PG Trips

More temporary messages

2006-06-19T04:45:00.000+01:00

Look, this is getting silly. This was supposed to be where I did the main writing; instead, all my energy has gone into the newspaper stuff, which has taken off in a most gratifying way ('Dear Friends' link, if you haven't seen it). I have all sorts of random stuff written or planned to go in here, but it's just not happening at the moment. However, the majority of the unpacking is now done; I have an office with shelves and shelves of books in it, and there should be time to catch up very soon.

I'll get back to you.

We live!

2006-04-08T00:56:00.000+01:00

We are here, and we survived!

This is a temporary post, just to reassure the watching millions that we're still alive. There will be much more to follow, including the peculiar sensation of being accosted in the street because of what I have written. I could get used to that.

Otherwise, all is well, we are now officially mortgage-free; we have now seen our new house (and boy, did we get that one right); we have (almost) bought a car; we have seen the boys' school, and the weather is just terrific.

What more could one ask for?

Breaking Away

2006-04-02T21:09:00.000+01:00

I'm writing this on my laptop in a hotel bedroom at Heathrow. The boys are just drifting off to sleep, and we'll be joining them soon. Everything is now done, there's just us and our travelling bags left (all the others are in left luggage at Terminal 4); we no longer have a car, or any other UK encumbrances. I've just transferred a chunk of money to our offshore account, and I've also withdrawn a sizeable chunk of Canadian dollars. This is it, folks. Next entry will be from an entirely different timezone. See you on the other side...

Exchange and Mart

2006-03-30T20:51:00.000+01:00

Update:

The house is finally sold - contacts were exchanged this afternoon; there's no going back. The funds will be available on the 7th, just one week before we need them to buy the new place, but it'll do.

We've pretty much packed, and I think we'll be able to carry everything. The majority of our belongings went Canada-ward on Tuesday, and all that's left is what we can carry (which seems to be more than we thought we could carry, so I'm quietly confident on that front).

We've sold or given away large amounts of things which we either don't need, don't want, or won't work in Canada. Tomorrow is the final giveaway; everything must go, including the 20 year old microwave. I'll probably shed a tear giving that away, and then everything else goes to the tip.

The cats are on their way. Tonight, they're at Heathrow; tomorrow they'll be in Vancouver. We'll see them on Monday, with any luck

I'm going to bed now. I'm exhausted. But I'm published!

Stop Press

2006-03-29T21:07:00.000+01:00

I'm in print! I have a note here from the editor of the Citizen which says I'm on Page 1, continuing on Page 5, and "Readers are already looking forward to the next instalment".

If I had time, I'd be speechless. More as soon as possible...

Chain Gang

2006-03-23T20:41:00.000Z

Last night, I had my farewell meal, and tomorrow I have my faarewell presentation. After more than 16 years, it's fair to say that my colleagues are doing me proud.

But I struggled to concentrate on things last night because of the dreaded chain. 8 days before we move out, we are still far from certain of selling our house. If you don't live in England, this may puzzle you. If you do, this will be all too familiar to you. What we seem to have pieced together in the last few days is that somewhere down at the bottom of our chain, there is a problem. The kind of problem which is avoidable, manageable and resolveable, but which has been neither avoided, managed or resolved. The result is that we wait, our buyers wait, their buyers wait, and we all get little or no sleep, which in the case of the person in the chain who is heavily pregnant must be particularly galling.

At the moment, my rational head say that everything will be OK; it's just a hitch (or a ruse by someone to pay less for something which has already been agreed), but the majority of me, which is far from rational at this stressful time, is actively investigating bridging finance - we are committed to our Canadian house, and if we don't get the funds through from this one, we're scuppered.

This English system is truly awful for everyone involved, and the amount of yelling one has to do at solicitors and estate agents indicates why they are two of the most loathed professions in the country. Please take me away from all this.

Disconnected

2006-03-20T20:30:00.000Z

Tiscali. Remember the name, people. By and large, I've had no real problems with them over the years, but it seems the trick is never to tell them you're moving away. I had a long conversation with them a week or so ago, and explained that I needed the broadband connection discontinued on the 31st, giving them less than the stipulated one month's notice. The lack of notice is not a problem, because we are going somewhere where Tiscali do not operate, so there is no notice period. Everything was arranged, and they declined my offer of notice in writing, noting that the file would say that we wanted to be closed down at midnight on March 31st.

On Saturday morning, the connection stopped working. Sever increasingly irate phone conversations later, two things became clear:

1) We had been disconnected 2 weeks early ("Yes, it says here to disconnect you on the 31st." "But it's the 18th." "Oh. Yes. Um. That happens sometimes".)

2) There was nothing I could do about it until today, because the cancellations team only works Monday to Friday.

Today, I was cheerfully told that I could reconnect if I liked, but it would take 15 days to process.

I hung up.

If updates become sporadic now, you know who to blame...

More excitement!

2006-03-16T16:06:00.000Z

I have a new job!

OK, maybe I don't actually have a new job, but from now on, if anyone asks what I do, I'm going to say that I'm a newspaper columnist. My pestering of the Citizen (q.v.) seems to have paid off. I have had an email converstaion with the Managing Editor, and he would like to publish my observations 'periodically'.

Don't believe what they tell you - getting into this writing lark is easy...

All I have to do now is write the damn things.

Best get on with it, then.

Asbestos

2006-03-10T15:47:00.000Z

There is no asbestos in our current house. We know this because we have, at great expense, employed a contractor to come and test it for us. We also know this because the house is less than 20 years old, and whatever you may think about the 1980s, no one was using asbestos as a building material then. The fact that we have had to go through this expensive rigmarole is, of course, indicative of the housebuying process in England which is one of many things we will not be sorry to leave behind us.

By contrast, we have in the last week, tied up the deal to buy our house in Canada with hardly a problem - the house inspection took a couple of days to reach us for various reasons, and thanks to having to read it in an airport lounge, I can't guarantee that I gave it quite as much attention as I ought to have, but fortunately there are two of us paying attention to it, and everything has been resolved to the satisfaction of all parties. We have also, during the process, become friends with the people selling us the house - at least, that's how it feels - and I can't help thinking that this is a much better way of doing business.

Although the strange custom of not ncluding tax in things is beginning to grate - we still don't know exactly how much we are paying for this house because it is not at all clear whether we have to pay tax on top of the agreed price, and if so, how much.

All will become clear.

The cats are also sorted out, although I can't make the name of the company transporting them stick in my head, with the unfortunate side effect that I am convinced they are flying with 80s poodle-rock band Air Supply.

And I cracked, and booked us into the Fairmont hotel at Vancouver Airport for our first night in Canada, because I think we'll probably need a little pampering by then.

More, sporadically, as I get it

Maybe the last time...

2006-03-02T21:41:00.000Z

There's not really a lot to report, to be honest. We're very busy, as you might expect, the house moving things are progressing, I'm still spending lots of time closing down direct debits and sorting out medical insurance, and almost unnoticed, I'm doing some things for the last time.

Last week, I was in Luxembourg for the day, and it was certainly the last time I'll be there, given that my visits to Lux have been pretty sporadic over the years - indeed, since I was last there, they have started to build a new airport terminal, so that the walk to the office is no longer possible, crossing as it does a large hole in the ground.

We transacted our business very satisfactorily, and headed back to London City airport on a nifty little VLM Fokker 50, and it wasn't until I was home again that it occurred to me that it was the last time I'd fly out there. And then I've been to Italy this week, and I'm back out there again next week, and this time I will notice it. The office at the factory in Alba has been my second home this past year, and I'm going to miss it, and the friends I've made there. I'm taking a colleague with me, and in a way I'm handing the baton over to him, so it will feel odd, and a little sad, to be thrashing my hire car back up the autostrada for the last time. It's a place I will want to go back to in a few years, I'm sure, but for now, it will be the last time.

As the song says, I'm not looking back, but I'm trying to look around me now...

One Saturday in February

2006-02-25T15:20:00.000Z

I'm sitting at the kitchen table, working through all manner of irritations like Powergen (our electricity meter is playing up, but getting them to understand that or fix it is ridiculously difficult, and I don't want to saddle the new owners with a nightmare meter), and I'm trying to make lists.

List 1 is all the direct debits we need to cancel or otherwise tie up before we go. We've been carefully reducing these since the turn of the year, and only the essential ones are left now - the mortgage and so on. The list is looking manageable, although it's going to take quite a few weekday phonecalls to resolve everything. In one way, it's just like moving house normally is, but of course we're not telling people our new UK address - which at least saves me from having to listen to innumerable sales pitches.

List 2 is the 'Dear Friends' list (I'm not getting very far with this, because the boys keep interrupting me to talk about Star Wars). 'Dear Friends' is my embryonic project - the idea is that I will write a weekly letter about our experiences and send it to our friends back home, with the possibility, if I can get them interested, of letting the PG local paper, the 'Citizen' have a look at it as well. If they like it, perhaps I will be sharing my thoughts with their readership as well in a kind of 'see oursel's as ithers see us' kind of way. Trouble is, I can't get emails through to them at all, and talking to someone requires more co-ordination of times and phone calls than I seem to be able to manage at present. Given that I'm in the flow now, perhaps I'll try in a few minutes - I'll let you know.

Meantime, if you'd like to sign up for it, leave me a comment, and I'll add you to the list.

(There. That'll make me do it!)

Update corner:

The house move seems to be going ahead - we've had our offer accepted, and we're just waiting for the paperwork to come through. It still seems slightly sureal, doing this online, but it is working. If timing all comes together, we'll be able to move in after only 2 weeks in Canada, which is beyond our wildest dreams.

The cats continue to be an issue, however. Airfreight company no 1 looked impressive, but have been less than helpful as soon as our move went beyond 'Heathrow to Vancouver Airport' status. Several others have been contacted, and we are hopeful.

More as we go - exciting, this, isn;t it?

It's all happening...

2006-02-20T20:56:00.000Z

Don't you just hate people who say that? It can't all be happening, you want to say. Well, excuse me, but it pretty much all is happening right now. Posts are much fewer and significantly further between than I had hoped at this stage, and it's all happening...

We've just had the most interesting weekend of the whole project. We started it glumly perusing the latest list of houses for sale in PG, wondering if we were going to end up renting one of the depressing-looking apartments of 15th Avenue (15th Avenue sounds cool, but I don't think it's all that; I don't really remember). This evening we made an offer on a house.

It's faintly alarming, this. But as Zoë just said to me, moving halfway round the world is the scary bit - buying a house you've never seen is nothing.

I need at this point to heap lavish praise and thanks upon our aforementioned friend, Caroline, who has essentially been our proxy this weekend, and actually took time out yesterday to go and view it for us. Then - and this is way above and beyond the call of duty - she took time out of her breakfast routine to call us and give the low-down. Which, naturally, was so positive that we ran upstairs and emailed off an offer.

How did we do this before the internet?

That's all you're getting right now - no more details, not because it'll jinx anything, but because it's still just an offer, and there are plenty of things which could yet stand in our way. But I'll tell you this much - it's so absolutely perfect a fit for our list of objectives that it must be right - it's actually laughably good.

More when I know more.

(And no, I'm not sitting here typing this into one computer while the other one sits behind me on the spare bed, wirelessly connected to Zoë's email account in case of a reply. That would just be silly.)

Counting Down

2006-02-14T19:47:00.000Z

It's time to concentrate a few minds, I think. With one thing and another, my time at my current employer is ebbing rapidly, and as of today, I have 29 working days left. So I've set up a countdown in my calendar to try to keep me focused on what needs to be done, and to try to keep everyone else reminded of the fact that I won't be around forever.

Talking of which, since I last posted, we have:

Booked our flights: April 3rd from Heathrow with BA turned out to be the best deal. Of course the airline industry being what it is, it is better value for us to book return flights, even though we have no intention of coming back.

Made various arrangements for the final week - arranged for removals; organised me to go to Scotland with various bits of computer equipment; arranged to sell my car while I'm there; booked a flight back (using my soon to be redundant AirMiles (long story)); booked a hire car - an estate - for the final few days; booked a hotel for the last night, and many other even less exciting things

Opened an offshore bank account (I say again - eek!)

Cashed in various policies, making us feel ridiculously wealthy

Discovered another snag with those there cats - apparently Air Canada will not fly them to PG from Vancouver, because they do not have heated cargo areas on their internal flights. Another airline, West Jet, can fly them, but it's proving something of a struggle to get this organised. We still love them, though

Said (more or less) goodbye to my family, who were all here for the weekend - although I'll be up in Scotland again before we go, the next time my parents and sister see the boys, they'll be Canadian residents. Talking of which:

Booked flights for my family to come and visit in July. In spite of us not yet having anywhere to live. It'll work.

So, we've not been idle. It's a lot of work, this. But you know what - it's fun.

Goodbye, part 2

2006-02-03T13:43:00.000Z

We're saying goodbye to a colleague today - a task which has fallen to me for reasons which need not detain us. A perfect opportunity for a 'dry run' for my own leave-taking, which has suddenly come into sharp focus thanks to the phone call I got this morning.

Around 9.30, my phone rang, and my home number appeared on the screen. I picked it up, expecting some tale of the school run, or - just as likely - a plea for computer support, but instead, I heard: "We've got it!"

"It" being in reality "them", since we are now in possession of all our Work and Study Permits - no problems, just present this piece of paper when you land in Canada, and off you go.

So, approximately 8 weeks from now, I'll be going through the same ritual humiliation in front of all my work colleagues, who'll gather round in the hope of seeing me shed a tear. Might happen, too. We'll see.

Flying fur

2006-02-01T20:14:00.000Z

I am prompted to remark upon our feline comapions. Yes, they are coming with us (we hope they like Canadian cat food), and in their own way they are subtly influencing things. For example, the plan at the moment is to rent as soon as we arrive, and look to buy as soon after that as possible. However, this does restrict the choice of rental properties, and it doesn't appear to be all that big in the first place.

They also remind me that they would rather we lived somewhere where bears are a rarity in the garden, but we can't really promise that - we've heard more than one tale of ursine visitors; enough to give the bravest moggy pause for thought.

Pause for my own thought: is 'moggy' a Canadian word? I suspect not.

We have provisionally organised transport for them - there are a lot of companies set up for just this sort of thing - but, of course, until we have a date, we can't really make anything concrete. And the cost? Ah, they're worth it, if only for the sport of seeing them try to kill a moose.

Cold

2006-01-28T21:48:00.000Z

Not that kind of cold; the cough and sneeze kind. It partly explains the lack of update; right now, I'm waiting for the boys to fall asleep, so that I can. Things still progress in the meantime; I have disentangled us from some of our UK life, and been advised to set up an offshore bank account, which kind of made me go 'eek'.

And the very nice people who are buying our house came to visit and do some measuring today; they are very excited about the whole thing (their whole thing, that is; not ours), and keen to get on with it. Somewhere in the chain is a pregnant person, who is due in May, so must be moved by then. It's looking like it may all come together.

Oh, and we bought a laptop, so that everything on this computer can be made portable in time for the flight. We're beginning to crystallise our thoughts on April 1st now; soon we'll have to make it a firm commitment.

It's happening...

More steps

2006-01-19T22:27:00.000Z

Tentatively, it's all coming together. The Work Permit applications are in; and tomorrow, Zoë has to go for her medical, so we know that everything has been received and is being processed. The medical will lengthen the process a little, but we're still on course.

We've started to wind things up; tomorrow, I will spend the day at home making all manner of phone calls, and sending emails galore to try to unentangle us from our UK lives, and try to put some small things in place at the other end. On that note, I'm still no nearer to a work-related trip to Canada; I spent the whole of last week in the company of Canadians, and enjoyed it thoroughly; I would be helpful to them over there, and it would benefit me as well, but there is politics involved, and it's an Italian company; I'm saying no more.

And the big news is - we may have sold the house. No more details at this stage; it's way too early, but we're quietly confident. I got the news standing outside the Star Bar in Edinburgh - one of our old haunts, revisited for old time's sake wth University friends. I had a blast (and Aberdeen beat Hibs, which practically never happens), and as I tick things off my list ("things I must do before leaving the country"), I realise that I'm more and more ready.

Come on, let's go...

Now it gets scary

2006-01-03T22:09:00.000Z

Today has been spent interviewing removal firms. Zoë's day, that is - my day has been spent going back to work. There is so much to take into account when moving our belongings - so much so that it's beginning to seem like a serious option just to sell everything and buy new in Canada. OK, so there are too many items of sentimental value for that - and all those books - but having done one pass at thinning out stuff, we're clearly going to have to take much more of a scorched earth policy to things. One oddity - not so odd when you think about it, I suppose - since 2001 and the Foot and Mouth outbreak, Canada has looked very unfavourably on anyone importing soil. Well, I thought, that won't affect us. And it won't - as long as we wash bicycle tyres, and clean any outdoor shoes thoroughly - it really will be that detailed, apparently.

Yikes.

Year's end

2005-12-30T12:34:00.000Z

I'm sitting at my desk at work today; I always volunteer for one of the three working days between Christmas and New Year - I think the boss should set an example, and not ask people to do something I'm not prepared to do myself. It's, of course, extremely quiet - I'm basically here to support one other person who has to be here, and he'll be leaving early this afternoon. At which point I'll shut up shop for the year. For the last time. This year end working has become a familiar ritual for me, and although there will be several work-related things which I've done for the last time already, this will be a clear and obvious one. Never again will I go round, checking the doors and windows are locked; making sure no-one's been overlooked; setting the alarm and notifying security that we're all out, and if the alarm goes, it's not us. (One year, it was someone I'd missed, although he hadn't signed in, so I didn't know he was there...)

I'm not getting as much work done as I intended - it's always a bit difficult to get motivated when it's this quiet - and partly that's down to the distractions I have on my desk. One is a wonderful coffee-table type book full of glorious photographs of BC (Zoë's last Christmas present), and the other is a fax.

This fax is the final confirmation of the decision from HRSDC. We are allowed to come to Canada, and contrary to the information we had earlier, we are confirmed for the full 3 years, which takes some of the pressure off when it comes to getting permanent residence organised. It's here; next step is the Work Permits, the application for which are all prepared, and then we just have to sell the house.

Let's go!

Breaking Away

2005-12-26T21:20:00.000Z

We've been up in Aberdeen for Christmas, and I have just spent the whole of Boxing Day driving back home. Good thing, too - the weather is reported to be about to turn wintry, and I don't particularly want to make that journey in the snow. Although it would have been good practice, I suppose.

A strange thing happened as I was hauling up the hill out of Aberdeen, the car protesting at having to drag several hundredweight of presents; I started to think about my reaction to leaving Aberdeen, the place of my birth. I was, for some reason, a little sad, although I will certainly be back before we go, and I have previous on this 'leaving Aberdeen' thing:

I first left home in 1980, to go to University in Edinburgh. It was a hard thing to do at the time, for various reasons, but it was the best decision I ever made. I looked forward to getting home every so often, but I also thoroughly enjoyed my four years in Edinburgh, and part of me wishes I'd stayed there. After that, I spent another year - this would be 1985 - in Aberdeen, but I was chafing to get away; I'd already left home once, and it was time do make the break more permanent. When I left that time - to go to Inverness, as I noted before - it felt right; the way forward (although my family was not so sure). After that, Aberdeen felt less and les like home as the years went by. Until we left Scotland (for good, it seems) in 1989, I was in Aberdeen regularly and frequently; once we came south, I hardly went back at all.

In the last 15 years, I've been 'home' about once a year, and there have been times when I've gone way longer than 12 months away from the place. So today should not have felt any different, really. But it did. It really did. Aberdeen is no longer the place where I grew up - how could it be - and so many things have changed that I barely recognise it, yet I'll miss it, and not just because it's where my parents live - I'll miss the familiarity of it; knowing that it's just an hour's flight away, if need be.

But I'm a traveller at heart, and what I'm really looking forward to is having a new place to call home, and how that will feel when the time comes, as it surely will one day, to leave there.

Goodbye, part 1

2005-12-18T12:42:00.000Z

I'm sitting here with my resignation letter in front of me. It's about two months since I told my boss, and over those weeks, I've gradually been telling more and more people, although nothing has been concrete until now.

I worte it without a moment's hesitation - it didn't occur to me to wonder what to write, or agonise over the wording; I knew what I wanted to say, and I said it.

But now it's real. The letter says I will be leaving 'no earlier than' March 19th, and in truth, by April I will be gone. The job I took as a stopgap in September 1989 - something to get us over the worst period in our lives, with Zoë unable to work, and me redundant, slowly turned into a roller-coaster ride of fun and frustration in equal measure. For a time I didn't leave because I didn't know what else I could do; then for a long time, I was enjoying it too much to contemplate doing anything else. A couple of years ago, I was fed up, stuck in a rut, and ready to go. We started to talk about and plan Canada, and for the first time, I could see a way forward.

Then, with typical inevitability, the job became engrossing and exciting. I knew it couldn't last, and indeed it hasn't, but it will be much harder now to walk away than it would have been 18 months ago.

Still, I'm ready. And the letter's on my desk; just needs an envelope.

And then I can start saying goodbye properly.

Falling into place

2005-12-16T12:32:00.000Z

I've been out this morning - visiting one of our customers, in the hope of finally securing electronic trading between our two companies after some 5 years of trying. The meeting went well, and I'm remarkably hopeful that all will come together in the next few weeks.

When I return, bearing mince pies for the team (well, it is Christmas - more or less), I have several dozen emails, as usual. One of them is in my Personal mailbox, and naturally, this is the one I look at first.

It's from Zoë, and it contains 'good news and bad news' - HRSDC have approved our application, but only for one year.

We're going. We really are going.

I should feel more elated, I think, but the 'one year' stipulation is a little worrying - we'll have to apply for permanent residence as soon as we arrive, really, and there is always the risk (although HRSDC make encouraging noises about applying for an extension) that we might be stateless after 12 months. Also, there are a number of unanswered questions about when this period starts, and how quickly we'll be able to get work permits (and also the great unknown about when we will be able to sell the house), but realistically, I should be getting excited.

TIme enough for that, I think. For now, I'm keeping it quiet, and I'll be writing a resignation letter over the weekend. Then it will feel real.

And we wait...

2005-11-29T21:27:00.000Z

I'm sure there will be more stressful times ahead, but this point in the process feels like it may be the worst. The house is up for sale, but no-one is coming to see it; the paperwork is with HRSDC, but we have no further news, and I can't tender my resignation in case it all falls through.

Also, I had to suffer a cortisone injection in my sore elbow this morning.

And then, even as I type this, some news arrives - Zoë's employer has enlisted the help of her local MP, and he has promised to 'light some fires'. A glimmer of hope...

Does this mean I'm going to have to vote Conservative when I get out there?

The Kindness of Strangers

2005-11-09T20:26:00.000Z

So, we're starting to get nervous about not having done things. Like enquiring about schools, for example. Last night, we sat down and got our heads together about School District 57, and agonised over an email explaining our position; how to word it, who to send it to, how much help to ask for - that kind of thing. Eventually we settled on a wording which would pass muster in this country, and hopefully would ease us into the morass of bureaucracy which surely shrouds these matters. Then we scoured the website for the right contact. Eventually, I reckon that we should aim high - send it to the Superintendent of the School District, and hope that he will pass it on. So we cross our fingers, and send.

Five minutes later there is a reply. The first word? "Welcome!" Here is a man who, in this country, would employ someone to answer his emails, and set us off (if he was helpful at all) into a tangled web of People To Contact and Things To Do. Instead, we get a personal note, full of friendly advice, putting us at our ease about the process, and exhorting us to let him know how we get on.

It's going to take some getting used to, this Canada thing.

Fireworks

2005-11-06T20:36:00.000Z

We spent the weekend with friends - it was Son no.1's birthday yesterday, and we went in search of spectacular fireworks (we found them, too). Later, over a bottle of wine, we fell to discussing our impending move. As we talked, I realised that I really am looking forward to this; each time I find myself explaining it to people, I sound more and more enthusiastic - there's no feeling of having said all these things before, and being bored of them - I'm eager to talk about it, and full of enthusiasm.

This has to be a good thing.

Holiday Diary, Day 3

2005-09-04T21:03:00.000+01:00

We wake a little less early today. Well, most of us do - I'm off back to the airport to pick up our transport for the next few days, so I'm up ahead of everyone else; showered and breakfasted in no time at all, I'm ready to go just as the others are getting themselves organised. I've decided to go for the Airporter bus, being the kind of person who enjoys a new experience, and that means a short stroll down to the Marriott just along the road. Sunday morning in Vancouver is like Sunday morning in most places - quiet and sleepy; the only people about are the ones who have to be somewhere, like me. I wait, trying not to peer in the window at the slightly better-appointed Marriott lobby, and soon a bus pulls up with 'Airporter' written along the side. However, this is not my bus; this is the shuttle bus which links up the two main routes. At least, that's how it appears to me from the timetable - I'm not entirely clear how it works.

At any rate, a few minutes later a much bigger Airporter arrives, looking just like the ones on the timetable I'm clutching. I get on and pay my fare (after quickly remembering to stop converting everything to Sterling - I nearly offered the driver exactly half the fare). The bus - not surprisingly - went back out the way we'd come in on Friday, and like many places, the Vancouver suburbs began to look a little familiar the second time through. Soon enough, I was disgorged with my fellow passengers at the International terminal. I spent a few minutes wandering the terminal, as much to kill a little time as anything - I didn't want to be too early with the pickup time, since that would mean we'd have to drop off much earlier at the other end, and I needed to go past Toys R Us on the way back to pick up car seats, and I suspected they wouldn't be open at 9am.

However, there wasn't that much to divert me at the airport, so I scuttled down to the subterranean car hire - sorry, rental - and picked up the car. Now,when I say car, I mean 'minivan', and when I say 'minivan', I mean something only a little smaller than our first house. A Pontiac Montana, it was, and despite its size, it was perfectly comfortable and easy to drive. Of course, automatic, and of course on the wrong side of the road, but I had plenty experience of that this year, and soon I was heading north under signs which read 'Vancouver' and 'Whistler'. Cool doesnt begin to describe it.

Toys R Us was, of course, not open until 10, so back to the hotel, and into the underground car park, pausing only long enough to work out that this monster would actually fit. (Of course it would, they build things to this scale around here). I gathered the crew, and we set off back to pick up the seats. We weren't entirely sure about the rules governing car seats, but we were taking no chances, and if everything went to plan, we'd be needing them again one day...

Seats safely installed, I head off towards Stanley Park, with the intention of taking in a few totem poles. However, I have reckoned without the Vancouver weather. It rains a lot in Vancouver. Specifically, it rains a lot on the first Sunday in September - at least, that's our experience. The rain started gently, and just kept on developing. Just as you thought it could get no heavier, it turned itself up another notch. There are some big totem poles in Stanley Park, but I pretty much drove right past them because I could barely see out for the rain. We decied to press on, since it showed no sign of letting up, and with the wipers on full, we headed for the Lion's Gate Bridge.

Which is spectacular. It's in a wonderful setting (despite the rain), and it's just a beautiful piece of engineering. It's really hard to say why it's more attractive than any other suspension bridge, but it just is. It feels delicate and strong all at once, and the views from it (through the rain) are sommething to behold. We were heading for Capilano, almost entirely because of the adverts on the sides of the buses, which read 'Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh...' I just hoped we'd be able to see something through the rain. We parked and waited for a break, but each minute seemed as wet as every other minute, and there was no benefit in postponing the inevitable - we were going to be soaked, whatever we did. So we made a break for it, bought our yellow rain capes, and paid our reduced entrance fees (becasue of the rain - did I mention the rain?). Fortified by typically Canadian-sized snacks, we set off in search of the wobbly bridge.

Even in bad weather, it's a truly spectacular sight - Capilano is a steep, narrow gorge, with the river pounding through hundreds of feet below (or so it seems) and the footbridge is as wobbly as you imagine it's going to be with dozens of passengers tramping over in both directions. Halfway across, son no. 2 started his own wobble - I guess when you're that small, it might look a bit scary - and I had to help him across the final few feet, all the while pondering how we were going to get him back. Once across, there were woodland walks and trails, including one constructed halfway up the giant pines, allowing a highly unusual close-up view. We thoroughly enjoyed the whole thing, even though we'll have to go back to experience it properly without rain forcing itself through every slight opening in our clothing. The return trip was uneventful from a 5 year old point of view, he being much braver than he looks, and ready for it the second time. However, we did have to endure a lengthy pause, bouncing not entirely gently, while the group in front of us took interminable pictures of each other. I can't yet tell the accents apart, but we just knew they had to be Americans. Canadians don't do that sort of thing.

The rain had eased to a steady downpour by this time, and we celebrated by spending large amounts of time, and no small amount of money, in the vast gift shop - somehow, it didn't feel like a tourist trap, even though that's exactly what it was. Perhaps it had something to do with the high quality of products on sale - much of it good value, none of it tacky.

We emerged, blinking, into - surprise - sunshine. Everything was gently steaming, and a group of musicians were serenading us with Victorian song, including, at one point, 'Loch Lomond' played at hight tempo, like some kind of jig. I was restrained from pointing out that it's actually a lament... An al fresco lunch was procured, and we ate heartily (but when did we not on this trip?). The rain held off long enough for us to get back into the car and get reasonably dry, but started again almost as soon as we set off. This was the first leg of the drive up to PG, and I, for one, was itching to get out on the open road. The first hour or so, however, was suburban, and but for the unfamiliar traffic, could have been anywhere. However, we gradually passed into more and more rural surroundings, and by the time we reached Abbotsford, it all felt new and strange again. We made great sport of pointing out the US, just a few hundred metres off to the right, the closest any of us have been to it. (I've been to Niagara, but I don't think I was ever closer than this to the border - I could be wrong). After this, it was a gradual turn to the north, passing evocative names like Chilliwack and Harrison Hot Springs, before finally descending into Hope.

I shall spare the name of the place where we stayed that night, suffice it to say that it was beyond Hope, and although it had the word 'Resort' in the title, it was obviously missing the word 'Last' just before it. We've been more comfortable; let's leave it at that.

All that remained was a trip back into Hope for some dinner - pizza in a friendly, if basic, restaurant - and the realisation of just how far we'd come. Away from the metopolitan centre, Hope had a feel of the old West to us - it seemed almost primitive in places, although I'm sure it has every modern convenience, it looked so different to what we were used to that we both felt instinctively uneasy there. If every town in BC looks like this, I thought, we're probably staying where we are. Only time will tell..

Holiday Diary, Day 2

2005-09-03T16:26:00.000+01:00

We slept. I was a little worried about this, to be honest but we all slept pretty soundly, thanks to having been kept awake by a tyrannical father until at least 8pm. So we were awake a little early, although that wasn't a problem for the boys, who had Canadian cartoons to watch. One of the things we had all been looking forward to was our Canadian breakfast, and it didn't disappoint - stacks of pancakes and general Canadian goodness. I was a little discomfited by the reliance on eggs, but somehow I managed to negotiate an egg-free breakfast, and we all ate like it was going out of style. Since we were now filled to bursting, a walk was clearly in order.

We were early, but the city was up and about. We strolled down to the water's edge, and headed for the advertised ferries to Granville Island. Now these ferries are a little smaller than you might expect, being only slightly larger than the hot tub we had soaked in the evening before. However, it proved to be remarkably stable (the calm water no doubt helped) and we were whisked rapidly over to the island.

Which was, generally speaking, not yet open. It was only just 9 am, and as befits such a bohemian place, things were only just stirring into life. We wandered for a while, saying hello to cats and peering into intriguing looking wndows until we came upon an open shop. Let it be recorded that the first thing we did upon arriving in Canada was march into a bookshop. Those who know us will find this a little less than surprising, I guess. One reviving drink (and colossal slice of cake) later, we headed for the famous 'Kids' Market'.

The Kids' Market has many wonderful things in it, including child-sized doors, which provoked much amusement. It also contains an indoor play area of the kind which is found in places like Berkhampsted and Watford, and was therefore less than enthralling to the adults in the party. The boys, however, had to be restrained from gazing wistfully at it, and in the end had to be distracted with souvenirs. We even bought presents for the cats in a converted railway carriage. Like you do.

After that excitement, we strolled around the perimeter of the island, past marinas and through boatyards, to the next ferry terminal where we caught an only slightly larger ferry to the other end of False Creek, and Science World. This ferry trip allowed us a better orientation on the city, and I began to identify landmarks and try to align my mental map of the city with the reality I saw all around me. Suddenly my reverie was interrupted by much shouting and drumming; almost as if some sporting event was taking place all around us.

We were merrily sailing through the middle of a dragon boat race. Large crews were frantically rowing towards us in brightly-painted and hugely decorated boats, while a sizeable crowd on the bank of the creek yelled their support. This wasn't the annual dragon boat festival; perhaps it was simply practice, or a minor league race-off. Whatever it was, it was a spectacular sight; the kind of thing which makes you wonder if you've properly woken up yet. But I have photographs; we did see it.

Science World is housed in a giant geodesic dome (as Science Worlds properly ought to be), a relic of the Expo from some years before. It's a terrific place for children of all ages, as you might expect, and a great deal of fun was had by all - yours truly particularly enjoyed the 'Harry Worth' mirrors. (Only readers of a certain age are likely to get this reference, which is just the way I like it.) For the boys, however, I suspect that the highlight of the day was the SpongeBob Popsicles, although they looked thoroughly revolting to me. The word Popsicle is so familiar to us, it comes as something of a shock to realise that it is a brand name, not just what North Americans call ice lollies.

From Science World, we headed for the SkyTrain, pausing only to admire the teriffic kinetic sound sculpture at the entrance. I'm sure that the boys in the party could have happily watched it all day. The SkyTrain has an indisputable air of cool about it, even though it's just an underground train on stilts - not even a proper monorail. It is, as we were rapidly coming to expect, clean, tidy and efficient, and whisked us downtown in no time. The plan at this point was to scour the shops for a decent roadmap of BC, since I was about to set off to drive through large chunks of it. I didn't seriously expect to get lost, given that there are relatively few roads, and essentially only two which went where we were going, but a map is an indispensable part of any car journey, I always feel, so I was going to find myself one.

We were disgorged from the SkyTrain into what was advertised as 'Granville Mall', but which turned out to be a street. This, together with incipient jet lag, and a general sense of dislocation, served to disorient me thoroughly, and my normally reliable sense of direction deserted me. I had to rely on native cunning (and streetsigns) to get us headed back in the right direction towards our hotel. Unfortunately, this seemed simply to take us away from any shops which might sell roadmaps, and instead headed us through a slightly less salubrious part of Vancouver.

Now, these things are relative - it was insalubrious only by comparison to the other parts of Vancouver we had seen, and at no time did we feel uncomfortable or out of place as we marched past the Orpheum (home of the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra and, I discovered later, a 'Walk of Stars' - I can't have been looking down at that point) and back up the hill to where we had started the day. Eventually, we came upon the hotel, and across the road from it a 7-11 store. We went in for supplies to find that they stocked a wide selection of roadmaps to suit all tastes. We stocked up on snackfoods likely to keep us going through the rest of the afternoon (there was a real danger of us all falling asleep before dinner, given how much walking we'd done, and I knew that way lay disaster), and a handy roadmap of bC, which was going to keep me occupied for the rest of the day.

So we whiled away the rest of the day watching cartoons, munching on snacks, reading, and generally just enjoying being in Vancouver. Tomorrow, we hit the road...

Holiday Diary, Day 1

2005-09-02T21:40:00.000+01:00

This is what they mean by an air of excitement. There's about half an hour to go before the taxi is due, and the boys and I are pacing up and down the driveway. All the bags are in the hallway (or the living room - we're taking a lot of stuff) and there's nothing left to do but wait.

Now, the day is mainly going to be spent waiting, and it might have been better to spend this time doing something productive, but they're excited, and so am I. I'm also, as always, tense about the time. Even though we've left huge amounts of time to get to Stansted, I'm anxious because I won't be driving.

Taxi arrives early, we pile in - how many times in the next two weeks are we going to manhandle three large suitcases and four carry-on bags? Better get used to it. To my disappointment, we take the same route I take every day to go to work - at least at first. I think I'd have gone cross-country, partly to avoid having to look at this all too familiar scenery on the way. Never mind, I'm not driving, I have my boys either side of me in the back, and we're finally going. The taxi journey is remarkably quick, in truth - in spite of the best efforts of the M25, and we arrive at the airport in more than enough time.

The last time I was at Stansted, it was a bit of a scrum; this time it's a lot of a scrum. I spend a significant amount of time just getting to the front of the pack to find out where we're to check in, and even longer navigating to the far end of the terminal building. But soon enough we're checked in, passport controlled, security checked (and which of us, who has been security checked for flights roughly once a week for the whole of this year, gets stopped for forgetting to take off his watch and belt?) and settled down to wait some more.

And it all goes pretty quickly. I have become something of a jaded waiter-in-airports this year, so I was expecting this part to drag, but there is snacking and shopping to be done. (And if you think I'm going to identify which frequent-flyer member of the party forgot his boarding card and had to do the trek to the far end of the terminal twice just to buy some toothpaste, you're mistaken). Some time before the official boarding time, we decide to take the nifty Stansted train to the gate - as much to break up the wait as anything - and we emerge at the pier ready to settle down for some more waiting. But we are pleasantly surprised by the invitation to step on board; the flight is waiting for us, having arrived from Manchester, and we have plenty of time for boarding, arranging ourselves, and generally getting organised. Extremely civilised, and something I'd encourage all airlines to do. Yes, I know that's not realistic, but I can dream.

Push back, and now the time drags - we want to be under way, but there's the usual amount of hanging about waiting for other traffic to be done first. Eventually, we're lined up, and although this is probably my 30th or so flight of the year, I cannot suppress a thrill as we start to roll - gets me every time.

The flight is 10 hours long, but I'll spare you the full details. Instead, here are the highlights from my notes:

Scotland: It's a beautiful clear day, and all of the west coast of Scotland is laid out before us. I spot Stornoway, where I used to fly to on BA 748s all those years ago, but soon it's all behind us.

Iceland: The captain alerts us to Iceland, and it's stunning - a place I've long wanted to visit, it looks bewitching from the air - all rock and tundra, an alien landscape.

Greenland: Truly spectacular, Greenland seems to go on for ever out the right hand windows - during cloud breaks, I'm peering out for polar bears, but there's only white, as far as the eye can see.

Icebergs: Huge great bergs, the size of medium-sized English counties, float by. Awe-inspiring from up here; what must they be like close-to?

Ice floes: And these are just startling - vast areas of frozen or semi-frozen sea like nothing I've ever seen before.

On we fly - Canada gradually asserts itself beneath us, and only now do we begin to understand the scale of it - we're only halfway through the flight, and there are no more countries to cross. As we go, we explore the in-flight entertainment, we play with GameBoys (well, the boys do), we read things, we eat surprisingly good food, we chatter and change seats, we do logic puzzles (well, I do - a throwback to my own family holidays, when I would spend hours lying on Italian beaches doing these puzzles). There's a note here about a sickbag, but we'll draw a veil over that (no, it wasn't me).

We've been battling headwinds all the way, and we're about an hour overdue by the time we start to descend, but the flight's been so good - for which, read the boys have been so good - we hardly notice it. We try to pick out locations we've perused on maps from the air, but a new country is impossible to interpret from above; you need time to get used to the way it looks, and this all looks alien. There's a big sweep over downtown Vancouver, but it's on the other side of the aircraft, and so we let down over the Pacific - the Pacific! - and arrive without having been prepared for what it all looks like.

Externally, Vancouver Airport looks like any other airport, I suppose - a little disappointing, because I'd been told it was impressive, but inside is a different matter. This is how airports should be - warm, welcoming, efficient - a dramatic contrast to my times at Malpensa - and we're whisked through passport control, baggage reclaim and customs in what feels like no time at all. Never mind that it's nearly midnight by our body clocks; we're in a new country, and just maybe we're embarking on a new life.

Passport control is our first encounter with the general Canadian friendliness - what would be in the UK a surly, mumbled exchange is a real, honest-to-goodness conversation with someone who is really interested in what we're doing, and where we're going. It takes no longer than normal, but it feels so much nicer. Welcome to Canada, they do things differently here...

The taxi driver is Sikh - we could be in London. We could be, except that we're on the wrong side of the road, and London doesn't look like this. The trip downtown is straightforward enough (thinks the person who's going to have to do it again on his own in a couple of days). As we round the final corner, to cross over Granville Island, we're confronted with Downtown - City of Glass, I discover later, and that's exactly right. It just looks so different from what we're used to - tall buildings as far as the eye can see, but so much sea, and so many mountains. Vancouver truly is in the most spectacular setting, especially if seen in good weather - later in the trip we'd see it in low cloud, and it looks quite diiferent ; this is the way to see it.

The hotel is - of course - friendly and welcoming; the boys get to try a little Canadian ("Hi there!") and we decide, having freshened up a little, to take a stroll; try to begin the process of adjusting the bodyclocks. We only walk a few blocks, enough to get a feel for the city. I have, of course, been in Toronto, but for the others, this is their first experience of a North American city, all wrong side of the road and unfamiliar rules - we can walk out in front of traffic, and it will stop. This is going to take some getting used to.

We snack, and wander back to the hotel, weary but happy. Trolleybuses swish by, unnerving in their relative silence, and we begin to grasp that this is a quite different city.

All that's left of the day is a very strange hot tub experience on the top floor, gazing out at the rush hour traffic on the Granville St Bridge, 12 storeys below us, and a meal in the White Spot attached to the hotel - full of calorific Canadian goodness. It's only 7pm, but we're ready for bed. Probably the longest day of any of our lives (certainly so for the boys), but we're here.

And it feels good.

Here we go...

2005-09-01T21:36:00.000+01:00

Now, I'm not going to pretend that what follows was done at the time - this is a series of posts which I have composed some time after the fact, and posted back into the appropriate day to create a kind of daily diary of our holiday. It's not all strictly relevant to the move process, but it will reveal what we did, and how we reacted to Canada, and will probably illustrate why we decided to go.

I hope that hasn't spoiled the suspense for everyone.

Plans afoot

2004-12-08T11:48:00.000Z

So, we're definitely going. On holiday, that is. There has been some issue with my employer, particularly in the matter of timing and length of our trip - originally, we wanted to go for 3 weeks, to give us a real feel for the place, and to go during the aschool holidays, but that has been comprehensively scuppered by the project (sorry, Project) I am now immersed in.

We compromised; we're going to go in the first two weeks of September - probably earlier than the company would like; definitely later, and for less time than we would have liked. But we're going. There is much to plan, but the broad outline is: fly to Vancouver, drive up to PG, and fly back. Given all the uncertainties about where we want to live and so on, we need to take the opportunity to see as many places as we can. At the back of my mind is the big question: what if we hate PG?

I'm also not sure about the prospect of both boys on a 9- or 10-hour flight.

Afore Ye Go...

2004-11-10T20:52:00.000Z

... any further.

I've realised that I haven't been terribly clear about where we're going, if we are going.

At the moment, the intention is to go to the city of Prince George. This is principally because of the friends I mentioned below, and our subsequent research of their lifestyle and city. However, there are certainly other possibilities in BC and even Canada as a whole - but PG (as we no doubt have to learn to call it) is the primary choice. As the weeks and months go by, I'll add more links to the list; for now, the official ones - just to get me started.

A Farewell to Things

2004-11-09T20:40:00.000Z

No.1 in a continuing series (probably):

If we really are going (and it feels like we are), I need to be keeping an eye on two lists: things I'll miss, and things I'll want to do at least once more before I go. Not that we're moving somewhere completely isolated from the world, but certain things will be more difficult to access. So, a start to these things, then:

I'll miss:
The Proms. No point pretending otherwise; I feel like I've only just started appreciating them, and after next summer, I'll be listening to them during the day over the internet. In a funny kind of way, I'm quite looking forward to that, but still...

Football I'll probably start calling it soccer, and I'll probably be watching the boys playing it for years to come, but it won't be the same. When we do make our trips back to the UK in years to come, I need to make sure that they coincide with at least some small part of the season.

I'd like to do:

Some more travelling in Europe There are places I've never been (although I've just been to Warsaw, and it looks like there might be some more travelling involved in my job this next year). In particular, being back in Italy the other week has rekindled my taste for it, and I'd really like to go and see Mahler's house some day.

A bit of nostalgia. I'll certainly be back in Aberdeen before we go - it's where my family is, after all - but I'd like some time to mosey around some of the other places I've lived and worked, particularly in Scotland. And I really must get to Leakey's bookshop in Inverness.

Oh - Canada?

2004-11-05T16:37:00.000Z

No, I don't really know why.

We have always wanted to live in Canada. This goes back at least to the early days of our marriage, when Zoë was interviewed - by telephone, I should add - for a job in Nowheresville, BC. It wasn't really right for us then, but I guess it set up a kind of longing which has never really gone away. Back in early 1998, I had the opportunity to spend a few days in Toronto, and I came back raving about it - I'd have moved then and there, given the opportunity, but No.1 son was but a few months old, Zoë was not yet back at work; too many other things were not right, and the moment passed. It never went away, though - that glimpse of a lifestyle is as vivid today as ever, and it informs some of what this is all about.

Since our conversation in the park (or Conversation In The Park, as I like to think of it), Canada has again become our focus. Over the years, there might have been opportunities to move abroad at various times (I guess if I had pushed hard enough at certain times, I could have arranged a move with my current employer, but would we both have been happy in, say, Luxembourg? I doubt it.) I think we'd both have considered Australia or New Zealand, or - well, anywhere, really - but the question always nagged: why, and what would we do?

Now, it seems we may have at least part of an answer to some of this: the sums add up - more or less; the boys are the right age; my work has come to an impasse of sorts; the equity on this house would buy a staggeringly large house in Canada; there are opportunities for Zoë to work, and earn enough to support us; we could be happy - happier than I think we are now.

It's a big dream, and there are enough potential stumbling blocks to make it a daunting prospect, but we think we can do it, and there's really only one way to find out...

A peripatetic penguin, I...

2004-10-19T16:27:00.000+01:00

We're natural born movers, I suppose. Since we've been married, we've lived:

In part of a manor house, just west of Inverness

In a modern bungalow, just east of Inverness

In a first floor flat in Perth (we loved this one, but it had some bad memories, too)

In a much less attractive second floor flat in Chorleywood, overlooking the Underground railway

In a pathetically tiny starter home in Tring

In a somewhat less tiny semi-detatched house on the fringes of Watford

In a very comfortable detached house in a Buckinghamshire village

Odd, but true fact - in all the houses we've occupied in England, we have lived within half a mile of a county boundary. This has nothing to do with anything, but it amuses me.

Although the length of our stays in these houses has been gradually increasing (the first was about 6 months, the last nearly 5 years), we are basically inclined to move house. In all the time covered by these moves, our parents have remained in the same houses - I'm not sure where we get it from.

OK, that should confirm our identities to any passing person who has a vague idea of who we are. Hello; it's us.

Dramatis Personae

2004-09-14T16:16:00.000+01:00

There ought to be some kind of introduction.

The majority of posting will be from me, Richard. Over time, I'll probably reveal more of myself and explain some things, but for now, the bare details. I was born in 1962, so am past the dreaded 40th - although, as I shall explain, I don't think age has all that much to do with this decision to move - and ready for new challenges. I have worked for the same Italian firm since 1989; originally in Scotland, but in southern England, just northwest of London, since the summer of 1990. More will become clear as we go along.

Zoë has been my wife since 1986, and we knew each other for at least 5 years before that. This makes us kind of unusual these days; at least that's how it seems to me. I'm hoping she will want to post some stuff on here one day, but she's not one of the world's natural bloggers. Zoë is a Speech and Language Therapist - that's kind of relevant to the whole story.

Our boys will generally be known as No.1 son and No.2 son - they were born in 1997 and 2000 respectively. I'm not putting any more detail about them than is necessary to tell our story. Eventually, I guess they may want to expand on things, but for now, let's keep them pricvate, shall we?

We also have 2 cats. Their main purpose in this narrative is to bring dead animals into the house at inconvenient times, and to cost money. Ah, not fair; we love them really.

Out of the black...

2004-08-23T21:57:00.000+01:00

It is, of course, absurd. We have worked and striven to get here, and ‘here’ is the kind of place where people relax, settle down and grow older gracefully. We have a comfortable life; or if not completely comfortable, then at least we are in a place where we could get comfortable, trundling in and out to our comfortable jobs every day and watching the boys grow up in an environment which relaxes us as parents – even if I suspect they will be somewhat resentful of living in a tiny village when they are teenaged and tired of their parents.

Nothing on earth could persuade us to leave all this, and head halfway round the world to a place where it is cold most of the year, and we would be “500 miles from everywhere”. Nothing.

Could it?

We were walking across Kensington Gardens in a light summer shower when it first dawned on me that this might not just be a passing fancy. We had spent a pleasant few hours in the company of our Canadian friends, and despite not having seen them for more than ten years, quickly fell into the kind of conversation which passes between old friends; the kind of conversation which leads to wild surmises. We asked about their life there in Canada, we gasped enviously at their hot tub and their space – all that space! And we began to wonder about things.

When you have lived in the south east of England for any length of time, you become inured to house prices, and you find it quite normal to casually drop them into your conversations, safe in the knowledge that everyone else has paid extraordinary amounts of money for their little corner of the Home Counties. We are pretty much unshockable when it comes to housing, and we kind of expect everyone we meet to be the same. Which can come as a bit of a surprise to people from other parts of the world. We tend to moan excessively about the price of our own homes, and then bluntly ask people what they paid for theirs. Often, they are so surprised, they just tell us, whereupon it’s our turn to fall into a jealous faint.

From all of which, it may be surmised that there is something of a price differential between the leafier parts of Buckinghamshire and the more remote areas of British Columbia. Enough of a price differential to actually make me feel faint. Enough of a price differential to actually make me think seriously about things.

For several years now, I have been wondering about the future. This, I know, is not particularly unusual in people of my age – I turned 40 two years ago, and am by any standards in a pretty comfortable rut. I could, if I chose, trundle happily along doing what I do now until I felt the need to retire. My family would be provided for, and I would be neither stretched nor unsatisfied. My job is one which I have more or less created for myself; it fits me very well, but it’s not exactly a fast track to anywhere – not that I necessarily want it to be, but it would be nice to think that I had some kind of prospect, or at least the possibility of progress by something other than ‘Buggins’ Turn’. Which, in any case, really wouldn’t apply. My employer is Italian, and the reality is that in order to progress beyond a certain point, you really need to be – not Italian as such, but sufficiently inculcated in the culture to want to spend evenings and weekends working, and I have passed that point in my life. I have other priorities in life, and I’m beginning to realise that work is not the driving force in my life it was a few years ago. In short, I’m in a rut; I can’t see a way out of it I would be in any way happy with, and I do not want to spend the next 20 years driving the 25 or so miles to and from work at an increasingly slow pace – already it takes anywhere between 45 minutes and an hour each way, and that time has been gradually increasing. I can easily imagine the journey stretching out to around 75 minutes each way, and I just don’t want to live like that. I mean, I like my car, but not that much.

So, the future has been occupying my thoughts. How to reconcile the financial burden of a growing family with the desire to spend somewhere between a little and a huge amount less time at (and travelling to) work; and how to actually find the time to do the things I’d much rather do. So far, it had seemed an unsquareable circle, but a conversation in a London park changed all that.