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I turned my back to pick up the clothes to put into Eldest’s jumper-and-leggings drawer, and was treated to this fantastic 21-second display of total disdain upon my return. Thank you for putting me in my place, cat.
I turned my back to pick up the clothes to put into Eldest’s jumper-and-leggings drawer, and was treated to this fantastic 21-second display of total disdain upon my return. Thank you for putting me in my place, cat.
The last time I came to my parents' place in the winter months was in the late 1990s. There are three reasons for this.
The Pacific Northwest has pretty much the same weather as the UK.
That weather is "unremittingly cold, wet, dark, and drizzly".
There was a huge ice storm that knocked the power out for four days, which we spent huddled next to the fireplace swaddled in blankets.
I journeyed here with a feeling of trepidation nagging at my brain, and was pleasantly surprised when all legs of my trip were completed with minimal friction. Although it is, as expected, wet, dark, and cold, I went to bed last night thinking I could relax.
Cut to 03:27 AM today, when a huge bang woke my parents and me.
Someone hit the telephone pole outside their house, doing a massive amount of damage, but somehow managed to flee the scene in what was presumably a very mangled vehicle.
Which.
Knocked out the power.
Leaving behind only the spiteful cackles of the malign spirit who has waited 25 years to remind me that I am not welcome here in winter.
Epilogue: The police arrived on the scene remarkably quickly to clear the debris. In the morning the power company arrived to replace the pole. The power was restored several hours later. The cable internet lines are still down though, so I won't be very responsive until the router is back as I don't want to use up my dad's meagre data allowance by tethering my phone to it for too long.
It’s such a pleasure* to have regular reminders that when you become a lecturer, people don’t automatically stop being horribly sexist at you.
Yesterday, I was in my department’s Education Support Office [ESO], chatting to one of the ESO officers while he located the exam paperwork I needed so I could go off and spend the morning marking them.
As we chatted, someone walked in. I didn’t notice them and I don’t think the ESO officer did either. We were at the back of the office, well behind the reception desk.
We noticed them when this person started shouting at us in the middle of our conversation, as I was signing out the exam scripts. Well, they shouted at me. “Excuse me, Miss, can you come over here,” they snapped. I turned and stared at them, appalled, and didn’t say anything. The ESO officer put on his most professional poker face and said firmly, “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Was this person put off by that? Spoiler alert: They were not. “I am a new research associate in [professor’s name]’s group. I am looking for [professional services person]. I need to meet them now.” They stared at me. I still didn’t say anything.
The ESO officer replied, “Just wait there. I’ll be with you when we’re finished.”
We turned our backs on the person, who turned very reluctantly away and went out of the office to wait outside. When I left, I sailed past them with my arms full of exam scripts and did not look at them as I went downstairs to my office.
To the person: Do not assume that everyone standing in a professional services office is there to serve you on command. Especially not the women.
To colleagues who do not check whether the people they are hiring are sexist pricks: I don’t care how great they may be as researchers. Please stop hiring sexist pricks.
To the ESO officer: You are a gem. Thank you for your support.
* please note heavy sarcasm
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A sweet photo of the children asleep in our accommodation in Orleans.
Sweet, except for the part where that king-sized bed was *supposed* to be for the parents, and instead we ended up on the fold-out sofa, which was a short double and very hard. :/
Today's big adventure was a 12 km canoe trip down the Loire.
I say this like I had any idea what was going to happen in advance.
After the previous day's conversations over supper and wine, I was convinced we were going to arrive at a pontoon to be greeted by some sort of official company-shirt-wearing guide, climb into waterproofs and life jacket, and be placed in a boat with said guide and strict instructions to strap the children in and not let them touch anything.
What actually happened is that we walked to a nondescript strip of sand and waited for a chap in an ancient blue van to turn up 10 minutes late, pile us all in, and drive us 25 minutes up the road with no explanation. He then backed down a tiny gravel road to another strip of sand, on which rested three canoes. He handed out life vests and a couple of large waterproof tubs into which he instructed us to put anything we didn't wish to lose in the river. He also gave the children glasses chains (which they got to keep as souvenirs).
He handed us each an oar (three adults and three children) and after some extremely vague instructions about keeping to the right and watching for sand bars, he sent us off, saying he'd meet us where he'd picked us up, in "a few hours".
As we pushed off, he remembered one more vital instruction about passing under the bridges into Orleans towards the end of the journey. "Be careful under the second bridge," he advised laconically. "Aim for the middle and stay steady. It's a bit rough. Try not to capsize."
You can see where this is going, I'm sure.
We rowed peacefully for a few kilometers, stopping on a wide stretch of sandy beach to dig holes, eat cookies, and hunt for shells and interesting chunks of flint. We saw a white egret, grey heron, terns fishing, and lots of water-skimming bugs. People waved at us from the banks. We picked out our ideal riverside cottages.
The current moved us along rapidly. We began to get a little hot and tired, but rallied well with the help of waffles. The first of the bridges hove into view, and we braced ourselves for the passage, which was swift and bumpy, but left us dry.
Then we reached the second bridge. We aimed carefully at the middle arch, tucked in our oars, and braced.
We got absolutely soaked.
We took on a lot of water.
We did not capsize, but it was a close run race between that and sinking.
Thankfully there was only one more uninteresting bridge passage before we reached our starting point. Keiki managed not to fall in the river as we landed. The chap who had provided the canoes managed not to look too amused at our condition on arrival. We managed to pretend we hadn't been genuinely terrified.
We had enough dry clothes to cobble together outfits to walk the mile home in, and we found a bag of Haribo that we thought we'd lost in the bottom of the rucksack. Plus, still alive! So we're counting this one as a win.
I say this like I had any idea what was going to happen in advance.
After the previous day's conversations over supper and wine, I was convinced we were going to arrive at a pontoon to be greeted by some sort of official company-shirt-wearing guide, climb into waterproofs and life jacket, and be placed in a boat with said guide and strict instructions to strap the children in and not let them touch anything.
What actually happened is that we walked to a nondescript strip of sand and waited for a chap in an ancient blue van to turn up 10 minutes late, pile us all in, and drive us 25 minutes up the road with no explanation. He then backed down a tiny gravel road to another strip of sand, on which rested three canoes. He handed out life vests and a couple of large waterproof tubs into which he instructed us to put anything we didn't wish to lose in the river. He also gave the children glasses chains (which they got to keep as souvenirs).
He handed us each an oar (three adults and three children) and after some extremely vague instructions about keeping to the right and watching for sand bars, he sent us off, saying he'd meet us where he'd picked us up, in "a few hours".
As we pushed off, he remembered one more vital instruction about passing under the bridges into Orleans towards the end of the journey. "Be careful under the second bridge," he advised laconically. "Aim for the middle and stay steady. It's a bit rough. Try not to capsize."
You can see where this is going, I'm sure.
We rowed peacefully for a few kilometers, stopping on a wide stretch of sandy beach to dig holes, eat cookies, and hunt for shells and interesting chunks of flint. We saw a white egret, grey heron, terns fishing, and lots of water-skimming bugs. People waved at us from the banks. We picked out our ideal riverside cottages.
The current moved us along rapidly. We began to get a little hot and tired, but rallied well with the help of waffles. The first of the bridges hove into view, and we braced ourselves for the passage, which was swift and bumpy, but left us dry.
Then we reached the second bridge. We aimed carefully at the middle arch, tucked in our oars, and braced.
We got absolutely soaked.
We took on a lot of water.
We did not capsize, but it was a close run race between that and sinking.
Thankfully there was only one more uninteresting bridge passage before we reached our starting point. Keiki managed not to fall in the river as we landed. The chap who had provided the canoes managed not to look too amused at our condition on arrival. We managed to pretend we hadn't been genuinely terrified.
We had enough dry clothes to cobble together outfits to walk the mile home in, and we found a bag of Haribo that we thought we'd lost in the bottom of the rucksack. Plus, still alive! So we're counting this one as a win.
Humuhumu drew this for me, which was sweet, but could also be viewed as a survival tactic given she'd spent the preceding 30 minutes arguing with me over whether or not she was going to make her bed and fold her pyjamas, and then stomped off to her room to draw it.
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A friend, who owns a smallholding a few miles down the road, invited us this morning to help with rounding up some lambs, and stand around in a big pond in our wellies. Who could resist such inducements?
( Not us )
If any of the children's actions are puzzling you, just approach the photo with the perspective, "How can I get as filthy as possible in this situation?" and all will become clear.
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February 18
February 19
Finally, here are the two most recent wonderful misinterpretations that the auto-captioning software on Panopto offered up on my pre-recorded lecture material.
My name: Anthony Anketell [no.]
A phrase: "If all of the subsystems have a bank of horsepower bear," [backup or a spare]
What are you most fascinated by at the moment?
Finding ways to prove that we should make STEMM subjects more accessible by actually talking about endemic issues with discriminatory language and culture in higher education and industry while teaching technical topics, not as an afterthought or an optional add-on.
Space debris and space traffic management.
February 19
What are the three most dominant emotions in your life right now?
Determination, ambition, and mild panic.
My name: Anthony Anketell [no.]
A phrase: "If all of the subsystems have a bank of horsepower bear," [backup or a spare]
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I mean to be honest a no-deal Brexit is pretty much the perfect way to end the complete shitshow that is 2020
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Ill Communication: A Very Short Play
Upper Management: How do you all feel about having calls to your currently inaccessible campus work phones forwarded to your mobiles?
Us: Our personal mobiles?
UM: Yes.
Us: That would be an emphatic no.
UM: OK, how about having calls redirect to your Skype for Business accounts?
Us: That would be acceptable.
UM: Great! Here are instructions on how to set that up through the IT portal.
Us: We've all tried and none of us have that option available to us.
UM: Oh dear. We've opened a service desk request on your behalf to correct that.
~~~Three Weeks Later~~~
IT: We've fixed your issue! Please log out of Skype for Business and log back in, and then you'll be able to redirect your calls.
Us: Um, so, we've all tried, and what you've done is enable calls to be re-directed from our Skype for Business accounts to our currently inaccessible campus work phones. We still don't see the option to do the reverse on the IT portal.
IT: ....Ohhhh, is that what you wanted? Sorry.
Us: ...
We're going to be back on campus full time before this gets fixed, aren't we.
Upper Management: How do you all feel about having calls to your currently inaccessible campus work phones forwarded to your mobiles?
Us: Our personal mobiles?
UM: Yes.
Us: That would be an emphatic no.
UM: OK, how about having calls redirect to your Skype for Business accounts?
Us: That would be acceptable.
UM: Great! Here are instructions on how to set that up through the IT portal.
Us: We've all tried and none of us have that option available to us.
UM: Oh dear. We've opened a service desk request on your behalf to correct that.
~~~Three Weeks Later~~~
IT: We've fixed your issue! Please log out of Skype for Business and log back in, and then you'll be able to redirect your calls.
Us: Um, so, we've all tried, and what you've done is enable calls to be re-directed from our Skype for Business accounts to our currently inaccessible campus work phones. We still don't see the option to do the reverse on the IT portal.
IT: ....Ohhhh, is that what you wanted? Sorry.
Us: ...
We're going to be back on campus full time before this gets fixed, aren't we.
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.
