Chris Hansen’s blog

Our friend Paul from Detroit is over for a visit. I love Paul to death: I first met him in 1991 at the BWMT (Black and White Men Together) convention in Detroit. He is outrageous, funny, in your face, and out there when no one else wants to be out there. This is the second time he’s stayed with us, and I’m very glad he’s here. It’s good having extra bedrooms, especially in London. Your friends can come to visit and you don’t have to send them to a hotel.

Work is just that, work. I’m a bit annoyed because one department at the company is not cooperating with the drive to get their processes docmented for our ISO9001 rollout in January 2005. So we’re having to put some pressure on them.

But, of course you aren’t interested in that, really. I’m just trying to get everything done before the end of January 2005, when I’m to be laid off. I’m sure I’ll do well afterwards, probably contract working. But it’s always upsetting when you have to move like that. I’ll probably be doing ISO9001 consulting as well as testing consultancy and contracting. We are OK moneywise and don’t have any debts. If I’d realised that debt would overshadow my middle years, I wouldn’t have wasted it all on rent boys and things that just got stolen by burglars when I lived in the Bronx.

I like my new laptop. I can write my livejournal while HWMBO is doing a proramming test online for a recruiter who contacted him today. I hope it comes to something. He is so talented and needs more challenges than he’s getting where he is now.

Turning 52 a week ago doesn’t seem to have made much difference. I’m turning into a senior citizen, year on year, and I’m not noticing it.

BTW, look at my friends page and try to figure out what a kransky is without looking at the comments.

I idly looked at the Social Security Death Index because I was curious as to how long my friend Ken Allen from Chicago had been dead. I knew it was 1994 or 1995, but it turned out that it was Nov 11, 1995–the very day I idly looked for his entry. There are no coincidences. Keep resting in peace, Ken.

I’ve been helping a friend with his 5-year-old computer, in return for deep tissue massage. I’ve put a larger disk drive in to assist him in storing data (but it wasn’t large enough), I then put an even larger (40 GB) in, but I had difficulty with Ghost because he only had 128 MB memory. So today I went for the third time and brought 512 MG memory, a USB hub, and Partition Magic to assist me in transferring his data from his slow small hard drive to the big new one.

Ghost wasn’t working right (second time around I still couldn’t transfer an image to the new drive that would boot). So, we decided to reinstall Windows and go from there. (Oh, the memory and the USB hub worked fine). Well, when we got to the point that we’d have to reinstall his ADSL modem, he told me that a friend has given it to him but hasn’t given him the CD ROM with the drivers on it.

Oh, well, said I, what’s to be done. I packed up and went home, to return in a week or so with the Alcatel drivers. However, if I’m going to be doing this kind of work for other people in the future, this is what I’m going to politely ask.

In return for helping you upgrade your system, I ask that:

1) You ensure that you keep every scrap of paper, every CD ROM, every manual, in a safe accessible place.
2) If your friend Buggins gives you a piece of hardware without the driver CD or the program CD, refuse it politely until he gives you that CD. Ditto if he installs the latest whoop-de-do software program (illicitly) and then tries to carry the CD away with him.
3) When you ask me to help you upgrade your computer, make sure you know what you want, or at least what you want to do with the computer. This will help me immensely in figuring out what kind and size of computer you can use.

My friend did perform (1) and (3), but fell a bit short on (2).

A friend of his now is asking for my help. He has a digital camera, and a printer, both of which have USB connectors. He has 128 MB RAM in a 5- or 6-year-old computer running Windows 98 (not second edition). He has a 10 GB hard disk drive. Whenever he plugs the camera or the printer into the computer, it crashes. His question: should I reinstall Windows 98 (not second edition)?

My answer: You should get a bit more memory while it’s relatively cheap, you should get a larger hard drive and a decent operating system. I hope that he engages me. However, I’ve ascertained that he hasn’t fulfilled items 1 and 3 above.

Sigh.

He is cute, however, so that’s something anyway…I shall work at whipping his system into shape.

I find that, as time goes on, and I look at my friends’ entries and the comments their friends make on their entries, I look at my friends’ friends’ entries and add them to my friends list so that I won’t miss anything they write.

This means that if I don’t look at my friends page at least twice a day, it is in danger of scrolling off the bottom of the page.

Is this just me, or does everyone do it?

The link I posted yesterday contained a 404 to the video. I apologise. This one works (at least it does now–who knows what will happen today!):

http://www.magnetic-ink.dk/88

The Japanese or Chinese video is the one to try (I know that there’s a seductive reference to an English version, but, like the previous link, it doesn’t seem to do anything for me.) Trust me, you don’t need to understand Chinese or Japanese, as the video itself is graphic enough.

No sex or violence, though.

I apologise for the non-existence of the previous transmission. Normal service should resume shortly.

OK, we all know how to fold a t-shirt. Don’t we? Mine never looked like my mother’s–mine were always an untidy mess.

Well, here is a link that describes the Japanese way of folding a t-shirt, including a video of the process.

HWMBO and I were watching Queer Eye for the Straight Guy UK, and the straight guy taught this technique to the gay guys. They learned something! I googled immediately after the show ended and this particular link was the best out of all the ones I found.

Of course, we went straight (pardon the expression) upstairs and started folding. I got it fairly soon, but HWMBO still needs a bit of practice.

I think I’ll get him to fold the laundry tomorrow evening.

Sorry that I haven’t posted much this week. In about a year of reading various LiveJournals, I’ve discovered that such hiatuses can last months for some. Others can hardly pry the keys away from their fingers for a moment in order to pee or whatever else they do. This is, of course, fine. However, I’ve had a nagging feeling that livejournal is upset that I haven’t posted. Anthropomorphising the blog server is a bad thing. I shall stop immediately.

One of the reasons I haven’t been posting is, of course, the US election. I voted (absentee) for Kerry in California. When I told my sister-in-law that I was depressed about the election she said, pragmatically, “Relax: it shouldn’t affect you very much.” Well, I thought about that for a while, and came up with some ways in which it might actually affect me:

1) Blair may coast on John Howard’s and Bush’s victories and gain a third term with a large majority. This will affect my life in various ways, some good, most bad. The man has been proven economical with the truth from his own mouth (WMDs? Of course they didn’t have WMDs! You mean I said they did? Well, if they’d had them, they would have used them on us, so we were morally justified in invading.) and the Opposition is incapable of opposing. The only way that Parliamentary government (as opposed to the US variety) can survive is to have a credible opposition. If no one believe the Opposition can form a government, they won’t vote for them and the government will continue on and on. Viz: Margaret Thatcher. When we took this picture, the Thatcher orchids looked a bit unattractive, drab, old, and sickly. How appropriate.

2) I’ve found that the immigration people in the US are more and more unfriendly to me when I return for my (infrequent) visits. “What is your immigration status in the UK?” “What do you do?” “How long have you lived in the UK?” “Did you know that people who renounce their US citizenship for tax reasons are barred from returning to the US?” (This last one when I was returning to New York from a visit to Toronto, asked in Toronto Airport.) Things are not going to get any easier in the next four years.

3) Good friends and acquaintances are now in despair, hopes shattered, looking forward to 4 years of radical right-wing Republicanism ruining their relationships. (Thanks, Spiro.)

Anyway, my condolences to all those who voted otherwise last week, and my hope is that in four years the country won’t be utterly ruined. I remember Richard Milhaus Nixon and his stunning victory in 1972. We were all certain that the light at the end of the tunnel was an oncoming train. But, in 1974, Watergate and some courageous elected representatives put paid to his ambitions to crown his Presidency with glory. Instead he slunk off to New Jersey because no condominium or coop in New York would have him.

Another reason is that on Wednesday, running for and catching a 188 bus, I managed to pinch the skin on the end of my left index finger between my thumbnail and middle fingernail (don’t ask me how this happened: I haven’t been able to duplicate it.) It bled like hell as the bus sped around the Elephant and Castle roundabout and, as everyone who’s had a sore at the end of their finger will be well aware, made typing painful, especially the shotgun type of typing I’m apt to do. I only typed what was necessary. It still is a bit sore but I can type without feeling like someone is sticking a pin into the end of my index finger.

My birthday’s on Monday. I’m a bit annoyed about this, but I realise that being 52 is a lot better than not being at all, so I’ll just grin and bear it. I’m treating myself to a deep-tissue massage in return for some computer hardware stuff. Then HWMBO and I will go to the local Thai restaurant for dinner, although he has complained about the cost. I just smile and say, “Don’t worry about it!” and that seems to work.

The other happening during the last week was the vigil in Soho for Sinders, birth name David Morley, who was beaten to death by teenagers on the South Bank as he was sitting talking to a friend early in the morning. We didn’t know him (although from the reminiscences by two people who did know him he must have been someone worth knowing as he was merry and impish), but the fact that we live close to the South Bank (for the London-impaired, the South Bank is the stretch of the south bank of the Thames river stretching roughly from the Oxo Tower to Westminster Bridge, taking in Waterloo Bridge, Queen Elizabeth and Royal Festival Halls, the Heyward Gallery, the National Theatre, the National Film Theatre, Hungerford Bridges, and the London Eye) and often take strolls there when the weather is nice made it important to us that we be at the vigil.

During the afternoon I constructed sturdy candles in plastic pint glasses for us (recipe: one large church candle, cut into three pieces. Put two of the pieces in the pint glasses and then melt the third and pour the melted wax into the glasses to support the candles). We then set out for St. Anne’s Church in Soho.

The church itself is late 1700’s or early 1800’s, I think. The back garden (not a churchyard–no burials) was open until recently. A fence was constructed as street people and drug addicts were making the garden their home. It is fearsome: it looks like something to keep the inmates of Cell Block H in. It’s concavely curved (to keep people from climbing up it, I presume) and lit by garish-coloured lights. Anyway, it wasn’t open until 6 so we wandered to Old Compton Street and looked at the crowds outside the Admiral Duncan pub who were also waiting for the garden to open. Various people of all types were carrying flowers (our candles were an exception, it seems) and reminiscing about Sinders. he had been the bar manager of the Admiral Duncan when the nailbomb blew up the pub several years ago. He suffered burns, but three people died from the effects of the blast. The perpetrator was caught and sentenced to life, but Sinders never recovered his composure. A group of Asian teenagers brought a condolence card to the pub after it had reopened (a bomb also went off on Brick Lane, the centre of the Bangladeshi and Pakistani community in London) and Sinders burst into tears, he was so touched. He had flashbacks about the blast, and found it so difficult to carry on at the Admiral Duncan that he was moved to be manager of another pub owned by the same brewery.

Anyway, at the advertised time (6 pm, for a 6:30 start) we went back to the garden and, surprise, surprise! Nothing was ready. At about 6:20 or so the gates were opened and we trooped in. We were almost in the front row. However, 6:30 came and went, various people were making announcements to the effect of “It’ll only be a few moments now”, but it didn’t start until about 6:50. As it ended up we were standing for about an hour. The functionaries who were announcing also told people to turn their mobile phones off. Of course, many did not and there was merry hell breaking loose for a while as phones rang and announcements to turn them off followed. The place was packed. The streets outside were packed and loudspeakers had to be used so that everyone could hear what was going on. The Vicar (a woman) gave a good non-denominational talk about the meaning of the service, the Mayor’s representative spoke, and the London Gay Men’s Chorus sang. A piper piped Sinders out to “A Gaelic Air”. A busker who was a friend of Sinders’ sang something he himself had whipped up. We dutifully sang along. Finally, we dispersed. HWMBO and I laid our candles in the garden, still burning. Most everyone else had taken candles from the management: they were small votive lights that had not survived the delay in starting the service.

We thousands gathered together to celebrate the life of someone only a fraction of us knew. However, almost any of us could have been sitting on that bench that night, talking with a friend. Until the chain of homophobia is utterly broken and children learn acceptance and respect for those different from them, we will gather again and again for these services. But, having been a child and the butt of bullying from other children, I know firsthand how evil, rotten, and nasty some children can be in dealing with other children who are different. I hold out little hope that children can learn to accept rather than to exclude. Their elders are giving a pretty good example of the latter nowadays.

Grab the nearest book.
Open the book to page 23.
Find the fifth sentence.
Post the text of the sentence in your journal…
…along with these instructions.

Surprise, surprise.

HWMBO and I are about to leave for the vigil for the gentleman gaybashed on South Bank. Those who can’t be there, think good thoughts, please.

I look at the Marblehead Reporter every week. The highlight of the online version is the Police Log. I have just discovered this link to highlights of the year in Marblehead (I believe it was 2001, judging from the flurry of suspicious Middle-Eastern-looking men reported after September 11). It’s well worth a peruse, and a laugh.

Marblehead is proud to be the Birthplace of the American Navy and the Yachting Capital of the World. I left for the Big Apple and never came back, but there are lots of nice people there still, including some of my relatives.

Well, we’re back. I tried to post once more from Singapore, but the maid was ironing at the time and, apparently, the iron has developed a short that trips the circuit breaker. So, the entire post was lost. I hope I can resurrect it.

We went to see a Korean movie called “Old Boy” on Friday. It’s very interesting visually, but extremely gory and violent. The IMDB entry for it is here. It was recommended by many of HWMBO’s friends, but I found it very disturbing. I don’t deal well with screen gore. We had dinner in the food court underneath the cinema complex. I had Vietnamese spring rolls and beef pho supreme. Very good. It’s interesting that, almost without exception, food courts and hawker centres in Singapore are clean and provide very tasty food at a reasonable price. Hardly anyone cooks in Singapore: it’s too tempting to go out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The prices are reasonable: probably about 1/6th of what you would pay in London for comparable dishes.

After dinner we went on to Mox Bar and Caf

I have time for a report on yesterday.

The Eames (now called the Windsor) Report was issued. As I predicted, the bishops who voted for or consecrated +Gene Robinson are to be ostracised (voluntarily). The Anglican Communion is to become a more rigid organisation internationally, with an “Anglican Covenant” to “bind us together” that basically keeps individual countries from going their own way and dooms the institution to glacial movement along with the slowest and most conservative provinces.

I suspect that there will be lots of studying but that nothing will be done concrete about it. The +Genie is out of the bottle^Wcloset, and no one can put him back. However, this is not cause for inaction. The conservatives are furious that the Episcopal Church wasn’t immediately thrown out of the Anglican Communion, and will probably try to do something in the next year or so. We need to be ever vigilant.

BK, HWMBO, and I went to see the Esplanade (the new concert hall/arts centre) downtown. It looks like two half durians (qv) lying on the shore. Had a nice Thai lunch, then on to the Duck Tour. You may have one in your own city (I do). They are amphibious troop carriers, that can operate as trucks or as boats. They were surplus after Vietnam, and were bought by various private individuals and now are osten used for these tours. We went through the harbour (no splashing, thankfully) and saw the Esplanade from the bay, as well as the famous Merlion, the symbol of Singapore.

The land tour was an anticlimax as the overhanging roof of the duck was such as to block out any possibility of taking a reasonable picture. We discovered that locals get a 40% discount and those who use their Citicards to book get 10% off. Still, BK thought it was worth about SG$10 (around GBP3.30, or US$4.44). I liked it, though.

I will post pictures on my website when I get back to London.

Anyone who’s been to Southeast Asia knows what durians are. If you don’t, read a bit at this link.

Durians are the source of a foul smell that pervades the immediate area where they’re stored or eaten. They are about the size of a large pineapple, green, with spikes all over. When split, there are about 6 segments (like orange segments), each of which contains one or two seeds covered with a creamy exterior. You don’t eat the segments nor do you eat the seeds. You suck the creamy exterior off and discard the rest. Think pomegranate seeds, about 500 times the size.

Durians are not allowed on the subway system, nor in most taxicabs, nor on buses or in elevators. The first time I was here, we went to an Indian restaurant which was on the second floor of the building. As we waited, I noticed a sign “No durians in elevator”. Not knowing at that time what a durian was, I enquired whether durians were some discriminated-against group in Singapore. It took my ex a few minutes to stop laughing.

For years, during my first three trips to Singapore, my ex threatened to introduce me to durians, but never came through. Yesterday my host decided he would give me a treat.

We had a lovely day. First, BK took us to a vegetarian Chinese restaurant which was absolutely lovely. Real Chinese vegetarian food is renowned for the fact that each dish has one, different, subtle flavour. Then we went to the Botanical Gardens and particularly to the National Orchid Garden. It costs SG$5, but is well worth it. I have some pictures and will see whether I can get some on my website. They have an orchid named after Margaret Thatcher (among many others named after public figures). However, it didn’t live up to its namesake: it was pretty, thriving, and colourful.

Afterwards one of those tropical thunderstorms came by: they sneak up on you with only a few minutes warning (usually thunderclaps), last for about 20 minutes, and then stop. Everything is dry within a few minutes. We took refuge in a caf

HWMBO and I decided that we should take a three-day holiday during our holiday (what I just wrote sounds like “Who put pineapple juice in my pineapple juice?”). We booked one at Angsana Resort and Spa on Bintan Island, Indonesia.

It’s an hour hydrofoil ride from Singapore. However, one thing that I’ll have difficulty getting used to is Southeast Asian immigration. Most countries have an entry card that you have to fill out when entering their country. It consists of a few questions and boxes to tick. When you live in Singapore, however, you get used to immigration queues up the wazoo. To travel anywhere is a foreign destination. Every country I’ve ever visited in SE Asia requires a relatively long questionnaire to be filled out before disembarking. It’s usually a three part questionnaire with the usual questions about who you are, but also asks questions about your travel history and the like. You memorise your passport number pretty fast here.

Then you go stand in a queue for the immigration people. They stamp your passport and the form about a thousand times, then one section is torn off to stay in your passport until you leave. Always remember: put a paper clip in your passport so that you can clip the card into it so you don’t lose it.

I state all this to set the stage for the surprise of this trip: when we arrived at the ferry terminal they already had immigration cards for Indonesia printed for both me and HWMBO! There were only a few spaces left for us to fill in. This was a first for me.

The hydrofoil ride is fairly glum, with nothing but canned TV to entertain and virtually nothing to look at out of the window but -sam, both the flot- and the jet- kind.

British citizens have visa-free entry into Singapore and Malaysia. However, we (and USans) have to pay US$10 to get into Indonesia. They won’t take SG$ or UKP or anything else. The money changers at the ferry terminal do a land-office business in US$.

So we queued up separately (HWMBO, being Singaporean, doesn’t require a visa) and I paid my US$10 and got a receipt, which I then took to the immigration counter, at which three solemn officials sat. The first one took my receipt, passport, and immigration card, and indicated that I should join the queue to my left. He passes them on to another official, who apparently stamps all the necessaries, and passes it on to the third, who produces a lovely page-size visa, complete with holograms and the like, pastes it into my passport, and lo! I’m in Indonesia. Holograms, for a three-day stay!

The resort is wonderful! We got on a bus marked “Angsana” and were driven to the hotel. Coconut palms all around and other lush vegetation surrounded a low-rise hotel built in the colonial style (large verandas, ceiling fans, Sidney Greenstreet^W^W). The staff were a lovely group of people: they greet you in the Thai manner (hands held vertically pressed together in front of the chest, with a slight bow). The colour scheme is tan and lime green–fluorescent lime green (especially the staff trousers).

There were hitches: they thought I was a Danish Christian Hansen who’s stayed there before, and I said “I’m British!” Then they finally decided I meant “British Overseas Territories” and I didn’t have the heart to correct them a third time, so I just crossed it out and wrote “UK”. Our room wasn’t ready; we were sent to another room which was quite nice but a bit small, with a double bed. However, while HWMBO and I were debating whether to ask them to let us stay in that room, we got a call: our room was ready.

The room was spacious, but with twin beds! So much for a dirty weekend…We got ourselves dressed appropriately and went out to the beach. What a lovely site! The beach was wide, relatively clean (they have sweepers, not wearing lime green, constantly at work), and waitrons running around putting orange-tinged icewater in your glass. I just sat, read a book, and enjoyed it, as did HWMBO.

Dinner was a beach-side barbecue. The price was US$24 per person, and we sat next to the beach and enjoyed the very good food on offer. It was buffet-style, and at buffets I usually go around and pick small amounts of lots of things that I think I might enjoy, then go back for large portions of things I really did enjoy. There was quite a stiff breeze coming off the ocean: no wonder they chose this place for a resort: evenings are very cool for just north of the Equator. Here endeth the first day.

Second day was also lovely. Sat by the pool getting somewhat tanned and watched HWMBO swim. What a life! Dinner was at the neighbouring resort, the Banyan Tree. It is a posher resort, but the food wasn’t as good as at Angsana and it was much more expensive. Plus, they had a DRESS CODE at the Thai restaurant! In the tropics? That’s a first for me. So dinner wasn’t as good.

Third day we lazed by the pool in the early morning (after partaking of the breakfast buffet). Buffets in this neck of the woods have to cater for lots of different tastes. You have the Chinese from Singapore, Malaysia, Hong Kong, and the mainland, who usually want congee (rice porridge). You have the angmohs from everywhere who want eggs, bacon (in a Muslim country, no less!), sausages, and toast. You have people who want lots of fruit (that’s not hard around here). There are Swiss and Germans who want ham and cheese for breakfast. French people want croissants. So, the breakfast buffet had all that, and more. We were stuffed. The first full day there we ate no lunch to speak of as the breakfast was just right for the rest of the day.

Going back to Singapore, reverse the process. The hotel had our Singapore arrival cards printed out and ready, and then gave us the bill. If we paid in US$, the price for all our meals and drinks was about $250. However, if we paid by credit card, it was in rupiahs, and the price was more than 2 million of those. We paid by credit card, and got back to Singapore in one piece.

Unfortunately, I chose a pricey cab, and HWMBO was very miffed. Tried to apologise, but no dice. Sad end to a nice holiday. My host will be working on him today to cheer up and come on the duck boat tourist ride through Singapore that we had been counting on. If he doesn’t go (his method of making me feel like an overspender was to refuse to go on the trip) then I won’t either. No fun by yourself.

As HWMBO was dining with his parents and brother, I changed hurriedly and went out to dinner with a blogger (on a different system) whose blog I read but had never met. Kevin is really sweet, very shy, and fun. We met up with BK and went to Vincentz, which is the successor to the oldest gay pub in Singapore, Vincent’s Lounge in Lucky Plaza. Quite a drag: I know Vincent and Roger (his partner) slightly as my ex was their lawyer. They weren’t there. So we had one drink and went to Tantric, one of the new pubs. Very nice d

We went to Johor yesterday. It’s a poor version of Singapore, but the exchange rate to the pound is quite good so bought some sandals and shirts. The trip starts with an MRT trip to Kranji, then a bus ride to the Singapore exit hall, where they take your passport card and send you on your way. Then back on the bus to the Malaysia end of the causeway, where you get off, go to the Malaysian entry hall, give them your passport and a Malaysia entry card, which they stamp and you’re on your way again, usually by taxicab. Reverse the process returning to Singapore.

They stamped my passport with a fourteen-day visa this time, rather than a 30 day one…why, I don’t know. I hope that our trip to Indonesia tomorrow doesn’t result in a seven-day stay. At that rate I’ll have to leave a week early!

HWMBO went with us to the shopping centre to buy CDs and DVDs, but came down with a pre-migraine and had to leave almost before he’d entered. He called this morning and is better now, thank goodness.

I have some amazing friends here in Singapore. The Singapore premiere of Wong Kar Wai’s new flick “2046” was last night, and we all had tickets. I liked his “In the Mood for Love”, and hoped that after the tremendous hype, the withdrawal from film festivals and “non-final” cut at Cannes that it would be tremendous. Alas, it’s not (IMHO, of course).

First, it was much too long. It started late (9:30 was the Future Attractions, then the movie started about 9:45) and went for two hours. My jet-lagged brain lost about 20 minutes in the middle from a sudden urge to close my eyes and sleep, to which urge I quickly succumbed.

There is no plot; if you hadn’t read online synopses, it would be difficult to discover what the movie’s about. This is a problem.

The movie is lush–the music’s lush, the scenery, the makeup, the cast of many who are famous Chinese and Japanese stars were turned out to perfection (most of the movie is set in the 1960’s, with costume to match). The male lead, Tony Leung (star of In the Mood for Love”, with a pencil-thin moustache for most of the film, reminded me of a Chinese Humphrey Bogart. The female leads, of whom there are several, are stunningly costumed (no pants suits for these ladies; all shimmering gowns except when they’re in bed). There’s no nudity to speak of, BTW, at least in the Singapore cut. I wonder if there will be more when it opens in Western cinemas.

But the comparison that I made immediately (about 10 minutes into the movie) was with Last Year at Marienbad. It’s a movie that is continuallly satirised, mocked, and parodied. HWMBO and I sat through it on cable and were bemused. That’s how I felt when the lights came up after 2046. I wonder if anyone else connected the two movies. I suppose you could call it “22 years in Hong Kong” or perhaps “80” if you go by the movie’s ostensible dates.

Other random factoids: the subtitles were in English and Mandarin. There was some discussion in the car afterwards about the subtitles and the Chinese speakers (everyone but me) felt that the Chinese ones weren’t accurate. There was also discussion about whether the film was shot in Cantonese rather than Mandarin. The English subtitles seemed to be OK; I only caught one grammatical error (which is good for subtitles, in my experience). Also, the media were out in force and it’s possible that Singapore TV viewers today will be surprised to see the angmoh (Hokkien slang for white person–it means red-hair, I think) standing around outside eating peanuts before the showing. I hate it when people only bother to take your picture when you have a glass at your mouth or in your hand, or are eating something.

(Some satire on angmohs and Singapore.) Also, the definition of angmoh vs gweilo is here.

Anyway, the real pleasure in last night was the wonderful Chinese meal we had–a fusion restaurant with Western-style Chinese food and Chinese-style Western food. It was great (Thanks, Leslie), and of course being able to be with HWMBO for the evening, even though while he’s here he really belongs to his parents and I only get an occasional daily look-in. We’re off to Johor Bahru (across the strait in Malaysia) for some shopping and R&R this afternoon, and off to an Indonesian resort on Thursday, returning Saturday. All expensive, but worth it to have him to myself for a couple of days.

One of the things that’s best about visiting Singapore, for a Caucasian, is that you are immediately a minority. On the streets, in restaurants (except perhaps in the very centre of the city), and especially if you’re living with friends in a housing development board project, you’re the only white face around.

Every Caucasian should do this at least once. I’ve been here 4 times, and I relearn the lesson every time I come here. White privilege doesn’t exist here. I can’t claim the support of the majority anymore.

This helps to reinforce anti-racism within you, and gives you a fresh perspective on the world. Fighting racism starts internally, within each person. Only when people themselves come to the knowledge that they have to fight their own racism, constantly, forever, will things improve.

For those who can’t come to Singapore (and you should if you can; it’s a lovely place to be and it also is a good jumping off point for other destinations in Southeast Asia and Australasia) try going to Harlem, or Chinatown in your nearest big city. Find a park bench and sit there, and look around you. You’re different from everyone there, visibly. The colour of your skin and your features are not like those you see. Then imagine what it’s like for someone who is not Caucasian but who lives in a town or city where there are few people of colour. It’s the same feeling–unease, a bit of panic sometimes–that you’re feeling.

Of course, being in another culture but one that speaks English (in the main) is also a very good thing. Singapore’s strength is its cultural and linguistic diversity.

Well, we got here, in one piece (really, two pieces I suppose). I got everything packed, HWMBO came home at about 4, and we got out of the house a few minutes past 5 pm (on Thursday). The Underground was a mess, of course (I was trying to get my bag, a modest-sized one, past the queue to get to the ticket office at the Elephant and Castle Bakerloo Line station and a clerk, trying to be helpful, told me to go to the gate (which I was already making for). I was a bit snippy to him, I’m afraid.

Check in wasn’t too bad, but the queue for the scanner was quite long. Of course, when we got there my belt buckle (webbing belt, metal buckle) set off the reader. The handheld scan was quite thorough, and it even picked up my nipple ring. The security guard was a bit puzzled, and I had to say, “Body jewelry” twice before he got it. I’m glad that I took my PA ring (7mm gauge, 22mm diameter) out beforehand (as I always do) as explaining the squeal that would make would be quite annoying.

We then had a bit of a wait, and HWMBO was hungry. I wasn’t, in particular, and we spent a while in Terminal 4 trying to find a McDonalds or other recognisable fast food joint. No luck–we ended up at a Pret.

Boarding was delayed because the crew was late…I made a small joke about them having a last beer in the pub before takeoff. The plane was stuffed full of Aussies returning home (the plan is flying on to Melbourne) after 6-8 week holidays. Also, screaming babies were the order of the evening.

BA really needs to pull its finger out if it wants to survive. They served the first meal after about 2 hours (on a 12-hour flight) and said that there was chicken and beef. By the time they got to us, it was beef or some of the extra vegetarian meal. I took the beef (which was traditional British beef: stewed until it was tasteless) and HWMBO took the vegetarian (leek and mushroom pie). We then composed ourselves for sleep, in between the children screaming. I got about 6 hours sleep, and woke up in time for breakfast (at 3 pm Singapore time!). They had a choice of egg and bacon, and cheese and tomato. Of course, by the time they got to us they only had cheese and tomato. I decided to skip the sandwich, and only ate the tiny muffin, the raspberry “smooth” yogurt that may have had a raspberry waved at it, from a distance, and drank the orange juice.

Embarcation was OK, and the customs and immigration was very efficient, as Singaporeans are. HWMBO’s parents were there to greet him, so I got to meet them. He looks so much like his father. Our friend BK met me and I’m now typing this entry in my air conditioned room complete with computer. He’s a great host: thanks BK!

I’m surprisingly un-jet-lagged…I suppose it will kick in tomorrow. Something to look forward to.

Well, HWMBO is all packed, and I’ll be packing tomorrow. We’re off to Singapore. I’ll try to keep up contributing (I’m told there is a dedicated computer in my room at our friend BK’s place, waiting for me.) and posting pictures if appropriate.

Had a job interview this evening, rushed in before I left. It went well–I can be very articulate about software testing, test management, QA, and the like. The interviewer thought that I did well (and said so), and discussed salary, availability, and times for 2nd interview (by phone in Singapore if necessary). So that’s all to the good.

I will then, if offered the job, have to choose between going contract (and possibly not having a large income for a while) or continuing as a permie. I may not have the opportunity to make the choice, but I’ve got 2-1/2 weeks in Singapore to think about it.

Somewhat scary…I’ll probably have nightmares. Here.

is of a blog on Typepad called “CTA Blogger”. A thread on other lists I see has been talking about behaviour on public transport. The ne plus ultra of this is here.

Enjoy, er, or not.

A blog that I’ve followed for a long time is boyshapedbox . Dicky is a good site designer and a gay man going through interesting times at university. He’s currently looking for site update suggestions and looking at some of his previous postings will show his real talent and stick-to-itiveness.

We’re about to leave for Singapore Thursday night. I haven’t been there since 1997, and haven’t been to Asia since September 1998, when I had an absolutely wonderful trip to Hong Kong. Anyone who wants to go to Asia should go to Hong Kong first, via Singapore.

Singapore is about a 3-day trip. After that, you’ve seen everything. The shopping is quite good, and various items such as the MRT (subways/Underground), light rail, and Sentosa Island are well worth a visit. A sombre visit to the war memorial cemetery is also worthwhile. Singapore suffered during WW II, first from neglect by the British (who wasted time defending Singapore from a naval attack while the Japanese were hastening down the Malay Peninsula on bicycles to attack their backs), and then from a brutal Japanese occupation. Changi Jail has a display of wartime artifacts and a replica of the chapel that the prisoners built during the occupation. Very touching.

HWMBO is, of course, going to see the relatives (my in-laws). I am tagging along and staying with our friend BK, hoping to see HWMBO as often as possible. I also hope that his dad will refrain from suggestion that he go out on a date with the daughter of a friend of his. We are planning one or two excursions out of the country to lie on beaches and generally relax. I’d love to get south of the equator, given that Singapore is only 1.? degrees north, but probably won’t be able to this time around.

There is also a burgeoning gay scene in Singapore. When I first travelled there, in 1995, there was only one gay pub (Vincent’s Lounge, in Lucky Plaza) and one gay disco, once a week. Now there are many gay pubs, at least 7 gay saunas, and some gay karaoke places and discos. Gay Pride was held this year during Singapore’s National Day weekend (although they didn’t call it Gay Pride, but something else which I forget). Gay sex is still illegal, but the Government seems to have come to the conclusion (surprise!! surprise!!) that some of their brain drain (where young Singaporeans just out of university suddenly go abroad to work and never return to live and pay taxes) may come from the fact that some gay men and lesbians there feel threatened by the law and the culture. So, while the laws have not been repealed, officially, there seems to be a relaxation when sex between consenting adults is concerned.

I will endeavour to update the blog regularly since I can’t send you all (whoever reads this) postcards.

During my time there, the Eames Commission of the Anglican Communion will deliver its report on ways of ensuring that the different “communities” within the Communion can live together, considering the great differences between some and others over the question of ordination of gay men and lesbians and the blessing of same-sex unions. There was, for a time, considerable leakage from the Commission and its hangers-on–had the Eames Commission been the Titanic, it would be on the bottom of the North Atlantic today.

I’m going to commit myself to some predictions about the findings here.

1) The Commission will not expel, or call for the expulsion, of the Episcopal Church or the Anglican Church of Canada over the gay ordination and blessings question.
2) It will, however, call for the banning of those bishops who have indicated their support for such events from the next Lambeth Conference (scheduled for 2008 in South Africa).
3) It will call for the Episcopal Church and the ACC to formally renounce (or perhaps, “repent of”, or both) their positions on lesbian and gay ordinations and same sex blessings.
4) Er…that’s probably about it. It may call for Bishop Gene Robinson to resign, but that happening is unlikely and I think the Commission, recognising that, will refrain.

I believe that the American and Canadian churches will not go back on their actions: in fact, the American Episcopal Church will find it quite difficult to do so since its canons state that no benefits or position in the church, including ordination, can be denied for reasons of sexual orientation.

So what will the reaction in New York and Toronto be? I believe that these Churches will “prayerfully” consider the results of the commission, and then continue doing exactly what they are doing. However, this will force the Communion to react to their non-reaction. Either the Communion will have to expel them from the Anglican Communion (and thus lose more than 30% of their funding) or the African and Southern tier churches will leave (effectively). It’s Hobson’s Choice, and the Archbishop of Canterbury will have to choose one. Rowan Williams is on course for being the worst Archbishop of Canterbury in 100 years (perhaps excepting Cosmo Gordon Lang of the “kick ’em when they’re down” radio speech after the Abdication). He must be going through difficult mental states: it can’t be good for your mind or your soul when you privately believe one set of things (such as the equality before God of all people, sexual orientation and all manner of other items notwithstanding) and have to publicly support another set of things diametrically opposed to the first set. I think that, if this continues, he really should resign for the good of his soul and his mental state.

I have a job interview tomorrow. Very quick on my part, very slow on theirs. I answered the ad about 2 weeks ago, thinking that if they were interested they would get in touch soon and we could arrange interviews (as I now have Mondays and Fridays free). Instead, they call me today, leaving me no free time to go to an interview during the day. I have to go at 6 pm. The job looks good, challenging, and calling on a lot of the facets of my experience. I shall keep the contracting and consulting up my sleeve, so to speak…

Which OS are You?

I look at the Marblehead Reporter every week. The highlight of the online version is the Police Log. I have just discovered this link to highlights of the year in Marblehead (I believe it was 2001, judging from the flurry of suspicious Middle-Eastern-looking men reported after September 11). It’s well worth a peruse, and a laugh.

Marblehead is proud to be the Birthplace of the American Navy and the Yachting Capital of the World. I left for the Big Apple and never came back, but there are lots of nice people there still, including some of my relatives.

There was a program about narcolepsy after the 10:00 news. It’s a desperately sad condition, of course, but the program showed a meeting of the board of the Narcolepsy Society, all of whom suffer from the disease. As speaker after speaker waxed eloquent, the rest of the board members were falling asleep in turns. They have to have three people take the minutes to ensure that nothing gets missed out because the secretary falls asleep. I had to giggle, but I do realise that this is a serious condition. The young teenager who is an extreme sufferer (she has catalepsy, where extreme emotion such as laughter will cause her to lose control of her muscles and fall, even though she is still conscious) was an excellent dance student, and when she concentrates, she is free of the cataleptic episodes. She passed her dance exams with honours and distinction! Good for her!

Now to, of all places, bed. Where I hope that I will suffer from a bout of about 6 hours sleep. Tomorrow I have a doctor’s appointment, always a trial. Diabetes means that you get very familiar with the doctor’s office. I do hope that everything’s OK.

z z z z z

Tony Blair spoke at the Labour party conference today. I hear that his speech was well-received, except for a few hecklers who were impolitely shown the door by security. Heckling in British politics is a fine art, and is often followed by eggs or overripe fruit and veg. It’s a shame that Tony can’t take the heckling.

An article in the Grauniad this morning has disclosed that our Tone is a secret mackerel-snapper. (Roman Catholic). I can imagine the Revd Ian Paisley’s reaction to this news–the spluttering and shouting about the Scarlet Whore of Babylon would be heard from Belfast to Westminster. Of course, since I’m certain that Paisley doesn’t read the Grauniad, he probably isn’t aware of the news. We can take off the earplugs, then. I am annoyed that a Roman Catholic is now in a position to dictate to the Church of England who it should have as its bishops. Disestablishment is long overdue. Unfortunately, the only high-ranking proponent of it was Bishop Colin Buchanan, now mercifully retired from the See of Woolwich, the suffragan see to Southwark in which I have the honour to live. He is an outspoken figure of fun, always good for a larf at General Synod. It’s said that Rowan Williams is also in favour of disestablishment. However, given his timidity on any given subject other than the Simpsons, on which he can wax prolix, I don’t expect that he will say much about it anytime soon. Most of the clergy of the C of E are convinced antidisestablishmentarians, as they are certain that only the might of the State will ensure that those in a C of E parish will drop by for hatches, matches, and dispatches (baptisms, weddings, and funerals) rather than going to the register office or having a secular service at the crematorium. I think that disestablishing the church and ensuring that its canons state explicitly that all are welcome regardless of membership or attendance would do just fine.

Oh, and for those who thought that I was talking about disposing of Tony Blair, HWMBO disposed of the dead rat this afternoon. My hat is off to him: he’s so determined. I would probably have fainted.

Unfortunately, we’ve had a mouse problem for yonks. The exterminator came last year and left boxes of bait, and the mouse presence seemed to decline. However, a few days ago I found the boxes spread all over the floor. I thought, “We have a rat–no mouse could move those boxes that far.” However, I didn’t see any other clues to his whereabouts. Previously, if we left a loaf of bread out on top of the fridge, when we got up in the morning a tunnel would be eaten through the wrapper and into the loaf. We now keep bread in the microwave or in the fridge, and that seems to work. But evidence of mice seems to turn up regularly. I didn’t want to say anything to HWMBO as he’s very squeamish about rats and mice.

This evening we were finishing our evening chores and HWMBO, who had bought some mooncake for the September festival, suggested we have 1/4 mooncake each and a cup of tea while we watched Six Feet Under. As I went to fill the kettle, I looked down at the floor, and saw, next to the door into the garden, a middling-large rat. It didn’t move, it wasn’t waving its tail or anything. HWMBO said, “He’s dead!” but when I made a noise, it slowly turned its head to look at me. It was as if it were asking to be let out of the house.

We got a shoebox, dropped it over the rat, and opened the door, pushed the box out into the garden, and shut the door quickly. The rat obviously had eaten some of the bait, as he was bleeding and couldn’t stand up or walk around very well. We watched him totter around a while, but he was too big to drop a stone on and I wasn’t happy to try to pick him up and drown him, as I do with mice caught in the sticky traps we have around. I suppose we could get a cat, but I’m not very comfortable with taking responsibility for yet another cat. I’ve had three or four, and two dogs, and I think that my pet-experiencing days are about over.

I just looked out the back window again, and the poor rat is still moving a bit. I do hope it expires overnight. While I don’t want to inflict unnecessary pain on any animal, a foot long (tip of nose to tip of tail) rat is not something I wish to have in my house. And the mental picture of the rat slowly turning its head to look at me as if asking to be let out of the house will probably figure very prominently in my dreams tonight.

As I noted yesterday, I went to visit two old chums, one of whom is an entrepreneur and the other of whom, like me, is an ISO9001 auditor. We want to see if we can get a “quality system” offering together to sell to companies. The first depressing thought, however, is that the only conditions under which companies are willing to buy this type of service are “fire sales”–your business is going to hell in a handbasket and you need help, fast. Doesn’t endear one to the business owner. But we had a profitable time brainstorming and coming up with things to do and people to see. We had lunch in a traditional pub with a traditional very low 6′ 4″ ceiling and traditional loos (eg, slimy floors and pastel sinks cribbed from some cowboy plumber’s rejects). The traditional food, however, was quite traditionally good.

Transport, as it always is, was the main problem. I sauntered to London Bridge, bought my tickets, and got on the platform. I had about 15 minutes to spare. However, a stalled train at New Cross did us in. After about 1/2 hour and a platform change, we were off. I had to sit next to an obnoxious tourist and her husband, who had strategically blocked entry to the empty seat with their “carry-on” luggage, er, steamer trunk. Unfazed by that, I moved the trunk and sat down. They were not best pleased and spent the rest of their trip to Gatwick Airport muttering in Danish about the boorish Brit who had stolen their empty seat. I hope they missed their plane. Of course, after that, I deserved the almost empty train on which I returned to London Bridge. Was amused by the group of people who got on at East Croydon: the “Lunar House” crowd who deal with immigrants and asylum seekers. One was crowing about how he was about to leave and what a relief it would be. I was waiting for startling admissions about their work, but they spent the rest of their time criticising the guy who was leaving on his rather love-em-and-leave-em attitude toward romance.

Tomorrow, back to the usual salt mine.

These four-day weekends are turning into shorter variations of the two-day weekend I’ve grown to dislike over the years. I look forward to the day when I can have a seven-day weekend. Preferably someplace warm. And with HWMBO as well.

If you’re interested in clerical beefcake, especially of the Anglo-Catholic type, click here.

I found it the perfect gift for Anglo-Catholic clergy–safe for every sacristy.

On another note: can anyone tell me why the packet of avocados I bought from Tesco’s yesterday had this warning on the label: “Wash before eating” ? I’m not aware of any culinary use of an avocado peel that finishes up with the peel in my alimentary canal.

We had a good patronal festival this morning, ending up with a good feed and some unexpected arrivals, such as Michael from Sierra Leone, who left Britain 6 or 7 years ago before the Immigration and Nationality Directorate expelled him–he’s returned on business and is a sight for sore eyes. We also saw Sam, who is a World War II veteran, with two hips replaced and a bum knee, but as English as a bulldog or fish and chips. I love him to bits. HWMBO came in around the Gloria and I always enjoy it when he comes to church because I know that it’s a real sacrifice for him, an unbeliever. Everyone in church loves him too, and many of them wrote letters of support for us when he was seeking temporary leave to remain.

I’ll be at St. Matthew’s for 11 years in January. The little boys and girls who served Mass then are now in college and university, and have grown into young men and women. Although I’ve not had any of my own, I take vicarious pride in some such as Mandy, whose Zimbabwean mother and father work their fingers to the bone to send her and her brother and sister to school and university. Mandy is going to SOAS majoring in Geography and Economics, and will be taking a Zulu course this semester. She is beautiful and very bright. My thoughts and prayers go with her as she starts her second year tomorrow.

We’ve also had a few go bad, unfortunately. I think of them too and hope that they’ll get on the right track, finish their education, and get jobs rather than the usual spiral of economic deprivation and crime that has been an Elephant and Castle tradition for several centuries (and not just since {insert your least favourite immigrant group here} moved in). We have a very diverse neighbourhood that includes people from Africa, people from the Caribbean, probably the largest South American group in the UK, Turkish Cypriots (most of whom have moved to Stoke Newington but some still here), and the newest group, Poles and other Central European peoples. The local pub even has a Polish night every Sunday night now, and there is a Polish restaurant and deli on the New Kent Road. Oh, and did I mention the large Bangladeshi community on the housing estate behind us?

The preacher this morning was Bishop Michael Doe, the General Secretary of USPG (United Society for the Propagation of the Gospel). He’s the former Bishop of Swindon in Bath and Wells Diocese, and has just been translated. He was OK, nothing special. Most bishops are average preachers because they only need one sermon. They vary it a bit but don’t need more than one since they flit from event to event, parish to parish, and by the time they get to a parish they’ve already visited no one remembers what they said the first time around. I was hoping for rochet and chimere (as he was only preaching) but he wore an alb and stole. No one noticed that I used lavabo towels for purificators.

I have a business meeting in Haywards Heath tomorrow noon; it’s at my old chum Steve’s new office, where he busily dispenses good advice, good courses, and training on all sorts of testing and quality issues.  Here’s the website if you’re interested in such items. I’m a little nervous about going out on my own doing ISO9001 consulting and auditing, but after the soft landing that my current job is giving me I need to be bloody, bold, and resolute. I won’t be fully unemployed until the end of January, and will get a full month’s notice (rather than 3/5ths of my fulltime salary) and the full statutory redundancy money (about

I had a deep-tissue massage yesterday from Daz, a guy I met at my gym. He is a Sikh, very cute in a beary-sort-of-way, and a very good masseur. We bartered for it: I gave him an old hard drive and installed it in his computer as his own is crapping out. He gave me a very good deep-tissue massage. I really feel much better after these, and my back improves for days. Only problem is that he’s located far south of here and it’s a 1/2 hour trek to get there. This was my third, and I hope to have another after we get back from Singapore, if finances allow.

One of the things about being involved with the Church of England on a leadership level is that meetings are the bane of your existence. Someone once defined a Deanery Synod as “A group of Anglicans waiting to go home”. Unfortunately, as Lay Chair of the Southwark and Newington Deanery, there are lots of meetings that I “ought” to go to. This morning’s “ought” meeting was of the Anglican/Methodist group here in Southwark. A cooperation agreement has been signed nationally, and each diocese has to work out how it’ll be implemented there. There is only one Methodist church in our deanery, and I know nothing about them, but I went anyway. A group of very well intentioned Anglicans and even more well intentioned Methodists spoke of how wonderful it was to be church together (one trendy statement). Several people misused the word “mission” as a verb: “We should mission together in the inner city” (for example). Argh. I wasn’t very comfortable, as I’d neglected to go to the loo before entering the meeting room and I was on the inner end of a row. So I eschewed the coffee. The only redeeming factoid about the meeting is that I had a chance to buy a loaf of sourdough bread at Borough Market, next to the Cathedral. Sourdough bread always helps me remember and appreciate the year I lived in San Francisco.

This afternoon we went to the Serpentine Gallery to see an exhibition by an artist named Glenn Brown. His stuff is either very science fiction like (rocks floating around the canvas with cities built on them, always incorporating a sphere on a stalk in each city), or very surrealistic (he does faces with an odd swirling colour field on the face–the docent who was lecturing around us mentioned that it reminded him of decay–I’m glad we’d eaten before we went). HWMBO liked it a lot; I wouldn’t mind the sci-fi pictures but you can keep the rest of them.

Patronal Festival at St. Matthew’s at the Elephant tomorrow. Bishop Michael Doe, who is with the USPG will be celebrating and preaching. I didn’t get to wash the altar linens, unfortunately. I hope we have a few lavabo towels to substitute for purificators. I hope he doesn’t notice the wax stain on the altar cloth.

I realise that this livejournal sounds and reads a bit like Diary of a Nobody. I apologise for that. I suppose that settling into a routine and folowing it means that little or no exciting stuff happens to you. While I’m not eager for lots of exciting stuff to happen (plagues, pestilence, bad weather, and the like), it leaves me with mostly little events that no one else finds interesting or my own bloviation on the world at large. I suppose it’s not as bad as that mega-multi-volume diary left by a gentleman in the US who did almost nothing during his life. Many entries had to do with the quality of his bowel movements and the amount of urine he produced.

If I get to that point, I shall stop wasting electrons.

In order to keep our Bess happy, here’s another picture of me, smiling (I don’t know whether it’s a Fozzie smile or not, whatever that is…).

It’s Friday, the first day of my four-day weekend. I find that even with two extra days the weekend is still too short. Today I need to finish the laundry (fold the previous one, hang the new one), get a hard drive ready for a friend, go to the gym, go to the friend’s place for a massage and some PC fixing, then get home ready to greet HWMBO as he comes home from a long day of toil. Then the regular two days, during which I’ll have to wash, starch, and iron a bag of altar linens, go to a meeting at Southwark Cathedral of Lay Chairs (of whom I am one, for Southwark and Newington Deanery), Rural Deans, and Methodist area chairs in order to work out how we’ll coexist together when the union agreement happens. The Methodists are almost wiped out in England so they needed to find a partner fast–however, since the C of E doesn’t allow woman bishops, the Methodists, who are not “episcopal” but do have women in positions of high authority, are going to have to come to an agreement with us on how that would work. Then Sunday St. Matthew’s at the Elephant, of course, followed by a lazy afternoon of vegging without which I’d be shattered. Monday I have a business meeting down in Hayward’s Heath with some old chums; all of us are investigating the feasibility of offering consulting and auditing services for ISO9001:2000 (and other ISO standards) to small businesses. Tuesday it’s back to the same old saltmine.

So why am I smiling?

One of the advantages to being overseas permanently is that you get the thrill of voting long before November. I got my California absentee ballot last Saturday and have voted for: Kerry/Edwards, Barbara Boxer, and Nancy Pelosi (Overseas US voters get to vote from the last place they lived in the United States). I sent it in, but hope that the Royal Mail gets it right this time. California ballot envelopes have the voter’s address on the back along with a lot of other bumpf, and the last two elections Royal Mail delivered the ballot right back to me, even though the stamps were on the other side.

This time I wrote a big “FROM:” on the back, and a big “TO:” on the front.

However, I expect that, yet again, Royal Mail will drop it back in my mailbox this week, giving me a lot of time to put it the envelope in another envelope without all the bumpf on it and remail it, losing all the postage I put on it in the beginning (for even though they can’t deliver the post to the address on the same side as the stamps, they helpfully cancel the stamps before they turn the envelope over to drop it in my mailbox).