Life Without Poodle

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Pomme. When Pomme was very small, she got a pretty pink poodle as a gift from a very special person. Pomme treasured her poodle. He helped her get to sleep, comforted her when she was sick or hurt, and played the perfect companion on long trips. Everyone knew that wherever Pomme went, Poodle would not be far behind.

Over the years, Poodle grew worn with love. His soft fluffy pink fur became grey and matted. His eyes were scratched up and dull. His nose came undone and bits of his stuffing started to fall out a little. But the biggest damage was done to his tail, which was worn down to a small nub and a few strings.

Whenever Pomme would take Poodle out, people would remark, "That certainly is a mangy animal, isn't it?" Others mistook Poodle for trash, thinking he was so well-worn he was practically worn out. In fact, Pomme's mother had to fish poor Poodle out of the rubbish bin one time when he accidentally got left behind at the store. But in spite of his appearance, to Pomme, Poodle was the most beautiful thing in the world. Every day, she would squeeze him tight and plant little girl kisses on his damaged nose. And every night, she still cradled him lovingly as she fell asleep, rubbing his nubby tail over her nose.

Pomme and Poodle had many great adventures. They went up and down California, on a long drive to Utah, and all the way to Florida twice. They swam together (much to Poodle's chagrin), ate together (Pomme shared best with Poodle), and played games together.

One day, it was time for Pomme's family to make a big move. Pomme was a little sad and scared, because she didn't understand what was going on. But as long as she had her Poodle, she felt safe and secure.

They got on the plane, made it through the 12-hour trip, and slept together in the airport during the layover. When they finally got to their new home, Pomme was tired and cranky, and she clung to her best friend.

For the first few weeks in her new city, Pomme had fun exploring everything with Poodle. They hung out at parks, splashed in fountains, and went for really long walks with Pomme's family. Pomme loved showing Poodle all the pretty lights and sights of her new home.

Then one day, Pomme fell asleep while her family was getting on the underground. She woke up as they were switching trains, and got so excited, she jumped out of her stroller, taking Poodle with her.

She pressed her Poodle up to the window to show him the sights, and then, so enthralled with them herself, she let Poodle fall to the ground.

When it was their turn to get off, Pomme jumped up from her seat and followed her parents out. She sat down in her stroller as her mother asked, "Do you have Poodle?" Oh, no! Pomme had left Poodle on the train! Pomme's brother leaped toward the closed train doors and tried to push the "open" button frantically, but it was no use. The train took off toward the next station, and Pomme began her life without Poodle.

As soon as Pomme realized her Poodle was gone, she began to cry. It was the deep sobbing cry of a heart being truly broken for the first time. Pomme cried off and on all night, asking over and over again for her Poodle. Not only had she never been away from him, but she had also never had to fall asleep without him by her side.

The sky grew dark, and Pomme's mother knew it was time for her baby to face her first night without her best friend. She picked Pomme up in her arms, and rocked her as she cried for her Poodle. "Where is he?" Pomme asked over and over. "I want my Poodle."

Pomme's mother knew Poodle wouldn't be coming back. She held Pomme close and said, "Poodle is on the train for Poodleville. His mommy misses him so, and now Poodle must go back to her."

Pomme's heart was heavy all night long. She finally fell asleep in her mother's arms, but she woke up throughout the night. She didn't ask for Poodle, and her small whimpers told her mother that Pomme remembered he was gone.

In the morning, Pomme's mother had a present for her. It was a new Poodle, exactly like the old one, but with pink fluffy fur and a cotton candy puff of a tail. His eyes were bright and shiny, and his nose was like brand new.

Pomme threw the new Poodle across the room. "That's not MY Poodle!" she yelled. Both Pomme and the new Poodle sat in heaps on opposite sides of the room, one silent and smiling and the other sobbing and heartbroken.

Pomme's mother picked her and the new Poodle up and sat down on the bed with them. "Pomme, I know this isn't your Poodle. But even though he didn't want to, your Poodle had to go. But he loves you so that he has sent this lovely new Poodle to help comfort you when you need it. And this Poodle would like to be your friend."


It didn't happen right away, but over time, Pomme began to share her world with her new Poodle. She started by bringing him out on walks and shaping his tail at night while she fell asleep. She tried pulling out some of his fluff to make his tail just the right kind of stringy.


Her mother knew Pomme would never forget about or stop loving her first Poodle, but she hoped that Pomme's new friend would help give her some comfort as she settled into her new life.

Back to Square One

You know what's really fun? Feeling like you've just wasted a ton of money and two weeks. Oh, wait. That's the opposite of fun. Haha. Silly me. My confusion can be the only reason why I managed to do both since we got here.

So we're back to square one. No apartment. They want over $10K from us. Not gonna happen. So we're going private. I contacted a bunch of landlords, and we set up some viewings. We finally put down an offer on a flat in Mortlake, which is in southwest London.

We're now on the fifth (I think) hotel, and we're moving again tomorrow. But oddly enough, things have turned around a bit this weekend. Mini-Minion lost her beloved Poodle on the DLR, which really put a damper on our time here, but overall, I think we're in pretty good spirits. We're currently in Canary Wharf, and I kind of like this area. We've got a gorgeous view over the water at our hotel. I'd definitely move here.

Tomorrow we head to Twickenham, which is also in the southwest. I was hoping this would be the last move, but we'll see. We just learned that the hotel will hold our luggage "no longer than one month." Wait, seriously? Because that is what has sucked the most about our moving around. What can we do but laugh?

Paying Our Dues

See, it was really just too easy to get my German passport and for us to be able to move here. Now, I know what you're thinking. . .if that was the easy part, this part must be downright awful. And it is.

We had to move hotels again. Just a one-minute walk down the road. Still across the street from Hyde Park. I figured we could buy ourselves another two days so that the estate agents and the referencers could get their acts together.

What is most infuriating about working with estate agents is they're lazy. Very, very lazy. They want YOUR results pronto, but when you appeal to them for help with a company THEY hired (the referencing company), it's, "Oh, why don't you ring them yourself?" Really? For this, I'm paying you almost 300GPB?

Every day, the referencing company wants something new. We've now given them 6 months' worth of bank statements, copies of our contracts, a landlord reference, and two references from our managers (against my better judgment, because independent contracting is such a slippery slope, and M's manager was NOT happy to be contacted). Now they want another reference from M's manager and another reference from our landlord. This has to be a joke.

But I'm looking at it like we are strong enough to handle this, so that's why it's given to us. It can't be easy all the time. That would be nice, though.

On a rather humorous note, this idiot at the referencing company claimed to have done tons of international references, including people from the US. But then in the next breath, she says she can't get in touch with our last UK landlord at the telephone number we provided. Except had she read our paperwork AT ALL, she would have seen she was dialing a US phone number. Facepalm!

Staying in hotels is getting old. It would be great if we were just on vacation, and I wish I could pretend that we were just bumming around Jolly Old England, but our bank account tends to rip me back into reality pretty fast.

Life is so strange right now. It's like extreme pulls from opposing forces are keeping me fairly neutral about everything, which feels so strange. I love it here, but I hate that it's so difficult to get settled.

The kids are pretty happy with the junk food and the parks. But even they're at the point where they want to be settled. It's no fun to move hotels all the time. If I had known we would have been displaced for so long, I would NEVER have packed as much as I did. But then on the other side, we can't really do laundry right now, so the excess clothes come in handy.

I'm glad we came early, though. Can you even imagine what it would be like to deal with all this while starting grad school? Insanity. Everything happens at it does.

Notting Hill Has a CarniVAL for Bank Holiday, Not a CarniVUL

We learned this the hard way. And the amusing way.

When I was looking up how to get to our hotel, I noticed on the Transportation for London website that they were announcing Tube interruptions because of the Notting Hill Carnival. "Wow, a carnival!" I thought. "That would be fun!"

"Hey, let's check out this carnival!" I said to M the Friday before. "Sunday is supposed to be Kids' Day. The parade starts at 9AM."

"Sounds good!" he said. We were pretty jazzed, because well, it apparently it doesn't take much for us.

Mr. A was pretty excited, too. "A carnival! Yay! Let's go to the carnival!"

And then we got there. . .and we kept walking. . .and walking. . .and more and more people were coming, but. . .to where? Then, M said, "Well, there's the gay pride float." Because, well, there was this fellow standing on top of a. . .truck?. . .open cattle cart? And he was wearing something like Speedo shorts. He was waving a flag from some African nation (sorry, I'm not totally up to date on the flags of the 54 African countries), and was dancing to some serious Afro-Caribbean beats. Hilarious. And not the gay pride float, which made it even more hilarious.

We had been looking forward to the smells of food from around the world. What we got were the smells of BO, dirt, Cannabis and decomposing garbage. Yum!

Mr. A was NOT happy. That's such an understatement, it's ridiculous. M and I had finally started to loosen up a little and realize our mistake (with humor), so I told Mr. A it was up to him to be miserable for the rest of the day, but at the end of it, we were all going to have fun, and if he decided not to, then it would be a double disappointment for him.

My favorite part of the day was the booty dancers. Extreme hilarity. They followed the parade "floats" (remember, these were just open trucks with sound systems blasting music and half-naked men waving flags on top). To have so much confidence would be amazing. The random street performers were a close second, though.

It was sort of hard not to be in a good mood, because the mojo was infectious. Even the police weren't jerks. Look at this guy. He's having a great time. He might have shaken his head as soon as these crazy girls walked away, but at least he wasn't a stuffed shirt for the picture.

The highlight of the parade was supposed to be some Drag Queen-looking things, but instead we got this. I was super excited for the Drag Queens, and instead I got a low-rent version of Tinkerbelle.

I'm still trying to figure out what exactly qualifies this as Kids' Day other than kids being there with their parents. Unless drinking, smoking pot and trashing streets are typical parent-child bonding activities here. Maybe.

We walked for about 3 hours in total. Notting Hill is supposed to be a nice area, but all the businesses were boarded up for the event, and the streets were just trashed. Finally, M said to me, "Um, these businesses are just boarded up because of the carnival, right? I mean, we're not in a really scary area, right?"

Sure. . .works for me.

Finally, we got too far away from our hotel for M's comfort, especially because I couldn't see where we were on my little book of London maps. So we turned around and retraced our steps, stopping to let the kids dance a little on the way.

Of course, by this time, Mr. A didn't want to leave. So then he pouted all the way back to the park about having to leave behind all his fun. Funny how kids work sometimes.

And of course, Mini-Minion was sad to leave because she generally has fun wherever we go. Like Mr. A, though, sometimes it takes a little coaxing.

On the way back, we saw the most amazing thing ever. The day before on our way to pick up food, Mr. A, Mini-Minion and I saw this older woman juggling just randomly in the street. She was in like a way-too-big business skirt suit with these crazy flats, and she was just a-jugglin' away. It was just awesome. So guess who we happened to see entertaining the crowds at the Notting Hill Carnival? Yep, Juggles. Amazing. I wish we would have taken video, because moving picture = 1,000,000 times more fantastic.

We finally made it back to Hyde Park, so we stopped by the Princess Diana Memorial Park before we headed back to the hotel. So worth the wait and the hype. The kids went positively nuts. It's like a real-life version of Neverland.

There are separate lands inside. . .a fort, a pirate ship, a Native American village. . .it is truly amazing.

And it has really tame squirrels, which I thought was cool at first, and then I thought, "Whoa. What if one of these guys has rabies? That would really suck."

Because these are really the things that run through my head. And that guy's a little sketch. He's giving too much side-eye for my liking. Like he's plotting the attack. Not cool, little guy.