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By Kate, 14 August 2009 12:27 pm

Let me just start by saying I know full well that I’m preaching to the choir here, and the people who would most likely benefit from reading this never will. I suppose I have to accept this, because it’s not going to change (I mean, HAVE YOU SEEN these people?), but I’m going to talk about this anyway, because MY GOD.

First of all, it’s nice that Americans who know absolutely nothing about how the NHS works are saying they’d be dead if they lived in England right now, because clearly the NHS is just so evil that it’s impossible to actually LIVE in a place where it exists. And they know this from… watching the news? And this knowledge is enough for them to know that an NHS type system would cause the US to implode.

I don’t profess to know everything about the NHS, and I certainly don’t profess to know everything about the American system. I also don’t know everything about politics. What I do know is that while the NHS is not perfect, it’s a damn sight better than anything going on in America. And I don’t just pretend to know, I do know, because I’ve experienced both.

In the US, I had a great doctor. However, seeing that doctor was a hassle. I would wait anywhere from 30minutes to an hour and a half past my actual appointment time to see the actual doctor. I would have to order my prescriptions online if I wanted the best deal, because that’s how my insurance company did things. And medicine was still expensive anyway. I had to pay more to see the gyno, and more again for birth control. I spent a particularly dreadful two and a half hours on the phone with my insurance company one day when I was a freshman in college because I needed to find out what I had to do in order to get an xray on my sprained ankle at the hospital because that hospital was not in the town where my permanent address was. I managed to get an EGD done on my upper digestive tract right before my dad’s insurance ran out on me. The procedure cleared me of any problems, but the same insurance company denied me when I reapplied independently. As did a bunch of others. I ended up with crappy worldwide insurance with a  deductible of about $10,000 and a pre-approval policy, which basically all means it was absolutely useless. And this was at age 22. If I was being rejected then, god knows how I’d get insurance at 30, 40, or 50.

Now. In the UK, I registered with a General Practitioner, and I can go see him or anyone in the practice he works in at any time. I never wait longer than 15 minutes past my appointment time. I can make an appointment to speak over the phone if it’s more convenient. I can talk to nurses on the phone 24 hours a day, 7 days a week on NHS 24 if I have a problem out of hours. And I can even get an out of hours care appointment at a local hospital if I have a problem on a Friday night that’s not an emergency but is not something I want to wait til Monday to resolve. I pay £4 for any prescription I need. Except birth control. That’s all free. I can go to confidential sexual and women’s health clinics for advice and care from a gynecologist whenever I want. That’s free too. I can, if unfortunately necessary, go to the emergency room without even thinking about how much it’s all going to cost, because there are no bills. They just do what they need to do.

What does this give me? Massive peace of mind. I have a few minor niggling health issues that are under control because I can go to the doctor, talk about them, and treat them without worrying if I can afford it. If I lived in the US, this would be a problem. Not only because of money, but because of the stress associated with the cost and annoyance.

I also have the option of private insurance for hospital cover, which I do have. So contrary to what some might believe, you are not simply limited to the NHS. You can pay for more.  It’s not entirely necessary, but for £20 a month, I can guarantee that if something awful like cancer should arise, I don’t have to worry about NHS wait times (which again, are not perfect, but do exist). My insurance is with BUPA, and when I call them, they answer all my questions, they explain anything I’m unsure of, and there’s no ridiculous bullshit. they do exclude pre-existing conditions, but I don’t really have to worry about that, because it’s all covered by the NHS.

I pay a lot of tax, just like everyone, but this gives me access to these services. It also gives the unemployed, homeless, and everyone else access to these services. Anyone can go to the doctor. There is nothing standing between anyone in this country and a healthcare appointment except for stubbornness. And that’s just a personal problem.

All these Americans who don’t understand why government healthcare is a good idea? I can only imagine that they’re rich and must really enjoy being dicked around on the phone for hours by their insurance companies. Oh and they probably don’t have any pre-existing conditions. At all.

Also, the only logical conclusion I can make about you if you don’t believe everyone should be entitled to healthcare is that you’re kind of an asshole. How can you live with yourself as a human being? I can sort of understand your position if you don’t want to pay towards the pot that feeds the benefit/welfare system — I don’t agree with you, but I can see your point. But not contributing to the greater health of humanity and, as a result being ok with the fact that some people ultimately die because they don’t even get basic care? You’re entitled to your opinion as an American, but so am I. Asshole.

If opponents of government healthcare want to debate the point, they’re more than welcome. But can they not do it like civilised human beings and make points that are actually based in truth? These people are whining like two-year-olds, and frankly, it’s embarrassing.

The state of American healthcare is a very big part of the reason I can’t see myself ever living there again. These crazies I’m seeing on TV, who have now dragged the UK into the debate, are making me want to stay away even more. Sorry Mom, Dad, family, and friends, I love the US, and I love you, but the place doesn’t look too appealing just now. I’ll take my evil NHS over the lunatics and their protests any day.

*Disclaimer: I don’t actually have any problem with Socialists. I do not think they are filthy. I also do not think pigs are filthy. In fact, pigs are quite smart, clean, and wonderful, and I would like one as a pet.

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By Kate, 9 July 2009 7:11 pm

What's goin' on over in this pen?

Over the past two weekends, we’ve seen a lot of animals. Two weeks ago, we went to the Royal Highland Show, where there were a lot of large, happy cows, curious goats, fluffy sheep, and gigantic Clydesdales, one of which tried to read Scott’s map, and another of which was hoping a lick of the grass design on my shirt would produce the taste of the real thing. Poor guy. I did give him a pat on the nose, but I don’t think it was any consolation.

Do you have an apple?

I also got to make a fool of myself as a volunteer in a demonstration called Quack Commandos, in which the awesomeness of sheepdogs is displayed by getting one of them to herd some Indian Running Ducks in all sorts of directions and then getting 6 humans to try and do the same job. Needless to say, the dog kind of kicked our asses. But how many people can say they’ve herded Indian Running Ducks? I bet you can’t.

Sheepdog: takin' care of bidness.

Humans: not so much.

In addition to the animals, there was a crapload of free food sampling going on, some scrumptious strawberries and cream, and various other snacking. I also saw a guy scale a 40 foot pole in 17 seconds. And Scott drooled over big boy toys like combine harvesters and tractors, forgetting completely that we don’t have any fields to mow and a combine harvester is about one and a half times the size of our flat.

Regardless of this, walking around looking at animals all day just makes me want a farm full of them even more. I could make a lot of cheese and ice cream.

We can't carry that home.

Ok, I realise this is actually quite important stuff in animal husbandry and all, but it's still funny.

Puffin proof.

More recently, this weekend, we headed out to South Queensferry far too early in the morning for a Sunday to catch an RSPB seabird cruise. There were seals! And puffins! And cormorants! And about ten billion different kinds of gulls! It was pretty good, and it only rained for about 15 minutes of the 3 hours. My camera was no match for some of the telephoto lenses on that boat, but I got a few decent pictures of the seals, and I managed to get some pictures that at least prove we saw puffins. They’re really small!

Seals!

After the boat trip was over, naturally, the sun came out in full and we walked around South Queensferry for a bit, had a mediocre sunday roast in one pub and a pint in another before heading home. Lovely way to spend a day.

Sunny South Queensferry.

Somewhere in between these animal excursions, I went shopping for clothes, which I desperately need. Unfortunately, after failing to find anything I liked or deemed appropriate, I gave up and instead came home with three new CDs (M.I.A., Rodrigo y Gabriela, and Coldplay. Hooray new music!), a bottle of Cava (It was hot and I wanted something cold and fizzy.), and a new Tefal Jamie Oliver Professional Series stainless steel 30cm nonstick omlette pan. YES.

Retired (but still pretty hot).

Sex-ehhhhh.

To put this in perspective, I used this pan’s predecessor, a similar one, hard anodized instead of stainless steel,  just about every day for two and a half years. I don’t drive anymore because I live in a city, but I do cook all the time. So this is kind of like the equivalent of buying a new car. It will be used and used well. And DAMN it is nice. I like when cookware goes on sale.

Unfortunately, I still need clothes. This ‘no clothes, so let’s buy food/something for the kitchen’ thing is all too common of an occurance. I blame the fashion industry. But that’s another post.

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By Kate, 8 March 2009 12:58 pm

Cliffs on South Ronaldsay.

Last weekend, I took Friday and Monday off and went to Orkney with my friend Ann as a sort of early birthday present to myself while the boys stayed in Edinburgh playing video games and drinking beer.

I am not a fan of flying. I am even less a fan of very small planes. But seeing as how pretty much no one in their right mind goes to a windy, cold, wet group of islands in the middle of the North Sea in winter, they don’t exactly send 747s on the daily runs to Kirkwall. So I spent an hour in a tiny, noisy Saab 340 being tossed around by said wind and convinced I would not make it to the ground in one piece. But in the end, as always, it was worth the terror.

We were staying in our friend Flossy’s house for the weekend. She’s teaching in Orkney for the year because she checked the ‘send me wherever you want’ box on the teacher training form. She was originally going to be around, but had to go off on a school underwater hockey trip (I didn’t know it was a sport either) to Manchester, so she just left us her key. Except she got to the ferry and realised she forgot to leave the key. We got a text saying she’d given it to a taxi driver to go hide near her door.

Immediately, we were thinking, ‘Great! Not only will the key be gone, but so will everything in the house.’ But this is where we got our first taste of island life. There were two taxis at the airport (out of about 3 on the entire island, or so I believe). When we gave the first one Flossy’s address, he turned to the other and said ‘Hey, isn’t that where you left that key this morning?’ Seriously. So the second driver told us exactly where he left it as though providing access to other peoples’ houses was something he was asked to do on a regular basis.

After settling in and deciphering the various maps left for us, we went for a wander into town. I think I might have frightened the girl at tourist information, if only because I asked her a question at a time of year when there aren’t many tourists around to ask questions. We explored the possibility of taking a ferry to one of the smaller islands, but eventually decided to rent a little red Ford Ka instead. There was a deal on where we got Friday afternoon to Monday morning for £64, so it would have been silly not to take it.

After lunch at the Albert Hotel (a haggis cheeseburger and a pint of Scapa Special), we stocked up on provisions at the local Tesco (Yes, even Orkney has a Tesco. I’m not sure if this is a good thing.) and went for a short drive to Stromness before heading home for some pizza and hot chocolate and an early night.

The next day, we set Radio 2 as our soundtrack for the weekend (starting with the Beatles singing ‘She Loves You’ in German) and ventured out into the cold, rainy wind in our little ladybug of a car to explore the western mainland of Orkney.

Maes Howe

Our first major stop was Maes Howe, ‘Orkney’s largest and finest chambered cairn’. At first we thought we’d be the only ones on the tour, but we were joined by two others in the end. You aren’t allowed to take pictures inside anymore, but we ended up getting a better view of everything than most probably do in the high season, if only because the barriers had been taken out to paint. We were able to get our noses right up to graffiti that’s thousands of years old.

Robert, our tour guide, was one of those people who is so happy to tell you what he knows about history and archaeology that he could probably make almost anything interesting out of sheer enthusiasm. He was also extremely good at running down the one-meter-high 14.5-meter-long passage into the tomb.

While the structure itself was pretty impressive, I’d be lying if I said the coolest part wasn’t the Viking graffiti. It’s all over the place and says things like “Haakon singlehanded bore treasures from this howe” and “Many a woman has come stooping in here no matter how pompous a person she was”. And, in the tradition of all graffiti, it’s uneven and runs off the sides of things and is mostly boasting (about axes and other such Viking things in this case). But it is strange to stand inside something so old that is essentially the center of a hill.

Ann and the Stenness standing stones.

Across the loch from Maes Howe, and our next stop, were the standing stones of Stenness followed by the Ring of Brodgar, which is apparently one of the biggest henged stone circles in the world. Way bigger than Stonehenge and, according to Robert, far more impressive. The stones at Stenness were fairly enormous, although there are only a few left. But Brodgar is huge. And the thing is, they’ll never really know what these things were used for. They can make educated guesses, and they may even be right, but I sort of think it’s cooler to wonder about it and come up with a bunch of options in your own head. And to be amazed at the fact that they managed to stand the things up.

The Ring of Brodgar. You have to be pretty far away to get it all in one frame.

There’s one stone at Brodgar they know was struck by lightning. The lightning blasted off a fairly significant chunk of the stone, which is lying next to the still standing bit. From this they’ve deduced that others may now be smaller than they originally were for the same reason. What we wanted to know was, were all these stones originally straight, square, and the same size? Because that would be even more impressive. But again, we’ll never really know.

Orkney makes a lot of money on things we’ll never really know. Our next stop was Skara Brae, a neolithic settlement that’s amazingly well-preserved. It’s easy to see that people lived there, but pretty much everything else they can say about it is guesswork. The steward on the site reckons that bringing people in from third world countries or tribal societies that don’t live life the way we do and getting them to have a look would probably give us better ideas of how spaces were used, but apparently no one has followed through on this thought. That’s too bad, because she’s probably right.

One of the houses at Skara Brae.

We were again pretty much alone on the site aside from the steward. She answered all our questions and pointed out the neolithic drain that led away from what were possibly the first indoor toilets. I figure if people were clever enough to build these houses and cluster them all together for protection and warmth and convenience and whathaveyou, they were sure to be clever enough to think of the indoor toilet. Againt hough, it’s very weird to look down on all these stone structures and think that people actually lived there so long ago we don’t really have the capacity to wrap our heads around the amount of time that’s passed since.

Skara Brae was just off a nice beach, which wasn’t actually there at the time people were living there. The water was much further out. We used the proximity to look for seals though. Finding them would be the aim of the rest of the afternoon. We failed miserably at that, but we saw a lot of nice beaches and another stone settlement we were able to walk through. And for some reason, Mr T was on Radio 2.

Back in Kirkwall, we did a bit of shopping before everything shut for the day. Many of the shops sell an odd combination of things (jewelery and winter coats? Body Shop products, knitwear, and homebrewing supplies?) and I can only assume this is because the town is too small to warrant many separate spaces for these sorts of things. We went back home for pasta then out to the bars for a taste of some island nightlife. We went to Helgis first where I had another Scapa Special and we watched Jo Brand do her Britney Spears dance on the Comic Relief dance show thing. It was a trendy sort of bar which Flossy said is usually quite touristy. Shortly after we arrived, a huge group of women dressed as if they had come from a wedding overtook the place. They got pretty loud, so we went off to try Torvhoug, which Flossy described as ‘Like a Glasgow wine bar’. They had crap beer on tap (no surprise) but real ale in bottles so I ordered an Orkney Blast. It was the kind of place where no one probably ever orders real ale, so the bartender took about 3 minutes to figure out how to enter it on the register. Seriously. The place soon filled up with a large group of drunk guys to counter the ladies night happening in the other bar. We sat in the back room where another group of girls was and the music was low enough that we could hear each others’ voices. The only real disappointment back there was the old school video game table console that didn’t work. After one drink, we went home for more hot chocolate and sleep.

The ladybug on our only day of sun.

Sunday the sun was out, amazingly enough. We drove all the way to the southern tip of South Ronaldsay on another seal mission. We didn’t see any. Visitorkney.com claims that there is an enormous seal colony there, but I would like to write them a letter that simply says ‘LIES!’. We had a walk on the cliffs anyway, and it was clear enough to see mainland Scotland in the distance.

Next, we drove out to the Tomb of the Eagles, which includes a bronze age dwelling AND another tomb. Orkney is crawling with the things. We were the only ones there. Kathleen, the daughter of the guy who found the stuff we were about to see, gave us about an hour-long personal history lesson. It was a little intense, but quite cool anyway because we got to hold some of the artefacts. Call me a cooking dork, but I was most impressed by some stones that looked like simple rocks, but were actually shaped and balanced to be held in your right hand and used a certain way, like for pounding stuff up. Kind of how a knife is balanced. It was just a rock, but it was pretty amazing. It’s also intriguing that most people were still right handed then. I wonder why.

The southern tip of South Ronaldsay. That's mainland Scotland behind me.

We walked out along the farm in borrowed wellies, squelching through the mud, and crawled into the tomb to have a look. Not as big as Maes Howe, but impressive nonetheless. especially since the site is run and maintained by the family that originally found it rather than by Historic Scotland. On the walk back along the cliffs, there was a sudden rainstorm, so we couldn’t exactly enjoy the view as the wind and rain was busy freezing our eyeballs. By the time we got back to the car though, the rain had stopped and there was a rainbow.

At that point it was about 2pm and we were really craving a proper Sunday roast. We drove back up to St Margaret’s Hope, the third largest town in Orkney, with our fingers crossed that there would be one little pub doing such lunches. Not surprisingly for low tourist season, it seemed we were out of luck. We found a little hotel pub which was full of locals huddled around the bar. The minute we opened the door they stopped talking and ALL turned around to look at us. Talk about awkward. I thinkt he barman felt a little bad for us, but we ate our food and got out of there pretty fast. The fish soup I had WAS quite good, at least.

Cows!

We were losing steam after all the walking around in bad weather, so we drove around a few other places on the east end of the mainland, still looking unsuccessfully for seals. We said hello to some cows then got back in the car just in time for a ridiculous rainstorm on the drive back to Kirkwall.

We hung around for the rest of the night, had a curry when Flossy got back and stayed up chatting for a while, the I read some more Bill Bryson and went to bed.

Monday morning, Flossy went to work, we dropped our rental car off, and we called a taxi to take us to the airport. And who should the driver be but the guy who originally hid the key outside. I’m not even kidding.

Our very small plane.

Saying the Kirkwall airport is tiny would be an understatement. There’s not much to do or see there aside from stare through the windows at the tiny plane you’re about to get on which is sitting next to an even tinier 8-seat plane that you are thankfully not about to get on. I tend to try to pamper myself in airports as much as I can since I hate to fly so much. If something awful were to happen on the flight, the last place I’d have wanted to be alive is in an airport. These days, you have to spend 2 or 3 hours before a flight milling around the places, so I figure if I spend some money on myself I can at least feel like I had a decent meal or something. That’s hard to do in Kirkwall, but I managed a nice bacon and egg roll and a cup of tea.

The flight back to Edinburgh didn’t get hairy until the descent. It was pretty windy and the plane got tossed around in every possible direction, making me thankful for the experience of being on bigger jets that aren’t quite so sensitive. When we walked off down the tiny ladder-steps, I could hear the dog they put on the flight barking like crazy from the hold. It was only a little west highland terrier who probably had no idea what was going on. Poor guy. It was bad enough with a window. I can’t imagine what it would be like without.

Anyway, seeing as how I did make it back in one piece with stories to tell and pictures to show, it was an excellent short break. I’d like to go back to Orkney in the summer, or maybe to Shetland instead, just to see it when there’s more going on.