Wherein I whine about how difficult everything is...

When we moved to the UK, there was a lot to learn quickly. The insane tax system, with its mysterious income tax (you don't get the breakdown on your paycheck to know what money goes where), council tax (like a property tax, even though we only rent), the TV tax (which was significantly more if you dared have a color television), and the 17% VAT tax (that's a sales tax), was the first labyrinth we navigated.
     
The next obstacle was driving. It turns out that you can drive on a US license in the UK for 12 months, at which point you need to obtain a UK license. And there's no shortcut - you have to get the permit ('provisional license'), take the written theory exam, a 'hazard perception test' where you identify potential hazards in a series of 30-second video clips of driving, and the practical exam.
      
This wouldn't have seemed so daunting if not for a few things: my (admittedly minor) car accident one-hour into driving in the UK, a truly disastrous driving hour with an instructor recommended by a colleague at work (he picked apart everything I did - when I shifted, when I depressed the clutch, where my hands were on the wheel - to the point where I was literally afraid to do ANYTHING and doubted whether I had been fit to drive for the previous 9 years; it may not have helped that he had an inpenetrable Scouse accent and I had been in the country for about 4 days at that point), and the awful stories from everyone I met when I brought up the driving exam. I am not kidding - literally every person I told shuddered at the memory of their exams, told me they didn't think they could pass now, that they'd only gotten harder since. I met two people (2!) who told me they had passed their first time - everyone else told me it had taken them three, four, even seven times to pass the exam. A colleague who had grown up in the UK and travelled to the US to work for my company and had to get a US license called to tell me how much more difficult it was to pass the UK exam.
       
All this basically resulted in me relying on my favorite fallback option: procrastination. I elected to NOT think about it for as long as I could.
     
Each month, my boss would worriedly call me into my office and ask me about my progress. I would promise, each time, that I would make a more concerted effort to do something and then push the idea as far from my mind as I could.
      
I should add here that at this point, I had bought my own car with great difficulty - I have no UK credit, so obtaining financing was awful. I was denied seven times at a number of dealerships, until work was able to find a Ford dealership who offered me 18 percent financing over a term that lasted as long as my contract, no more. With the restrictions placed by work on the minimum model I could buy (a Ford Focus or larger, diesel, 2 liter engine), and what they had in stock, I was looking at my choice of 2 £6,500 cars. They were both 2005 models, which meant that I would be spending as much on my car here (without including financing) as I spent on my BRAND NEW 2005 Hyundai when I graduated college. But I'd be paying over 3x more per month for it, and it would have over 50,000 miles when I started. For those of you doing the quick math, that was over £300/month, or almost $500 USD/month I'd be paying for my used Ford Focus.
        
And that doesn't even BEGIN to address the difficulty I had obtaining car insurance. People literally laughed at me when I called for quotes, and when I could get a number from them it was generally between £5,000 and £6,000/year, or even higher. I eventually found a bare-bones plan from the Post Office that would take into account my US license, and my 3 years evidence of having made no claims on my policies, and offered me a quote of £2300/year. For those of you doing the conversion in your head, that meant I was paying over $3600 USD per year for my insurance. The last policy I'd paid for in the US was from Progressive, fully comprehensive, and cost me $400 USD.
       
But what could I do? I needed to drive for work, so I sucked it up as best I could and paid. All the while my boss harangued me about getting my UK license, he kept telling me how much cheaper it would be to insure myself. And that made sense, given my experience trying to get insurance on my US license, right?
      
Let's fast-forward. After passing my written exam and hazard perception test, I did a driving hour with someone recommended by a fellow dog-owner from the park. This experience was markedly different from my last, as he told me I was great and just needed to make the appointment and we'd practice some of the manouvers.
      
I made the appointment, but the soonest I could get was two months away, the day after we would be returning from the US for a friend's wedding. I was nervous, but before I left did a few more hours and I could feel my confidence improving.
           
I showed up for the exam and it was fine. It took almost 45 minutes from start to finish, but I answered the instructor's questions and made myself relax as we drove around town, parallel parking (they call it 'reverse parking' here) three-point turning, pulling over and doing my best to obey speed limits. I was pretty relieved I didn't have to reverse around a corner or backing into a parking place (though I had practiced them to death and was pretty sure I'd have been ok). When we returned to the test center, my instructor turned to me and smiled - she said it had been flawless, no marks, and I had passed the test. (Sidenote: you're allowed 15 minor infractions, like not checking your mirrors enough, doing things in an incorrect order, crossing your hands on the wheel, etc; but if you didn't check your mirror and there had been a car there, or you hit the curb, or continued with a manouver and there was a pedestrian anywhere nearby, etc, you would immediately fail)
         
I did a little dance in the parking lot, proudly showed my instructor and brought my test sheet into the office to show off. All day, I felt great, like a giant weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I got home, took the dog for a walk and gloated to all our dog walking friends about my success. They all encouraged me to call my insurance company when I got home, and that's just what I did.
              
That's where, if this were a movie, you'd hear the soundtrack stop and with stunning clarity you would hear the voice on the phone telling me that with my updated information, the computer model saw only that I was a brand new UK driver, without taking into account my years experience driving in the US, but apparently still taking into account my age and no claims (3 years, remember) from the US. And now my annual premium was £5036, which meant that the outstanding balance I had (to cover my insurance from January 26 to March 26) was £411.
               
I'm not going to lie, there were tears. I spoke to their manager, and their manager above them. I was informed that I could cancel the policy, but then I would be uninsured - and it was already 8pm, too late to call many companies to get a quote for a new policy. Additionally, by not finishing my year with a single company, I would lose any ability to claim the last year I was in the UK as a one year UK no claims bonus. I had a business trip the next morning, and didn't know what to do. I called my boss in Dubai and woke him up (it was midnight there) but he had no better ideas.
                   
I was shocked, left without a choice, and subsequently made £411 poorer.


I'm still trying to figure out what to do next... 
                  
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On a lighter note, Miller is sporting some new head gear. We picked him up from the farm in Wales after travelling back from the US. As usual, he smelled awful but was bounding around as if he owned the place. We took him home, gave him a bath, and settled in.
                   
A few nights later, we noticed he was scratching and biting a spot on his back where we'd noticed a bump before. The vet at the time had thought it was an ingrown hair and would go away, but now as we felt it we could feel it was raised much more and could feel other bumps nearby.
                        
I took him to the vet Friday afternoon and she shaved off some fur to get a better look. The poor pup had so many bug bites! She suspected that it was an insect/flea from the farm, and said our monthly Frontline treatments might not deter all the different fleas. So Miller got a steroid shot, a fancy skin soothing shampoo, and a cone of shame.
                             

             
The vet said he would get better about walking around it in, but as far as the furniture, stairs, and the backs of our legs are concerned, we haven't seen any improvement. 

Giving Thanks

Almost a year ago, my mom and I started planning a trip where she and my brothers would come to visit. Originally, we had considered the spring but were worried that schedules wouldn't work out... And so our next thought was Thanksgiving, one of the most important holidays in the Brosnahan household - one could argue that it's even more important than Christmas (but I'm still partial to the latter). That's because it is a four-day gorgefest, with my mom cooking for days in the kitchen before laying out an awesome spread for Thanksgiving. Which we dip back into that evening before bed, then again at lunch the next day, and then again and again until Sunday when we all have to head back to the real world.

It was exciting to think about having the whole family over to Liverpool for the holiday, and it also meant a lot to me, personally, since this would be the first big holiday I'd be celebrating as 'Mrs. Yates.' And not in a 'I'm going to dress up like Mark's mom' kind of way.

Mark and I started looking at recipes several months in advance. I decided I wanted to make something the day that the family arrived, so that they could wake up from their post-flight naps to something smelling delicious... After a lot of web surfing, I decided to make these cardamom cinnamon rolls, from one of my favorite websites. I liked how it would all be from scratch (my first time working with yeast!) and my brothers and I have some mad love for cinnamon rolls.

We wouldn't be celebrating Thanksgiving until that Saturday, since they would arrive on Thursday (Thanksgiving) and I'd planned a day trip to Ireland for that Friday. Wednesday evening I baked two apple pies, but wasn't sure about how they'd turned out (the grocery store didn't have Macintosh apples, or the right kind of shortening, so there was a lot of last minute substitution... the pie dough was pretty different from my mom's, and then I had no idea how much sugar and flour to add to the apples...).

Thursday, the whole family arrived and somehow managed to fit in the house. I wasn't able to convince everyone to nap until after the cinnamon rolls were out of the oven, but later that afternoon we were able to go for a walk and show them the neighborhood. Mark made a batch of his version of my mom's meatballs (everyone was impressed and there wasn't much leftover). Then Mark took Mike, Sandy and Toby to a concert downtown while Mom and I made cranberry sauce (with fresh cranberries smuggled in from America) and went to bed early.

Friday, we flew to Dublin and jumped aboard a bus tour that took us all over the city. We didn't really have much of a plan beyond stopping off at the Guinness Brewery for another tour and a perfect pint, but we managed to get off the bus a few times and see a few other Dublin sights.

It was a long day but a lot of fun - and the best part was knowing all the food we had waiting for us the following day...

Mark and I were up early and drove out of Liverpool to a small family-owned farm in Warrington. We had ordered a 12lb turkey a few weeks before, and the family had managed to get one and butcher it for us for our holiday (turkeys are traditionally eaten here for Christmas, so we weren't sure we'd be able to get one big enough for our feast). It was gorgeous, but still had quite a few feathers... Meaning a bit more prep work for me.

We came home as everyone was waking up and having coffee. Our farmer's market was back, so everyone trooped out and had some pain au chocolat and walked around a bit while I de-feathered the bird and began to get prepped. My mom came back and we had a lot of fun getting the bird seasoned and prepped for the oven, and slicing a stale loaf of bread for mom's awesome stuffing. Next came the mashed potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes (a stand-in for butternut squash) with VT maple syrup and pecans, and garlic green beans.

A pretty awesome Thanksgiving, if I do say so myself.

(the pies were the weakest part, but I'm sure I can pull 'em off better once we're home for the next Turkey day)

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A few weeks later, the night before I was supposed to return to the US for a business trip, Mark and I decided to return to Paul's Place, a tiny restaurant a few blocks away from our first Liverpool apartment. When he called to make the reservation, Paul himself answered and recognized Mark with a 'Long time no see!' Mark laughed and apologized, explaining that we'd moved but were excited to come back for another amazing meal.

We arrived in time for the early-bird special (we know, we're old) and sat down at a cozy table near the kitchen. We had just tucked into our appetizers and wine when the waitress came to Mark with a scarf in her hand. 

The last time we went to Paul's was in March, when Mark's mom and dad came for a visit. He'd left his scarf but never thought twice about it since - but Paul had held onto it and reminded the waitress when we came that it belonged to Mark.

We had an amazing meal (clean plate club, no question), had a personal good-bye from Paul, and walked out into the cold night with their Christmas lights twinkling behind us.

This first year in Liverpool has been a lot of things - in some ways, everything I expected but in others, nothing like I could have imagined. It took seeing the city and our neighborhood through my family's eyes, and a moment with one of the many amazing people we've met along our journey, for me to realize what a special gift this experience has been so far. It's easy to get bogged down in our homesickness, to notice and make light of some of the great sadness that lives in this old city, but Mark and I need to make more of an effort to appreciate what's beautiful around us as well. 

This year, I am thankful for my lovely husband, who laughs when I am cranky and walks the dog on Sunday mornings so I can sleep later. I am thankful that we have a lovely (if slightly water-damaged) home in a neighborhood where many of our neighbors know our names and say hello, and where our dog can walk off leash and meet his own friends in the park. I am thankful that my family was able to come and see us, and to share a special day that has come to mean a lot more than football and turkey. I'm grateful that we've had the chance to meet these people and make memories that Mark and I will cherish for years to come.

Happy Days

The past few weeks have been a flurry of activity - busy days at work for me and Mark, late dinners, and the weekends have seemed too far and few between. Nevertheless, we've managed to squeeze a lot of fun in, including the Wirral Food and Drink festival a few weeks ago.

As we've mentioned in previous posts, we're starting to pay a lot more attention to what we eat and where it comes from. The northwest of England is blessed with some great local food options, and we've sampled local ice-cream, lamb, cheese, fruit and vegetables. The food festival was a great opportunity to see more of these local vendors, ones with amazing food but a little too far to go for a weekly errand. The festival was held on the grounds of the Claremont Farm, our current source of fresh vegetables and meats, and we had a great time - sampling from the tents, horsing around and, of course, people watching.

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When I see an adult on a bicycle, I do not despair for the future of the human race. - H.G. Wells

Last week, a giant box arrived in the mail for me. Mark was good and didn't take a peek (I was away for work), but on Saturday we ripped it open. I'd ordered a bike from a little shop in East London, and we set to work trying to put it together.

In an hour or so, we'd assembled what looked like a bike, but it didn't quite work like a bike. I'd like to say that we soldiered on and made it work (ah, Tim Gunn, how I miss you), but Mark recommended that we take it to a local bike shop and have them make a few adjustments. After all, when you're talking about brakes, it's probably not the best idea to just ignore the problem.

We took it for a debut ride last Sunday, into town and then over to the farm, but it wasn't until today that we really showed her off.

Mark spent the morning skateboarding in Runcorn, and when he came back we grabbed the bikes and headed downtown to Everyman Bistro for lunch. Sated and happy, we then rode down to the docks and fooled around for a while - trying out some 'Agility Training' (sort of a private joke, though there is an Agility Training course near Liverpool where dogs can learn to jump through rings of fire... Mark really wants to enroll the dog) while thoroughly unimpressed pedestrians watched.

We rode along the promenade back to our neighborhood, then took Miller to the park. He's slowly getting used to the bikes, but I think his favorite part is the constant running and weaving between and in front of us to see our reactions.

After a little rest on the grass, we both felt refreshed. A pretty perfect Saturday afternoon.

PS. This was really all I meant to write today, but I just ran out and picked up a book at the library. Normally, this wouldn't be very exciting, but as the librarian wrote out the due date on the front page, I realized she was writing our wedding date.

WHOA. We are officially getting hitched in three weeks!

I got a little giddy (the librarian wishes us both the best) and practically skipped the whole way home...

Hilbre Island, Part II

Two weekends ago, we ventured back to the Wirral peninsula for a visit to Hilbre Island. With the sun shining, we packed towels, wellingtons, and the pup in the back of the car and headed into the tunnel in downtown Liverpool.

We emerged on the other side and headed to the coast - and had an amazing afternoon hiking across the flat sand and around the cliffs of the island. (There were also seals, but I didn't get any pics)

Afterwards, we had some truly sub par 'homemade' ice-cream and headed further into the Wirral. This time, we trekked to Claremont Farm, and stocked up on goodies. We learned about the farm from one of my birthday gifts for Mark, the book Home Grown. It profiles chefs of the Northwest and the resurgence of haute British cuisine focusing on local ingredients.

We loved the farm, and have already been back. We can stock up on tons of fresh veggies, fruit, and good-quality meats (and have yet to spend more than £10). Yum!

Hilbre Island Run

For my birthday this year, Jeremy sent me a dope book called Born To Run, by Christopher McDougall. It is written by a journalist who spent some time down in Mexico with the Tarahumara Indians who are apparently amazing long distance runners. It is not terribly well written, but it tells a great story and is full of all sorts of interesting information (at least interesting if you are in to running at all). Since the book begins with the question, ‘Why does my foot hurt?’ he spends a lot of time discussing the merits of barefooted running. I won’t go into too much detail about the theory behind this, but essentially the theory goes that shoes are blocking important information from reaching our body, which does not allow it to react accordingly and hence the reason running injuries have increased since the invention of the modern running shoe (1970’s). He does not really go into the fact that this could be because the number of runners have increased dramatically since then, but I’m sure he can find a way to make the numbers work out.

Anyhow, a lot of what I was reading did actually make sense and I thought I should give it a go. I decided to run 3 miles Friday morning without my sneakers. It went pretty well despite all of the stares I got running down Lark Lane to the park barefoot with my dog in tow at 6:00am. My legs felt great, but I did have some pain on the bottoms of my feet (wow, surprising huh?). Anyhow, I emailed Kathleen my accomplishment and her response was: “In Liverpool? That is not safe.” Fair enough, after all I did see a dirty diaper on the sidewalk the other day, and there is usually the one two combination of broken beer bottle on one block, human vomit on the next. Regardless, it left me wanting to try a longer run barefoot. On Friday afternoon, I started to hunt around on the interweb to see what I could line up for Saturday. The weather was questionable, but I knew I wanted to get out with Miller and try to get a run in as well. That is when I came across Hilbre Island.

Hilbre Island is a tidal island located in the Dee Estuary at the edge of the Irish Sea. At low tide, you can walk the two miles to the island and explore it and two smaller islands. I quickly checked the tides and saw that they were perfect for an afternoon excursion. I figured I could go out and around the island and back which would be roughly 6 miles round trip. Perfect. I spent Saturday morning cleaning as Kathleen would not be too into the dog hair and beer bottles in the apartment. I then set out and I got to the parking lot around 1:15 where I had a brief moment of indecision. I wanted to bring the leash, my camera, and some water. However since I only have two hands something had to go. I had run 20 miles before with no water breaks and pretty much hate carrying water bottles, so I gave Miller a big bowl full and put the bottle back in the car.

It was a bit crowded going straight to the island so I took a wide arc around the first two smaller ones to get to the main. Miller was off like the greyhound he has in him and I could tell he was having a wonderful time. It reminded me a bit of Provincetown Bay at low tide. There were some dry sandy patches, some wet muddy areas, and a lot of pools of sea water that had not yet drained out. When we came around the far side of the island, there were some rock shelves covered in shell fish and seaweed. This slowed us a bit but within no time we were on the island itself. From the far side we looked out and saw a few seals hanging out. At this point we had come about 3 miles and I took stock of how I felt and how Miller looked. Absolutely amazing, I would say for the both of us. So instead of heading straight back, we cut across another tidal flat that brought us over to the next town (even though the website expressedly said not to cross this way, but I figured we had plenty of time before the tide changed). Finally we came ashore near a promenade and a life saving station. I still felt really great, but I could tell Miller was feeling a bit parched, so we headed back.

This run was nothing short of fantastic. I can’t describe how much fun it was running for so long on the tidal flats and the beach. I was able to let Miller go as far ahead or behind as he wanted and I did not have to worry about cars. Whenever we would get too hot, I would vear towards a tidal pool and splash through. I felt so great running that we were just flying around aimlessly just simply enjoying ourselves. We would pick a landmark in the distance and head for it. Then when we got there, we would just choose another. When we finally got back to the car, I was surprised to find out it was already 3:00. I figure that with the amount of time that had elapsed, we probably ran about 10 miles. Now, I won’t lie and say I did not feel a thing, but all in all my body felt great. My strides were much shorter and I was landing on the balls of my feet rather than my heels, just like I had read about. Of course this was 10 miles barefoot on the beach and not 10 miles barefoot in the mountains. I am not ready to throw the shoes in the garbage and quit my job, but I think this is something I will definitely play with more.

All in all, I am so psyched we found this run and I can honestly say the Hilbre Island Run is in my top five (others being in no particular order: 4 miler in Falmouth from my parents, Shelburne Farm in VT in the winter, the NYC marathon, and the Lake Champlain causeway in Colchester, VT). I am now enjoying a frosty beverage and slow cooking some chicken for burritos. Thanks for the book Jerm!

Here are some pics. And I know there are a ton of dog ones… sorry, I am officially a weird dog owner.