Happy Christmas

Well, it's almost midnight on Christmas Eve, and I don't know what's more desperate; me writing this post or you reading it! We've been following Santa's progress all evening courtesy of NORAD, and as I write he's merrily flying over Guantanamo Bay (really!). Good job Santa has worldwide clearance, because otherwise you can bet he wouldn't make it out of American airspace. Shoot first, open presents later.

It's blowing a gale here at the moment, and in true British tradition it's also pouring with rain. Incredibly, the snow I wrote about only a couple of days ago has all gone, at least in our locale, and it looks as though I won't have to dig out the car tomorrow before we head out for Christmas lunch; maybe I'll even get to drive. We're headed out to our Australian friends, Tarni and Dave, for Christmas dinner, where a good time should be had by all as another turkey is thrown on the barbie.

NORAD now informs me that Santa is headed our way, so I'd better get to bed because he knows when you are sleeping and he knows when you're awake, which is quite creepy if you stop to think about it. I shouldn't worry though; an air strike courtesy of Uncle Sam is never too far away if things get ugly.

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

A change in store

There are many positives to being back at home for Christmas, such as seeing friends, a comfy bed, Tim Horton's, clothes I forgot I had and being able to afford fresh fruit, but there are also negatives. For example, whilst I enjoy being able to drive again - although Melanie hasn't let me yet - the car had to be located and then chipped out from under what seemed like an entire glacier this morning (Melanie was more than happy to let me do the locating, though!). When we did finally get the old girl going (the car, not Melanie), our destination was the mall, and this leads me to another negative of being back.

Living in the North certainly changes your mindset in terms of what is, and what is not, important when it comes to consumerism, and although I enjoy Christmas as much as the next man (unless the next man happens to be called Scrooge), I have to say that I found my foray around the stores a little, shall I say, grotesque. I suppose my opinion is also coloured by the fact that we have less money at the moment than in years gone by, but even allowing for that I have reached the conclusion that 'things' really don't matter that much. I have learned to get by with what I have, and to be thankful for the fact that what I have is still a damn sight more than most people.

For example, for many years I have quite readily worshipped at the altar of Best Buy, but after ten minutes there today, I was done. There were many things in there that I would have loved to have but, as our good friend Kate would say, they were all a case of 'greed not need.' Now, whether this state of affairs is permanent or whether it's just a passing phase remains to be seen; when and if our financial position changes for the better, perhaps I will jump straight back onto the consumer express once more, who knows. Whatever happens though, the last few years have undoubtedly altered my perspective on life and, for the moment at least, I think I'm all the better for it.

Home!

Well, I finally made it! Our flight left at around 11am, we went straight through to Montreal (only three hours!), and then I managed to catch a lift with Stephanie and her dad, whose route home to Trenton took them down the 401 and right past our house. Result! No Snowmageddon, and no need for Bruce Willis.

It's great to see Melanie again after four months, and she's certainly made the apartment look very Christmassy; our balcony has more lights than all the other condos combined! It's also wonderful to have proper internet again - we have the cheapest service here, but it's greased lightning compared to 'Shatner-net'!

Just in case I was missing the North though, it's currently -18°C here, and it's forecast to be -27° with windchill tomorrow. Oh, and there's a snowfall warning in effect too. It won't stop me getting my Tim's though.

Bliss!

No fly zone

Damn, damn and thrice damn; my flight has been cancelled.

Not because of the weather, mind you, but because of 'mechanical problems.' What's worse, I just had to go to the airport to collect my now redundant ticket, in order that I can mail it to the School Board so that they can use it to get a refund from Air Inuit. Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the stage where I collect the ticket and mail it to the Board (so that they can then presumably mail it back to Air Inuit) a little pointless? Don't ask!

I'm now scheduled to fly tomorrow morning instead, arriving in Montreal around 4pm. From there I will then slum it in the coach to Kingston, rather than the more-executive-but-convoluted-via-Toronto plane. Weather Forecasters are already dubbing Sunday as 'Snowmageddon' in the Toronto region, and seeing as Sunday is when I'd now be flying to and from there, I think it prudent to avoid the area.

So, I now have to unpack and spend another night in Inukjuak, not that that's too bad I guess. I just hope that Snowmageddon doesn't make it's way up here, but if it does I have Bruce Willis' number on speed dial. He'll make 800 feet; he doesn't know how to fail.

48 Hours

It's bingo night again, and further to my posting of a week ago, the big prize still hasn't been won so tonight's pay out could be close to $30,000! Someone's going to have a happy Christmas.

Speaking of Christmas, we're in the middle of a very exciting/nerve-racking 48 hours at the moment. Yesterday was graduation day at Nunavimmi Pigiursavik (my school); we tend to have two graduation ceremonies during the year, one at Christmas and one in the summer, as the courses we offer all start at different times and have different requirements in their hours of study. Yours truly was asked to M.C. the event - it's the third time I've 'hosted' - and if Hugh Jackman can't make the Oscars for some reason, I'd be only too happy to stand in for him.

Today was my last day with the students, and I spent most of it playing 'Copter', an inordinately frustrating yet addictive online game. One of my class introduced it to me, and I guess this was the modern equivalent of when you were allowed to bring in toys and games on the last day of school. This was always the highlight of the year, and nearly always ended in tears when someone's prized toy was trodden on resulting in the teacher having to call everything to a halt with a cry of "well now you've spoiled it for everyone, haven't you?"

Having spent most of the afternoon crashing my aircraft into the rocks, thoughts now turn to my flight home tomorrow; thinking about it, playing 'Copter' probably wasn't the best preparation for my flight, was it? Much like the way I made my friend Kevin watch the film 'Alive' the night before coming on our old school's ski trip probably wasn't the best preparation either.

I'm meant to be flying from Inukjuak at 1.45 pm tomorrow, spending the night at Montreal airport - I've already booked the comfy sofa opposite Tim Horton's - then catching a flight to Kingston via Toronto very early on Saturday morning. For those of you who know your Canadian geography this route makes no sense, but there you go. I say meant to be flying though, because the local forecast for tomorrow afternoon is not the best, and it's going to be a nervy few hours ahead as we watch the weather. A snow day is normally cause for celebration, but not when you're scheduled to be flying home for the first time in nearly four months.

So hopefully my next post will come to you from Gananoque, but I don't want to tempt fate and face waiting for Another 48 Hours, because that really wasn't a good film...

Who throws a shoe?

It's not often that anybody gives George Bush credit for anything, but I couldn't help be impressed by the way in which he dodged that shoe missile yesterday. It was an incredibly accurate throw, favouring the 'heel over toe method' as opposed to the 'spinning sole' technique, but Bush's cat-like reflexes enabled him to avoid the hit without even spilling his beer (had he had one).

In fact, I rather think that the President must have been practising for such an eventuality, and I can reveal here an excerpt from the Secret Service training video that he used:



In all seriousness though, the great and good CNN has just revealed that the Secret Service are indeed going to add 'how to deal with an assailant armed with a shoe' to their training regime.

I'm sure Barack Obama will now sleep more easily at night.

A breach of elf and safety?

It's snowing as I write (surprise, surprise!), and it's -25°C outside. Looking out the window, I've just seen the same woman walk past for the third time, a bit like when you watch a chase scene in an old Tom & Jerry or Scooby Doo cartoon and the same piece of background keeps coming around and around again. If she passes by for a fourth time, I shall be on the lookout for Shaggy and Scoobs.

But I digest.

The real reason I put virtual pen to virtual paper today is to share with you news of the demise of one of the UK's 'finest' theme parks. Lapland New Forest, situated on the Hampshire-Dorset border in the south of England, has recently been forced to close its doors due to the fact that it didn't really deliver what it promised. Its advertisement depicted a snow-covered Lapland village with Hollywood special effects, a Nativity scene and a bustling Christmas market with an ice rink, but when the public - who had to pay up to £30 (about $55) for a ticket - arrived, the ice rink was broken, the huskies and reindeer were chained up in pens, the market was four stalls in a tent and the Nativity scene was a picture on a painted wall that could only be viewed after crossing a muddy field.

As the complaints flooded in, the Park's owner, Henry Mears, stated that "six of our staff - three elves and three security - have been assaulted and all have been verbally abused," and to cap it all Santa, who at one stage was found sneaking a quick cigarette outside his grotto, was punched in the head by an irate father who'd had to queue up for over four hours only to be told that he couldn't take a picture of his children and that they weren't allowed to sit on Santa's lap. Oh, and they'd have to get in another queue to get their presents.

I think that the lesson to be learned here is that theme parks should be left to the Americans, as they simply do them so much better, much in the way they excel at opening ceremonies at major sporting events, building cars that no-one wants and destroying the world's economy.

Pass the eggnog.

Eyes down...

Thursday night is bingo night in town, and tonight's prize for a full house is $24,000. That's right, twenty-four thousand dollars. Apparently no-one has won the jackpot for a few weeks now, and the money has been rolling over. The weekly bingo game is huge here, as you can imagine with such prizes, and the way it's played is quite unique. Not that anything can be quite unique, but we'll leave that discussion for another time.

To play, you buy your card(s) from the local store, then tune into the radio (or the FM, to use the colloquialism for local radio here) on Thursday evening and let the games begin. I tried playing once, but as my grasp of Inuktitut is tenuous verging on the non-existent, it was quite a harrowing exercise: "What did they say? What was that? Was that a number? Please slow down!"

Anyway, I shall endeavour to find out tomorrow whether anybody won or not; shouldn't be too difficult - it'll be the person with all the new friends.

But Emily loved him

Another Brits only post

Oliver Postgate died today, and part of many a childhood, including mine, died with him.

Oliver Postgate was the creator of Bagpuss, The Clangers, Ivor The Engine and Noggin The Nog, some of the most beloved of all children's characters ever to grace our TV screens. In fact, forget the word children's; these are cross-generational, truly iconic characters.

I was fortunate enough to meet Oliver Postgate at a book signing event a few years ago, and for over an hour he enraptured all of those present with tales of saggy old cloth cats, Welsh steam trains and the swanee-whistling inhabitants of the Moon. He had such a mellifluous voice (go on, look it up if you have to), and one felt instantly safe and secure in his company, much as one did when settling down to watch his creations on television. Melanie even got to hold Bagpuss - the real Bagpuss - and although I was saddled with photography duty that day, it was still a privilege just to be near Mr Postgate and his baggy, loose-at-the-seams cat.

It might seem strange to some for me to talk of it being a privilege to be near a stuffed toy and its owner; surely such an homage should be reserved for the likes of Nelson Mandela, The Queen or Scarlett Johansson? However, such is the affection afforded to Bagpuss and his friends, at least from this quarter, I think it's appropriate.

Bagpuss gave a big yawn, and settled down to sleep.
And of course when Bagpuss goes to sleep, all his friends go to sleep too.
The mice were ornaments on the mouse-organ.
Gabriel and Madeleine were just dolls.
And Professor Yaffle was a carved wooden bookend in the shape of a woodpecker.
Even Bagpuss himself once he was asleep was just an old, saggy cloth cat.
Baggy, and a bit loose at the seams,
But Emily loved him.

Only In America

As I write, I am watching the annual Rochester Christmas Parade on TV. It's rather wonderful entertainment...the 'Older People's Commission' float has just driven by, featuring "representatives of the Commission lip-synching to a variety of all your Christmas favourites."

Oh, here comes a line of Clydesdale horses: "what says holiday better than Clydesdales?", comments the announcer. Would she like a list? And here is the Holy Family school float, with a 'Live Nativity Scene'...Push, push...I think I can see a head!

And to cap it all, as the programme came back from commercials, with the announcer proclaiming, "welcome back; you can feel the sun, you can feel the holiday spirit here," what was passing by on screen?

A tank.

Ain't that America?

Occupational Hazard

Whilst the nation's leaders bicker over who's going to run the country, we have our own problems to deal with at a local level. As I was preparing to leave school yesterday, my attention was brought to this notice on the door:

If I find any, I'll let you know.

Crisis? What Crisis?

As America prepares to embrace the New Hope that is Barack Obama, Canada is staring into a political abyss, although after today's events on Parliament Hill it could yet prove to be no more than a Phantom Menace.

As referenced in this blog a couple of months ago, Canada elected a minority Conservative government at the recent general election, with none of the party leaders seeming able to ignite the blue touch paper of public interest or support. With little likelihood of one single party assuming outright control in the near future, the three opposition parties have come up with an interesting solution: unite and conquer.

The Liberals and the NDP have announced a coalition, and with the backing of the Bloc Quebecois, their intent was to topple the government with a vote of no confidence this coming Monday. I say their intent was to topple the government, because Prime Minister Harper has come up with his own interesting solution to the problem: shut down Parliament.

He met with Governor General Michaelle Jean today, and after two hours of talks the GG agreed to prorogue, or suspend, parliament until late January, a step unprecedented in Canadian history, or for that matter the history of most democratic nations that you could care to mention. It's basically the political equivalent of stopping the game and declaring "it's my ball and I'm going home!"

But you know what? Harper's plan just might succeed, and here's why. Firstly, if the coalition won power, Stephane Dion would take over as Prime Minister, a situation that very few Canadians would care for. Dion has already stated that he will be stepping down as Liberal leader in May, and quite frankly he has all the personality of a wet fish. A wet fish that has just taken a bath. A wet fish that has just taken a bath and then stepped out in the rain. A wet fish that has just taken a bath, stepped out in the rain and then gone for a swim. A wet fish that has....you get the picture.

Secondly, other than in Quebec, Canada is scared of the Bloc Quebecois. For my non-Canadian readers, the main goal of the Bloc Quebecois is to see the French-speaking province of Quebec gain independence from Canada; the proposed coalition would be impossible without the support of the Bloc, and the possibility of a separatist party getting anywhere close to the corridors of power seems to give most Canadians outside of Quebec the willies. Now, I say that if they want to go, then let them go and be done with it, but many Canadians would see this as a dagger blow to the nation's heart. Consequently, any coalition that involves the Bloc seems doomed to failure, and when you throw Dion into the mix, I can't see the coalition making it intact into the New Year.

So, where does all this leave us? The politicians now have an extra-long holiday, when they come back parliament will still be deadlocked, and once the snow clears we'll most probably have another election, the third in three years. But hey, by that time my citizenship might have come through and I'll finally be able to vote; come on Mike, make it right!

Culture Club

WARNING
This is one of those posts that contains images of a highly graphic, animal-entrails-all-over-the-floor nature, so the squeamish amongst you might not want to read on!

It's been culture week at Innalik (the High School here) this week, and yesterday afternoon was 'show and tell' as Caroline, the centre director at my school, put it. Now, I've participated in a few 'show and tell' lessons in my time, both as student and teacher, and most of them ended up becoming a narrated display of the latest toys, with possibly the odd family pet or grandfather's old telescope thrown in for good measure. At Innalik, there were no toys or telescopes to be seen, and I hope to high Heaven that the animals on show were not family pets.

Innalik's show and tell afternoon provides an opportunity for village elders to teach the students the type of traditional skills, techniques and games that are sadly being eroded from memory as Southern culture becomes more and more influential; for a qallunaat like myself (qallunaat being the Inuit term for a white person), it is like being a part of the CSI team's annual outing to the abattoir.

My journey around the hall began innocently enough. I was able to observe a local craftsman demonstrate his carving technique, watch an elder teach the youngsters a traditional game and see a fine example of an oil-burning lamp, or qulliq:

However, most interest centred on the more, shall I say, 'graphic' demonstrations:

Caribou were gutted...

...foxes were skinned...

...and seals were...well, let's just say that this used to be a seal

All in all it was a fascinating afternoon; it was certainly not what I'm used to, but it hammered home the fact that what each culture perceives to be 'correct' or 'normal' is just that - a perception. The use of the land's resources is a way of life here, and the passing down of the skills on display in Innalik's hall forms a vital part of the continuation of a rich and proud heritage.

And it also makes for a unique show and tell.

Happy Birthday!

With the indulgence that writing my own blog allows me, this post is really for one person only:

Happy Birthday Mum!

Now, further to the conversation we just had on the phone, here's how you leave a comment on any of the posts:

1. Click on the 'comments' tag at the end of the posting (it will most likely say '0 comments').
2. On the page that comes up, write your comment in the box provided.
3. When you have finished, select 'Name/URL' from the options under the Choose An Identity heading. The other options are for people who have certain other internet accounts or who simply wish to remain anonymous; you don't need to worry about them.
   
4. Write your name in the 'name' box; you can ignore the 'URL' box.
5. Click on 'Publish Your Comment' and you're done!

So there you go. I shall now expect a plethora of comments over the coming weeks! (That goes for anyone else who is still reading this post, too).

Finally, did you know that December 1st 1887 was the first time that Sherlock Holmes appeared in print, in the story A Study In Scarlet?

Happy Birthday!