Portent

My 40th birthday is around the corner, so I thought it would be a good idea to think about what I want. My youngest sister is the best wish-list writer in the world. She bombards us with updates of her Christmas and birthday lists weeks in advance to make sure that she gets what she wants. Unfortunately, her taste doesn’t exactly match my wallet, so I always end up buying her something that is not on the list.  Things I’d like to get for my birthday are:

• A holiday (leaving for Barcelona in 10 mins!)
• A freezer
• A black leather briefcase
• Shoes!!!
• WHS vouchers
• HMV vouchers
• A necklace
• Cool earrings
• A night out with someone special
• To see my brother, sisters and grandparents

That’s about it! Thanks to mum and dad I’ve already got the first thing on my list, so here I go. See you next week!

¡Viva España!

//Evalena

2005 was a turbulent year. I was reading the Defence News web site the other day when I found these great pics taken from some of last year’s main events. The poppies over Trafalgar Square on Commemoration Day is something I will never forget. In fact, I will never forget that whole, weird week.

I moved to England on the 29th of June last year. It was a daunting venture down an unknown path, but something I felt I had to do. I had graduated from uni and landed a teaching job in London.

We arrived with nothing but our clothes. The troops (my kids) went down to Brighton to stay with a friend of mine. Ems, my oldest, and I booked into a hostel in Bayswater, and began our quest to find a new home for us all. It turned out to be a lot more difficult than I would have imagined, but the 7th of July we finally had the keys to our new home in Ealing. It was by far one of the weirdest weeks of my life.

Wednesday the 6th of July was the day England landed the 2012 Olympic Games. People were mad with happiness, and we were all best friends celebrating in the streets and in the pubs. Thursday morning, on my way to work, I noticed that the tabloids were over the moon with nationalistic pride. It was difficult to know which made them the happiest – to get to host the Olympics, or the fact that France had lost the bid. One headline even read: We may have crap food – but we’ve got the Olympics!

My first lesson that day was interrupted by a colleague who asked me to come down to the staff room. We were informed that London Transport had been attacked by terrorists, and worried parents wanted to get in touch with their children. We were also told that we would not be allowed to leave campus. As I had my daughter on her own somewhere in the city, I decided to leave and try to meet up with her in Notting Hill where we were supposed to get the keys to our flat. Getting there was a veritable logistic nightmare.

What struck me the most that day was how extraordinary the English are when it comes to showing resolve and fighting spirit. People were looking after each other, helping each other find their ways, contact relatives, seek assistance etc. Police, security guards, and London Transport staff were everywhere, asking people if they needed help. Strangers would offer support in the middle of the commotion. Old people reminded us of the war and the importance of calmness and team-spirit. The streets were packed with people who had to walk home. One would imagine that this would lead to chaos, panic and a bad atmosphere, but people were amazing the way they kept calm and put on a brave, cheerful face. Methinks having experienced something like this first hand makes you more humble.

Friday was a day of sadness, sorrow, and mourning. I wasn’t the only one who kept a suspicious eye on my fellow tube travellers. I think we were all afraid, feeling as if we had just landed in some kind of vacuum. I had to go on a train, two buses and four tubes to get to work, as only some parts of the transport system were up and running again.

Saturday was unusually quiet, but Sunday was spectacular. It was Commemoration Day. People seemed to come out of their houses to show their resilience. Trafalgar Square was packed with people, and as the WWII bombers flew over London, releasing red clouds of poppies, my eyes were not the only ones that were full of tears. As one body we stood together saying no to terrorism. Pain is temporary – losing is forever!

Monday we were back to business as usual. It was a weird feeling sitting on the tube knowing that the rescue work was still progressing in one of the tunnels. Four days after the explosion it was still 60° C in there. People were still missing and outside the tube stations flowers, candles and notes reminded us of the horrors we were still pretty much in the middle of. In the afternoon the newspapers serenaded the resilient city dwellers that defied terrorism.

It was weird how we in one week went from nationalistic joy, via shock, horrors, mourning and Commemoration, to a state where we decided to face the next day with a certain resilience and fresh-faced optimism. As if nothing had happened, although everything had, and nothing would ever be the same again.

If I had known then that my first year in this country in many ways would resemble that first week, I would probably have freaked out and gone back home again.

But I didn’t…

//Evalena

To see all the Defence News pics, go to: http://www.mod.uk/DefenceInternet/DefenceNews/PeopleInDefence/2005AYearInPictures.htm

One of the things I love about living in London is the multi-cultural atmosphere. Yes, I know it creates some problems, but overall London is like an enormous melting-pot where people from all over the world live their lives together and accept each other’s differences. You can experience things here that you’d rarely come across unless you spent all your time travelling the world.

Last weekend I had the honour of attending a Manjhal Neeratu Vizha, a Tamil puberty ceremony. It was like stepping into the world of Jane Austen, but all the Lizzies and Janes at this party were wearing beautiful saris and expensive jewellery. The idea was the same though. A young girl is introduced to society. Her days as a child are officially over, and now she needs a good husband so that she can continue to bring joy to her family.

The celebration serves the purpose of letting people know that the girl is available for marriage. In rich families this ritual is celebrated almost like a wedding. It goes on for two weeks, and ends in a big party. On the first day the girl is given a turmeric bath by female family members. She is then isolated for two weeks and fed a rich diet. After the isolation period she is given another turmeric bath and goes through a mock wedding. It is a joyous occasion for the family. The final ceremony, that I attended, is meant to counteract evil influences.

My daughter and I were the only white people out of 250 guests at this ceremony. We arrived to the school where the party was held and were met by a big statue of Ganesha, the Hindu elephant god who so revered his parents that he called them his whole world. A line of beautifully dressed girls greeted all guests and put a yellow and a white bindi on our foreheads. Then we got a little box of sweets and snacks to eat whilst waiting for the celebration to begin. When the girl and her family arrived in a limousine, all the young girls and the female family members walked in procession up the red carpet that led to the scene.

The girl was dressed in a beautiful sari, had a golden veil, and she was wearing a lot of gold. The other girls in the procession were carrying flowers, and the women had trays laid out with ritual gifts like coconut, fruit, sweet meat, mango leaves, seeds, oils, rice etc, all in odd numbers. At the stage, the girl entered her throne and the gifts were placed around her. All the guests were then treated to a big feast with nine different dishes. Most of them hot, but all absolutely delicious!

Throughout the ceremony I think I got as much attention as the girl we were celebrating. People were staring and pointing at me. They loved that I was wearing the bindi, and they were over the moon when I ate their food with tears running down my cheeks.

After the meal I was led onto the stage to have my pics taken together with the young girl, and then she gave me a present. I got a bag with a traditional oil lamp, an orange and some mango leaves. As I made my way back it struck me how fortunate I was to have been invited to this ceremony.

It’s not every day you get to go to Tamil Nadu (south India) on a Sunday afternoon.

//Evalena

I am bored out of my wits at the moment! Have spent the last 24 hours watching DVDs and doing silly quizzes on a site called Quiz Universe. I have now learned the following about myself:

I have a sexual IQ of 133. When it comes to sex, I'm a super genius. I have had a lot of experience, and sex interests me so I know a lot about it. I pride myself on being a source of information and guidance to all of my friends.

I am so popular, I have my choice of hotties. I can easily charm anyone of my choosing, and I often come home with someone I picked up at the bar.

Despite my forward and extroverted nature, I'm usually submissive in bed. I like my partner to take the lead and show me all of their little secrets. My sex matches are Gemini, Sagittarius, and Aquarius. (Luckily, my man is a Sagittarian, so maybe there's hope for us after all… lol)

My sexual hidden talent is my ability to use my mouth. I am incredibly sensual, a great kisser and a seductive lover. I drive all of my partners crazy with my mouth.

I am suave. I'm attractive both phsyically and mentally, and I use my abilities to attract anyone I desire.

Fantastic! For some reason there was no quiz on that site that could answer the question why, on a Saturday, I'm vegging out at home with quizzes and DVDs, instead of actually getting some steaming hot sex.

I guess there are certain limits even to what cyber oracles can explain…

//Evalena

I nearly died of shock when I came home from work the other day and found my front door wide open. I tiptoed up to the door, half expecting to see a scary burglar or bailiff (same thing – different name) going through my personal belongings. Instead I found the flat full of six (!) smelly guys busy doing god-knows-what.

I asked them what they were doing in my home, and they told me my landlord had sent them to carry out some health- and safety improvements ordered by the council. Apparently, international law doesn’t apply to UK landlords, so he saw no reason to inform me that my home would be invaded while I was at work.

A week later my home is in a mess. They have changed all the doors, installed a fire alarm, put some silicone in the bathroom and in my kitchen, and painted some bits they felt like painting. Seriously, I could have done this myself over a weekend! It would have saved me sleepless nights, knowing that I have to be up and fully dressed before the smelly troops arrive and let themselves in.

The other day I had one of those rare precious moments when I get to speak to my Man. I took the opportunity to complain about the situation, thinking that he would feel sorry for me and have a few words of comfort to offer in my moment of despair. Instead all he said was: Six guys? Lucky them!!

Some days I wonder what I see in him…

//Evalena

To work and pay tax in England, you need a National Insurance number. If you don’t have one you have to pay a horrendous 40% of your earnings in emergency tax! As a good and law-abiding immigrant, I called the Job Centre in July last year and asked for an NI interview. I was told I couldn’t book an appointment as I had also made claims for tax credits, and child and housing benefits. Your benefit claims have to be processed before you can get an appointment for your interview.

I realise now that coming from Sweden I have been spoiled rotten by our state. We have a central computer system somewhere in the heart of our nation where all citizens are registered. If you give birth to a child it is registered in the Big Comp, and within a couple of weeks you begin to receive child benefit for said infant without as much as signing a paper. If you claim housing benefit, the paper-shuffler at the benefits agency will type your details into the Desktop Comp, which is magically connected to the Big Comp. Within minutes they get access to your tax codes, your income, and any other vital information needed to process your claim. Piece of cake! A minimum of hassle, no waste of time, and within a couple of weeks your money is paid into your account.

When I knew I was going to move countries, I did my homework to find out if I would have the same rights in the UK as I did in Sweden. Transparency rules for EU nationals meant that I’d basically be entitled to the same benefits here, albeit calculated according to UK rates. Seemed like a fair deal to me. What I didn’t realise was that everything that is done swiftly and efficiently in Sweden takes forever in this country. Why? Well, so far the only plausible reason I have come up with is that it keeps a great many people busy shuffling papers and being rude to foreigners.

Three weeks ago, after thirteen months in this country, I finally had my interview! I must admit that I didn’t arrive in high spirits, but the man at the Hounslow Job Centre office was fantastic! He even apologised for the ludicrousness of the system and filed a report of complaint on my behalf. Today I got my red and blue NI card, so Hey Guys! I’m one of you now! I’m so excited I can hardly type!!

Who knows, next I may even get my child benefit sorted…

//Evalena

Apart from the fact that I enjoyed playing the game with the boys as a teenager, football has never really been my cup of tea. However, I have found that, living in London, a basic general knowledge of football is an essential requirement for your social life. This summer, for instance, I had the World Cup fixture list in my handbag. Why? Well, because I knew it would be pointless to plan any kind of social activities if England were playing ball that day.

We all know how the World Cup ended. I watched the England – Portugal game in the pub, and was hoping beyond hope it wouldn’t go to penalties. (Why is it we cannot seem to win on penalties??) After almost two hours of cheering, chanting, whistling and booing, you could have heard a feather fall to the floor when it became clear that we had lost. The jubilant football fever ended in football failure, and for a few weeks football was not the main topic of any conversation.

England would not be England without its football, though. Last weekend the football fever began to creep up on us again with the premier of the fifteenth FA Premier League season. Reigning champions Chelsea have the chance to become the fifth side ever to win three consecutive English top-flight titles. We’ll see about that…

As a foreigner, it is fascinating to observe how which team you support is almost as important to the English, as which church you belong to is to the Americans. Most people around my neck of the woods are Chelsea fans. Not very surprising seeing as Stamford Bridge (the Chelsea arena) is in Hammersmith, which is pretty much around the corner from here. Chelsea is a rich team with the budget of a small country. Not that hard to be on the top then, is it?

The money in football here is insane! A match ticket can easily cost you up to £50, which is more than a full working day’s salary for most people. I read somewhere that a Portsmouth season ticket would cost you £595, whereas a Real Madrid season ticked comes at a bargain £200. English football supporters are either loaded or totally mad! Personally, I feel that the biggest problem with the FA Premier League is that it is all about money, and only four – five teams have a real chance to win. Takes part of the fun out of the equation if you ask me.

My Man is an avid West Ham supporter who takes his footie seriously. On Saturdays he’s not a responsible adult. When the whistle blows, he goes from thick squaddie (his words!) to Neanderthal hooligan. If the team do well he’s over the moon. If not, well… Let’s just say I don’t need to check the temperature of our relationship – it’s quite enough to check the football results.

Would it be too much to hope for another good season for the Hammers??

//Evalena