Nott's (not) so bad...

It's been 4 weeks since Dave and I moved into our flat in Nottingham and we're getting nicely acquainted with our new town. Dave has started classes, pursuing a Master's degree in journalism at one of the two nearby universities, and I have started work as a human resources assistant (temporary) in a college. My finding work so quickly after moving in was a bit of a surprise, but I'm pleased to be working in a field that I'm genuinely interested in. I've set up a bank account, Dave and I have registered our names for all possible utilities, and I'm on my way to securing a National Insurance number (comparable to Canada's SIN) and a health insurance card. We're getting used to living together and negotiating through the sometimes sticky terrain of co-habitating, but we're learning and growing stronger as a unit, and as individuals, with each passing day. For a pair of transplanted souls, we're doing nae bad.

I sometimes find it strange that we're living in the middle of England and it's more than a little disconcerting living amongst folks who speak like Harry Potter and Oliver Twist. What's most frightful to me is hearing little kids speaking English in their weird babyspeak. It reminds me of a horror movie for some reason and literally sends shivers up my spine. Anyhoo, I think I've taken to Nottingham quite nicely. It's quite the beautiful, old town. It's got cobbled streets, a wonderful market square (seen here at night), big, old trees to go along with the big, old houses, a castle, a legend (that of Robin Hood ,which I found out is a gross bastardization of the truth. Robin Hood was a bastard. More on that another time.), and tons and tons of fantastic shops. We live quite close to the city centre (about a 10 minute walk) in a beautifully appointed neighbourhood aptly named "The Park" and by all accounts, this is ideal place to live.

However.

There are a few x's behind the name of Nottingham. For one, it's got the highest rate of gun crime in the UK. IN THE UK!! For a small island of over 60 million people, my adopted home is known all over as the place where there is a clear and present danger of getting a cap in the ass. But, to defend Nottingham, or Shottingham as it's sometimes lovingly referred to, it's not as bad as it seems. According to the Wiki article, Nottingham reported a spectacular 51 kills in 2003. For a town with a population of about 600,000 in a country where not even the cops carry guns, I suppose this was a lot. But I think it was a lot of sensationalistic reporting, though I wasn't here at the time. But things have calmed down, with the number of shootings falling to just 13 last year. It's good to know that people have gone back to stabbing and "glassing" one another.

My next gripe isn't really specific to Nottingham, and maybe not even England. It's the phenomenon that occurs on Friday and Saturday nights - the assholing of perfectly reasonable people. The women, who I think have such a fashionable way of carrying themselves, go through a horrifying slutification where they lose their good sense, their minds and their knickers come the weekend. I've seen women walking around in mini-mini dresses, garter belts and panty hose in the name of hen (bachelorette) parties and cleavage like you wouldn't believe. To be fair, women here are definitely NOT shy about showcasing their bosom. I went to a recruitment agency to get registered and the woman who was serving me was wearing a blouse that was too tight and too see through. I had to really focus on keeping my eyes on her face. I don't know, is it just me? I've seen my share of cleavage in my native Montreal, but here it's so OBVIOUS. Maybe because English ladies seem to be particularly well-endowed...? Of course, this observation and slight discomfort is further exaggerated by living in Japan for the past two years and seeing nothing but cotton/silk/wool up to the neckline.

Another thing that I'm adapting to is the drinking culture. In Montreal, you drink for pleasure, in Japan you drink to socialize, and in the UK you drink to get stinking assed drunk. To quote David, "So you see, it's not just my problem, it's society's problem." With recent articles and studies reporting that British people have a high incidence of problems related to heavy drinking (illness, unprotected casual sex, pregnancy), it's a big deal. Friday and Saturday nights are prime time for drinking and you'd be hard pressed not to see signs of binge drinking all over the place. To add to this, it seems that British males get highly aggressive when drunk (must be a throwback from all that historic war mongering). Take for example what happened a couple of Saturdays ago: Dave and I were on our way home from a lovely (and expensive) dinner at an Indian restaurant and we were weaving our way through the crowds of under-dressed, over-intoxicated folk. We were focusing on a particular group of mutton dressed as lamb (grown assed women wearing outfits meant for children) when this guy, a bloke with big ears and a surly expression, was looking at Dave with cold dead eyes and said: "You lil' prick."! This was an unprovoked attack and the ferocity of his conviction caught me so off guard that I burst out laughing! I couldn't help it. I'm still laughing about it nearly two weeks later. What a twat.*

Well, that's it for now. I've been remarking about the food culture here lately so I'll be sure to post something about that soon. Til next time!

* "Twat" doesn't mean the same thing here as it does back home. It means stupid or idiot. It still tastes like acidic glass on my tongue when I attempt to say it though. Incidentally, I'm doing alright with "cunt" (which means bastard or asshole)though it still burns my ears from time to time.