light on an ongoing debate, "Sir, could you tell that we were Americans when you approached our table? Or did you only realize that we were from the U.S. when we spoke?"
The waiter replied that he only knew we were not locals when he heard our accents--that we did not, in his estimation look any different from the local customers. "As a general rule," he continued, "It's very easy to spot Americans from across the room--they have a sort of confidence about them." He continued to describe the American affect, pausing to emphasize a particular brand of egotism.
"There are a few American military bases not far from here, actually, and when the U.S. Air Force chaps come in--[at this point he puffed out his chest as though to show a cocky, muscle-bound Kronk-like figure]--"they're so loud--they shout across the room and swagger about...."
He must've described the "U.S. Air Force members" for 45 seconds or so before he noticed either Travis' haricut or the look on our faces as we attempted to maintain a sort of polite interest in his observations.
He paused for a moment and said, "You're not Air Force, are you?"
We laughed and told him that we both are, as it happens. The poor waiter was thoroughly embarassed and immediately began a stream of apologies, but we were all laughing within a few moments; we told him we knew the sort of military personnel about whom he spoke.
All in all, a lovely dinner and a lovely time at the restaurant...we chuckled about it most of the night, and I still think he was a terrific waiter!
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