An American in Scotland

Sunday, June 25, 2006

Punk Grannies

My fascination with British punk grannies began when Gareth introduced me to his mother on her first and only visit with us in California. I remember puzzling over the contrast of her conservative skirt and blazer and her hair color, which was an exuberant shade of burgundy that was careening toward purple.

Being the sort of woman who prefers having a hairdresser style her hair, a week later we took her to a popular Ventura hair salon. Patrick, the owner, commented that American women of a certain age would never consider coloring their hair anything but some shade of blonde, which she, of course, found strange. The way she viewed it, hair color was one of those things that you should experiment and have fun with; if she didn’t like the result, she’d just get it redone.

A few years later, we relocated to the U.K. and spent three months in Wales before deciding on a permanent move to Scotland. A visit to the Bridgend B&Q (similar to a Home Depot) soon after our arrival brought me face-to-face with a fifty-something cashier sporting a bright blue bob. That same day during a quick stop at Tesco, I spied an older woman in a business suit who reminded me of a parrot in a coif of florescent green. Scottish punk grannies seem to favor bright reds and purples, though I’m sure I’ll eventually come across more colors.

I asked a hair stylist about this and she had no idea why some elderly British women chose to rival their grandchildren on the hair-color front. Maybe doing something fun and outrageous on the outside makes them feel younger on the inside. American women would never take such a light-hearted view of their appearance – they are as focused on being stylish and beautiful as they were when they were younger. Their preoccupation with blonde hair color comes from the outdated belief that it is kinder to aging skin than shades of red or brunette.

As I get older, I’ve come to value my newfound ability to laugh at myself, though I admit my approach to hairstyles remains serious. Perhaps a strategically-placed lock of blue or green every now and then would be good for my soul.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

A Pocketful of Change

It’s amazing how much change accumulates in the bottom of my purse here. My aversion to digging around for loose coins existed in the U.S. as well; the cumulative effect was significantly less, however, and I realized it's because U.S. currency is more bill-centric.

Consider the following: in the U.S., there are pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters, which immediately segue to the dollar bill. I’m not including half dollars and the Susan B. Anthony dollar coin here because, even though the half dollar is still considered legal tender, it’s rarely used, and after its final minting in 1999, the Susan B. Anthony dollar all but disappeared due to its unfortunate similarity to the quarter. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Susan_B._Anthony_dollar

The pound sterling, however, is significantly more coin-centric: one-pence, two-pence, five-pence, ten-pence, twenty-pence and fifty-pence coins are all in regular circulation. Then there are one-pound and two-pound coins, keeping in mind that a pound is worth (in real terms) about $1.50. Thankfully, there are no plans to elevate the five-pound coin’s current commemorative status to that of regular circulation. http://www.answers.com/topic/british-five-pound-coin

But while I find the coin issue annoying, British men are even more upset by it. Whenever Gareth is given change by a merchant, he either hands it directly over to me to add to the small mountain inside my handbag, or he waits until we get home and then dumps it in our designated coin jar. It is then my job to keep in mind all the possibilities for coin use (toll booths, shopping cart rental*, etc.) and to make sure I’ve raided the jar before we set out on a journey. Men who don’t immediately discard their change find themselves with holes in their pants pockets from the weight.

It’s easy to see why governments love coins: the average coin has a life expectancy of 20 to 40 years, while a dollar bill can’t handle more than 18 months of abuse by the general public before it’s pulled out of circulation. Nations that decrease their paper note usage are rewarded with massive savings. To put this into perspective, had the dollar coin successfully replaced the bill, the BBC estimated that the U.S. would have saved $500 million each year. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/1921123.stm

My one saving grace is that debit cards are accepted practically everywhere - I’ve even managed to stop feeling guilty about using my card for purchases of a couple of pounds.

* Brits have come up with the brilliant idea of putting a locking mechanism on shopping carts that forces shoppers to insert a pound coin, whereby it disengages itself from the row of carts. When you’ve finished with it, you simply reattach it to the row and it gives you back your coin. This solves the problem of workers having to go cart collecting every few hours, plus carts have less of a tendency to magically disappear from store parking lots.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Customer (Dis) Service

First of all, the exchange I’m about to describe started with a mistake I made.

Since Gareth and I aren’t married, we need to have wills and powers of attorney that delineate who gets what if one of us dies, especially since we are getting ready to purchase a house together. In a moment of cheapness, we decided to forgo a lawyer (solicitor) and order a set of prefab wills/POAs from an online company called tenminutewill.co.uk.

After I read through the FAQs on the website, paid £84 and spent significantly more than ten minutes filling out all the forms, I noticed in one of their return emails a line saying the documents were legal in England and Wales, but not Scotland. This sometimes happens; the individual countries that make up the U.K. don’t always work the same way with regard to matters of a legal nature, in much the same way that U.S. states have different laws. Realizing I somehow missed this important piece of information, I decided to try and get a refund on the grounds that I wouldn't be able to use them.

So I sent tenminutewill.co.uk’s customer support department a brief but courteous email asking for a refund. I didn't really expect to get one, but you don't get if you don't ask. The unnamed customer support rep responded with an oddly sarcastic email basically stating that I should have read all the small print and it was my own fault.

Although there are many things in the U.S. that could arguably stand improvement, American companies have customer service down to a science, which was why I was surprised by the rep’s rudeness. This prompted me to send a response that included following:

"you might want to simply post clearly on your website that your products are not valid for Scotland" and "Since you are not being reasonable, I will be sure to post on every will-related forum I can find how accommodating and helpful you've been."

I never actually intended to do this – I just felt the need to respond to sarcasm with sarcasm and it was the only thing I could think of at the time.

A few minutes later, the rep wrote back:

Why should we waste space on our Home Page just to accommodate the less than 1% of our 'Customers' who are unable to read the words:

"All documents will be downloadable (and also emailed to you) immediately in Adobe Acrobat format as soon as you've clicked the 'PROCESS' button above, will be checked by a professionally-qualified Willwriter, and are valid for assets in ENGLAND AND WALES. If you have assets elsewhere please click here. If this box is ticked, you are over 18 and have read and accept our Terms and Conditions and, if you live in Scotland or the Channel Islands (or have any assets outside England & Wales), have read these notes."

What, pray, is NOT clear about the above ????? We'd be interested to hear why YOU didn't read and understand it.

Go ahead. If you spend 100 hours on this task you might get your message across to about 0.1% of our future Customers.

Don't forget to mention that your advice applies only to those who can't be bothered to read what they're buying before handing over their money. How ironic that you're Scottish.

Regards

Portology Ltd. Willwriting Support


Again, I’ve happily accepted the blame; I just don’t happen to think any customer should be treated that poorly by a representative of a company, regardless.

One thing I’d like to point out is the rep’s last sentence:

“How ironic that you’re Scottish.”

Besides the fact that I’m not Scottish, this is a great example of the ongoing prejudice between a relatively small number of Brits in both England and Scotland.

Some Scots still consider the English to be the enemy because they resent having been taken over by England in the 18th century. It’s difficult for me to imagine that people who weren‘t born then would still hold a grudge, but there you have it. And I guess it follows that some of the English, as the victors, still consider the Scots to be inferior to them, hence the statement above.

Going back to my problem with the wills, I thought about asking our bank to try and get the money back but decided I couldn’t be bothered with more paperwork. We met with a lawyer this week and he is putting everything together for us at a very reasonable price.

Driver's Test Update

Well, I'm thrilled to announce that after three months of driving lessons and much pain and suffering, I passed my driver's test.

Test takers are allowed up to 15 minor faults before failing the test, and I managed to get through with four, which I guess is pretty good if you ignore the fact that I've been driving since 1980. Minor faults are things like signaling too early or too late, not looking in your mirrors enough or not putting on your hand brake at a stoplight. A major fault, which means automatic failure, would be something that is either illegal or dangerous.

Anyway, it's one less headache to worry about.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

Haunted Castles

Throughout the U.K., you are never more than a stone’s throw away from a castle. According to Wikipedia, there are over 650 castles, the majority of which reside in England and Scotland. Many of these formidable-looking fortresses were built between the 11th and the 14th centuries. Coming from a country whose oldest buildings, with the exception of early Native American dwellings, date to around the mid-1500s, I find myself drawn to the these medieval structures and the intrigue and violence that regularly took place within them.

Last week, Gareth and I drove to Northumberland, an English county just over the Scottish border, to spend the night with our friends Darren and Nikki at Chillingham Castle. http://www.chillingham-castle.com/

When we arrived, Gareth asked an old gent in tweeds who was chatting with the receptionist whether the leg irons hanging on the far wall were for people who don’t pay their bills. “Oh no, we have a blunderbuss* for that!” he replied with a snaggle-toothed smile. Then a young woman escorted us up a steep spiral staircase to our self-catering apartment, which was charming in an old-fashioned, could do with a lick of paint and new carpet, sort of way. Soon our friends arrived and we headed back down for a look around the castle and a tour of the grounds.

I think the best part about visiting Chillingham Castle is that the owner, Sir Humphrey Wakefield, allows guests to literally have the run of it, minus, of course, his own living area and those of the staff. We started in the dungeon and worked our way through myriad dining halls, reception rooms and bedrooms, each filled to the brim with artifacts from all over the world that Sir Humphrey had brought back from his travels. It was as if my Great Aunt Winifred invited me over for tea, then left me to rummage to my heart’s content through the long-forgotten contents of her attic. There were beheaded toys piled around a ramshackle dollhouse; stacks of Mein Kampf magazines from the 1940s atop a snooker table that had seen better days; damaged oil paintings from the 1700s; furniture from various periods in various stages of restoration; rusty suits of armor; mounted antlers of every species imaginable; a pair of life-sized wooden horses; the list goes on.

After we’d spent a couple of hours exploring the interior, we moved to the Italian-style gardens and then on to acres of woodlands surrounding a lake that was the picture of serenity. Watching a mother duck and five ducklings glide past our vantage point on a small dock, I dreamed I was sitting in a lawn chair with my laptop, working away on my second novel. As we continued along the dirt path flanked by thousands of bluebells beneath twisted expanses of yew, I started to seriously consider applying for the next open staff position.

Complaints of hunger from the guys made us end our walk and drive to the singular restaurant/pub in the area, which was beyond busy with hordes of locals, tourists and walkers. Then we returned for the guided ghost tour that makes Chillingham a tourist favorite.

Two couples joined us in the courtyard and then Bob, our tour guide, led us through the castle and grounds while he told us about the castle’s violent past. This included vast amounts of torture and killing of Scots through the centuries. One of the guests claimed a brass plaque in her apartment kept moving while she watched, and Bob recounted myriad sightings of the resident ghosts. Our set of rooms, dubbed the Lookout, was supposed to be regularly visited by a female apparition, but while we spent a few hours supposedly chatting with spirits by way of a makeshift ouija board, we didn’t actually see anything of a supernatural nature during our stay.

* Translation: 18th century shotgun

Friday, June 02, 2006

Gotten's Bad Rap

The other night, I was watching a chat show called “Room 101.” For those of you who haven't seen it: a guest divulges a list of pet hates to the host (currently Johnny Vegas), who then decides whether each one deserves to be consigned to Room 101. The show title comes from Orwell’s book, 1984; it's the name of the torture chamber where prisoners are subjected to their worst nightmare. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Room_101

Sir Alan Sugar, the U.K.’s answer to Donald Trump, included among his pet hates the American dictionary, and said something to the effect that Americans don’t speak proper English because they use words the British don’t use and everyone knows the Brits invented the language. Among his examples of words Americans apparently made up, he cites gotten, as in “I thought I’d gotten the part until Angela read for it.” Sir Alan would have said, “I’d got the part” instead.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/apprentice/board/

I just wanted to point out that the word gotten originated from the U.K. It dropped out of use in the move from Middle English to Modern English, except in stock phrases such as ill-gotten and gotten up. In the U.S., however, it is still used as the past participle of get. I should mention that linguistics experts claim it’s not as simple as exchanging got for gotten either, though I won’t even attempt to go there. If you’re a wordophile, check out this link: http://www-personal.umich.edu/~jlawler/aue/gotten.html

So obviously, while Brits who remained in the U.K. eventually decided to shorten the word, the ones who had (by choice or mandate) moved across the Atlantic apparently didn’t get the memo.

I’m sure linguists can provide numerous examples of Australian,
New Zealand and Canadian English that have met with a similar fate. But as long as we can still understand each other − the raison d’être of language − why concern ourselves with the details?