Citizenship and the EU

You know, I often find myself wondering about this. I've said before that as soon as I'm eligible I will apply for Canadian Citizenship, and this remains my intent. The question being; do I wish to remain a citizen of the UK, and thus a citizen of Europe? Will I want to maintain dual citizenship status? While I don't, and have never really minded the notion of being a citizen of Europe, I don't like the way a closed circle of unaccountable politicians and bureaucrats are taking it.

When a torrent of micro managing regulation goes onto the statute books without so much as a bye, leave, or thank you. Then I don't want to be a citizen of the EU. If legislation can be cut and pasted from directives originating from within the undemocratic cancer that is the EU Commission without so much as a sneeze from the elected body. Then I don't want to be a part of the European Union. When I watch the insane debt bubble looming over the countries that are part of the Euro, then I think I'd be better off not being a citizen of the EU.

Don't get me wrong, I love Europe. All of it. I love most of the places, and most of the people I've met on my travels. Germany, Italy, France, Spain, Netherlands, Luxemburg, and yes, even Belgium. I'm sure a lot of Germans, Italians, French, Spanish, Dutch, Luxemburgers and Belgians feel exactly the same way.

There are things that are done far better in Europe than the English do. The TGV's (Ironically, many engine and coach units built by British Manufacturers) that zip across France and Spain. Much more comfortable than flying. European Motorways, and I have many fond memories of French N and D routes. Airports.

My head is crammed with delightful European memories like the almost overpowering liquorice tinged smell of Basil on the road from Florence to Genoa. The dusty glory of a Tuscan summer. Champagne cellar tours in Rheims, the dazzling brilliance of the Mont Blanc glacier on a sunny day. The dusty expanse of the Saarland and Rhine Valley in midsummer. Little family roadside restaurants off the beaten track. People who readily forgave my poor language skills, but didn't mind so long as I made some effort (However awkward) to speak their language.

The sheer weight of european history and culture is tremendous and never less than impressive. Yet all that is good in Europe is slowly dying of bureaucratic poisoning. A stolid, boneheaded, ignorant top down political delusion that assumes one code of law will do for all. If it were general law, like don't steal or don't cheat, I'd be all for it, but what bugs me is the increasing micro management foisted upon the majority by vocal lobby groups. Chair polishing time wasters passing law after law without any real thought for the consequences. A system of governance that reduces the rights of the individual to whatever largesse an overweening state can be bothered to hand out. With every new piece of legislation the system becomes ever more inflexible.

To compare; in general terms of materials science, the stiffer a substance becomes, which mostly mean becoming more tightly grained, the more fragile and prone to shattering it becomes. So it is with law. The more constricting and inflexible law becomes, an increasing number of people keep will slamming into it until a social critical mass is reached, and something has to give. At that point either the edifice collapses under it's own internal pressure, or enough people get together to form a hammer. As is happening right now throughout the Middle East at present where tired, inflexible regimes are cracking under the strain. The EU are interfering because that's where most of their oil comes from. Yet their interference is actually making things worse.

For example; outside intervention is giving Gaddaffi's main power base, his alliance of tribes something to rally against. Where he might have slunk off to Venezuela with a couple of billion in unmarked bills in times past, that door has been shut to him. With no exit strategy he has to fight. More Libyans will die because of it. All because of short sighted, posturing EU intervention. I do not support this, nor do I agree with what is happening within the EU. Not too chuffed about Canada being dragged in, but that's NATO for you.

There is no course of remedial democratic action open to me. My UK MP is a buffoonish rubber stamp who does not care about his constituents views. My UK MEP is so remote and unaccountable that they might as well be located out in Lunar Orbit. Therefore I do not want to be a citizen of an enlarged EU.

At some time in the next three years I'm going to have to make a decision about citizenship. If, once a full citizen of Canada I renounce my citizenship of the UK, and thus Europe, if I get stuck in Europe for any legal reason I will always have the option of deportation back to my new home. Yet if I have dual citizenship, that choice might not be so readily open to me, and any protections I might have as a Canadian citizen might be somewhat diluted.

The Canadians look after their citizens, you see. The tacit constitutional contract between state and individual is largely intact over here. You have to really want citizenship, and therefore it's not an easy road to travel. That is where its value lies.

Upon sober reflection I think I'll have to plot this one through carefully. It has been said that those who wish to give up citizenship of the UK should undergo a psychiatric evaluation. But what is insane about wanting to renounce a country that has changed the terms and conditions of citizenship without consultation, leaves sizeable tranches of its populace effectively disenfranchised, where people can be imprisoned without trial, their families dismantled, yet has the effrontery to describe itself as 'democratic?'

From where I stand at present, with no other door open to me, the renunciation of everything I was brought up to believe in may be the most potent protest I can lodge.

The evil of PAF C23

Back in the bad old days of slavery in the United States, there was a thing called the 'Underground railroad' which spirited escaped slaves over the border into the anti-slavery (Abolished in 1834) British run Province of Canada amongst other places. Many into Ontario, although a number of notable families who can trace their lineage back to those days ended up in BC to make their mark in a free (ish) country.

The 'railroad' hit its peak during the US Civil War years with estimates of up to 100,000 freed slaves being bandied about, although sources indicate that the successful number is closer to 30,000, or even as low as 6,000. Considering the network of safe houses was mostly informal, the lowest figure seems the most likely.

The reason I bring this up is the continuing furore about 'secret courts' and forced adoptions in the UK, the most high profile of which is the recently leaked case of Vicky Haigh, which may only be the tip of a very large and polluted iceberg. From what I can see, various UK Social Service departments have been operating against basic human rights laws, and the Police have been complicit. Although in their defence I'd say that the Police are fed a line, and are bound to comply with the demands of Social Services. All Social Services have to do is make an allegation, and the blind juggernaut of Police and Courts rumbles into action.

The heart of the problem lies with PAF C23, which sets out 'targets' for adoptions and care orders. At this point I blink heavily and suppress the need to go "WTF?" How can you set targets for Social Service driven adoptions like a commercial sales operation? What complete fucking genius came up with that crazy idea? What affectioned time pleaser first mooted Key Performance Indicators for adoption? Which sectionable bunch of cretins put it into action? Who insist that the practice continues? Ofsted, that's who. I discussed the matter this morning with Mrs S, who opined that giving Social Workers 'adoption targets' was a licence for corruption. To quote from the UK Parliament early day motion;

Ofsted continues to put pressure on local authorities to increase the number of adoptions; recognises that the only significant way in which this can be done is to increase the adoptions of babies and toddlers

Such is the motivation for stealing unweaned children from their parents almost literally at birth. One of the cited reasons for such evil is an unverifiable 'risk of emotional abuse'. Now being a parent, I know that low level 'emotional abuse' is pretty much a two way street in any family. I've been on the receiving end, and tried very hard not to pay back in kind (Not always possible). And it's a pretty flimsy excuse for such a draconian measure.

There's also the accusation that certain people are using the Foster Care system as a regular source of income. At twenty thousand pounds a year per child, all you've got to do is foster two or three and it's easy street, at least financially speaking. Decline the unruly teens (Who the unscrupulous would just dump back into the 'care' system) and go for the toddlers. Three children, and you can live quite comfortably. Mrs S and I brought our two up on a net income of almost half that. We never starved.

Some families under threat of such child theft leave the UK and often flounder in new circumstances. Others, like Miss Haigh, have a wide circle of friends and associates overseas who have perhaps assisted her with tips about where to find accommodation, shielding her identity / location from officialdom where necessary. Others may seek practical assistance from Ian Josephs 'Forced adoption' website. Although I think Ian could do with a little assistance in creating a more user friendly site. Too many words Ian. It needs restructuring into something a little more practical and user friendly.

Here in Canada, we are still recovering from the scandal of 'Residential schools' where First Nations children were taken to Borstal like establishments to be 'educated'. The fallout is still making money for various ambulance chasing lawyers, who up until 2009 had big billboards up on Highway 19 north of town with wording like "Victim of Residential School system?" The scandal has cost the Canadian Taxpayer not far short of a billion dollars;

Total Compensation as of March 01, 2011: CAD$960,247,668

Taken from the original source here. When the scandal finally breaks (As break it must, injunctions or no) in the UK, guess who will be picking up the tab? Got it in one - Taxpayers

Perhaps the powers that be should recognise that, like with slavery, people (Even small and helpless ones) are not property.

Although I won't be holding my breath for that penny to drop.

Cross posted at Orphans of Liberty. Or rather not.

Canadian Census 2011

Have just completed my first ever online census for Canada. Not all that onerous, and about as basic as it gets. Essentially it boiled down to these questions;

1. Who are you?
2. How many live there permanently?
3. Who are they?
4. Is this your correct address?

Remarkably painless. Five minutes. I can do this.

Census tale

Talking with Youngest via Skype this morning. She recounted her experience with a Census official at her student dwelling.

FX: Knock knock. Front door of house shared by five Students is opened by Youngest, shivering in the cold. Outside is a Census Official.
CO: "Have you filled out your Census form yet? You have to you know, you can be fined if you don't."
Youngest: "Yes."
CO: "It's a criminal offence not to fill it in and return it you know."
Youngest: "Yes we filled it in. Yes we posted it."
CO: "Fines of up to a thousand pounds."
Youngest: "I know."
CO: "You have to do it properly you know, or you can be fined."
Youngest: "What?"
CO: "It's a criminal offence you know."
Youngest: "I know. We filled it in, we posted it."
CO: "Oh." Apparently having delivered the supposedly intimidating spiel, said Official was apparently quite crestfallen at having delivered it to someone who'd actually filled the wretched thing in. Door is firmly shut in said Officials face.

Mind you, she told us with a knowing smirk, she didn't actually tell him what answers they'd given. Tsk. Students, eh? No respect for overweening authority. I blame the parents.

Blog rage

Not that anyone really reads my frequent forays into frustration with the world, but then this blog is my daily toxic thought dump, a venting of the frustrations that would otherwise cost me a fortune in shirts and furniture.

For example, the latest little annoyance is the news that we may all be subject to interrogation over a 'happiness quotient'. Which ironically may well become a cause of more unhappiness than intended, the law of unintended consequences being what it is.

Imagine the following scenario. Our hero Bill Sticker, humming a happy little tune to himself as he works, has his train of thought momentarily interrupted by the telephone ringing. Being an innocent soul (Heh), he picks up the handset and answers cheerily, as he is wont to do. "Y'ello!" (Don't ask me why, I just do, okay?) Only to be met by one of those awful autodialler pauses before a young female telemarketers voice greets him. At this juncture, Bill's usual cheery demeanour undergoes a sudden sea change. Driven by a sinking prescient feeling, his brow tightens, his eyes redden, teeth clench and muscles knot.
"Hi!" Says the friendly telemarketer. "I'm conducting a survey on people's happiness."
"I was fine until you called." Vouchsafes the hero of this piece.
"Oh." Says the manically chirpy telemarketer.
"Good day." Bill speaks in tones of disdainful dismissal before shutting off the call. He stops for a cup of tea before settling down to work once more. An hour later, he is busily 'in the zone' and humming contentedly as he works. Again, the phone rings, again he answers it cheerily before the autodialler pause kicks off another mood swing.
"Hello" Says the chirpy person on the other end of the line. "Is that Mr Willyam Striker?"
"Sort of." Responds our hero dubiously. Third hand mailing lists strike again.
"This is the UK Government calling to see if you're okay."
"Why?" Huh? A transatlantic call for this?
"Well we just want to know how happy you are." I was until you called me.
"Why?" Is this taxpayer funded?
"Well, er, it's important to us."
"Why?" You're using taxpayer dollar for this idiocy aren't you?
"Well, it's part of a National survey on happiness. Can you tell me on a score of one to ten how happy you are, using one as very unhappy and ten as very happy indeed?"
"Right now?"
"Yes please."
"You interrupted my work, which I was quite enjoying, to ask me a stupid childish question like how happy I am?"
"Well..."
"Minus ten." You just had to ask didn't you?
"Sorry?"
"On a happiness score of one to ten, I'm telling you my happiness score, right at this moment, is minus ten." Now go away.
"I can't report that."
"It is the only figure I am willing to give you. I was content, now I am not."
"So you're saying this call has caused you discontent?"
"Yes." Now leave me in peace, please.
"How would you score your contentedness when you were content, then?"
"AAAAAAARRRGGHHHHH!!!!!" A sudden dopplering noise followed by a crash of plastic and a dying electronic bleep signals the premature death of an innocent telephone handset. There is the sound of ripping cloth, a deafening snarl or pure rage, followed by the heavy breathing grunt of bellicose incandescence along with smashing masonry and receding heavy footsteps. Dog hides under sofa.

You know, if a government tries to meddle in people's lives at this level while the economy is in the toilet and public spending is still out of control, I'd say they'd just passed their sell by date.

Leaving

Am freshly jetlagged and back home in wonderful British Columbia. Thankfully back in the bosom of friends and neighbours with much to celebrate. Although if it had been down to some half trained half wits we'd still be stuck in a certain UK airport. I recount the following hilarious episode for the edification and caution of my reader.

Passport check before check in;
Functionary. "Passports please." Slightly surprised at the challenge, we dutifully handed over our ID for scrutiny. There was a brief pause. "Can't let you board"
Me. "Pardon?" Who is this person? They work for the airline? WTF?
Functionary. "You haven't got the right visa for Canada." What?
Me. "Oh yes I have." Point out correct piece of paper in passport.
Functionary. "It should be there."
Me. "Excuse me, I've had to learn Canada's immigration rules from the inside out and there's no such ruling." Bill Sticker's patented steely gaze is brought out of cold storage and applied liberally at this point. The 'don't screw with me bozo' look fulfils it's function. My wife tells me my eyes express my inner anger quite adequately.
Functionary. "Oh." (Thoroughly browbeaten with brief look of confusion) Puts 'approved' sticker on passport.
Me. "Thank you." Delivered in very careful and formal tones to express that no thanks whatsoever are due to said Functionary. We move on without looking back.
Mrs S. "What was all that about?" Said my wife in a bewildered aside.
Me. "Come on Hon, let's go."

We move to the next episode at the Check in desk. People with slightly overweight bags are being humiliated into repacking their smalls in front of a long weary queue. I raise an eyebrow at this, but otherwise maintain silence.

Check in.
Hand luggage presented which came across with us from Canada. It is actually a specially designed piece of luggage manufactured to the airlines specifications. There was no problem with it when we left, and none was anticipated, but;
Check in person. "We can't take that as hand luggage."
Me. "Pardon?"
Check in person. "It's too big."
Me. "It was bought to your airlines specifications. Have the rules changed in the last three weeks?" Is someone deliberately trying to get us angry? If so, they've succeeded. Mrs S is flushed and visibly upset.
Check in person. "It has to be able to fit in that cage." Points out battered looking blue tube steel construction carrier. Baggage presented, fits. So where's the fucking problem bozo? By the way; why do so many male airline staff affect that stupid camp accent? It's very irritating. Bewildered look at Check in person.
Check in person. "It has to fit under the arrow." The baggage is the right size. We got told this both by the manufacturer and check in at Vancouver. It was bought for this specific purpose and has been used on several transatlantic flights since without comment.
Me. "Supervisor. Now." Mrs S is about to explode, and I'm not far behind her. We've been on the road for the past few days and we're visibly tired, and getting angrier by the nanosecond.
Check in person. "There's no-one available."
Me. "We'll wait." It is helpful at this point to imagine my words being delivered with the speed and spin of physical slaps. Apologetic remarks are exchanged with people behind us in the queue. These are of course delivered in a gentler, more placatory tone. Sympathetic gestures of mutual frustration exchanged. Check in person is blushing furiously and will not meet the Bill Sticker patented steely gaze. This impasse continues for almost ten minutes. Supervisor, a youthful bespectacled person; arrives, and with fingers ticking off points as though memorised, informs us that Check in person is "Just doing their job." We stand our ground. Bag is cleared because it is plain that Check in person has included the handle in overall dimension. The poor level of training is transparent, and the manically tick box driven delivery of service abrasive. After much unnecessary glaring and increased blood pressure, the matter is resolved to my grim satisfaction. Result; Airline Nil, Bill Sticker 2.

It is interesting to observe that both Mrs S and I moved through security and passport control five minutes later almost without breaking step. The aforementioned frustrations were meted out purely at the hands of airline staff. Call this customer service? Because I bloody well don't.

Now while one appreciates that no-one wants to be saddled with the extra cost of having to transport deported passengers back to their point of origin, or have their aircraft too heavy to get off the ground, one would like to think that the people who make the day to day decisions should receive better training in the rules and their proper application, and their people skills. Needless to say, 'air cattle truck' will not receive our custom again. No matter how cheap they are.

More tales of discumbuggeration at the hands of UK officialdom to follow when I'm properly rested. What a country! I'm so glad I don't live there any more.

What Plato said....

Went for my usual pootle round the blogs this morning, and found the latest proposed outrage against liberty from the HMRC. Give your pay to the taxman first? I think someone in HMRC is in dire need of a straitjacket and a nice quiet room. It's an insane proposal.

Having had dealings with the Byzantine and glacial workings of HMRC when I lived in the UK, I must say there is so much to go wrong with this idea that it doesn't bear thinking about. My other thought is shared by a more ancient philosopher who had this to say;

Tyranny is not a matter of minor theft and violence, but of wholsale plunder, sacred and profane, private or public.

Plato's Republic

Glad I don't live there any more.

Bloody box tickers

Three years since I left the UK, and haven't set foot on British soil since. Shortly after leaving I filled in the correct forms, countersigned by accountants as required, to say I was no longer domiciled in the UK. Yet still I keep getting demands saying 'send us your P60 for 2008/9'; What can I say apart from;

Look, you bone headed box ticking brain dead zombie alternatives to humanity, what do I have to do? I only have a Canadian tax return for that year which you won't accept as 'evidence' of tax paid, and as I completed a 'Non-domiciled' form back in late 2007 I don't have to (and haven't) filled out a UK tax return; which means no flaming P60 for the year in question! You never issued me with one.

/HeadDesk.

Massive UK Civil service cuts; they can't come fast enough.

At 8pm Pacific Standard Time Thursday evening 6th May 2010

...... it will be 4am in the morning UK time, and we will know if the grand vision of New Labour is dead or not. Mrs S and I will be holding an on line vigil from when the polls in the UK close, to the counts conclusion. By midnight here in British Columbia it will be eight in the morning, and the UK will have a clue about the next government, whatever that may bring.

We have a lot invested in this, namely our savings which we have been forced to keep in Sterling rather than bring over to Canada to invest because the immigration rules tell us we cannot bring 'settlement funds' in until we have our Permanent Residency.

Furthermore we have been restricted in the amount we can earn over here. Yet still we have a quality of life that we could not dream of attaining in our previous incarnations in the UK, especially in the roles we once fulfilled. For this reason alone I will not even contemplate a return to the UK.

The pound has taken a battering of late, reducing the value of our holdings from a Canadian Dollar perspective. Should the election results please the markets, the pounds value will rise as speculators and investors buy into the market. Should the results not be so pleasing, such as a narrow New Labour victory, Mrs S and I must resign ourselves to further financial losses.

Important stuff for UK expatriates.

Watching the current UK Government's scorched Earth policy from this side of the planet, I have been disturbed to find that my old NHS health records may soon be made available online for the world and his wife to gawp at. Unless of course you want to 'opt out'. There is a twelve week deadline, and if like me you aren't sure what address your 'opt out' letter went to, you won't have been notified.

For emigrants like me this is a concern. What about medical confidentiality, what about your right to a 'private life' as supposedly enshrined (and so often ignored) in EU Human Rights legislation? This walks all over it with size 12 workboots.

Now obviously I don't live in the UK any more, but I don't want every council busybody able to access my confidential medical records on the grounds that it's none of their fucking business. For example, I do not want to have to go back to the UK for family reasons only to have some clipboard wielding council official enquiring about the state of my feet for example (Incidentally, they're fine, the tendon injuries caused by walking up to 20 miles a day in unsuitable council issue footwear has cleared up nicely thankyou). Yes I know that's a bit of a reach, but people without proper medical training should not have ready access to such information as they do not have either the experience nor the knowledge to form credible opinions. Only Doctors should have that power.

Putting your health records online in the UK National Health Service's notoriously leaky and surprisingly unsecure data infrastructure is the worst idea on this planet. ID thieves must be positively salivating with anticipation.

If you don't want your personal medical record published online by the UK's NHS, you have less than twelve weeks to do so. This link will take you to the form which will allow you to opt out of the process. Mine will be filled out and my families details removed from said online travesty, providing the temporary clerk with limited English language skills they hire to do the job doesn't fuck up, which is more likely than not. However, despite my justifiable cynicism, the form goes priority air mail tonight.

Happy Canada day

Another beautiful but breezy BC morning, and today is Canada day. A national holiday throughout the country. Canadians everywhere are going out to special events, having fun, fishing, cycling, sunbathing, barbequeing or just plain chilling. Some poor beggars are working, but then the whole country can't grind to a complete halt.

Sadly, we are not going to be joining them this time round as we are under the gun re immigration forms. The paperwork is immense. Everything we've ever done has to be on display for immigration to decide whether or not we are worthy of residence. Close relatives have to supply same, and the logistics concerned are quite startling. Every single passport page, education certificate, a years worth of bank statements, and copies of letters and declarations explaining why a box on our immigration forms haven't been ticked. Then this has to be couriered to our immigration lawyers, who will forward it on to the London Visa office at Canada house to sit in someone's in-tray until after Christmas.

Mrs S is in full growl mode and the dog is hiding under the spare bed.

Oh well, at least I have a new chair to blog from. All of fifteen dollars. Could be worse, I suppose, but I'd rather it got easier.

Update: Mrs S has warned me; "Bill, next time we have to do this, it's your turn." Be afraid young William, be very afraid.

Why it's all going wrong

I keep on reading repeated stories in the UK press about 'over zealous' Council Officials making ordinary folks lives a misery, like 'elf 'n safety zombies who enforce seemingly ridiculous rules or Parking Attendants who stick tickets on everything in sight. Writing as one who is familiar with the labyrinthine workings of Local (Mis)government; I feel I may be able to offer a little insight to the Byzantine process that has led to this sorry state of affairs.

The whole business of dealing with British Local Government can be compared to metaphorically stamping upon the proverbial Brontosaurus, (all right, Apatosaurus if you have to be pedantic) tail. Now Local Government in the UK acts very much like the aforesaid giant Jurassic reptile in that it is

a) Unwieldy
b) Slow
c) Heavy on the fuel (Or council tax - very little bang per buck)
d) Overall, not terribly bright

Regarding point d; while individuals within the structure might be in their ordinary off duty lives terribly bright, witty, engaging companions who are a delight to encounter; the procedures that they are forced to oversee / implement are so bereft of the natural adaptability of the human animal that they make any individual who is involved in the process appear like a congenital dullard following a frontal lobotomy. Everything is designed by a committee, and anyone who has ever been project managed by a committee knows how desperate a situation that can be.

Up until the day I left the UK, I was a keen observer of this process at close quarters. The process would go as follows;

Step 1: Person with bee in bonnet (Read, frothingly over the insanity event horizon and accelerating) perceives an 'injustice', real or imagined and gets on their high horse about it 'raising community awareness' (Being a pain in the arse). Person with bee in bonnet becomes Persons with bees in bonnets without any real solution to the perceived problem; that's generally 'somebody else's problem' (Read; the 'government should do something' or 'there should be a law, innit?'). No one gets off their arse and spends ten minutes of their own time doing something pro-active.
Step 2: Person with bee in bonnet bothers local Councillors etc so hard it becomes almost a meme that 'something must be done' even though it is patently obvious that the effect of proposed changes may have an overall negative effect.
Step 3: Harassed at every turn by Person(s) with bee in bonnet, Councillors (Anything for a quiet life) meet to discuss perceived problem. They come to a decision before sloping off for a nice soiree at one of the many 'do's' they get invited to. Said decision is not often a workable solution and more usually arbitrary and completely obtuse. Usually because those making the decisions are well insulated from their immediate effect.
Step 4; A professional (And highly qualified) Manager is recruited to fulfill the task created by all this decision making. Said 'Manager' is generally selected for their complete lack of imagination, humour, and people skills. All that counts are the examinations they've passed. Once hired, they are given taxpayers money and told to fulfill their allotted task.
Step 5; Bodies are hastily recruited to fit the general tasks required by the overall purpose, and a set of hastily agreed guidelines for the undertaking of their duties. The 'Bodies' recruited (I know because I used to be such a 'body') are informed in no uncertain terms upon threat of summary dismissal that they must do what they are told because they have no initiative whatsoever. Bodies are then set loose on an unsuspecting public, 'doing what they are told'. Said Bodies have no choice in the matter if they want to keep drawing wages. They are told to stick parking tickets on everything in sight by Manager. Manager tells them how to do their job, or else.

Predictably, chaos ensues. Mainly because the Councillors (Mostly Political placemen), Manager, and 'Bodies' seem to lack an understanding of the problem they were supposed to solve, or are prevented from doing so by 'diversity' or 'health & safety' guidelines imposed by Central Government. Not to mention the inordinate amount of buck passing and issue dodging that goes on behind the scenes.

For those who insist that the 'government should do something', well they have. The results are all around you.

Thank goodness we don't have so much of that attitude in Canada.

Embarrassment

Read yesterday that the UK's 'tough new immigration rules' had successfully thwarted a dire terrorist threat in the shape of several Canadian Musicians. Well can I say on behalf of both myself and Mrs S that we are arse squirmingly embarrassed to have anything to do with both the people who drafted those rules and the barely trained chimps who got the job of enforcement. The Airport authority must have recruited the officers concerned from the ranks of Parking Attendant rejects, and that's pretty dumbed down.

We would both like to say 'sorry' to the Canadian people and our fellow dwellers on Vancouver Island. The current UK authorities responsible for this debacle are really nothing to do with us or the expatriate British community over here. In fact they're partly the reason for our leaving the UK. We're truly very, very sorry about the complete incompetence displayed by both the UK immigration rule drafters and the implementers. I mean come on! Canada is a friendly nation, an ally. How dumb can you get?

Now I'm going to go and hide, and if found claim to be Irish, Australian or a New Zealander. Anything but English. How do I feel about the UK now? To quote Brian Chapman playing King Arthur in 'Monty Python and the Holy grail'; "On second thoughts let's not go to Camelot, it is a silly place."

Sleepless nights

Don't know what's wrong with me recently. I've been having trouble sleeping. The past three nights I've found myself awake at three in the morning staring at the ceiling.

Maybe it's just dealing with all the immigration bumf that's doing it. Every day seems to bring a form that requires editing / filling in, and every area of my life feels uncomfortably under some kind of microscope. Then there's Mother in law and the constant case conferences via skype between Mrs S and her two sisters. All I know is that I feel hemmed in, unable to make a move without causing major domestic upset.

The best analogy I can think of is that it's like trying to sleep on one of those very itchy polyester covered couches. The one's with that awful faux-wool polyester coarse weave and seat cushions that go from too hard to no support seemingly overnight.

While unpleasantly awake have been watching the shenanigans from the UK Parliament and the Speakers resignation. The UK is well overdue for a general election in my opinion. That and a thorough de-Quangoing. Far too many people in Government doing jobs which don't really need doing. Too many chiefs and not enough Indians.

To do list

Mrs S is being driven to distraction by;

a) Mother in Laws erratic behavior

and

b) Immigration issues

I recognise that currently there is little or nothing I can do about either. I refuse to pander to Mother in Laws incessant and erratic filibustering, and have filled in all my immigration forms correctly (That should cat the pigeons amongst the put). We are awaiting results of Medicals and French Language tests. There is nothing to be done. Ergo I am taking the only course a rational man can; I have a new fishing rod and the tides await.

Taking my own advice

Got a parking ticket the other day.

Didn't go chasing after the issuing officer to assault, threaten or call the poor bugger names. Didn't rant and rave and tear the piece of paper up. Didn't stick it in a drawer and try to forget it existed.

All I had to do was follow my own advice from two years ago. I simply posted an appeal at the local parking offices an hour after it was issued. All smiling "No problem, it was all a big mistake." attitude towards the desk clerk. There's no sense trying to bully people who've got an unpleasant job to do. Be nice. It's amazing how easy life can become.

Mind you, it was so cheap at the discounted rate of CDN$7.50 (about four quid at current conversion rates) I almost paid up on the spot. However, I thought I'd follow my own teachings just as a matter of principle.

The ticket was, quite predictably, canceled.

As Mrs S commented at the time; "Well Bill, it is your specialist subject."

Thank you dear.

Dances with Lawyers

The past week has been one where the relationship between my dear lady wife and myself has been strained to the point of creaking. I think it's the insistence of our immigration lawyers that all of our lives must be laid bare for their inspection. Every charitable committee served on, every job, every extended period of economic inactivity, every place you've ever lived in since before you were 18.

For those who have only ever had one job since leaving University / College and never really traveled, this should not really be a headache. For Mrs S and I, who have both spent protracted periods outside the UK working and attended many and varied educational courses, it's been positively migraine inducing. At our lawyers insistence we have had to record every single page of every passport we've ever had, whether there's anything on the pages or not. I must have spent half a working day yesterday just nursing our aging desktop scanner along, and I'm still only half way through. It's really beginning to get in the way of my day job. Fortunately we're in a quiet period at the moment, so I can make the time in among my main duties without straining at the leash of my conscience too much. It's rather like juggling, kick one task off while you're answering the phone or making a call and try to remember what the hell you were going to talk about while scanning, cropping and saving images. After a while you look at your watch and wonder where the bloody hell the day went. Then there's the constant nitpicking at the fine details; French language proficiency, transcripts of post secondary courses undertaken and passed (Which a number of educational establishments like City and Guilds, just won't do) and trying to remember the exact dates of each individual employment start and finish, even if it was thirty years ago. All must be accounted for, no matter how young, drunk and / or stupid (These terms are freely interchangeable in late teens and early twenties) you were at the time.

A number of acquaintances in the sizable British ex-pat community over here have told us that "It's a great place once you've jumped through all the immigration hoops." Which I suppose will make all the migraines worth it. In the meantime pass the Ibuprofen.

The pain of paperwork

One thing I absolutely hate is filling in forms. At the moment my annoyance quotient is being raised to artery endangering levels by the infinitesimal detail required by our immigration lawyers. They are asking for proof of employment in the form of payslips and tax receipts, contracts of employment, certificates of everything perhaps even down to being a milk monitor at primary school.

I have to find all this stuff they say, or it won't count on the immigration forms. Hells bells, I never kept track of all the many bits of paper documenting my somewhat eccentric career, all the in-house courses and all the stuff I did at evening classes. This has been a mistake. Yet none of it impacts on my ability or intelligence, as I am quite capable of undertaking quite a broad scope of tasks in a satisfactory manner without a piece of paper to say I can. My post secondary education has largely comprised of being handed the manual and told to 'get on with it'. Upon reflection, perhaps I ought to have learned to look more stupid or say 'no I can't' more often when given a task no one else seemed to be able (Or wanted) to do. My own 'can do' attitude in these instances seems to have largely worked against me, long-term.

No matter. Heads up and on the bounce, I will do or die in the attempt. Now where'd I put me pen?

As an aside, much mild snarkiness on the Malahat yesterday whilst taking Brother in Law to Victoria Airport. I am in outside lane, indicating right to pull out of the way of faster traffic when a Black Ford Ranger pickup with extended cab zips up the inside, causing me to swerve back into left hand lane. Several curse words later, an unmarked Police Ford Sedan coming downhill switches on the "blues and two's" and pulls a sharp U-turn in front of me and hares off after the offending Black pickup. Just under a kilometre later, Brother in law and I were amused to see Cop handing out a speeding ticket to the inconsiderate guy who had just inconvenienced us. On the way back from the airport, having just cleared the road works near the Malahat summit, same Cop was handing another ticket out to a minivan who had presumably been playing silly buggers. Later on towards home, there was an ordinary Police cruiser with all lights flashing, and yet another ticket being handed out. In a way I find that rather comforting.

Odd stuff

Today is going to be mildly fraught. Today mother in law comes to stay for two or three months. She's a nice old stick but doesn't seem to understand that yours truly has stuff to do, then bursts into tears when I just get on and do instead of hanging on her every word 24/7. This afternoon we have to go through the whole emotional scene of soggy greetings at the airport, heartfelt sigh. Fortunately Brother in law is in tow to keep an eye on things, so perhaps not. Dog is staying with friends for today and tomorrow until the dust settles, and all my work commitments will have to wait until Wednesday. She's not exactly the most mobile of people and I have the oddest of prescient feelings that my consumption of Jameson's will increase.

Computer time has been pretty restricted recently as Mrs S has been Skyping all over the world looking for old college, work related and school certificates to back up our permanent residency application. The only way I can get a look in on the 'pooter at present is by getting out of bed at 5 in the morning for some uninterrupted thinking and keyboard time.

In the Sticker household recently there have been some odd goings on; for example, coming in from a very pleasant afternoons fishing on Sunday, I walked in the door to be confronted by one of my dear lady wife's brassiere's hanging up where I normally hang my hat. I stared for a moment, wondering if I was hallucinating, then caught my wife's amused sidelong glance. "They're just hanging up to dry Bill."
"Thank God for that, you had me wondering." I said, looking rather nonplussed. There's something mildly unsettling about seeing empty lingerie hanging around the place where it shouldn't normally be.
"I just ran out of places to hang them up."
"The tumble dryer okay?" Why hang stuff up to dry when you have a perfectly good machine for the job?
"I'm not developing Alzheimer's." Mrs S cocked an eyebrow at me before returning to the keyboard. So what's a man to do under these circumstances? "Errrrrr..... Cup of tea love?"
"Oo, gorgeous." Came the response. So I put the kettle on (It's a nice one that doesn't clash with my eyeshadow - oh dear).

Another odd occurrence has been the Dutch Ministry of Justice showing up on my reader stats. I put it down to bored tech support,but apparently there's something a little more sinister. Via the Devils Kitchen, I came across the news that there is an unpleasant little troll who keeps on complaining about people's web sites and trying to get the Dutch authorities to shut down those he doesn't agree with. The dipstick concerned (No, I'm not going to dignify the nasty little slaphead with a link) appears to be an extreme lefty with one of the dullest blogs on the planet (Even duller than mine). He doesn't appear to think that freedom of speech is a good thing, and compares those of us with even a mildly Libertarian bent to kiddy pron pushers. Should the gentleman in question ever visit these pages again I have a little message for him; "Go 'way son. Come back when yer all growed up. Now push off, I'm a busy man."

The south end of Vancouver Island beckons today. I'm going out for a drive. I may be some little time.....

Normal service

Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible. This blog will resume sarcasm levels as soon as certain current issues are resolved.

Issue 1: Illness in family causing many alarums and diversions due to running about on errands and keeping concerned family members up to date with invalid's progress.

Issue 2: New development on the immigration front which will require many transatlantic phone calls and much old paperwork retrieval. I mean, who in the 40+ age group still has their old High School certificates for goodness sake?