The good news is that there must be some semblance of spring (if not summer) because I saw a total of three robins today. They sing a slightly different song here, as if they speak the same language as their eastern relatives, but with an accent, or a slightly different dialect. Anyway, it was heart-warming to see them. And, somewhere near the Arts Centre, furry crocuses are growing. Seriously furry. I'll get pictures, I promise. Speaking of pictures, I have some nice shots up at deviantArt. Anyway, I will seek out said crocuses if only to prove that there is something growing in this ridiculously harsh climate.

Nevermind climate. Timezones. They suck. Granted, we've both been busy since my return to Whitehorse, but I've hardly had a chance to talk to Gareth all week. Not to mention that taking the bus home from work takes so much longer than driving does that it's already really late where he is by the time I fire up Kinsey and get online again. A remedy for this might be for me to get up earlier and enjoy some online time with him before I head off to work, but eight hours is a lot of difference to overcome. It hurts a bit, because I want to talk with him. Well, I never said it would be easy to handle the distance or separation, but I know that when I'm with him, there's no other place I'd rather be. We'll figure it out eventually, but it's frustrating.

Anyway, more about my trip, hm? The first night in Wales... I tried to be awake and engaged, but after a nearly sleepless flight (thanks to the hostile French couple sitting in the seats in front of me - a story for another time), I decided to lie down for a nap around six o'clock. At nine o'clock it became apparent that I wasn't going to be getting up for dinner and pretty much slept through the night. That first morning, waking up at Cwm Farm, was really lovely. I felt much better. Refreshed. Of course, then there was the challenge of getting the coffee maker to work. This machine took raw beans and spat out hot, delicious coffee. If only we could get it to work. It took three of us (Gareth, myself, and the daughter of his mum's boyfriend) to make it function. Following an uninspired breakfast, we went out to explore the farm. It was so beautiful. Holly trees, gorse in full bloom, everything green and shining with moisture. It was very much like a fairy tale. After seeing the photographs I took of the farm, one friend of mine asked me if it was alright for him to imagine that it was actually Middle Earth and not Wales. In my mind, why can't Wales be Middle Earth? Close enough to the place in which Tolkein was writing, isn't it?

Except that I don't recall a tale from Middle Earth that involved hundreds of small migrating spiders running through the wet grass. As an arachnaphobe, I just had to grin and bear it. They were everywhere. Interestingly, only on a certain terrain and I didn't come across anywhere near the numbers of them at any other place we visited. I expected to find them at the Botanical Gardens, but I didn't. Perhaps these were a special species: Running Cwm Spider. Needless to say, I made sure to keep walking where ever they were, because my phobic imagination had them running over my shoes and up my pantlegs. Because isn't that what every spider wants to do? Run up your pantleg and bite your thighs? No? Oh.

OH ! Before I sign off, because I'm really tired and it's pushing 2am, I have put in an application for a cat at the Yukon Humane Society. His name is Chacko and he's very small, a runt. He's shy and not comfortable with humans, though he's really bonded to another cat. I'm hoping that he will handle the separation alright and discover that I am a good person to bond to. He's black and white and delightful. If I get him, I'll probably pick him up mid-week, once I'm in my new apartment.

Stories about my trip will come, but I thought I'd share some commentary on the Conservative's new budget, first. If you're not interested in that, I recommend you visit my flickr account and look at my photos from the trip and entertain yourself that way.

Below are the post-budget comments from NDP Heritage critic Charlie Angus, reprinted from CAPACOA.

May 3, 2006

BUDGET IGNORES ARTISTS AND THE ARTS: Angus says Conservatives fail their first big test

OTTAWA - NDP Heritage Critic Charlie Angus (Timmins-James Bay) condemned yesterday's budget after Arts and Culture were virtually shutout of new spending and tax reform. The Conservatives, like their Liberal predecessors, failed to provide real security for the future of Arts and Culture in Canada, said Angus following the budget announcement.

"The only reference to arts and culture in the budget today was $50 million over two years to the Canada Council, while we saw absolutely nothing for the CBC, the film and television industry, Canadian museums, or Francophone and First Nations culture."

Even more surprising was the fact that they announced a series of tax cuts, but found no room to introduce income-averaging for those in the arts industry, and no tax credit for parents who enroll their kids in developmentally beneficial arts programs, said Angus.

"We knew that Canadian Heritage wasn't one of the Conservatives' top five priorities, but it's clear now that the Arts aren't a priority for them at all."

Chronic under-funding over the 12 years of majority Liberal governments has left the future of the Arts uncertain in Canada. There was a glimmer of hope in the 18 months of minority parliament where the NDP forced the Liberals to walk the talk of their social spending rhetoric, said Angus on Tuesday.

"The precarious state of Canadian culture after more than a decade of Liberal neglect required a significant reinvestment in artists and in the arts from this budget, but it simply hasn't come. This budget was a litmus test for the Conservative commitment to preserving Canadian Culture; they've failed." Angus concluded "It is now clear that the New Democrats are the only Federal Party committed to working toward a real future for artists and the arts."

It's time for a story. I have many, but I think I'll share a pair from April 22nd first. Gareth and I were given a lift into Cardiff by his mum and her boyfriend (which was very kind of them as they were heading elsewhere to a wedding). We stayed that night in the city centre Travel Lodge, which was a hole-in-the-wall hotel (there are a lot of them in the UK, it seems) making use of a building already in existence. This was a good idea on his part, booking us in, because we attended his brother's hockey game which wasn't until 10pm that night.

We went for dinner to a really delicious Indo-Malay restaurant called, if I remember correctly, Bali. The food was excellent and the portions generous but not ridiculously so. I didn't drink any alcohol, as I'd done my fair share the night before, instead having a yummy lychee nut drink. The service was really good. The waiters were attentive if perhaps a bit too eager to please. When Gareth got up to use the washroom at the end of the meal, I looked toward the bar and three or four of the waiters were standing at it looking straight at me. Then, seconds later, one arrived to clear dishes and proceded to ask me where I was from, etc. I thought to myself, "Is he hitting on me, or is he just being really nice?"

As he went away, the head waiter appeared, smiling and asking if our meal had been satisfactory. I got the feeling there was more to the smile than just common curtesy. I was right. "Can I buy you a drink?" he asked. "I would be very happy to buy you a drink at the bar," he said, gesturing to the bar where at least one other waiter was watching. "And maybe I could take you out?" I think I managed to look more flattered than shocked, but I'm not sure. Regardless, my answer was simple, "Thank you for your offer, but I really don't think my date would appreciate that." When Gareth returned, I couldn't resist telling him and when I went to the loo, the waiters came to him and were very nice. I told him that he should be flattered that his girl got hit on.

Later, we went to see the hockey game. Played by the university B team, let me tell you, this has got to be the worst game I've ever seen. Now, to be fair, the Welsh are not known for their hockey prowess. Leeks, sheep, choirs, and dragons, yes; hockey, no. But, what this team lacked in skill they made up in enthusiasm and fun. Even the guys working the sound booth (a pair of players from the university A team) were funny and enthusiastic (even offering stick handling advice in the intermissions). They picked some really appropriate tunes to highlight the insanity of the match, and I kid you not, they had the goalie up and dancing more often than he was stopping pucks, that's for sure. At any rate, it was no surprise that the Belfast team creamed them (12-2).

Following the game, one of the players called up to Gareth: "Sorry, Richard's brother !" in an appology for the worst game ever. Then, while decompressing afterward, they were mucking about on the ice and I managed to get hit in the knee with a puck that was aimed at the boards ! My response was, "Oh, fuck you !" which brought the player up into the stands appologising profusely. I told him that as pennance, I would keep the puck and go back to Canada and tell everyone how badly the Welsh play hockey. He agreed it was a fair trade. Anyway, it was a ton of fun, regardless of the bruise.

In other news, unrelated to my trip, I now possess the keys to my apartment and will soon be moving into it ! My mother has sent the first batch of my stuff up via Greyhound and it should arrive sometime late this week or early next. I am pretty excited to be getting a place of my own, and then I will get some furniture for it... and a cat. :) Yay !

Verdant, lush, beautiful: three adjectives aptly suited to describing Wales. Possibly, also ‘damp’. The people are amazingly friendly, kind and welcoming, the ales are strong and delicious, and the towns have unpronounceable names. I think it’s not incorrect to say I may well have fallen in love with the countryside of South Wales. I spent three days at Cwm Farm (pronounced Coom). This is the home of Marion (Gareth’s mother) and belongs to Dave, her boyfriend. It’s not a working farm, although a neighbour does pasture his cattle in one of its fields, but it makes charming habitat for local wildlife, which is essentially Dave’s intention. Birds fill the trees, holly trees and gorse grow everywhere, ivy climbs over everything, and a creak wends its way past the lovely farmhouse. There are outbuildings, one of which is being converted into the leisure/guest house. It already boasts an indoor swimming pool, but is currently being equipped with a film-screening room and getting a rather complete renovation. Despite the technology that fills the house like ivy does the woods, the whole locale is tranquil and extremely relaxed.

Visiting with Gareth was beyond wonderful. I cannot begin to describe how much fun we had. Meeting his family was not stressful as they are as great as he is, though it was possibly a bit embarrassing for him as his mother and I were more than comfortable swapping stories. His brother and sister are funny and warm, just as his mother is and I felt very comfortable with them. It is infrequent that a person gets to fall in love, which is different from loving someone. I’ve loved, and once, a long time ago in my teens, I was in love, but nothing compares to the intensity of feelings I have for Gareth. For the first time, with anyone, I feel like I’m a complete person. Comfortable in each other’s space, able to finish each other’s sentences, we fit together so well that it’s as though we’ve always known each other. We laugh and laugh, tease each other and have heart-felt, deep conversations about everything under the sun. Every moment with him feels as though it’s been well spent, regardless of whether it’s been wasted watching stupid flash animation on the internet or discussing American foreign policy.

Leicester was fun – the conference quite good and hosting numerous interesting speakers. It was nice to be surrounded by so many international museum and gallery workers and graduates of Leicester’s museum studies programmes. It gives me a good feeling about attending the Interpretive Studies degree as I plan. Amazingly, I was something of an exotic coming from an institution in the Yukon, almost as fascinating as the woman from Cameroon. I particularly enjoyed swapping stories about misconceptions of the north with a curator from Norway. It seems they, too, have a proliferation of polar bear images despite the fact that most of Norway does not boast the white beasts. I met interesting people with whom I hope to keep some contact and discussed at great length, well, museums. Surprise ! Leicester was an interesting old city, too, but despite the university and tourism, showed a rougher, seedier side belying the financial depression it seems to be suffering. London, too, was fun, but more than seeing the sites (or is it sights?); it was spending time at my mother’s childhood best friend’s flat in North London. Pat and her partner were generous and humourous hosts and made the last day and a half of my trip truly enjoyable. Gareth came with me to London and they accepted his presence without question and behaved exactly as if they’d always known him. Pat cooked a marvellous lamb stew for our first night, and for the last night, I treated everyone to a delicious meal at their favourite restaurant.

It is a great let-down to be back in Whitehorse and although I love my work, I can’t help thinking that I’d rather be in the UK than here. Nothing is growing yet – the snow in town only cleared a few days ago. Temperatures struggle to reach 5 degrees whereas I had gotten quite used to 15 degrees in England and Wales. I am happy to have had such a grand time, but I wish it was still going on. I said it when I was there the first time, and I maintain it still, I like London, and now I can add that I really love Wales, too. I miss Gareth terribly. It’s amazing how much a person can slot themselves into your life without you even realising until you’re apart. Living nearly half-way around the world from each other will continue to be difficult (and expensive), but now that I’ve got him, I don’t want to let him go. Thank God for the Internet.

Anyway, next post will be stories. I have tons of nifty things to talk about, but this is enough for now.