Hogmanay: Part 2

December 30

I should have had a good seven hours of sleep that night, but the hostel was insanely noisy outside! Actually, it sounded a lot like how terrible neighbourhoods sound in American movies. It made me really glad that L was in the same building. At least we'd both have someone to walk home with. Not that anything awful happened  on the street while I was there, but the area sounded like something could... The bar's garbage bins were located outside the window, so all night we heard the sound of clanking glass whenever they would cart out the beer bottles and chuck them in. When the bar closed, some guys got into some sort of "fight". I put that in quotation marks because it was actually this one guy screaming over, and over, and over again, "What the fuck, mate?!" for what seemed like hours! Then a car alarm went off, the guy took off and his screaming was replaced by a car alarm going for what seemed like more hours. Then the old guy woke up and was super noisy... Yeah, I was insanely cranky. 

I got up and went to shower, which was another disaster and only fuelled my terrible mood. The only free one was the first  and worst shower, though I didn't know this at the time. I had to put my clothes on the floor, on a bed of pyjamas. I got in and turned the shower on and it refused to get hot. I stubbornly waited, deciding that I deserved a hot shower after the previous night's sleep. The hostel apparently didn't agree because my shower stopped draining. I stared in horror as the water continued to rise, looking back and forth movie style to my clothes, on the floor, and the water, still rising. It became a race against time! I needed to shower before my clothes got wet. Steeling myself, I took an extremely fast shower that was cold enough to be considered torture. 

Still pretty cranky at this point. It was made even worse by the fact that the employees didn't know the extension cord's location, so I couldn't dry my hair before going out. Then, while I was waiting for L... Remember how they didn't lock the doors so they could sleep at night without having to let people in? Yeah. Two extremely drunk, extremely Irish blokes wandered in all, "Is this a pub?" Really? If it was it would be the seediest pub in the world. An employee came around and kicked them out, locking the door behind them. The one on crutches came back and tried to ask me about pubs again. Er, at least I think he was. He was the one that was harder to understand, which is an achievement because I was sure both of them were actually speaking Gaelic or something half the time. Oh, and while this was happening I had to get my key card re-programmed. That took forever, because in spite of knowing people would need their key cards redone, they didn't have the system up and running. Ugh. It made me late, and of course I couldn't tell L I was late because my phone had gone swimming. 

I did [finally] manage to meet up with L so we could head to St. Christopher's to meet up with A and pretend to be staying there to get some free breakfast. We wandered across the wrong bridge, then got distracted by the Irish guys returning. They recognized me from the hostel and tried to strike up a conversation, but neither or us could really understand what they were saying. Eventually they wandered off to an open pub [at 9 in the morning! They said they had been drinking all night!] and we figured out our location and made it to St. Christopher's, only slightly late. Feeling guilty, we did buy breakfast instead of scamming a free one. 

Anyway, after breakfast we went to Edinburgh Castle, which is absolutely gorgeous! The crankiness just melted away. It was pretty neat because a lot of the crests and other iconography were brought over to Nova Scotia by those first settlers deciding to [or, being forced to depending on which side you listen to] live in Pictou. My only complaint is that a lot of it was Scotland's war history. Which makes sense, definitely, because Edinburgh used to be contained in the Royal Mile, with huge walls surrounding it to keep out the English. So, of course they would want to document that. I guess I was hoping for a little more on how the people lived and used the castle over the centuries. Though, I suppose that might be a bit stupid because obviously they used it to stay alive and keep the English out...  Yeah, I'm having trouble expressing myself so I'm just going to leave it. The views were fantastic, and the war history itself was very, very interesting. 

Looking down at the city from Edinburgh Castle

After the castle we said goodbye to A, and wandered around the city a bit aimlessly for a while. We looked at tourist shops, I bought some postcards and a kilt, and just tried to get a feel of the city. Of course, we had to stop in at my friend Vodafone so I could replace my phone. I just want to note now that L and I had terrible luck with our stuff on the trip. I broke my suitcase, killed my phone, L broke her purse, lost her scarf, almost lost her hat. Yeah, we had some terrible luck. Anyway, at Vodafone I proved that I can be absolutely insane by acting like some sort of deranged idiot.

My old phone was awful. The touch screen was terrible. Sometimes it wouldn't let me answer calls, the active sync stopped working randomly. It pretty much sucked. It dying was a blessing in disguise I guess, mostly because I couldn't justify getting a new one while the old one still worked. Seriously, Samsung Montes? Terrible. I replaced it with... something. I don't really know what it is, but it's a million times easier to work. I was lucky enough that the SIM card sort of still works, so I can keep my old number until I stop being lazy and get one of those SIM cards that let you keep your number from my Vodafone in London. Anyway, I was so grateful. It's really embarrassing having to tell people that you dropped your phone in a toilet... While sober. But there you go. I proclaimed the employee to be my hero for fixing me up with a deal, a phone, and for getting my SIM card to work. Apparently that's a bit too much appreciation... So, sorry for being creepy, Vodafone Guy! 

After the little side trip to the phone shop, we went on a tour of the Underground City! There are loads of different tour groups, but we happened on Auld Reekie first. They weren't too bad, but apparently there's two underground cities... There's the old vaults where the homeless people and prostitutes lived after the merchants stopped storing their goods there, then there's Mary King's Close. I didn't even see the second option anywhere, but it was the one I googled and the one I was expecting. Instead we got some ghost stories, and learned a bit of history. The tour guide kept talking about people getting kicked and scratched and stuff, but nothing happened to anyone on our tour, sadly. It was fun and spooky, but if I go back I'll definitely look harder for Mary King's Close! 

In the evening we met up with some of L's friends, who were in the city on a Haggis Adventures tour. We pretended to be on the tour, too, mostly so we could get into their exclusive party to meet up with L's friends. Also, so we could have half price drinks all weekend. They were all really, really nice! I also met a couple from Montreal. We chatted about homesickness and they told me about a Canadian pub in Covent Gardens! Guess who's going there soon? Meeeee! 

I was pretty exhausted, so I went home early with some of the other girls. We got pretty lost, but it was worth it because I came across The Elephant House, where JKR wrote Harry Potter! Yeah, I'm a nerd. Anyway, I eventually made it back to the hostel, where I discovered the couple had checked out in disgust and were replaced by two girls! 

I had to charge my phone and my camera, since both of them had died while out. They didn't fully charge though, because there were a bunch of people in the kitchen doing lines of cocaine. They weren't mean or anything, they were just annoying, even to extremely drunk me. They had clearly been doing lines all night, and were so paranoid they went from hilarious to annoying. They kept worrying that the employee was going to come in and see them. Well, idiots, if you're that worried don't spend twenty minutes loudly grinding the powder into... powder. Or you could snort it faster? I don't know, I try not to stick stuff up my nose so I have no idea.

Soooo, that's my second day in Edinburgh in excruciating detail! I know you probably don't want to read it all, and that's fine. It's for me, too. This thing is sort of like my journal, and I just want to document everything so I don't forget! There will be two more days of this, then some more Royal Fail, probably! (:

Royal Fail

So, I was going to write about my birthday, but nothing really happened and I'm pretty much rage blinded by the institution that is the Royal Mail system that I would much, much rather complain about that instead.

Okay, call me crazy, but I like to send post cards and little souvenirs to people. Of course, since I didn't have a job until last month, I haven't exactly had the funds to send anything. I sent out a round of postcards because they're super cheap, but other than that the souvenirs I've been collecting have been taking up space in my room. Since it's now the Christmas season, and I have a job, I finally decided to wrap up all these gifts and send them along to my family.

We draw names in my family, and this year I got my youngest brother, CD. I did a lot of online shopping for him, so for the most part his presents have already arrived. But, I wanted to send him some chocolate and candy from London, stuff he could eat since he recently got braces, and I found this hilarious book at Windsor Castle about proper gentlemen hygiene and fashion that I figured he would also find hilarious. You know, little stuff, a key chain since he just recently passed his road test, little stuff like that.  Since I'm in another country I decided the 'only buy stuff for your person' rule no longer applied to me, and I also got gifts for the rest of my family. My other brother, T, lives in Alberta so I sent his stuff separately, but in the parcel with CD's stuff I also included some presents for my parents and grandmother. A picture of a lighthouse for my dad, a scarf with my mom's family tartan that I found in Wales. Chocolate for both of them. A cat calender for my grandmother who's obsessed with cats. A London hat for my father. Things I thought they might enjoy, things I had chosen carefully with the expectation that one day they would  actually get to see them.

The parcel in question. I like to think its size means
that it takes a special kind of idiot to lose it...

Unfortunately, as of right now, it looks like my family may never see their Christmas gifts. Thanks to the Royal Mail and its special brand of stupidity.

My saga starts on December 6th, when I finally finished wrapping all the gifts, taped up the parcel, and hauled it, my brother T's gifts, and a friend's birthday gift down to the local post office. I seriously don't understand the employees at this post office. I had been there about two weeks earlier sending off another birthday present, so I knew the [annoying] routine. Before they take my money and the parcel they always say, "It's going to be a lot of money." Like, I appreciate the warning, but what do they want me to do at that point? Turn around and walk out all, "Oh, okay, guess I'll teleport it there instead." How else is it going to get there? By the way, it only cost 25 pounds to send A's gift to Canada. I don't really consider that expensive considering I paid for air mail and it got there in a week.

Now, I'm sure you're all wondering how much that big box cost to send. It only weighed 4.5 kg, and it cost 73 pounds to send it using the express option [insurance, 3 day delivery, but if it had arrived in 3 days you wouldn't be reading this rant, and the ability to track it]. You're probably gasping and in the throes of a heart attack at the price, but I really don't think it was that bad. There was, admittedly, a lot of stuff. AND, it cost 25 pounds each to send the other three parcels [T's Christmas gifts and the birthday presents for my birthday twins]. These gifts each weighed 1/9th the amount of the big parcel, they didn't have a tracking option, and they were going to take a week to get to Canada. Sooo, the big parcel was actually cheaper when you factor in insurance, weight, travel time, and the tracking bit.

Would I do it again? Probably not, even before Royal Mail lost the parcel. But it was Christmas, so I'm not going to complain [about that, anyway]. 

Since the parcel left on Monday, I figured it would probably arrive on Friday. Yeah, I was being generous and giving them four days. I started to track the parcel on Wednesday because I'm paranoid and I was worried the parcel would get stuck in customs.

On Wednesday, and on Thursday, the tracking information did not change. It has said, and still says at the time of writing, that the package is 'advised'. What, exactly, does that mean? Unsure, I took to Google, where everyone had a different theory. It could mean that it's stuck in customs, maybe that customs is going to charge my family to have the parcel released. Which is a separate rant, why would you make my family pay for gifts I sent them? It clearly says GIFTS on the custom's declaration. You don't make people pay for gifts. Unless you're customs, I guess. Other people thought it meant that parcel was in a cargo hold somewhere over the ocean, which, it better not be. I seriously worry if the people flying the planes are taking a week to cross the ocean. That takes a serious commitment to being lost. Sure, it could be in a ship somewhere in the Atlantic, but again, it better not be. I paid for air mail!

Deciding that the only way to know for sure would be to go directly to the source, I e-mailed ParcelForce. You can seriously only contact them through e-mail, otherwise I totally would have called since it's way harder to ignore persistent ringing than it is an e-mail. Anyway, they sent back a stock e-mail claiming they'd reply to me within two business days. This was on Thursday.

On Friday, I admit, I got a little impatient. I sent another e-mail where I asked after the parcel's location, and questioned why the tracking information hadn't been updated, and why it was taking longer than three business days for my parcel to get to Canada.

I felt a little bad afterwards because it was a very clipped message and, not rude, but I made it clear that I was annoyed. Then my mother told me that on her end, Canada Post had informed her that parcels are taking longer to get in and out of Canada thanks to some sort of mail bomb or whatever threat. So, then I felt worse because maybe it wasn't Royal Mail's fault!

Annnndddd then ParcelForce responded to my enquiries on Monday [my birthday!]. I won't post the entire e-mail here because it was ridiculously long and I can sum it up in about four lines, max. Basically, they're incredibly sorry that my parcel didn't make it in the promised three days, they understand how annoyed and frustrated I am that it hasn't arrived, but Royal Mail hasn't actually given them my parcel for delivery yet, so they don't know where it is and therefore can't update the tracking information or tell me when it will get to Canada

...

Wait, what?

They don't know where it is.

Honestly, my brain about exploded at that point. HOW DO YOU LOSE A PARCEL THAT BIG? IT IS THE SIZE OF MY TORSO. It's not like it's a postcard and can get slipped in with someone else's mail, or fall out of the bag unnoticed. It's 4.5 kg!

I sent ParcelForce a reply, and I pride myself on being polite. A new maturity that comes with being 23 I guess. I basically asked for clarification on the not knowing where the parcel is bit, and asked for the contact information of someone who can find the thing. So, Royal Mail's contact information, in other words .Because the tracking device on their site takes you back to ParcelForce. Yesterday, I found the Royal Mail tracking information by accident and promptly bookmarked it because I wasn't sure if I could find it again.

Not that it's useful, since it says the same thing as ParcelForce. Advised. Canada Post claims it was mailed in the country of origin, so at least I know it's not still at the post office being used as a foot rest. That's something, I guess.

ParcelForce sent back another stock e-mail, promising to get to my reply within two business days, so I went back to Royal Mail's website and started to look harder for their contact information. However, they've totally taken website design tips from the government because it is impossible to navigate. Eventually, thanks to my amazing ability to navigate stupid, and the sort of blind determination that comes with being angry, I found their customer service page.

And that, my friends and readers, is where my story ends. But why does it end on a cliffhanger, Jade? You might be asking. Because, my friends and readers, every, single time I click their 'Contact Us' link I get the following:

Why yes, it does make me irrationally angry. Thanks for asking.

At the moment I'm stuck in an endless loop, and have been since yesterday. They link me back to customer services, I click the contact us link, and then that stupid little message with its sarcastic "Sorry..." [I've looked at it for so long it's taken on a tone, HELP ME!] mocks me and sends me back to the customer service page.

And there you go. The story up until now of Jade verses Royal Mail. Obviously I'll let you know the conclusion.

I should note at this point that the other two times I used Royal Mail they came through for me. Not one of the six post cards I sent got lost. Even though the first birthday gift was supposed to get there in 5 days, it arrived after 7, which I consider reasonable. I'll let you all know about T's Christmas gift and the other birthday gift...

<3 Jade

The Korean Film Festival

So, sometimes I like to joke that my life is a romantic comedy before the cute boy shows up. You know, the part where the heroine is bumbling her way through life, making hilarious gaffs and generally being insane. That is pretty much me in a nutshell, honestly. But don't put me in a nutshell. I'll die.

Anyway, last Friday I went to the centre for a bit. Took in the National Portrait Gallery and decided to go see a film with my friend, Welshie. That's not her real name, just so you know.

CONTINUING ON. We went to see Burke and Hare, which was as hilarious as a movie about two murderers can be. Surprisingly, when Simon Pegg is involved, this is very hilarious. I think my favourite part was the music. I'm honestly [not really] starting to think that Scotland only has two songs. Scotland the Brave, played on pipes, which was used at the beginning of the movie to let the audience know that the film was set in Scotland. And, 500 Miles, that hilarious song about walking 1000 miles to pass out on some poor girl's doorstep. Because nothing says true love like a song about getting drunk and havering [which apparently means 'babble like an idiot' and not 'puke your guts out' like I've been assuming for years] FOR LOVE. This song was played during the end credits. I'm sure it was a joke, and if you've watched the movie you'll get why it's hilariously appropriate but also hilariously tasteless.

I'm a little worried that my New Year's Eve in Edinburgh will just feature these two songs on repeat until it's time for Auld Lang Syne. That's also Scottish, apparently. My knowledge of Scotland is terrible because all I know I learned from this museum in my hometown [THE BIRTHPLACE OF NEW SCOTLAND] and they totally got it twisted and definitely rewrote bits to make the Scots look fantastic and the English even worse than normal. And let's be honest, England doesn't appear all that favourably [unless they're writing it] in history for like 500 years. Colonialism ftl!

Anyway, I do know Scotland has loads of fantastic music. My cousin listens to this stuff that can be best described as 'Cape Breton Alehouse Music' and I at least know I can dance to that! I am totally looking forward to hearing some other awesome Scottish music at New Year's though. Woo!

Okay, so that was a long winded tangent because the reason for this post is what happened after the film was over. Welshie and I got up, walked out of the cinema... and onto a red carpet.

I am not joking. There were people just inside posing on this backdrop thing while some guy snapped their photo. We dashed across that like ninja, and out the doors and BAM, red carpet city.

We had walked into the opening night of the London Korean Film Festival.

At first I thought it was no big thing [you know, like how Dal will have red carpets for costume or theatre events], but there were a couple people there with cameras, and they stopped flashing because, well, it was obvious that we weren't Korean film stars. There were people waiting to walk onto the carpet, and other people milling around. All while I stood there with Welshie paralysed with fear because I clearly wasn't supposed to be there. They had everything blocked off to prevent the cameras from getting too close, so we had to make a mad dash for the only way out: The way people were walking onto the red carpet.

Everyone seemed pretty nice, or at least, no one yelled at us, or looked like they were yelling at us. We had to pass a security guard to leave the carpet, and he didn't spare us much of a glance. He just waved us out. I'm not sure if I came into close contact with any Korean film stars, but I honestly wouldn't be able to tell. I don't know a thing about Korean films or their celebrities.

I did some googling later and found out that the film they were showing that night, at the theatre I was at, was kind of a big deal. The Man From Nowhere is a massive hit in Korea.

Well, I'm glad I got to be a part of it, even if it was to totally mess up their red carpet for a minute or so.

Sorry, Korea!

<3 Jade