Tim Belford: Short Takes On Life
Tim Belford
Tim Belford
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Tim Belford is host of Quebec A.M. -- CBC Radio's popular English- language morning show (91.7 FM, 6-9, Mon.-Fri). He also is said to know a thing or three about wine.

Posted 03.01.04
Quebec City


Yeah, but it's hard to hit a moving target

I've always hated moving.

Not travelling. I like that. As long as you have that all-important base to return to once the travelling is done.

It's moving I dislike.

To me, moving has only bad memories.

It started when I was eight. That year I divided my academic time in three different schools in three different cities.

I was in each school only long enough to be disliked. Never long enough for my essentially sparkling and modest personality to shine through.

After I left university I managed to move nine times in four years.

Nine different abodes in three different cities. And three of the moves were literally from one end of the country to the other.

I used roughly 9000 packing crates and managed to lose a half-dozen pieces of furniture in the process.

I've disconnected and reconnected enough utilities and cable vision to qualify as an electrician.

Take my word for it -- nothing good can come of moving.

That's why I wasn't looking forward to the latest CBC move - our fourth in fifteen years, if you don't count temporarily changing floors at 250 Grande-allée.

It was a typical move.

One of our technicians, Simon, tried to electrocute himself installing a TV.

Our main technician, Karl tried to fracture a finger working the numbered lock to the bathroom.

And I've become hopelessly lost on three different occasions inside the new building.

On one occasion I followed a sign down a stairwell that supposedly led to the d'Aguillion street exit.

It led to a door all right. But on the door was a sign that said positively no exit except in an emergency.

It stressed that this was in effect twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

It also emphasized that alarms would be activated and presumably armed police dispatched.

When I made my way back up the stairwell to the main floor the door was of course locked.

I eventually escaped by climbing to the second floor.

There I found an electronically activated lock allowing me to use the pass card issued to all of us, which I have stapled to my chest for just such emergencies. Oh, I know, eventually it will sort itself out.

We will find the paper for the printer. I'll eventually memorize the code to break into the vault that passes for a bathroom.

And my scissors will show up.

Just the same, I hate moving.