On Christmas Eve, Andy lit a fire – Callum enjoyed watching it.  ” ‘OT!”

Callum and Tiffany in new Christmas Eve PJs.

Callum loved his new PJS, even though they were a little too big.  He ran to the mirror to check them out.

Then he ran back – very happy with what he saw.

Our Christmas tree, ready and waiting for Callum’s arrival.

Daddy and Callum enjoying the fire (and some coffee) on Christmas morning.

Callum running to the mirror to check out his new hat. . . and Andy wearing Callum’s new sweater as a hat.

Our favorite present.

Callum helping Daddy water the tree.

Playing his new piano.

Dinner tasted better off of Mommy’s plate.

The day after Christmas, we went up to the Marin Headlands to see what we could see, and to get some fresh air after spending all of Christmas day inside!

Callum and Andy looking at the amazing waves.

The next day, we went down to see cousin Jamie (a.k.a. Uncle Otis) and Lindsay, who just got a new dog named Aspen.  Callum LOVED Aspen, and Aspen was a pretty big – make that a literally ENORMOUS – fan of Callum’s, as well.

“tuddle doddie.”

And now we’re officially caught up!  (. . . and you doubted me. . . )

Saranda and Aislinn give Callum a big kiss sandwich!

Mac likes it when Uncle Andy turns him upside down.

Everybody loves Uncle Andy!!

Callum liked Uncle Kevin’s shoes.  He couldn’t decide which way to go, though. . .

Malachi and Uncle Mac helping Grandma prep the spinach.

Callum posing with the Christmas tree.  He’s perfecting his camera smile.

Funny faces!  (Daddy wins, but he has 29+ years more practice)

After we got back from Pennsylvania, Barry and Claire came to see us!  We had a wonderful time.

Close up!

One very sweet moment.

Awww. . .

OK, break’s over.  Let’s play!

Callum likes the pockets in his new vest.  It has been colder lately in San Francisco!

This is photo evidence of Callum’s false start.  We were having races.

How rude!

Callum and cousin Lindsay had a fun time playing together.

This must be instinctive behavior.  He couldn’t possibly have learned that from Daddy.

Callum had his last day at the infant-toddler center.  We were sad to say goodbye to teacher Vicki!

Look at his lonesome little cubby.

Grampy came to visit!!  Callum and Grampy had fun dancing on the furniture.  Another instinctive behavior, surely.

And Grampy left us a nice parting note.

Callum got his first Trader Joe’s balloon.  ”boon!”

“‘at!”

We went apple picking, in an attempt to revive the Abbott AND McNeil family tradition.  This was the teany tiny Californian orchard we found.

It was hot out, which didn’t seem right, either – but Callum was very good at picking the low ones. “appo? appo? appo?” (most of his words sound like questions.)

uh oh. . .

We had a great time watching the chickens.

For Halloween, Callum was a lion.  ROAR!  I mean, Zzzzzzz. . . oar

Callum and Alexandre had fun with the screen door.

We had another attempted gator picture.

C loved his costume.  ”on? on?”

Bubbles!!

Look out, giraffe; that fierce lion is gonna get you!

Callum wanted EVERYTHING on one morning. “On? On?”

Little man took a shower in the hotel.  They had a special little towel just for him.

Oh, and we’re still here, too. We went to a wedding in Chicago.

Callum is a pro at using the potty.  He’s still in diapers, but he knows how it’s done.  This day he was SOOOO messy from preschool festivities.  That, the ponytail remainder, and the reading material seemed to be picture-worthy.

Waiting for the computer to start up.

Playing a little “Baby Banger”

Baby Banger is fun!

Callum starting his own blog (www.dkoicaoicicasoi982e9xd9cdfiici890029809399jf89uijdo8cjope.com)

Blogging is fun!

Our new apartment has a pool, so we went swimming one day.

Callum really liked it.

He likes to play with the throw pillows.

Sometimes we play peek-a-boo with the whole pile.

Touch Down!!

On our way to get Callum’s first haircut.

Skeptical. . .

Still skeptical. . .

Callum wondering what exactly just happened here.

Very sleepy on the way home, sporting the new ‘do.

Swinging

He loves swinging.

Mommy and the C-man

Playing piano

Good form, little man.

Hanging out with Milo – we had a fun day at home, grownups included!

We went to collect Grandma and Grandpa in the Sierra Nevada foothills . . . wine country. . . where we also got to visit with the Baum family.  Callum was not feeling well that day, but he was happy to have Grandpa’s shoulder to rest on.

Having a picnic lunch with the Baums.

Hanging out at a winery. . . waiting for the grownups.

Back in SF, Grandma checked out the farmer’s market near us.

Daddy, Callum and Kermy relaxing after a long day.

We went to see an alley in the Mission that has loads of interesting murals.

Swingin. . .

Andy wearing his Callum hat.

Relaxing in the middle of a hike out by the water.

Callum looking at the beautiful vista.

Let’s try some steps!

Walking along. . .

Andy and Callum at the playground.

Mommy and Callum at the playground.  We always play with other kids’ toys.  One day we might get our own.

Swinging again. . . we do lots of swinging.

Callum in a box.

Signing Daddy’s birthday card.

Watching Daddy open his presents.

HELPING Daddy open his presents.

Drinking a large cappuccino at one of our favorite local cafes.  It’s more like a bowl of bowluccino.

Perhaps my favorite picture ever of Grandma and Grandpa.

Handsome boy matched the playground on this day.

Grandma showing Callum some cool stuff.

Whoa!!

At the Japanese garden.

Callum went to the Academy of Sciences with Andy, Grandma, and Grandpa.  He loved watching the fish.

Banana AND Grandma?!  Now THAT is a good day for Callum.

Playing peek-a-boo through the play structure.

Wearing Grandpa’s hat is a favorite activity for both Callum and Grandpa.

Showing us the new stress balls Daddy bought in China Town.

Hanging out with Grandma and Grandpa

What?

NOTE TO CALLUM FANS. . . . MAKE SURE YOU SCROLL DOWN – I WAS ON A ROLE TONIGHT.

Let’s GO already!

His diaper was HUGE after this.  I’m surprised there was any water left in the pool.

Our first night in the tent.  Callum spent a very long time crawling around, bouncing up and down, and saying “WOW!” while we pretended to be asleep and occasionally reminded him it was nightnight time.

Trying out his new sleeping bag.  He loved that, too.

Hiking on our first full day at Sequoia.  Callum hikes in style.

This hike left from our campsite.  It was gorgeous.

Callum enjoyed it in his own way. . .

Awake after the paparazzi came by. . . Callum and Andy enjoyed the view.  We knew our hike was supposed to take us to a grove of Sequoia trees.  Having never seen one before, we kept thinking, “there are lots of trees in these woods. . . how will we know when we get there?”

Thats how.  The sequoia trees were amazing.

And they did not have big pine cones.  The Sequoia pine cones are about the size of an egg.  These huge pine cones were actually from much smaller trees.  We felt like perhaps the Sequoia had nothing to prove and therefore no need for a showy pine cone.

Callum had his own trail mix.

He definitely ate the whole bag over the three days in Sequoia.

Andy on a rock.

Callum checking out the big pine cone.  They were sticky, too.  We wanted to take one home for Grandma, but you know. . . ecological purpose and whatnot.  Plus, I think it’s a felony to take nature from a National Park.  It’s definitely not legal.

Callum reading a book in the dirt.  He had a very dirty bottom after that.

Us with the General Sherman Tree, which is the biggest tree there is.  It was very big, but you really can’t tell from this picture which someone generously took while Callum was crying from fatigue. . . not our finest moment, but here’s proof that we were there!

Callum and Andy as we set off on the next day’s hike.  Callum sleeping again. . .

Having some trail mix at the top of the hike.

Tiffany on a rock.

Whoowhee all of that hiking and camping was exhausting!!  Callum took a very big, hot nap at our hotel after two nights of camping.  We were all very tired and very grateful to be clean!

Not bad?

What the HECK is that supposed to mean?

So I laughed and said, “Not bad?  What do you mean ‘not bad?’ You can’t say ‘Not bad’”

She just laughed and that was the end of it.  No explanation, no apology, nada.  I clearly spent about 4 minutes wondering what she meant (fortunately not someone who stresses about weight too too much) and the rest of the day thinking about what a hilariously ridiculously weird thing it was to say. . . whether she’s said that before. . . whether she gets why it’s really not a good choice of words. . .

So in those four wondering minutes, I came to the fortunate conclusion that whatever she meant by it. . . well. . . it’s definitely not bad.

Might not be good, perhaps better than expected, but certainly not bad.

What’s funny is that when I saw the weight, I actually thought something very close to “not bad,” myself.  Better than expected considering the relative lack of exercise over the past. . . say. . . 21-22 months or so (got pretty huge toward the end there).  BUT, for all you nurses and nurses-to-be out there (ahem). . . when you weigh someone – perhaps ESPECIALLY a post-baby lady – if you go with “not bad,” be prepared to defend yourself.

Callum has grown quite fond of his hat

Climbing the steps is part of the fun

Awww. . .

I think these photos deserve their own post.  Enjoy!

Thanks, Randy!

These are old.  The goal is to get up to date quickly, so stay tuned for more!

At Jackson’s birthday party, we went on the merry-go-round!  Callum was a little scared.

But then he cried when we got off!  Here you can see Jackson (right) and Jayden (background)

C was trying to learn how to walk, so we got him this walker, which he promptly used as a seat. . .

. . . and a bus for the parlaiment.

Thank you for the wheely bee, Uncle Thaddeus, Aunt Ronda, and cousins!!

oooOO oooOO

We posed for this one.

We got a new computer, which required a new computer desk.  Callum helped Daddy with the desk.

Sorry – no room for printers here.

C plays a little gee-tar.

Daddy time!

Mommy’s birthday started out PERFECTLY.

I’ll take that camera, please.

Daddy and Callum like to play crazy rough-housing games.  You should hear the laugh that goes with this one.

Swingin’ with our friend Reese

Callum often surprises us by ramming several handfuls of food in his mouth at once.  There are about 4 pieces of banana in there.

C demonstrates his fine motor skills in this delicate pea-balancing act.  Not sure if he ate any, but he moved several from bowl to bowl.

After a contentious few years, Kermy and Toby are friends again.

And click on this photo for a little video of him clapping at the baseball game two weeks ago.  It was very hot and sunny!

Grammy, Mommy and Callum

Around here we call this a good hair day.

Callum tries on some new shades.

We ride the historic streetcar along the embarcadero.  This particular car came from Birmingham Alabama.

Tiffany Grammy and Callum (in the stroller) pause for a photo in front of Alcatraz at fisherman’s wharf.

Daddy and Callum play.

Today we are staying home with Callum not because he is sick or because he was sick yesterday.   Grammy is visiting us from Florida so we are taking a vacation day.

Here are some pictures from recent sick days and healthy days.

Happy Sick baby.

Playing with blocks on a sick day.

Staging a parade of toys on a sick day.

Callum addresses the parliment on the day after a sick day.

Callum chairs important parliamentary deliberations regarding planned events for the not sick day.

Callum plays hardball with the parliament.

It’s been exactly one year since we arrived in San Francisco.  I can say this with certainty because we woke up early our first morning in San Francisco to find the streets outside our apartment building filled with costumed crazies toting cases of beer.  We had no idea what was going on, but the spectacle  made quite an unusual introduction to our new city of residence.  I was a bit embarrassed the following week when I walked out wearing a costume and carrying beer – I should have known it wasn’t an EVERY sunday thing.

This year we took part in the race with tiffany’s mothers group.  We entered in the “wheeled objects” division because of our strollers (what race has a division for wheeled objects?).  We found ourselves walking alongside what can only be described as parade floats, each pushed by a group of people, stocked with large tanks of booze.  Most notably was a hospital gurney surrounded by a dozen of doctors and nurses carrying I.V. bags of fruit punch and a life guard stand with dozens of “life guards” in baywatch attire. 

There are, of course, some serious runners but they finish long before the real fun happens.  We had a good time, made it nearly half of the 12k, calling it quits when race route took us within a few blocks of our apartment.  Maybe next year we’ll make it to the beach.

A “doctor” stands on a gurney being pushed by other while holding an IV bag filled with beverage.

Callum and Jayden are ready to go while we adults apply sun cream.

A DJ set up on the roof of a building along the route.

The race route filled with “racers”

The life guard booth is pushed along the route with a green man dancing inside.

Callum and Alexandre pause for a sip.

Callum shows of his handsome race shirt.

We had a really wonderful time, and Callum loved spending time with his family in the sunshine.

Here are some (well lots, really) pictures. . . 

Grammy’s birthday is two days before Callum’s.  The grocery store must have known, because they gave us a free cake with an backwards J on it, for “Jenn!”  Weirdly, when you turn the cake upside-down, it looks like a 1.  

Aunt Lauren with the boys.

Grandpa and Chi getting ready for bed at the hotel.

Back at Papa’s, it’s bath time!

Birthday kisses from Grandma!

Happy birthday boy

Hanging out with Aunt Amber

Lots of fun happened. . . some of it was upside-down.

Cousins having a chat

The peanut gallery

WOW!  CAKE!

Whoa.  That was intense.

Grandpa manned the grill.

Chi and his mom seem to find each other pretty funny.

Family shot!

Daddy and Callum in the pool – we had to get that frosting off somehow!

Mommy opens presents while Callum reads his new book.

Handsome.

The next day, we went to the beach – Chi flew a kite!

Relaxing in the sunshine.

The boys dug a very big hole.

Andy, go stand with your sister.

You might argue that since we are American should have celebrated American mothers day even though we were in the UK.  The fact is that without television commercials, or mother’s day flower roadside stands nobody would know mother’s day is approaching.  In the absence of typical cultural cues how were we to know?  Plus you have to factor in the fact that we were busy taking care of a 5 week old infant AND preparing to move all belongings to another continent.  We didn’t have time to notice that 3000 miles away it was mother’s day. 

So here are some pictures from Tiffany’s first mother’s day with her 13 month old baby:

Her mothers day present.

Callum helped to “prepare” the present.

Callum has recently learned to give kisses.  It’s really sweet except when he has a runny nose and drooly chin, then it’s kinda gross.

Breakfast phase one, yogurt strawberries and granola.

A present to tiffany from Grandma.

In the mean time. . . 

Story time with mommy – can’t remember why he was shirtless. . . 

Callum feeds himself most of the time now, which can be VERRRRY messy.  This is cereal which Callum ate with his right hand while  clutching his spoon tightly with his left hand.

The overhead view shows some of the damage to Callum’s clothes and the floor.

The cats taking a nap with Andy.

Callum & Tiffany at Alexandre’s birthday party.

Callum and his birthday buddy, Jayden, on a fun toy!

Jayden giving Callum a ride.

Boys on the alligator. . . it may have been even harder than last time!

Callum climbed into the shower with Tiffany one day.  He cried at first (he was surprised to land in there after so much effort), but then he LOVED it.  He has tried to get in every day since then.

Bed head.

Callum likes to help us pay the bills.

See?!

We went to visit Chris & Crystal in Phoenix, and Callum went on his first bike ride!  He liked going fast, and he kept playing with Andy’s back while they were cycling along.

Andy and Callum hanging out while we were on a break from our bike ride.

A nice picture of some of our favorite friends.  I like it because it somehow conveys what’s wonderful about them.  

The C-man is getting better and better at standing up while he’s holding on to something.  He likes to stand and watch the bath fill up.  Sometimes – when the floor’s too cold – he stands on one leg like a flamingo.

Callum needs a LITTLE more practice with the spoon.  Unless the goal is to fling it at the wall.  Yes, on second thought, he may be an EXPERT with the spoon!

So that’s it for this month, but we’re nearing in on the big birthday, and we’re planning a fun trip to Florida for the occasion!  We’re so excited to see our families there and to spend some time in the sunshine and warmth.  AND to take a couple days off from those crazy jobs I mentioned.  Callum has TWO bathing suits to try out. . .

This week, I’m going on a business trip, so Andy has to be a single dad for a few days – what an adventure for the boys!

Close up!!

Callum & Andy on Tank Hill – you can see GG bridge if you squint.

How did all of those donuts get down there?

Jayden’s mom took this photo of our playdate in Golden Gate Park. C was showing his CTC pride!

Callum likes wine-tasting.  

Playing on the grass at a winery.

The grass was a little spikey, but Callum didn’t mind.

Callum & Andy at Hop Kiln winery.

C enjoying wine-tasting number 2.

As for Christmas, we had a great one.  We didn’t leave the house all day, and in fact we didn’t get out of our PJ’s, either.  We just hung out, opened gifts, created and ate yummy meals, and hung out some more.  I think Callum had a great first Christmas, but he definitely didn’t really understand it.  He loved all of his gifts, but he was consistently more excited about the paper than the gift.  He can officially say that all of his gifts were deliciously wrapped.  

So now that the little one has reached another mini-birthday (9 months now!), here are a few pictures.

By the way . . . I asked Nancy about my supplies the Tuesday after my last post.  She had completely forgotten to order them and was SOOOOOO apologetic it’s silly.  Then i found out that she used to support 1 VP and about 12 people, and now she supports 3 or 4 VPs and about 45 people, so yeah – she’s a little maxxed out.  BUT I think you’ll find that I always said she was nice . . . just a little scary.  

Anyway my supplies arrived on December 30th – officially less than a month after I started, and Nancy and I are buds, so it’s all good.

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Anyway, my second day, Nancy came back complaining about how much work she had.  Nancy sits next to me, so I knew all about how she had too much work.  I gingerly approached her. . . “Nancy, someone told me that I should talk to you about getting office supplies?”  She sighed, looked up at me and then back down at her keyboard, and told me to email her with a list.  

I emailed her with a list.  It was hard to be specific enough that I wouldn’t hate what she got me, but not so specific that she would think I was a diva.  Pens (if I get a choice, I prefer uniball or pilot precise)  Folders (envelope type that close completely).  I mean, I don’t want file folders – one needs to be somewhat specific.  I also don’t want a box of bic pens.  I wouldn’t use them anyway, as I am quite particular about pens.

To her credit, Nancy dropped off the majority of my list within a couple hours.  BUT there were a few things I needed to order from the catalogue.  Mouse pad, folders, and so on.  On Tuesday (a week later), I still had no sign of my supplies, and the lack of folders is getting to be problematic.  I delicately approached Nancy, “Do you have any idea when I should expect my supplies?”

“Well I ordered them yesterday . . . ” (In my head, I think, “YESTERDAY?!”) “. . . so I would expect it Wednesday or Thursday at the latest.”  

“Awesome.  Thanks so much.”

Wednesday afternoon, a box of office supplies came and was placed on the floor outside of Nancy’s cube (remember – that’s right next to mine).  I got excited.  Then Thursday came, and the box was still there.  ”UNPACK THE BOX,” I thought, and then I realized that I was completely powerless over this situation.  Bringing it up would risk Nancy’s rage, which would potentially mean the end of my ability to peacefully order supplies for the rest of my time with this company. Totally not worth it.  Who needs folders?  Piles work just fine.

Friday morning, the box went away.  I still don’t have my supplies.  I don’t know for sure if my supplies were in there, but I’m thinking Tuesday is the appropriate day to bring it up again.  I’m hoping they’ll just turn up on Monday and I can just show Nancy how grateful I am that she got them for me.

Incidentally, Nancy is actually pretty nice – she just has that “I work for these idiots and nobody appreciates me” thing going on.  The thing that only a career admin with a LOTS of experience can truly perfect.

Then came the weather forecast for the weekend. “Brrr!” the meteorologist exclaimed,”it’s cold out there.” He gave us the chilling forecast for the weekend: Highs in the mid-50’s with overnight temperatures plummeting to mid-40’s. That’s right, the temperature is dropping to 46 degrees overnight! Get a parka and a ski mask!

I love living in this city. On the rare occasion that the temperature departs from the typical 60 – 85 degree range, the heat wave or cold snap becomes a major news event.

Incidentally next friday is a snow day at Callum’s day care. An “ice company” is going to fill the outdoor play area with snow. Fun!

We had the monthly playgroup meeting at our house a few weeks ago.  It was loads of fun, and we had yummy food leftover for a day or two, which is always one of the perks of hosting!

We also got to go visit the Baum family before Thanksgiving.  They live in Nevada, which is only a few hours away, so we rented a car and went out there.  It was such a nice trip, and the weather was beautiful! BUT. . . we didn’t take any pictures.  I guess we just got too sidetracked with having fun and visiting, and we just didn’t remember!

THEN, we went to Pennsylvania for Thanksgiving!  We got to see ALL of Callum’s cousins, lots of Aunts and Uncles and Great Aunts and Great Uncles, and of course Grandma and Grandpa.  The food was amazing, as usual, and it was such a treat to be with everyone again.  BUT . . . we didn’t take any pictures.  Well, that’s not exactly true.  Andy took some pictures on his snazzy new camera, but it’s old-school style and therefore not so web-friendly!

So now, Andy and I will be working full time, and Callum will be in “school” full time (slightly less – Andy does an early day so that C-man has a shorter day at school), and we’re going to have to somehow attach the camera to Callum so that we remember to take pictures all the time!

Today, we’re planning to look for a Christmas tree, so expect some nice holiday photos next time!  Anyway, here are the photos that we DID manage to take. . . fortunately it’s easy to get good ones since the C-meister is such a smiley little fella.

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This video is several clips from September where I ask Callum to show his teeth.  It’s actually quite ridiculous how much I asked to see his teeth.  The very end features a more recent clip of Callum with four teeth.

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We had lots of visitors in the past month.  Crystal & Chris came from Phoenix again, only this time they had a bed to sleep in.  UPGRADE!  Brad & Kristen came a few days later in mid-road trip, and Lynn & Peter came over for dinner – all in the same week!  It was so nice to see everyone, and I have to say we ate better than usual – we LOVE having visitors.  

OK, so let’s get to what you’re really interested in – PICTURES!

We hope you had a great Halloween!

Today I nearly met my match.  I waged a tough battle against an enormous butternut squash, and you’ll be happy to hear that I emerged victorious. 

We have been making Callum’s baby food.  After a few initial hurdles involving frozen peas which turned out to have salt in them (who knew?) and green beans which turned out to be almost impossible to pulverize and then REALLY didn’t go down well. . . and the ultimate acquisition of a food mill, which was deemed to be the right tool for the job, we finally got the hang of it. 

We have since found unsalted peas and squashed them to bits, smooshed up LOTS of sweet potatoes, shattered one bag of frozen butternut squash, and destroyed a bunch of gorgeous organic bananas. 

Every time we go to the grocery store, Callum and I peruse the organic produce section and eye up our next potential adversaries.  Most recently, I stumbled on an enormous organic butternut squash.  It was cheap and huge, and we were running low on squash (our bag of frozen squash was too teany), so it became part of the plan. 

It hovered around the house for about 5 days and was in various turns a mantelpiece, a weapon (threatened only, not used), a hat, and a microphone, and it came to be referred to as “the gourd.”  Today was the day I decided to annihilate the gourd.

I didn’t think it would be too much of a challenge.  After all, it’s just a vegetable, and I’m a human.  Much stronger – plus I have the ol’ brain to help me out.  BUT, as soon as I took a knife to it, I knew I was in trouble.  Turns out, raw butternut squash is VERY tough to cut.  Even with the nice sharp knife we borrowed from Jocelyn. 

The secret is to roast it first, then cut it.  That, however, requires cooking gear that is STILL in transit from London.  Yes.  Still.  SO, I pressed on.  Cut, peel peel peel, cut cut cut, peel peel peel.  It probably took about an hour – maybe longer, and in the mean time Callum woke up from his nap and was a spectator for the end of the battle. 

I boiled as much as would comfortably fit in our one pot, pureed it in the food processor, and spooned it into ice cube trays.  I filled two trays, and I still have an enormous Tupperware container filled with uncooked squash.  The point, though, is that after a long and arduous struggle, I suffered minimal injuries (a sore right palm and very dry hands), and I emerged victorious.  Congratulations me.

As it happens, babies only eat pureed food for a little while, so I’m thinking . . . . that I may not EVER have to do this EVER again.  Which is a very good thing.

And by the way, Callum has FOUR teeth now!

Anyway, now they’re visible, thanks in part to Andy’s tricky photography (and a little help from his finger) and here they are!

He can sit up for longer now, and we’ve started to give him a bath just sitting up in the bath, instead of lounging in his baby lounger.  He has also – and this is one of the more interesting developmental milestones to date – started to protest when he doesn’t get his way.  Today, he cried because I didn’t give him his bowl of sweet potatoes to play with, and he cried because I took the bath toys away from him when it was time to get out of the bath.  So, when he starts talking, I completely expect him to say, “but MOOooommmmmmmm. . .. ”  Nice.

Here are some pictures from the last month. . . 

CALLUM has TWO TEETH!  Ok so maybe not two whole teeth, but two that are poking through the gums, growing up into teeth.  We were completely shocked, as he’s the first in his little playgroup to get teeth, and so – unlike other developmental milestones – I wasn’t anxiously anticipating the day his tooth would arrive.  He just jammed my hand in his mouth, as usual, and I felt it!  I said, “Hold on a second!  Can I please feel that?”  He didn’t respond, so I took that as a “Sure, go ahead,” and lo and behold – tooth!  The other tooth started growing about 2 days later.  Once they’re big enough to be easily visible, we’ll obviously take pictures and post them up here.  

He’s also eating two meals of rice cereal every day, and I think we’re going to branch out into green vegetables this weekend.  I read that if you start with yummy sweet things, they don’t like the veggies later, so we’re starting with veggies.  I’m fine with this idea in theory, but at least the rice cereal is white, so when Callum grabs it from me and launches it across the room, the mess isn’t too bad.  I’m going to have to cordon off everything within a 6-food radius of the little dude when GREEN things come into play.  

Speaking of mess, he has also started to figure out that if he kicks around in the bath, Mommy gets wet.  He doesn’t completely get it yet, but I noticed a spark of recognition there yesterday. . . this could be trouble.  Hey – at least it gives me another excuse to wear bummy clothes.  Other than the usual no job, my clothes are still on the boat, new mom type stuff.

So that’s Callum.  Andy & I . . . are boring, so I guess this is really more of a Callumpdate.  Sorry.

So, back in July . . . of 2007 . . . we went to Norway to celebrate our anniversary and Katie Anne’s birthday.  We took several hundred pictures, and we’ve been a little busy since then, so we took some time to get around to posting them.  So long, even, that I didn’t even know I was pregnant until we got home from this trip, and now Callum is 5 months old.

We flew into Bergen and rented a car, because we thought we would enjoy the drive up to Balestrand, a town on the north edge of the Sognefjord.  Bergen itself was a perfect starting point – a beautiful little town with plenty of interesting sights to check out.  We didn’t have long, but we were anxious to get up to the fjord, so that was fine.

Our drive took forever, but it was a fun adventure.  Taking ferries seems to be a way of life up there.  The directions kept telling us to drive across the water, and there wouldn’t be a bridge on the map. . . we were glad to see the ferries, because we weren’t sure our rental car would make it across the fjords on its own.

Balestrand was as beautiful as we expected, and the people who ran our hotel were very helpful in pointing us toward fun things to do.  Since we had the car, we were able to use Balestrand as home base, but we could still drive around and explore.

We expected our trip to be a fairly lazy four days, but somehow we managed to squeeze quite a few big activities in there.  We went for a short hike that ended up – as short hikes are prone to do – being a fairly long and arduous hike.  The weather was gorgeous and we had a great time.  

Then we went kayaking in the fjord.  Before you ask, yes, the water WAS cold, but perhaps not as cold as you might imagine.  Also fun, and we enjoyed chatting and joking with our guide, who was American.  

We ate an enormous buffet meal at the big fancy hotel in Balestrand – no booze, though, because the cheapest wines there were the equivalent of about $70/bottle, and they were brands that we recognized as inexpensive wines.  Those Norwegians really tax their booze – no wonder people were loaded down with duty free at the airport!

We drove to Jostedalsbreen, the biggest glacier in continental Europe, and we were actually able to hike up and on part of it.  It was sort of like hiking a giant snowcone – not solid ice, but little pebbly ice.  It was actually less challenging than perhaps we expected, but the view was amazing, and we got to wear crampons and carry pickaxes, so we felt cool anyway.  

Here are some pictures of our adventures.

The last day, we took a ferry along the Sognefjord and down one of the narrow branch fjords (Aurlandsfjord).  The weather was pretty cold, extremely windy, and at times drizzly, but it was just astonishingly beautiful – so much so that it actually made up more than half of our trip photos and is largely the reason it took so long to sort through them and post this.  There are quite a few here, but they are all so amazing that it was very hard to choose.  As it is, this is less than 10% of them.

This short trip to Norway ended up being one of our favorite trips ever.  Norway is high on the list of places we would like to go back to.  We went for four days and barely saw anything, but everything we did see was breathtaking.  The blues were bluer and the greens were greener.  If you ever get a chance to go to Norway, go go GO!

He loves being on his tummy, and he can get a little air under his bum, so hopefully that means he’ll start crawling one of these days.  He has also discovered that he can squeal very loudly whenever he feels the inspiration to do so. . . this has provided plenty of amusement for everyone involved.  

He’s getting better at eating his rice cereal, and we just started dropping his late-night bottle three days ago.  So far he slept through all three nights, so hopefully that trend will continue. . . admittedly he is now insatiable during the day, but we’ll get there.

Anyway, here are the new pictures. . . 

This trip was so much fun – we spent two weeks feeling so loved and appreciated.  It was such a gift to be able to visit so many people who we care about and miss being around.  I have to admit wondering at times why we live so far away from all of those people. . . but I think we’ll stick with this plan for now and re-evaluate next year.  

Who knows?  We might be able to see people just as much (or almost as much) from here as we could there!  We’ll see how it goes.  Anyway, thanks everyone for coming to see us, having us over, playing with us and just generally being so loving and kind.  We feel so grateful that we have all of you and that we had this opportunity to see all of you (well, most of you).  Now it’s your turn.  Come see us in SF!  Callum’s only going to get cuter with age. . . . 

Here are some pictures of our trip.

The second is the last belly picture, which we took about 45 minutes before we left for the hospital.  Can you see the stress in my face?  I tried to hide it well.  Check it!

More pictures on the bump page.

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I don’t think we would have been terribly surprised if someone told us then that we’d be back in seven years having been married for five of them and had a baby in the mean time, but it was still kind of interesting to find ourselves there again in this completely different life stage.  

There isn’t much to report in terms of activities.  We would wake up at a fairly leisurely hour (maybe 8:30 – we DO have a baby, people) and either read or maybe go for a swim in the pool with Grandpa and cousin Chi.  Then at around 10:30 or 11 (when it started to get too hot), we would come in and have some lunch, sit around a bit, maybe read some more, play with Callum. . . whatever.  Then at about 2:30 or 3:00 we would head to the beach of our choice.  We have a few favorites, and in a pinch there was a pretty good beach at the resort itself.  Callum would go for a quick dip in the ocean and a quick walk along the beach before completely crashing for a long nap in his little tent. (If only I could get him to take long naps at home! Maybe I’ll try the tent.)

Then maybe another dip in the pool.

Then dinner on the porch in the warmness.

Then bed.

Rinse and repeat.  

It was wonderful and warm,and I’m beginning to see the appeal of going there every year.  Ahhhh. . . .

I suddenly feel the need to put on a sweatshirt.  

Check out the pictures!

2) Time to get going.  That’s in more of a figurative sense.  Our things from Pennsylvania have arrived, our living room furniture has arrived, the cats arrive tomorrow, and we’re not about to go away (see point 1), so now I really have to get down to business.  Find daycare.  Find job.  Daycare search = fearful tearful.  Job search = 0.  For now.  Well, I’ve done two things job search-wise, but I need to get in gear.  I feel that buying a suit might be the next logical step, but I also plan to call Jordan and talk to my few other SF contacts.  Very few.  Please mention any ideas. . . 

This week, I had a long list of things to take care of, and the ONLY thing I haven’t done is order a baby gift for Noah (YAY! Noah’s here!) and order picture frames for our newly acquired family photos.  That’s pretty good, considering the length of the original list.  Today’s chore was acquiring a litter box, litter scoopy-do, cat litter and cat food.  This required a stop off at home in the middle, because the stroller basket is only so big.  Then I got home and realized we still need food dishes and maybe a bottle of that don’t-scratch-on-the-new-sofa stuff.  I didn’t go back for it, though, because I had to go meet with the playgroup for ice cream.  

I had a typically gross-sounding but wonderfully delicious combination of mint chip ice cream and pink plum sorbet.  It’s not that I like the gross combinations; it’s that I’m indecisive, and really the overlapped bit is only a couple bites anyway.

But today is not only a day of celebratory parades, barbeques and works of fire.  No sir, today marks a major shift in Callum’s life.  At the end of today the number of days that Callum has lived in the USA will exceed the number of days he lived in the UK.  49 days in the US to 48 days in the UK.  Take that red coats!  

I find myself thinking about Pavlov’s dog whenever I just seem to be incapable of learning certain things.  I find myself saying, “Self, how many TIMES do you have to do this?” or similar.  Surely if a dog can learn through repetition, so should I?

What brings this up, you ask?  Well first of all, I left our changing bag in a cafe yesterday.  Now, to be fair to me, I haven’t left anything anywhere in several years.  It stinks, because it didn’t exactly come back with all of its contents, but as far as my intellectual capacity is concerned, I feel like a few years without incident is acceptable.  I mean maybe Pavlov’s little pooch would still remember, but he was a friggin famously smart doggie, so you know – we need to keep the standards reasonable.

BUT the slightly more humorous and significantly less depressing silliness of late is that twice in the last week, Andy and I have purchased goods that we do not currently have the means to open.  This has happened before, and you can probably sympathize.  How many times have you brought a bottle of wine to a function without a cork screw?  I suppose this happens more often in England, where it’s legal to drink outside, but I can tell you Yanks that it definitely happens.  I feel like I have also, in the distant past, brought cans of Hi-C to a picnic, only to have them sit unopened while the attendees came up with some sort of ridiculous plan.  

Anyway, this week, Andy bought some beverages that required a bottle opener, of which we have several. . . on a boat on their way here, and I bought some cans of soup which would require a can opener, of which we have one. . . on a boat on its way here.  So seriously – how many more times will we do this before our openers arrive?  The answer is probably zero – but only because I wrote it down.  Perhaps this blog is my Pavlovian bell and now I ALSO won’t leave anything anywhere ever again. . . but only if I’m blogging?  hmm. . . must work on this plan.

Incidentally, we managed to find a way into the beverages (and have since discovered a free opener in Andy’s pile of stuff at work), but I think the soup will have to wait patiently for the can opener.  It looks pretty good, but not good enough to find some complicated way into the cans.  We can wait.  (Hehe. CAN wait.)

So, the first weekend we were here, Andy, Callum, and I went for a long walk down Market Street. Along our way, we came across all sorts of crazy folks, and we said, “Man, this town’s full of crazies.” Well, turns out it’s still true.

That day, we found your run-of-the-mill hippie type crazies, a few singing crazies, a couple of talking-to-myself crazies, and lots of garden variety yelling obscenities at the sky crazies. One of the talking-to-myself crazies was telling herself all about how all of the cults are after her and don’t get her started on those Mormons. . . and then there was a long bit about the conservatives and how they’re all after her, but then the liberals are also no good. . . and also, word has it that Joe Montana’s wife stole her identity.

There was an old lady in a hot pink spandex dress on the train one day. . . she had on black panties, which was good, because when I looked (and trust me, the way she was sitting you just HAD to look), I was seriously concerned that I might not see any panties at all.

Another woman on the train was perfectly normal aside from the fact that she was dressed head-to-toe like Eliza Doolittle. (”My dahling, where does it rain?”)

There’s a man who stands outside Andy’s office every afternoon shouting “Body Oil! Body Oil!,” but he might just be selling drugs. . . not sure.

Finally, yesterday when Andy was on his way home, there was a man on the corner standing on a plexiglass shelf. A woman, who may or may not have known him, asked him what he was doing, and he said, “I’m standing on an invisible platform.” Obviously.

Genetics left Callum with a pretty good chance of being nuts to begin with, but now that we’re in San Francisco, who knows . . .

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Anyway, it turned out that the doctor was a normal pediatrician, more of the jolly old elf variety – jiggly belly, white beard and all. He was very nice and – of course – confirmed that Callum is a very big, very healthy boy. 16 pounds and 13 ounces of big, healthy boy, to be exact. The nurse who weighed him told us that he’s the size of an average six-month-old. We were surprised when today’s outfit (size 6-9 months) fit him well, but now it all makes sense. We’ll need to try out the rest of the as-yet unworn 6-9 month stuff soon, just in case!

Callum had to get 5 shots and an oral vaccine today. He was hungry, so he sucked down the oral vaccine like it was a milkshake. He didn’t notice the first shot, he squeaked a little for the second one, and then he got mad. The poor little guy was not happy about it, but it’s all good, because (note the sarcastic tone) he now has a Bugs Bunny Band-aid on his left thigh and a Tazmanian Devil Band-aid on his right thigh.

Come to think of it, he also has Sesame Street characters on his diapers. Whenever I see them, I think “Why?” Sesame diapers and Looney Tunes band-aids on little babies = BAD investment of time and/or money. Ah well, I guess it’s something for mom & dad to talk about when trying to console said little baby. . .

And now, here are some new pictures, including two from today.

THEN, he found his feet. That’s still new, so he doesn’t really find them on his own very often just yet.

THEN, he found his thumb. Again, still not a pro, but he does occasionally luck out and land it in his mouth.

He also started really giggling. It’s so cute. He was almost giggling for a while, but now there’s no denying it.

Today we discovered that he can almost role over. He gets up onto his side without any trouble, but then his bottom arm gets in the way and he doesn’t have enough momentum to get the rest of the way over. Give him a couple weeks – he’ll get there.

With all of this activity, one would think a little baby would wear himself out, but no. Today, he rode in his stroller all the way to the grocery store (about 20 minutes), all the way around the grocery store (maybe 10 minutes), and almost all the way back before finally falling asleep 4 blocks away. I wheeled him upstairs and he woke up about 5 minutes after coming through the door. What kind of 9-week-old baby takes a 10-minute nap? A very social, wakey baby who sleeps very well at night. It’s actually a good thing, but it keeps us very busy.

The most important even of the week is that Callum’s Grammy is here, so he is being COMPLETELY spoiled out of his mind. He’s going to be so disappointed when Grammy goes home and he’s left with boring old Mom & Dad, who don’t spend nearly as much time and energy entertaining him as she does. Grammy is convinced that Callum says “Grammy.” Hmm. . . sounds more like “Ugah” to me, but then Grammy understands his language better than I do. They’re friends. Hence the giggling.

Here are a few new pictures. . .

So, when we named our boy Callum, we knew that it wasn’t a common name in the US – that’s one of the things we liked about it. Now that we live here, though, it has become clear that most people here haven’t heard the name before and tend to look at us like we made it up. The poor little guy is definitely going to have to spell his name for people.

People here tend to ask us what his name is, and when we say “Callum,” we usually get a blank stare, and occasionally we get guesses. . . Calvin and Hallum are two recent attempts. Only once did someone say “Callum?” We were impressed until we learned that his baby’s name was Soren. Ah hah – unusual names club.

Anyway, just to clear things up, Callum is pronounced like so:

Cal – as in Ripkin or, appropriately, -ifornia
Um – as in umm. . . . . how do I explain this . . .

Emphasis on the Cal. Hope that helps!

These pictures are actually from last week, when I paparazzied him for about 10 minutes each in order to catch a smile on camera. He tended to smile when I got close and then, as soon as I was far enough away to take a picture, he got very serious. Anyway we finally caught him smiling, so now I have proof that he’s a smiley little fella. Here are some pictures. . .

The main difference is that random strangers here are much more likely to talk to me than they were in London. I always found it odd that people in London didn’t talk to Callum or look at him much (huge exception for the Old Ladies in the grocery store who said he was “gorgeous” “a treasure,” and so on – OLL Callum) – then again, they probably considered it an invasion of my privacy to do so. Here, everyone talks to him. Everyone wants to know how old he is. EVERYONE thinks he’s “SOOOO cute!” It’s great!

Then again, yesterday a woman caught up with me on the street to get a closer look at Callum. Then she asked me how old he is and said he was so cute. THEN she started to tell me about how she tried to get pregnant and she welled up a little. I almost wanted to hug her! So my thoughts are that while I do prefer this friendliness as a whole, I also kinda miss knowing that if I went out for a walk in the city, people would just leave me alone. So yeah – I guess I got used to British culture while I was there – it has its perks.

We haven’t had weather this good since July 2006.  When does London have such nice weather?  When you about to move to California, that’s when.  I think London is trying to make us sad to leave.  And it’s doing a good job… 

His eyes get bluer every day.

He’s well over 13 pounds now.

He makes all KINDS of noises.

He can be extremely smiley.

He hates being in line at the grocery store, pooping, and he’s not a big fan of being woken up.

He likes Elton John (face it, Todd, Elton John is good).

Sorry so short, but I have a big move to work on, and we all know you just want the pictures. . .

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Over the last two weeks we have learned a lot about Callum.  For example, he frequently gets the hiccups, like twice a day.  It doesn’t seem to bother him, and it can be really cute. Also, when he sneezes (which is also quite frequent) he hits himself in the face with both fists.  It’s a good thing his cheeks are plump enough to cushion the blow.  Daddy always responds with “Bless you and don’t beat yourself up over it.”

Callum sleeps and he eats.  And he poops.  We’ve had a few explosive ones that seem to go right through the diaper, resulting in an immediate change of clothes.  He hasn’t peed on us while changing a diaper yet.  But he promptly peed when we set him in the bathtub for the first time.  He wasn’t to happy about being in the tub, so we quickly wiped him down with water from the less yellow side of the tub and got him out.  He also peed on mommy when she was holding him before a bath (that was daddy’s fault, he gave a naked baby to mom and made her hold him for about a minute).

Well, it’s happened.  The tone of our blog has changed from witty banter to discussion of various bodily functions.  I guess it was inevitable.  Anyway, here’s some newer pictures of our 11 pound, 7 ounce son (he’s gained a bit of weight since birth). 

So yesterday we got the boiler fixed. Some of you may remember that it broke in December and took weeks to fix thanks to a conveniently unavailable landlord. Then it broke on Good Friday, which is an official holiday here, as is the Monday afterward, and obviously it broke at a very cold time (well, cold for England – lows around freezing, snow and such), and we watched the temperature inside slowly falling as the apartment gradually lost its heat. (Sidenote – I should mention that our shower is on a separate system, so we did have warm shower water. Don’t feel TOO bad for us.)

ANnnyway, I called British Gas myself on Tuesday morning (still haven’t heard from the landlord despite 5 messages), and they came yesterday afternoon between 12 and 6 (how convenient) and they fixed it! So now, thanks to me being home and British Gas not forcing me to go through the landlord, we have heat. Coincidentally (or not, depending on your particular philosophy on such things), it was really warm and beautiful today. So much so that I sat outside and had milk and cookies in the sunshine.

I’m hoping that the warm weather will coax itty-bitty out, but I’m not exactly holding my breath. I’m fairly convinced that he’ll wait until next week, when they’ll make him come out regardless of whether he wants to or not. The size of my belly is starting to concern me now.

I should mention that I’m grateful for all of the “how to get him to come out” tips. I assure you that I have tried all of them – pineapple, Thai food (thanks Phil), Indian food, long walks, walking up and down steps, and my personal favourite suggestion from Lisa, which was to play him really inspiring music – Eye of the Tiger and I’m Coming Out were specific suggestions. . . and while I’m fairly convinced that none of them actually work unless the baby’s on its way anyway, at least it gave me something to do in the mean time.

By the way, I promise that we will tell you when he arrives. Promise. It won’t suddenly slip my mind. I have hilarious visions of talking to one of you sometime two weeks from now and you saying, “So, no baby yet?” and me saying, “OH Shoot! Yes! Sorry – I forgot to mention it.” BUT I’m really glad that everyone’s so excited. . . not long now!

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So, it’s a beautiful, cold, snowy snowy Easter morning here in London, and here’s a rundown of our goings-on:

1. No baby yet. Itty-bitty is due to arrive today, but I read somewhere that 75% of babies are born after their due dates. I’m sorry, but who’s grand plan was THAT? Surely it should be somewhere around 50%? On top of that, first babies are more likely to be late than subsequent babies, so basically it’s not a surprise that he hasn’t made his appearance just yet.

2. Baby soon. While we are getting slightly antsy waiting for the little guy, it’s comforting to know two things. First, every day brings a greater chance of his arrival. That 75% chance of being born late, for example, is already up to 100%. Second, the midwives told me that they won’t let me go past next Friday. SO, last possible day is now the 4th of April, which is less than two weeks from now. As uncomfortable as this is getting (there’s just not very much ROOM for him anymore, so he’s squishing up against my ribs and pelvic/hip bones when I try to sit down), I can manage another 12 days if I have to.

3. It’s Easter and it’s SNOWING! The past three days have brought us the first flurries of the season, and this morning it has been snowing for over an hour, which is the most snow I remember seeing since we moved here. It’s not really sticking, but it’s so pretty! The flakes are big now, and in PA that usually means it’ll stop soon, but we’re not sure if those rules apply globally or not. Andy’s making us some nice cinnamon buns for breakfast, and we have plans to make beef wellington and twice-baked potatoes for dinner, so it should be a yummy day around the McNeil household!

4. Our heat isn’t working. It is pretty cold in the house, and we’re having to boil water to wash dishes in, and today and tomorrow are holidays here, so it probably won’t get fixed until Wednesday or Thursday, and we’re about to bring a new baby home, BUT it could be so much worse. See, we have a radiant heater in the living room, so we can turn that on to keep ourselves warm. We also (crucially) have an electric shower, so while we don’t have hot water in the sinks, we DO have hot water in the shower. This would be rather insufferable if it weren’t for that. Even imagining a shower in this icy water makes me shiver with discomfort.

Finally, here is the updated photo for this week. Bear in mind that I am in holiday mode and therefore fairly um . . . casual. I should also mention that we took an extra special belly picture this week, but it’s being held hostage until Thaddeus delivers on his end of the bargain. That’s right, Thad – it already exists. Muahahahahahaha. . . .

Today was my first day of maternity leave, and so far I feel slightly bored. I did all of the chores I wanted to do around the house today, which means that if itty-bitty is two weeks late, I’ll need to find some other things with which to fill up my time.

The good news is that I have a social engagement tomorrow and another one on Wednesday. . . how popular of me! After that I might start taking in some museums and such. Hopefully I’ll get up to some silly adventures that I can share. The only noteworthy thing today is that people are starting to really stare at me. I don’t think people often see a woman so close to her due date, and when they do, they seem to find it surprising. We almost done preggos are alarmingly enormous. Or at least I am!

By the way, Happy Saint Patrick’s Day everyone. If itty-bitty were planning to arrive today, I would probably know about it by now, so I guess he escaped being named Saint Patrick McNeil. The next fun one is Easter. . . Easter Bunny McNeil (Bunbun for short) has a nice ring to it. . .

Andy was away last week in St. Louis, so I did some organizey type stuff – washed all of the laundry, tidied up, packed the hospital bag (yikes!) and so on. He came back with Valentine’s Day chocolates from the McNeils, so that was exciting! I’m having some for breakfast – gotta love that pre-natal nutrition.

In other news, Katie and Steve were back in town over the past couple days, and yesterday we met them for tea at Fortnum & Mason – VERY posh and nice, and I was very excited, because we have never had a fancy tea here. Anyway I got semi-dressed up and went to meet them there. Arrived a little early, used the fancy loo, and waited on the ground floor by the central staircase, figuring it would be hard for Katie or Andy (who I was also meeting there) to miss me there.

Finally Andy called and said he thought it was on the 4th floor and he’s on his was up. So I went up there, and it turned out that some very wonderful people had planned a little baby shower for me there. I mean WHO has a baby shower in Fortnum & MASON?! Me. That’s who.

I was completely shocked and REALLY touched and well . . . still can’t get over it. Andy is SOOO sneaky! He was so normal! In the morning he said, “What time are we supposed to meet them, again?” I didn’t think anything of it, because it would honestly be weirder if he DID know what time it was, especially after being away for a week. I realised later that he was probably just checking that I got the message about the later time (which was all a lie – he warned Katie that I’m always early, so they told me a later time). Then I told him about those thoughts and he said, “No it’s because I didn’t remember.” Oh, maybe not so sneaky after all.

Anyway, Katie and her whole family (minus Pops who stayed home for this trip) were there, and they put pictures up of everyone else who participated from afar – Erin & Matt, Andrea & Shuman, Crystal & Chris, Robyn & Mark, Cori & Jason, Lisa and Traci. Incidentally, I have some very good-looking friends. Jen M was there, and Melinda was in Berlin but was sad sad sad to miss it. I did take the pictures down after Katie said I could – it was so sweet but also slightly intimidating.

Anyway, it’s so nice to have so many nice people thinking about me and wanting to do nice things for me. Also, Itty-bitty is going to be one stylin’ little dude.

OK now, Katie thinks it’s a volleyball, Steve thinks it’s a soccer ball. Now you can see the new picture. . . any votes?

We stopped by Stonehenge on the way there and in Bath on the way back, and despite a rocky, traffic-laden start, it was a wonderful trip. I get pretty tired these days, and it was nice to be able to just relax for a few days.

For those who don’t know, Stonehenge is located pretty much right on a huge highway, and not much else is anywhere near it. The audio guide comes with the price of admission, and it was fairly hilarious, because one of the most notable features of Stonehenge is that nobody (including the makers of said audio guide) knows much about it. They know approximately when it arrived, but they don’t know how or why, so the vast majority of the audio guide speech goes something like this: “Could it be that this is purely a symbol of power? If so, then WHY can it be used as a CALendar?!” There were seven stops on the audio guide tour, and seven might have been about five too many. VERY good for entertainment value, though.

We arrived in Hay later that evening. It is what some folks call a book town, which is why we went. We like books and we like bargains, and this town is a haven for people like us – filled to the brim with used bookstores. I believe there were 36 on the bookstore guide, and this is NOT a very big town.

We filled two days just going from bookstore to bookstore, browsing, reading, buying, reading, browsing, pausing for coffee or lunch, maybe stopping in another shop for a change of pace, and on we went. We managed to acquire quite a selection of books on this trip. Andy picked up a few gardening books and lots of dude fiction. I bought a couple of novels, 2 books on world religions, another baby book and two old coffee table books – one on New York and one on London. Then we banned ourselves from more bookstores and ended up spending the afternoon of the second day holed up in the B&B, where Andy read and I “read,” which was very similar to sleeping. In that I was asleep for most of it.

Our stop in Bath was lovely. We had excellent, sunny but chilly weather. The Roman Baths themselves were interesting and beautiful in places, and the town was very pretty.

Anyway, I highly recommend Hay-on-Wye if you like books, and I highly recommend Bath if you like . . um. . . Baths.

Here are a few pictures from our trip.

This also means that our cats (Kermy the supercat and Toby the um . . . other wonderful cat) will need to make the trans-Atlantic flight once more, in the opposite direction this time, so that they can eventually join us at our new, yet-to-be-discovered home.

In the mean time, we thought it would be a good idea to send them over ahead of us. It will make for two fewer beings to worry about in the short term, and it will give them somewhere to stay (with the VERRRY generous McNeils and their poor, unsuspecting cats) while we figure out where we’re going to live.

Anyway, we really think they have loved living here, and we will definitely miss them while we’re apart, so I thought I’d take this opportunity to show you a few more recent pictures of the two sweeties hanging out in our back garden. Enjoy!

Throughout the latter half of my pregnancy, folks have demonstrated some awkwardness around me regarding the topic of said pregnancy, and I thought some helpful hints might be useful. Obviously, all of these “rules” are completely arbitrary and based on a statistically valid sample of . . . uh . . .me. More importantly, BIG disclaimer, I don’t think any of them count for family or close friends; I can just tell those people if they upset me in any way – and none of you have, so don’t stress. It’s really more for coworkers, acquaintances, people who work in shops, random strangers, and so on. But mostly coworkers.

1. DO offer pregnant ladies a seat. EVEN if they’re not forcing the issue. Like say said pregnant woman gets on the train and starts reading her book near the doorway (rather than hovering over the seats glaring at people) – this does not necessarily let you off the hook. It’s still nice to offer; she can always say no.

2. DO talk to pregnant ladies about their pregnancies, but only if you’re actually interested. If you find it awkward or don’t actually care, then don’t bother with the small talk. You’ll be amazed at how many other topics she is able to discuss!

3. DON’T offer pregnant ladies advice on the sex of their babies based on any of the following: how high or low, flat or pointy her bump is; what she craves; whether or not she had morning sickness; how fast the baby’s heart beats; whether the ring goes round and round or back and forth; or similar. It’s all bologna, and even if it wasn’t, I promise she’s heard it before. (Exception: If the pregnant lady is your daughter, this rule does not apply. None of them apply to you anyway, but especially this one. Yours are the only silly stories she’ll be interested in or believe)

4. DON’T offer pregnant ladies your wordly wisdom on other details regarding the pregnancy, birth, or being a new parent (recent example: you probably should be more worried about the birth, because my friend Sarah . . . . 3rd degree . . . . catheter . . . donut pillow . . . . nightmare . . .), UNLESS you are in a reasonable position to do so and she seems interested. Like, I don’t know . . . maybe you’re a doctor or a midwife, or maybe you have actually HAD a CHILD, or at the VERY least have the appropriate ANATOMY to have a child. Again, I promise – said pregnant lady WILL know more than you about all of the above. She has read at least one book (or seven), done loads of web research, and has probably even taken a class about the subject from an actual expert.

5. DO ask a pregnant lady how she’s doing. This gives her the opportunity to discuss if she feels like it or to respond with a simple “fine” if she doesn’t.

6. DON’T act surprised when you ask a pregnant lady (and you WILL ask her – especially after rule 9 takes away the favourite conversation-starter) how far along she is or how much longer she has. Either way, you could worry or annoy her. She wants to be exactly the right size for how far along she is – not bigger or smaller than you thought she should be. (Recent example: “I really can’t imagine how you could possibly have three months left!”) Oh also, don’t guess – it’s a very risky game.

7. DON’T ask a lady how MANY babies she’s having. That’s just mean.

8. DON’T tell a pregnant lady about your horrible pregnancy/birth/first few months. She’s worried enough already, and stress will not be helpful to her. The most disturbing thing someone said to me during my pregnancy was that the main thing she learned from her two pregnancies is how “unpredictable” it is. SO, the fact that I’ve been lucky so far is a very very good thing, but I find that popping into the back of my mind all the time: “But D. said it’s unpredictable, so don’t get too cozy.”

9. MOST IMPORTANT: No matter how badly you want to, DON’T tell a pregnant lady that she’s big. I get told how big I am somewhere between two and six times a day. Once last week, I heard it four times before lunch. (Recent Example: “My GOD you’re ENORMOUS!” No hello, no goodbye. That was our entire chat.) I understand why people say these things. They see the size of the tum, they find it surprising, they need to make conversation anyway, and out it comes. Thing is, the pregnant lady knows she’s enormous. This information is not helpful to her. Some image-sensitive women will be justly offended by it; I really don’t mind, because it’s true, BUT but but. . . how does a pregnant lady find an appropriate response to a comment like “you’re really getting big now” without making the person feel bad? I have yet to find one, but I’m still trying. So far, I have tried variations of the following:

- Yeah, yeah I know.
- Um . . . . thanks?
- Thanks!
- Well good, I should be by now!
- Funny, hadn’t noticed.
- Really? And here I was feeling svelt today!
- You know it’s funny – I never get sick of hearing that.
- You too.

My fave at the moment is, depending on my mood and who says it, either “Well that’s good – running out of time now!”, or a very sarcastic but good-humoured eye roll, as if to say, Phoebe style, “No WAY! That is TOTALLY new INFORMATION!”

There is one exception to rule 9, and this kinda goes with the family and friends disclaimer at the top. If you are REALLY excited about the impending birth, and your comment about the hugeness is clearly related to that excitement as demonstrable by your tone of voice or some sort of bouncing or clapping, I think that’s acceptable. Andy tells me how big my tummy is all the time, but he says it in a really excited, affectionate way, and I love it.

Speaking of. . . have a look at my tum in this week’s picture.

On Wednesday, Andy challenged me to put my sock on standing up. He asked me if I could do it, and I said yes. Then he said “well why didn’t you do it then?” I said, “because I don’t want to.” Then there was something about how WANTING to do something is part of being able to do it, and eventually I let him win, took my sock OFF and then stood up to put it back on. To be fair, he did stand guard in case I lost my balance, but I DID do it, so there. Anxiously awaiting the next challenge . . .

We spent the weekend in Hay-on-Wye, which is a little town in Wales that is famous for having lots of second-hand book stores. It was loads of fun and very relaxing, and our B&B had a nice long bathtub, so I took two baths while we were there. The reason that I mention it is that getting out of the bathtub is likely to soon be added to the list of things I probably shouldn’t do on my own. It’s very slippery and involves some serious gymnastics. Imagine getting out of the tub without using your abs AT ALL. I kinda use my arms to pull myself up a bit, and then I somehow manage to get on my knees, from where it’s a bit easier to get up, but it’s all starting to get slightly dangerous.

Other than that, I can still do most of the things I need to do day-to-day. One of my coworkers said that when his wife was very pregnant, he would come home and find things scattered all over the floor. When he asked what happened, she said, “Oh, I dropped it.” Yes, I can see the appeal. Hmm . . . it’d be much easier for Andy to get that when he gets home, so . . . we’ll just leave it there.

Oh and in answer to one common question, no I absolutely can NOT see my feet. Well, I can if I bend over, but I don’t think that counts.

OK, here’s the new picture!!

That’s all for now, because Phantom of the Opera’s on TV, and I think it’s just magical. . .

Enjoy the new pic!

As for the holidays, we had a wonderful time spending Christmas here with ourselves as company. We cooked ourselves some very nice meals and some yummy cookies, we watched lots of movies, went on some nice walks, sang Playstation Karaoke (one of the brilliant Christmas gifts Andy got me) and generally just relaxed a bit, which we don’t often get the chance to do.

We spent the last four days in Edinburgh, where I had never been before. We had very good weather for the most part, and we did lots of walking, which despite the slower pace courtesy of fatso here was probably a good move after those Christmas meals. The New Year is apparently a huge deal in Scotland (which we did not know when we booked the trip), and there was a festival going on during our last two days. We joined, watched, then joined, then watched a torchlight processional that snaked all the way through the city streets and up the big hill for a fireworks finale. Then, last night, we attended the “Night Afore,” which featured lots of Celtic-themed musicians and dancers. The highlight was a band playing highland dance music, and they would teach/remind the audience of the dance moves before starting to play each song – the crowd would start out a bit rocky but within a few minutes EVERYONE was jumping about in the same rhythm and even moving in the same direction at the same time. The best part is that they all looked like they were having SO much fun! We couldn’t dance, because I don’t really like to get bumped into these days, but watching was certainly a treat, as well.

There’s more to the Scotland trip to tell, but now you know the basics. We left this morning, about which we got a bit of slack from fellow Londoners (”you’re leaving Edinburgh ON New Year’s EVE?!”) until they remembered that I’m a huge fatso and might not enjoy it too much, after all. Now for the first time in . . . well. . . since we MET, I suppose, we have NO plans on New Year’s Eve. Somehow we just didn’t think of it in the middle of all of the Christmas planning and Scotland planning. Tomorrow, we’re going to watch the New Year’s Parade in town and then we’re going to see the Nutcracker, so we certainly don’t have a shortage of activities, but here’s hoping we can make it another 4 hours tonight without anything to distract us!! Maybe we’ll find something good on TV . . .

In other news, we hosted a very nice Thanksgiving dinner last Saturday, which was delicious and very fun. We didn’t have any catastrophic events like we did last year, and Andy cooked our first turkey. It looked beautiful and tasted delicious, but I forgot to take a picture of that. The empty trivet held broccoli casserole. The leftovers lasted about 3 days, not counting the turkey which is still a nice treat for Kermie. Also – and I’m admittedly not sure whether these two things are unrelated – I think I got my first 2 stretch marks this week. I’m not positive, because they seem to have gone away a bit, but I don’t know what else they could have been.

Here’s a picture of Thanksgiving. . .

someone offered me a seat on the train!!
I knew this day would come, and I knew it would be momentous. I almost wanted to tell the lady that she was the first, but then I realised that she would find that odd. What’s funny is that on Tuesday I went home early with a cold. Half the reason I left early was to avoid the crowds on the train. When I noticed that an impending football game foiled those plans, I took my coat off so that the tum was even more visible than usual. I could have really used a seat that day, but nothing. Friday, I was fine and perfectly happy to stand. I wonder if this trend will continue . . .

Anyway there’s no denying it anymore – hugeness has begun. I don’t really mind, as long as it means Itty-Bitty is getting big and strong!

Here’s an updated picture of our little boy . . . and yes, in case you didn’t already know, it’s a little boy!

First of all, thanks to everyone who said I look beautiful and/or cute – geesh maybe I shouldn’t try to lose all the weight after the baby comes! Also thanks to Mommy Lynahan for the hors d’oevres suggestion – you’re right that it will be helpful and in fact I had some dishes resting on it today!

In summary, Brooke thinks it’s a boy, Bambi wants a girl named Elly, Paula wants a baby named Dane regardless of gender, Lisa doesn’t care about the sex or name, as long as its nickname is Spike. Ambie wants me to name it after one of my Cabbage Patch Dolls, because I apparently said I would at one point and am therefore obligated to do so (that girl remembers EVERYTHING!). Whitey wants a pontsy Shakespearean name, Cori & Brooke agree on Owen, 2 votes for Meliffany (Melinda and Tiffany combined . . . ), one Murgatroyd and of course Grangie doesn’t care as long as when it’s a grandmother it can be shortened to Grangie.

Interestingly, we get a lot of that “my name is perfect . . . and goes well with McNeil” stuff. Well that and Neil. Everyone’s SO CLEVER! Neil McNeil. Hilarious. Anyway I suppose it’s reassuring that most people seem to like their names enough to pass them on to our baby; hopefully Itty-Bitty will feel the same about whatever name we decide on for it! We’ve had “my name is perfect” votes from Sean, Luke – 2 Lukes actually, Brian, Brooke, Amber (who recommended Amber 2), Thaddeus (who has taken to sending the baby emails addressed to Thaddeus from Uncle Thaddeus), and of course Melinda, who wins points for being the most persistent. I think she started going on about Baby Melinda about 5 years ago.

Here, “bump” works in both scenarios. At first I found this odd and a bit impersonal. Now that I understand the affection that comes with the term, I kinda like it.

Anyway, here’s the bumpdate:

Itty-Bitty has taken to doing gymnastics in my uterus, which is sort of like being on a roller-coaster. You know, when your stomach suddenly feels like it leaps up about 6 inches and then drops back down like a medicine ball into your abdomen? Yeah, like that.

I also think Itty-Bitty gets the hiccups sometimes. Violently. Or perhaps it’s just jumping as it’s falling asleep, just like everyone does sometimes and just like Andy does almost every time he falls asleep.

Itty-Bitty is obviously growing very big and strong, because now when my stomach growls, I feel it where my lungs used to be. Not sure where my lungs are. . .

We are officially on belly-button watch. So far still an innie, but I started with an extraordinarily deep and narrow innie, so it’ll take some time. It’s supposed to pop like a turkey timer soon, so we will DEFINITELY let you know when that happens. . . and hopefully include zoomed in photos especially for Brooke, who finds navels disgusting. I hope when it happens that stuff doesn’t go flying everywhere. You know, like lint and whatever cheetos and action figures may have made their way in there during my childhood. I’ll obviously tell you if anything exciting like that happens, too.

Anyway, here is your biweekly photo. . . and this one’s a doozie! Click on the photo to see it bigger and in progression with the others.

My first thoughts about this were, “WHAT?! HOW is THAT useful?!” Like how does this guy get you to the hospital? Offer you a backie*? Does he rock up and say, “What’s the problem? Oh, heart attack? Oh OK, hop on mate!”

Upon further reflection, I realised that this is actually potentially quite useful in London, where traffic can be unreasonable and slow big ambulances down. This guy can probably sometimes get there faster and start doing things before the big ambulance comes.

But anyway, next time you hear that little “ding ding” of a bike coming up behind you, PULL OVER. It’s probably the ambulance.

*Backie Noun. A pillion** ride on a bicycle. British in origin. Very dangerous, don’t let your kids do it. (source: urbandictionary.com)

**Pillion Noun. A bicycle or motorcycle saddle. (source: dictionary.com)

(so basically it’s when someone sits on the saddle and you stand up and pedal. I think. Someone said it to me once and I thought I was all cool by using it here. Two definitions later and suddenly I’m not sure it was worth it.)

Yes, we planned it.
No, I didn’t already know when I changed jobs.
No, we don’t know what it is. Well, we think it’s a baby, but we haven’t ruled out primate.
Yes, we plan to find out what it is. Probably around Thanksgiving time.
Due March 23rd.
Plan to have it here in the UK but will get its American citizenship sorted first (since they can be a bit funny about dual citizenship), then hopefully UK as well.

Anyway, the reason I’m posting about it now is because we have had about 4 billion requests for pictures of my tummy. I first felt bit like “lay oFF! It’s MY BELLY!” But then I thought actually everyone just loves me and doesn’t want to miss out. SOooooo . . . . without further delay . . . check ‘em out!

We started our trip in Salzburg, where we spent a few days exploring churches, castles, hills (they’re alive in Salzburg) and beer gardens. Biergarten.

On the Tuesday, we took the train to Passau, which is actually in Germany and was the starting point on the cycling part of our trip. It was a very pretty town, and we spent the evening exploring its various charms. We walked up the hill to Veste Oberhaus, had a delicious snack, and walked back down an extremely scenic route on which we took loads of pictures. We came back down the hill, found some dinner, and eventually found a playground to play on!! We watched the sunset from the intersection of the town’s three rivers, but then the bugs started to come out, so we went back to the hotel.

Crossing over the bridge on our way back to the hotel, we experienced the bugs in their full force for the first time. The air was thick with little gnats. So much so that I actually ran across the bridge waving my sweater back and forth to sweep them away from me.

Our first day of cycling – to Schlogen – was shorter than we had hoped. It was a beautiful cycle along the Danube, often down tree-covered pathways. It turned into a fairly overcast day, and because we were so close to the river, the bugs came out again. They seemed to come out whenever it got a little bit rainy. While cycling, this turned out to be quite disgusting. I wore my sunglasses to keep the bugs out of my eyes, and I wouldn’t talk to Andy, because I knew that if I opened my mouth, they would sneak in.

When we arrived in Schlogen, we each had to take a moment in the bathroom removing the bug carcasses from our foreheads and arms. It was gross and very funny, all at once.

The next day, a bit of a longer cycle took us to Linz. We stopped several times, but the most notable was the abbey at Wilhering. Our book described its church as “one of the most outstanding rococo church buildings in Austria,” and I truly had never seen such a beautifully ornate church. We had Greek food for lunch (random, but the choices were few), and went on our way to Linz.

When we arrived in Linz, we stopped for some delicious ice cream before taking our free (with our bicycle package) trolley tour of the town. We were with an older English couple who were doing the same route as us, only they had an extra day to do it. The English commentary wasn’t working, so I read to them from our guidebook about what everything was. It was pretty silly. We visited a few churches, and we came across a very impressive, two or three-story sculpture made entirely out of books. It started to rain fairly seriously, so we hunted down a biergarten and sat down for a pint and a pretzel each.

Two things about Austrian food. First, it is ALARMINGLY like central Pennsylvanian food. I knew that CEPA was a Germanic part of the US, but it really shocked me how much some of the deli counters could so easily be in a farmers’ market in PA. Potato salad, pasta salad, coleslaw, pretzels, and so on. Secondly, what we in England call a “shandy,” which is half beer, half lemonade (remember, British lemonade is really lemon soda – sort of like Sprite minus the lime), is in Austria called a “radler.” I had several radleren? Radlern? while there, as this is a personal favourite. Also, radler means cyclist. We decided the drink had likely been named after the athlete who couldn’t stomach a whole pint before continuing on his/her ride. And since a radler I was, I felt that it made sense. We went to a second biergarten for dinner and headed back to the hotel.

Day three was our longest cycle – about 98km, which is about 60 miles, and that is far. That’s London to Brighton, which is an annual charity bike ride here. It’s hilly, though, and our ride was (mostly) flat.

We went to Mathausen concentration camp, which was just horrifying, to be honest. I’m glad I went, because I have a slightly greater understanding of those times now than I did previously, but I’m not sure if I would ever go again. We then headed to lunch, where taking care of my sunburn became an urgent priority. I had acquired some sunburn the day before, and on this day, I couldn’t stand the heat of the sun on my hands and wrists anymore. So, at lunch, we created some handmade hand & wrist coverers from the sleeves of my “Scoutmaster Kurt” t-shirt. It was a great shirt, but it had found its place in aid of the greater good, and it really made a difference. Of course, the next day I had sunburned thighs (I STILL have the tan line to prove it), but that’s another story.

One of our favourite stops on the trip was in the town of Grein, where we visited the original bourgeois theatre – complete with hand-painted curtain and seats that lock up to ensure that season ticket holders never have to worry about someone using their seat. The woman who sold us our tickets also had us sit down in the theatre and gave us a talk about its history, which was fascinating. It was a beautiful space, and it was refreshing to be able to touch everything, which most museums forbid. We spend the night in Persenbeug, where we had a lovely meal and a nice chat with an old German-speaking foursome who had also cycled 90+km that day and were duly exhausted.

Our last day was also a fairly long cycle to Vienna. On our way, we stopped at Stift Melk, a truly grand Benedictine Abbey and one of the highlights of our trip. We went through on our own, which involved crafty dodging of massive tour groups, but the best part about being on our own was that when we got to the library, it was as quiet and peaceful as a library should be. The library itself was several stories tall and featured gorgeous frescoed ceilings. We read that, for the monks, the library was second only to the church in its relative sanctity, and that struck us as just about right. After some more cycling, we took the train, as per our instructions, toward Vienna, but we got off a stop early, because we thought it would be nicer to cycle that last little bit into town.

We spent another two days in Vienna before heading back home. While there, we visited several churches and palaces, including half a day at the enormous Schloss Schonbrunn. It was the seat of the Hapsburg empire for centuries, and while there we learned about Emperor Ferdinand’s odd dining habits, looked at his gold cutlery, and waltzed in the garden. When in Vienna, one should really waltz.

We went to the Haus der Musik, which is a 4-story music museum that explores music and sound in several different ways. Physics, history, cognition . . . very interesting. We went to a modern art museum and several biergarten. We went to the most enormous biergarten ever, which was in the middle of nowheresville but was absolutely HEAVING with people. We accidentally explored what must be one of the worst neighbourhoods in Vienna – prostitutes and all, we ate (shared) a ridiculously huge wienerschnitzel, and did lots and lots of walking around.

It was a wonderful trip, and we were so lucky to have gorgeous weather the whole time. Have a look at a few of our pictures.

It really threw me. What a strange thing to do!

There are a few reasons (that I know of) that one person would wink at another.

1. One thinks the other is cute in a little kid kinda way.
2. One is suggesting to the other some sort of mutual understanding – letting the other know that both are in on some sort of joke.
3. One has some sort of eye problem.
4. One thinks the other is pretty.

As far as I know, winking is not a normal accompaniment for “hi,” although I’d love to get some comments if people HAVE heard of this.

Anyway, I ruled out number 1 due to me being a good 10 years old than him.
I can’t rule out number 2, but if there was some sort of joke, I completely missed it. Which wouldn’t be all that unusual for me – hence the reason I can’t rule it out.
I have to rule out number 3, as he didn’t do anything else odd with his eyes during the rest of my check-out.
As arrogant as it seems to me, I think I have to go with number 4! I think he thought I was pretty!

To add to my case, as I was thinking about posting this on the blog, I realised that I hadn’t really looked at him after that moment (scared to get winked at again perhaps), and I thought, “I really need to see how old he was, because that will make or break the story.” So, I quickly looked back at him, figuring that he’d be busy with his next customer. But NO! He was looking at me! SO, I totally got caught looking and he obviously thinks that I have a crush on him now (Ew), but it’s worth it for the sake of the blog.

I may need to avoid his line in the future, but anyway, it’s kinda nice for an old gal to get the “I think your pretty” vibe from the kids!

Most Londoners leave town on bank holiday weekends, which means that leaving town becomes suddenly very expensive, and so we decided to hang tight this time and enjoy our weekend in London.

This started yesterday (which WAS an absolutely GORGEOUS day, by the way), when we decided to go down to the tkts booth in Leicester Square and see if we could get tickets to anything interesting. After some deliberation and some cycling around town in the sun, I decided on tickets to Mary Poppins, which Caton saw last year and said was excellent.

And it WAS excellent. The highlight was obviously supercalifragilisticexpialidocious, which was brilliantly choreographed, exquisitely and exuberantly sung, and just altogether fabulous. It was truly one of the best chorus numbers I have seen on Broadway or the West End – ever.

The show did have one minor setback early on, however. At the close of the first scene, the Banks family finished their song and then Mrs. Banks went to the front room to work on her advertisement for the new nanny. Then the curtain came down, the lights came up, and a lady made the following announcement: “Ladies and Gentlemen, unfortunately we have had to pause the performance due to a technical problem. We do not anticipate a long delay.”

A few minutes later, she announced “Ladies and Gentlemen, we are about to continue the performance.” Lights down, curtain up, and the family had rewound a bit to the last stanza of the song. We figured that they just wanted to continue the flow of the performance. Then, when they got to the end of the song, all of a sudden, Mary Poppins appeared behind them on stage! She had apparently come out of the ground, which – we guessed – uses a mechanism (like maybe Joe the stagehand) that was having a technical problem during the first attempt.

It might be hard to imagine, but it was really quite hilarious. Most of the audience laughed when she turned up. Not because it was funny that she was there, but because it was so clear as to what this alleged “technical problem” involved.

The rest of the performance went perfectly and was purely joyful and fun. We had a nice time standing on the balcony during the break and after the show – looking down on the hubbub of Soho – and it was a perfect night for doing so. Breezy, warm, and clear.

AND, it’s shaping up to be another nice day today! Dad’s on his way here, and we’re planning an afternoon of stately homes. A very British occupation for a sunny Sunday. . . how apropos!

Fortunately, the people are still friendly and the food is still fabulous. But then there’s the weather. I already complained about the weather once recently on the blog, and after that, there were about 10 sunny days. “Better late than never,” I thought, and it WAS wonderful. And then it started raining again, and worse than that – it’s COLD. Last Friday, on August 17th, I purchased a knee-length, thick, wooly sweater, and I have worn it almost every day since then.

And so, on Monday, I decided to pretend that it’s October. You see, I like the Fall, and the weather hasn’t been THAT bad for the Fall, so I found that if I just pretend that we’re having a really long Fall (instead of a short to non-existent Summer), it doesn’t feel so negative.

But then today, I heard on the news that this Summer is officially on track to be the wettest Summer on record. Yes, that’s ever since they started counting. MORE rain this summer than ANY other Summer before. SO, I feel a little bit like my colleagues (who whine incessantly about it) and the news have conspired against my well-constructed optimism to hammer HOME the point about the terrible weather this Summer.

Fortunately, it’s supposed to be nice this weekend, so hopefully that will shut everyone’s yaps for a minute. And I’m still holding out for the most perfect FALL on record!!

We rode the tube to the stadium, and I was surprised at how orderly and quiet everyone was as they disembarked the train and made their way out of the station. I would have expected a more rowdy and boisterous crowd, but no, very quiet and calm. As we continued on to the stadium the crowed grew to a rather large steady stream of people and it was still quiet and orderly. Enthusiasm finally picked up as we walked past a few pubs and streams of people leaving the pub joined the now river of people heading to the stadium.

The game started out really well. Brian McBride (an American) scored the first goal for Fulham. Unfortunately for Fulham, after scoring McBride was on the ground with a dislocated knee. He was taken off on a stretcher, but let the crowd know he was okay by clapping along with fans as they cheered his name.

From there it went down hill. Middlesbrough scored an equalizer in the second half that was a result of sloppy defense and goal keeping. Then scored a go ahead goal, the second goal was more earned, but still should have been prevented. After lots of angry shouting by the fans, the mood quickly changed to elation when Fulham seemingly scored an equalizer. However the elation quickly turned to anger when everyone realized that the ref wasn’t counting the score. Tiffany and I were stunned. We thought it had surely gone in. And so did tens of thousands of spectators, the Fulham managers and the Fulham team, and they were all letting the ref know about it.

In the end Fulham lost, and there is nothing more annoying than disappointed, frustrated, angry and vocal football supporters. As a result, the game turned out to not be as fun as we’d hoped. We can check football game off our list of things to do, but I we should go to another game sometime. Though I think maybe we’ll go to a Chelsea game. They’re more likely to win.

After the game we read that replays showed the ball indeed crossed the line and the goal should have counted. Anyway, here’s a writeup of the game, and here’s a picture we took at the game.

The trip was absolutely wonderful. We woke up early and started cycling at about 8:30 every day, spent most of the day on our bikes exploring the Tuscan countryside, arrived at our next destination in the afternoon, showered, and headed out for some sightseeing and dinner, only to come home, sleep, and start over again. We went on a self-guided tour, which meant that the tour operator gave us directions at the beginning of the trip and sent us on our way. We had a quick introductory session at the first hotel, at which we were given a pack of information, a glass of champagne, and an extraordinarily ugly black hat with EUROBIKE written on the front in red.

That’s when we met the other self-guided tourists, who we later began to think of in an Amazing Race-type way. We imagined them cycling along with their names and a label on the screen beneath them, but since we didn’t know most of their names, we tended to stick with the labels:

French Canadian Foursome
Rather Bland Canadian Couple
Perky Australian Couple
Montana Man and his Swiss Wife
The Swiss Lesbians
. . . and us, who we later discovered (when the tour operator slipped and called us by our label) were known as “The Tall Americans.” Good to know we weren’t the only ones labeling people!

The cycling was actually pretty tough. Tuscany is beautiful, and it is also very hilly. We went about 30-35 miles each day, which is far on a flat surface and really far up and down hills. We tended to be the first ones out in the morning and the last ones to arrive in the afternoon. We didn’t cycle slowly – in fact we often passed people – but we managed to spend enough time cycling up and down side streets (mostly looking for wineries, olive groves, or any other consumable goods) that we lost that much time. One day we lost even more time:

At km 34.2, we went past a turn that would have been 0.5 km too early. We went another 1.5 km downhill, decided that it must have been our turn and went 1.5 km back UP the hill, only it turns out that it wasn’t our turn. We eventually discovered that we went wrong back at km 28.7 when “straight” meant “straighty-right,” and we took the wrong road. Using the map, we (we = Andy) found a shortcut, which was VERY steep, and we went back and forth up and down hills a bit, trying to figure out if the shortcut would get us to the right road or not. When we finally made it to the correct road (thanks to Andy’s skill and willingness to run down and back up hills to double-check), we learned that we lost about 12-15 km behind. We saw the tour organizer driving by shortly thereafter, and he stopped to ask if we were OK – good sign that we were WAY behind schedule. When we finally arrived at our destination (Greve), we found our fellow guided tourists enjoying a pint at the pub and laughing heartily at our rather long excursion. We had some gelato and suddenly felt all better. (Andy: Melone y Cappucino, Tiff: Caffe y Mousse di Chocolatta)

We actually ate an impressive amount of gelato while we were in Tuscany. That was our tenth gelato break, and we still had another day left. Here are a few more trip details, listed in relation to the gelato we consumed along the way:

1 – Day 1 – Montecatini – On the way from the train to our first hotel – Andy: Chocolate & Vanilla Cherry, Tiff: Chocolate

2 – Day 1 – Montecatini – After dinner – Andy: Frutti di Busco & Cookies, Tiff: Mint & Chocolate Chip (Straciatelli)

3 – Day 2 – Montecatini – After cycle to Vinci (as in Leonardo da) and a trip to the terme, where we “drinka dee water,” which is so cleansing that they have several hundred available toilets. Feeling suitably cleansed . . . – Andy: Strawberry & Chocolate, Tiff: Chocolate & Penna Cotta

4 – Day 3 – Pisa – After a stop in Lucca where we visited the tower with trees on top, between visiting the Cathedral in Pisa and walking along the river, we took lots of pictures of people doing Tai Chi, and we stopped for gelato – Andy: Chocolate & Caramel, Tiff: Chocolate & Coffee

5 – Day 3 – Pisa – After dinner, Andy realized he had ordered chocolate in some form every time and became determined to prove that he was not in a rut, and soooo. . . . – Andy: Pistachio & Licorice (EW!), Tiff: Fruitti di Busco & Straciatelli

6 – Day 4 – Casciana Terme – After a strenuous uphill battle and some time in the thermal pool, also good for healing, . . . Andy: Hazelnut & Teramisu, Tiff: Biscuttino & Cupido Chazelinutti (cookies and different cookies)

7 – Day 5 – San Gimignano – As soon as we arrived, because this was listed in our guidebook as a “world-renowned” gelateria – Andy: Orange chocolate & Tiramisu, Tiff: Chocolate & Tutto Frusco

8 – Day 5 – San Gimignano – Yes, it was THAT good – Andy: Mango & Strawberry & Vanilla Crème (3 scoops!), Tiff: Mint & Special random creamy flavor

9 – Day 6 – Siena – After a visit to the church of San Domenico and before the Palazzo Publico – Andy: Chocolatta & Caffe, Tiff: Kiwi & Vanilla

10 – Day 7 – Greve – You already know about 10.

11 – Day 8 – Florence – After the duomo and before the Iffuzi gallery, where we decided that churches and piazzas were better than art and a 90-minute wait, which were our two options – Andy: Biscotto & Cherry Vanilla, Tiff: Straciatella & Crème Caramel

12 – Day 8 – Florence – After we stumbled upon a random wine-tasting which was even more randomly showcasing Californian wines – We shared: Chocolatto, Stracciatella & Hazelnut and walked back along the river after a wonderful trip.

Here’s a quick taste of some of our funny experiences along the way:

We went to a concert in Montecatini – our first day in Italy. We arrived at about 4:30 for a 4:45 concert. The man looked at us like we were nuts and eventually said, “cinque, cinque media” – that’s 5, 5:30. So in Italy, concerts that start at 4:45 actually start ‘round about 5:30. The concert ended up being almost solely intended for people over the age of 70, several of whom were there looking at us like we were crazy. There was a fella playing piano and another fella singing – mostly Frank Sinatra – and then after about 45 minutes they invited a guy from the audience up. He looked like yoda, but MAN the old fella had pipes. He did some very impressive arias – especially for a random guy in the audience who we decided was perhaps not so random after all when – after much “oh no I couldn’t – it’s YOUR concert,” he brought his own sheet music up with him.

On one of our many side-trips to find wineries, we cycled into the back yard of a house / factory, where we found three old Italian men making wine! We took some pictures of them, which they found absolutely hilarious and perhaps a smidge embarrassing. The fat one held up a big plastic tube which was pouring wine into an enormous jug, and he said, “DA VINNNOOOO!!!!” which we loved because it just sounded so ITALIAN! Then they kept saying “AgritourISSMMMOOOOOoooooo,” which was also funny and obviously so strange to them.

One day we stopped in a random little restaurant for lunch, but we got there at about 11:45. We thought we would be too early, because lunch tended to start after noon and end at 2:00 in Tuscany (incidentally not all that convenient when one is – say – cycling through hills of farmland for most of the day). When we walked in, the young lady there started to explain to us in Italian that they didn’t have any hot food yet, when a voice from another room shouted “PASTA!” Our lady said, “y pasta? Pasta.” We said, “Pasta! OK!” and the deal was done. We also had some excellent wine, which was served in a big ceramic bowl with a ladle.

Looking back through my travel journal, I’m amazed at how much adventure we found along our way and at how much fun we always have. Here are some pictures – see for yourself!

Sunday was the first night of the smoking ban, and we obviously had to go out to celebrate. We went to the pub around the corner, which is a very snug little place that serves excellent food and is frequented by about a dozen very old, very intoxicated smoky men. We have been there many times in the past, but the one downfall was always that it can be very smoky in there.

It was wonderful. All of the old, drunk men were at the outside tables whining (or winging, to be a bit more English) about the smoking ban and smoking away, and we walked right on by to find a table inside. We stayed for about an hour, and we marveled at how much more we could SEE in there! For example, until Sunday, I had never noticed the back door. It’s probably about 15-20 feet away from where we were sitting, and yet the air had previously been so smoke-filled that I never noticed it. We’re wondering what the old, drunk men will do when it gets cold. Will they sit outside and freeze, sit inside and pop out every few minutes to freeze/smoke, or what? I guess we’ll find out. . .

THEN, on Tuesday, I had my leaving party for work. (Newsflash: I’m changing jobs) SO, I went to the best pub near my office with all of my colleagues. Normally, I tend not to go to other people’s leaving parties. If I do go, I tend to leave a bit earlier than most, because I get pretty uncomfortable after a while. I know it was my party, but still, I stayed happily to the end of the evening. It felt so much classier without all the mess and stinky headachiness that one normally finds in a pub. Wonderful, I say – just wonderful.

By the way, we are having the coldest, rainiest summer in the universe over here! England=skitso weather. The good news is that today is the first nice day we have had since about the 1st of June (NOTE: based on my perception only), so I plan to take advantage of it!

The stewards, who tend to be little old men with matching outfits and hats, hand out queue cards with numbers on them, and a 7:45 arrival got us numbers 1877 and 1888, which is impressively high, considering that there are two queues. Compared to last year, though, it was a bit low, because last year was a beautiful, hot, sunny day, and this year was . . . well . . . not.

When I say that we waited in the queue for three hours, therefore, I mean that we waited in the queue IN THE RAIN for three hours. It didn’t rain the whole time or very hard – just off and on and usually lightly. It was an entertaining experience. We read a bit, had some snacks, listened and watched the hubbub of the folks selling newspapers with “FREE poncho, FREE raincoat, FREE tennis-ball-shaped binoculars.” Hmm . . . Perhaps most entertaining was the group of Australian (Kiwi perhaps?) revelers a few people behind us. There were about 12 of them, all loaded down with party kit, all inappropriately dressed for the occasion (they went a bit too summery and otherwise impractical), and all having a wonderful time. By the time we got to security, they had consumed 4 bottles of champagne (with the obligatory floating strawberries, of course), at least 3 of wine, and goodness knows what else, and they had befriended all of the stewards and vendors who came their way in the mean time. We’re not sure how long they could have lasted at that rate, but they sure had fun in the queue! Maybe they shouldn’t have bothered buying tickets – they could have just hung out nearby all day and had a grand old time!

Anyway, we did get grounds tickets, and we went straight to court 2, where Venus Williams was going to play the first match of the day. Court 2 has a standing room section for the peons like us to watch fairly big matches, and so we stood there – in the rain – until about 10:45, when the man from above announced that play would not start until at least noon.

So we stood there – in the rain – until 11:25, when the man from above announced that play would not start until at least 1230, but good news – looks like there’s a clear patch up ahead. The rain grew a bit more intermittent and we started to have hope. We stood there until about 1145, and then we decided that it was lunch time.

For lunch, we each had a slice of pizza and we shared a Cornish pasty. Then we went back up to court 2 standing room. At about 1:15, the grounds boy came out and started to deflate the court cover. People cheered! They deflated it until it lay flat on the court, when – after a few minutes – the rain picked up again. The grounds boy ran around and closed all the vents and filled that cover right back up. BOOOOooooo.

At about 2:00, with the rain stopped again, the grounds boy came out and started to deflate the cover. HOORAAAYYYY! (one guy near us kept cheering “YAY FOR US!” which we thought was funny) Then – miracle of miracles, they did the classic Wimbledon court reveal, which happens when the grounds boys and girls grab on to ropes and run across the court to role up the cover. AHA! The “yay for us” guy said, “I’ve FINALLY seen a tennis court at Wimbledon!”

One thing you don’t usually see when you’re watching Wimbledon on TV is that all of the covers on the grounds get unrolled at almost exactly the same time. It’s very impressive to look across the courts and see all of those people working so hard to maintain the courts and the Wimbledoniness of the event.

Unfortunately, it was not to be. After about 5 minutes of being uncovered, the straps went back out and the grounds boys and girls rolled that cover right back out. BOOOOOoooooo.

And there we stood. In the rain.

That’s when Andy and I realised that we had been standing in the rain since 7:45 that morning, and that really it was all we had done all day. It was actually pretty exhausting!

At 3:00, the cover got unrolled again. A lady came out to feel the grass (literally. she came out, felt the grass here, felt the grass there, and left), and the grounds boys and girls mopped up some rain with special tennis court maxi-pads (that’s what they looked like to us), and then the NET came out! WOOHOO!!! THEN we started to see ball boys and girls emerging from buildings below and heading off to other courts. Then OUR ball boys and girls came on the court, and they set up chairs and water fridges and such! Very exciting. Then the linespeople came out and all we were missing was the players.

We could see players walking out from between two of the buildings and toward their respective courts. A doubles team here, a singles player there, and so on, and then finally we saw Venus. We knew her by her legs. Holy MOLY that girl has legs. YAY FOR US indeed!

Venus and her opponent – a lady named Morigami from Japan, played some wonderful tennis. Venus won the first set 6-2 and was down 1-2 in the second set when it started to sprinkle. Then 1-3, still sprinkling. Then 1-4, and we see covers getting rolled out on other courts. Oh no. And the chair umpire called it. Watching those folks pack up the court was very impressive. The poor chair umpire got pushed off the court IN HIS CHAIR! HA! Venus had to hop over the cover as it rolled by her. GEESH! They almost unapologetically took out one of the World’s elite tennis players. WOW. Wimbledon=very important.

We decided that it was now officially strawberries & cream time. We were NOT the only ones to decide this, but with nowhere else to go, we waited in the queue. We each ordered TWO helpings and found our way to a bench (A SEAT at long last!) – in the rain – to eat them.

They were absolutely divine. Perhaps the best strawberries I have ever eaten. Even better than last year’s Wimbledon strawberries. It’s almost as if they shoot ‘em up with strawberry flavour.

We found a covered area and read for a while, and we decided that if it continued to rain until 6:00, we would call it a day. At 5:45, my bum hurt from sitting on the concrete wall, and we stopped in the shop before heading back to the tube – in the rain. We were happy to relax on the tube on the way back home, and when we got back, we went directly to the chippy. We walked back from the chippy – in the rain – and settled in for the night.

So at the end of the day, we still thought it was worth the price of admission and food for the experience, but we sure felt bad for the people who camped out the night before! As it turns out, they give refunds when there is less than an hour of play. We had 55 minutes, so looking back, we took the tube to Wimbledon for some pizza, a cornish pasty, some delicious strawberries and a nice long day standing in the rain.

They gave us some stickers . . .

And here are some pictures . . .

On day one, we went to Prague Castle, and that’s where we first learned about defenestration. Yes, indeed. A word neither of us had heard previously and which has the wonderful and abundently useful meaning of “The act of being thrown out of a window.” In Prague, the nobles and such fell into the habit of defenstrating each other in various moments of glory, one of which ends in the defenestratee landing – through the intervention of good-humoured angels – safely in the heap of dung below. That started the 30 Years War.

Also in Prague Castle, we visited St. Vitus Cathedral. It had some of the most amazing stained glass we had ever seen before, and it also had budgers. What kind of person cuts in line to get into a CHURCH? Such is European travel, it would seem.

That night, due to some clever forward-thinking by Andy, we went to see Tosca at the State Opera. It was amazing. The singing was fablous, the hall was beautiful, and the spectacle was completely over-the-top and wonderful. We decided that we should go to the opera more often. Prague has a thriving and almost intrusive business around classical music concerts, and we did manage to find another one before we left; this one was Dvorak’s New World Symphony (we were in a Dvoraky mood after going to his museum, where we also decided that we would like to have a frescoed ceiling) and took place in the Municipal House, another gorgeously ornate building in town.

In the Old Town Square, there is an astronomical clock, which is very special because it does things. It is very old, and it indicates not just the time, but the date and some other things, too. More interestingly, it has all sorts of little folks on it that move around and doing interesting things when it strikes. The most interesting thing about the clock from our perspective, though, is the fact that whenever it strikes, people crowd around to watch it. They start showing up about 45 minutes early, and they stand on the street expectently to watch the clock do its thing. When we were there, the crowds literally filled the entire street and sidewalk for about a football field in length. When the clock does its thing, the people gasp and smile, talk to their friends, frantically take pictures, and then ultimately look a smidge disappointed, as the clock may be a bit overhyped. It’s interesting, but it might not be worth a 45-minute stand around. Anyway we stood under the clock and took pictures of people watching the clock, because we thought that was much more entertaining than the clock itself.

That’s all you need to know to make sense of the pictures I think, but also worth noting was a yummy confectionary that we managed to eat several times during our weekend away. It’s basically dough rapped around something that looks like a metal rolling pin. It spins around over a fire until it’s cooked, but more importantly, it is dipped in this wonderful cinammon, sugar, vanilla and walnut concoction that basically should be a larger part of all meals everywhere. DEEEElicious.

Enjoy the pictures!

When I go to work on the weekend (which is not very common – don’t fret), I often turn the TV on to one of the radio stations – sort of to keep me company while I work. (Yes, we have TV’s at work, and yes we have radio stations on TV). The radio station I prefer is BBC Radio 6 – mostly because they always play something different. A lot of the radio stations here are dominated by Top 10 Chart type music, and I just HATE hearing the same song over and over again. Anyway, Radio 6 is a bit cooler than I am, but not so much that it’s alienating.

While I was listening, they played this little game in which a pretend little girl (it’s obvious that they cut and paste her voice together) plays a song on her xylophone, and listeners have to guess what song it is. It was Ebony and Ivory, and since I knew it was Ebony and Ivory and I was sitting at my computer, I shot an email over (it was one of their options) to say

“Ebony and Ivory
- Tiffany”

and my phone number, just in case they needed to call me if I won. I have never done anything like that before. Well, the did say my name on the radio – one of the 8 or so people who got it right, but that was it. Incidentally, that was weird and I felt like such a loser, because what kind of person sits around getting in touch with radio stations on a Saturday.

ANYWAY, a few minutes later, I got a phone call. I figured it was Andy, because who else would call me at work on a Saturday?

“Hello?”
“Hi, Tiffany?”
“That’s me.”
“Hi this is Adam from Radio 6.”
“Oh hi” (surprised tone)
“We got your email for the xylophone thing, and we were wondering if you’d like to do the BINGO thing instead?”
“What is it again” (I had no idea, except they said something about it on air)
“Are you still at your computer?”
“Yes hold on” (as I go to their website)
“Basically just open up that BINGO card thing, and we play just like regular BINGO, except obviously you’ll win.”
“Um, yeah ok.”
“OK just hold the line we go on in 20 seconds.”

So I had a chat with the DJ on the phone and it was on air. We talked about me being from Pennsylvania and how – being American – I was a potential terrorist (no idea – I just went with it). Then we talked about why I was at work and how I was actually just down the street from them, and then I played BINGO, which I completely messed up because HERE, you have to get ALL the squares, not just a ROW. So I kept saying, “Things that would make a better olympic logo than that CRAP one BINGO!” (London came up with a crap logo – I AGREE, although I didn’t know at the time – and these were comedic ideas for a replacement) and he kept saying, “NO you don’t have it yet!” That happened twice, and then I said, “Oh wait, Do I have to get ALL of them?” “YES,” he said, and I laughed and said, “Oh then you’re absolutely right I don’t have it.”

So then eventually I won, and they said I won loads of random crap prizes, and asked me to hold on so they could get my address. When they picked up the phone, they asked if I could actually just swing by and pick them up, since I was less than two blocks away. I said sure, but can I get them in a little bit – I was busy. They said they’d call me after the show.

Then I called Andy and told him that I was on the radio – he said I should have called him – I said I was on the phone, and then he reminded me that not only do I have my cell phone, I was also sitting right next to several of my colleagues’ phones. Ah, yes. Should have called.

I thought this was all very silly, but then it got more rediculous.

They called me up again a few minutes later and said, “Tiffany?”
“Yes?”
“We were wondering if you’d like to come down and close the show out with us, since you’re right down the street? We thought that might be fun.”
“Um, I look ABsolutely TERRIBLE.”(I really did, too. Properly greasy and weekended up)
“That’s ok, it’s radio. You should see us.”
I thought for a moment. . .
“Yeah, OK – I’ll come down.”

This time I called Andy before I left – see, I learn . . .and down I went.

The lacky DJ met me downstairs and we went up to the 4th floor, where they said hello and shook my hand, told me to sit down, said “There’s some headphones,” put the mic in front of me, said, “stay about 2 or 3 inches away,” and then we were live.

“We’re here with Tiffany, who has taken a break from working down the street to come see us. HELLO Tiffany!”
“Hi!”
“I have to tell you, Tiffany, that we have loads of people texting and emailing us to say that you sound hot.”
“WHATever.”
“No seriously, this guy says he likes your voice.”
“I see, so you guys brought me down here with alterior motives.”
“No WE didn’t, it’s just these folks emailing us . . . ”

So then they went to give me my prizes and thought it would be fun to pile them up on me quickly and see how many I could hold on to. This included a stack of CDs, a paper cup, the rubbish bin (which was huge and which they DIDN’T let me keep), and so forth. They said they were saving on postage out of consideration for the license fee payers (if you have a TV, you have to pay for the BBC here). I said that was very thoughtful of them. There was some banter about my company, which they knew a bit about and were mildly derogatory towards, and then a bit more chat about my “fans,” and then that was pretty much it.

What a BIZARRE day! I love it when you wake up thinking your day will be one thing and then something entirely unexpected happens. Anyway, I’m obviously a huge star now. (Radio 6 is the tiniest little digital radio station in the universe)

Actually, it’s a shame this blog is just visual – it would be much sexier if I read it to you. Sorry – you’re missing out.

Three months have passed since I visited Tiffany and Andy in London (and since they asked if I would write a guest blog about my time with them). While I may not be prompt, I pride myself on being at least somewhat insightful and observant so here goes:

. . . Subway smells just as disgusting in London as it does in the states. Really. Tiffany doesn’t agree with me on this one, and I can just see her hovering in the doorway of one of the many Subway restaurants, breathing in the mingled scents of freshly baked bread and cleaning products just to remind her of the good ol’ USA. Seriously though, I was saddened to see so many Subways – they are everywhere! Why, when you could go to a pub or chippie, get anything you want on toast, or grab something from your neighborhood Waitrose market, would you ever choose to go to Subway? It baffles me. I must admit, at 5 am, as I was wandering to the bus stop to head to the airport for my weekend in Germany with the family, the smell of Subway did remind me of home and was, on some level, a comfort. Maybe Tiff isn’t totally crazy . . . well, never mind.

I had a wonderful time visiting and the McNeils were lovely hosts. We saw all the usual neighborhood and tourist sights but on a slightly different schedule than their other guests, I think. I was technically in London on a grant to do research for my dissertation at the archive of the National Portrait Gallery. It sounds horribly dull and boring when I write it out like that, and I myself thought I would be holed up in a basement somewhere digging through dusty boxes of paper. Actually the archive was recently renovated, thanks to her Majesty [I know this because there was a sign], and the interior is reminiscent of a beautiful old library, complete with wood paneling, tall stacks of books and huge windows. The atmosphere alone made being inside from 12-5 every day much more bearable.

My time at the Heinz Archive was incredibly productive and the staff was knowledgeable and always willing to help. If you suspect you are of British descent, have a portrait you need help identifying or just have a hankering to learn a bit more about those pesky Brits, I highly recommend a visit. Just watch out for the taxis barreling around a sharp curve on the one-way street that you have to cross to get in the door. I nearly perished in the name of art history on a daily basis.

Anyway, back to the schedule . . . I did my best to sightsee in the morning hours or directly after the archive closed. It is also closed on Mondays so I had two full days to explore London. Tiffany and Andy joined me when they could and in the evenings we either cooked a fabulous meal at their flat or went out in search of fine [and cheap] cuisine. I couldn’t have asked for a more perfect combination of time spent out and in, working, playing, sightseeing and relaxing.

Of course the highlight of my trip was reconnecting with dear old friends. Tiffany and Andy were such a large part of my life when I was living in New York, and staying with them for two weeks brought back all of those wonderful memories. Kermie and Toby have grown from rowdy kittens into quite lovely & refined cats (OK, maybe Kermie more than Toby) and Tiffany and Andy, while only marginally more respectable than before [kidding, of course], have settled nicely into married life and become quite the world travelers. Tiff pointed out that it was comforting for her to see me making my coffee every morning. Somehow, for her, that was an indicator that although years have passed, some things stay the same and can always be counted on. For me it was a feeling of total comfort from the instant I arrived that stayed with me through the entire two weeks. I had a fabulous time and am so grateful to my hosts and friends. Thank you and see you soon!

Simone might send some pictures if she gets a chance, but in the mean time, here’s a picture of Tiff & Simone on Primrose Hill . . .

I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. Today, when I left work, a man I don’t know left right behind me. I held the door for him, and he said, “Thanks.” I said, “Sure.”

All is normal.

Then, I went through the 2 doors that go to the stairway, and he went behind me. “Thanks.” “Yup.” “Thank you.” “No problem.”

Then we walked down the two flights of steps and out the two doors that lead back into the lobby. “Thankyou.” I go with a smile this time. “Cheers.” Another smile and a little giggle.

The door out to the security bit. “thanks.” “sure.”

And finally, we went through the door to outside. No “thanks� this time. So that was his limit. Six doors.

So this led me to a few thoughts. Firstly, I have seven doors between my desk and outside. I never thought about it before, but it suddenly seems a bit excessive. Secondly, what are the rules of multiple door-holding etiquette? Does the first “thank you” get the point across, or must one continue to ensure that your polite friend feels gratified for all of his noble duties?

Having given this some thought, I’ve decided that six, while perhaps admirable, is a little high. I certainly don’t think this guy is of especially noteworthy politeness due to his six thank yous. Maybe if he had gone for the seventh, I would have thought about it, but I don’t know.

I think that it starts to get a bit silly after two thank yous. So maybe you go for the first two, and then wait a couple, and then maybe do the last one or two. Or maybe you say thank you for the first one and then say to your friend, “Look I’m going to stop with the thank you’s now so that we don’t get uncomfortable, but please don’t think I’m any less grateful for the next six doors.”

Anyway, I’m glad that this fella thanked me for holding the doors for him, so six is definitely better than zero, but I’ll have to pay attention and think about this more carefully. I’ll let you know if I come up with any clear rules, but please comment if you have any experience in this matter.

And thanks for the blog nudge, lady.

Following my lead, everyone immediately started making big plans for next year. Titles like “pretty pretty princess” “heinous overlord” “international man of mystery” among others were discussed.

And yes, I did wear it to the show…

Moving along, one day we received a leaflet that caught my attention. It was a leaflet that was soliciting would be leaflet distributors. Can you believe it! You too could be cramming useless papers into the mail slots of all your neighbors. It was a career field that I had never considered (and still won’t consider despite the efforts of a leaflet).

If anyone is looking for a new career I have it on good information that the leaflet distribution market is growing and offers many exciting opportunities…

It was very fun, and also quite funny. They were hysterical at the fact that I kept throwing the bat after I hit the ball. In cricket, the batter has to hold on to the bat, because he has to use the bat to tap the stump, which is the cricket equivalent to a base. They kept telling me (through giggles) not to do that, but every time I hit the ball, I instinctively let go of the bat, and hilarity ensued.

I was fairly good at batting, and not so terrible at bowling. Bowling is like pitching, except you have to keep your arm straight the whole time. I was amazed at how far I launched the ball by letting go to early in the circle – Wooooooooooo off it went. WAY over the batter and into the next part of the field. I got the giggles quite severely and had some trouble regaining my concentration for the next bowl.

So the other thing one needs to do in cricket is catch. I am absolutely terrible at catching. I have ALWAYS been absolutely terrible at catching. When Thad hit me in the face with the wiffle ball, it was most certainly not his fault. Well, it was his fault that he hit it so HARD (hrmph. brothers.), but it was not his fault that I didn’t catch it. That’s just me.

Anyway, again, there was quite a bit of teasing and giggling in my general direction due to the lack of catching skill. One of my colleagues even teasingly started to stand behind me in the field – to catch my leftovers.

So tomorrow we’re playing cricket again, and while I HAVE been practicing my catching skills, I can only imagine what will happen next. The good thing, though, is that everyone found my cheerleading entertaining enough to make up for my embarrassing lack of catching.

It’s good to have something to fall back on. GO TEAM!!

Anyway a boy came in and tapped me on the shoulder. He asked me if he was in the right class, and I said I think so. So then, he put his stuff down on the side, just as everybody does, and took a seat near it, presumably to take his socks or sweatshirt off, just as everybody else does. But no. He took his pants off. My first thought was that he probably had dance pants on under them. No. What he had under them, much to my surprise, were fuchsia tighty whities. Tighty pinkies, that is, with a white border.

He put his dance pants on over them and nobody looked like they had even noticed! I just kept giggling and giggling under my breath. Don’t worry – I don’t think he noticed.

The main things about Prague are these:

1. Cobbly Streets. I should have left my heals at home.
2. Concerts. Prague has an oddly extreme number of classical music concerts. We referred to them as “Greatest Hits” concerts, because they seemed to feature Vivaldi’s 4 Seasons, Dvorak’s New World Symphony, and Mozart’s Messiah, as well as a few shorter pieces by the aforementioned composers – maybe a little Haydn for good measure.
3. Pointy Buildings. Lots of beautiful churches with spires and suchlike.

That’s all I can remember right now, because my sleepy brain is about finished with thinking for the day. It was a wonderful time, and we learned about one of Prague’s Easter traditions. On Easter Monday – tomorrow – the men whip the women (presumably gently) with willow, and the women douse them with water to calm them down; then the women present the men with hand-painted eggs. How fun!! I wonder if I can get away with whipping Andy with sticks tomorrow – all in the festive spirit, of course.

Another point of note today comes up every time we travel within Europe. I have a UK (and therefore EU) passport, which means that when we go to all of these places, I get through immigration very quickly and pick up the luggage, and Andy meets me when he eventually gets through. Now the more traveling Andy does, the longer it takes him to get through the line. Lots of hemming and hawwing while immigration folk try to figure out why he has visas everywhere and suchlike.

All of that is fine, but what kills me is that I never get any stamps. Andy has so many stamps that he had to get extra pages in his passport. I have ZERO stamps in my EU passport, and I have acquired THREE total stamps in my US passport since we moved here – all of which were for traveling back to the US. So, one day, when our grandchildren are looking back through things and they find Andy’s passport, they’ll think he was some wonderful world traveler and that I stayed at home minding the garden and so forth. I was there, TOO!!

I suppose that in the long run, it’s cooler to have an EU passport with no stamps than only ONE passport with lots of stamps, but still – I wish I had some more passport stamps to show off. I guess I’ll just show off Andy’s passport stamps.

Lo and behold, Saturday turned out to be a beautiful day in London, clear skies all day. As it seemed that we were going have a rare clear night in London, Tiffany and I decided to take in all the action. We headed over to our local Indian restaurant for a quick meal. After dinner we made a pot of tea, and got in our sleeping bags and sat out in the back yard to watch the moon do it’s thing.

Earlier in the day I read that the moon turns red when it is eclipsed because red light filters around the atmosphere and reflects off the moon. I like to think that the moon is seeing all the sunsets and sunrises around the globe at once. Astronauts who have seen this from orbit call it “the ring of fire.”

Here are some pictures we took of the event.

Along with the award, Melinda has earned a frequent visitor’s card that will help her to earn miles redeemable for free nights accommodation at the McNeil Flat. If anyone is interested in a frequent visitor’s card, apply now and receive a free stay with your enrollment.

A few Pictures of Melinda’s visit…

Today, feeling decidedly lazy, and bearing in mind that we came to Cornwall with the intention of doing very little, we had breakfast and then laid around for a few hours.

We eventually got organized and drove to Tintagel, which is the nearest town and the legendary birthplace of King Arthur. The Castle at Tintagel is in ruins; it sits high up on top of a hill overlooking the cliffs and caves, twists and turns for which the Cornish coast is known. Watching the waves explode into the Cliffside was amazing. It is quite a windy day – so much so that Andy and I were able to lean into the wind and let it support our weight on top of the hill. Fortunately, it wasn’t too cold – that probably would have put a damper on our enjoyment of the afternoon.

After exploring the ruins, we walked back into the village of Tintagel and stopped for a quick lunch and a postcard, and then we came back to the hotel with the intention of being decidedly lazy for the rest of the afternoon. We have dinner reservations here at the hotel for 7:00. According to the Observer magazine, this is one of the top 5 places to eat in Cornwall, so I am looking forward to a nice meal.

We added a few pictures to the Cornwall page. Have a look!

Today we went to the Eden Project. In a sense, it’s a big garden center, but it’s special in a few different ways. First, it is a charitable foundation that is dedicated to caring for the environment – specifically for the plants we rely on (crops, etc) and the people who bring them to us (hence a focus on fair trade, renewable forestry, etc). Second, its main attractions are two immense conservatories, called biomes, that look right out of Pauly Shore’s movie Biodome (incidentally, while not quite as culturally significant as his masterpiece, Encino Man, Biodome is still a classic). Apparently the Eden Project’s humid biome is the largest conservatory in the world.

Today was an excellent day to visit the Eden Project, because it poured down rain off and on today. The biomes were therefore quite busy, and we noticed that they were populated fairly densely with hippies. Not your typical Phish concert hippies that congregate in groups of similarly minded youngsters, but rather whole FAMILIES Of hippies. Hippy mums and dads with long hair, maybe a bandana around it, baggy trousers, maybe dreds, etc., and hippy kids who matched their parents on all fronts. Along they went together, loving the environment and each other and just generally being peaceful.

We have always been impressed by hippy families. We saw a few when we were in Boulder once. They always look so serene – not to mention comfortable – and so happy. Anyway we saw lots of hippy families today. Cornwall is a bit of a surfing destination in England, so I guess the whole county has lots of chilled out hippy types (the pub in our hotel certainly does). So I suppose those folks then grow up and turn into hippy families. I wonder if those hippy kids will turn out to be preppy. Circle of life and whatnot.

After visiting the biomes – and hearing the 14th version of Andy’s joke about me busting out MY biomes – we found ourselves at the Ideas Arcade. This little arcade at the Eden Project only has a few activities, all of which are intended to educate and entertain children. Obviously we wanted to try as well, and my first (and only) stop was the Dance Dance Revolution equivalent, which featured eco-themed music. Reduce. . . . . . Reuse. . . . . . Repair . . . . . RECYCLE!!! Over and over and over.

Anyway, it was a terrible mimicry of the real thing . . . WHICH is why Andy absolutely schooled me (Note: You may hear claims that Andy has always beaten me at such games. These are wild exaggerations based only loosely on anecdotal factoidotal somethingorothers). I got 990 points, and he got 5660. He then spent much of the afternoon explaining the myriad of reasons WHY he’s so much better at Eco-dance Revolution than me.

One helpful hint went a bit like this: “You see, it was kinda hard to time it perfectly, but IIIII figured out that you could just step on it early and BE THERE when the arrow hit that square.�

Then there was this pointer: “You see, G, if you could TELL that a box step was coming up, then you could just DO a box step, and you didn’t need to worry about it so much.�

And then the clincher: “Admit it – I’m just a more precise dancer than you.�

I agreed that Andy’s dancing precision was to be marveled at and we went on our way.

The roads here are narrow and bendy as can be, so one finds the need, on occasion, to pull over and let someone pass, or to pass someone else who has pulled over for you. We came upon another car at one point this afternoon, so we slowed down, she slowed down, she stopped, we passed by, Andy gave her the friendly wave, and she gave Andy the finger.

!!!!

What the HECK did we do?!

No idea.

Anyway, if anyone knows what we did that so blatantly broke the bypassing code, please inform us so that we can avoid being so offensive in the future.

We went to Padstow this afternoon, largely because Rick Stein owns about a half dozen seafood restaurants there, including – most notably – a Fish n’ Chip shop that we were interested in trying. Rick Stein is a celebrity chef – think Gordon Ramsey minus the F-word or Jamie Oliver plus 20 years.

Before our trip, Andy looked it up on Rick Stein’s website. He knew it was open from 12-2 and 6-8, but he didn’t remember what it was called or where it was. We spent about an hour walking around Padstow and enjoying the picturesque scenery (We know it was picturesque – said so on our map), all the while keeping our eyes peeled for Rick Stein’s Chippy.

I think we found all of his other restaurants – a café, a bistro, a posh seafood place, a poshER seafood place, but no chippy.

I said, “Do you know what it was called?�
“No I suppose I should have paid more attention.�
“Maybe, because it’s not exactly going to be called Rick Stein’s Chippy, now is it?�

Long story short? Yes. Yes it is. Stein’s Fish n’ Chips.

We found it by asking the man behind the bar in a pub. He said, “Oh yeah it’s down at the end of the quay in the ground floor of that big building.� It was there, and it was called Stein’s Fish n’ Chips. AND, it was delicious. I had the sea bass.

Check out our pictures from the Eden Project and the chippy.

Within six miles of the village of Kilmartin Glen, there are at least 350 ancient monuments, including standing stones, burial cairns, and rock carvings. We began our journey in the visitors’ center and museum, which offered a quick lunch, as well as a brief and helpful overview to those of us who did not have any idea what to expect from a cairn.

Essentially, a cairn is a big pile of rocks, under which someone was apparently buried once. The first few cairns we visited were in the middle of fields, past cows and sheep. They literally were big piles of rocks – at least from our vantage point. Some of the later ones were more open, though, and the underlying structure came to be more clear. It’s strange that something thousands of years old now sits in a random field with someone’s sheep. Most of them have chain-link fences around them, but still.

It’s also strange that someone took such great care and presumably went through ritual and other procedure to bury a relative, dignitary, or otherwise, only to have it all dug up and stared at by silly humans several thousand years later. I think the same thing every time I look at the mummies in the British Museum. They’re amazing, but surely the people who went to such trouble didn’t expect their loved ones to be in a glass box in London after a few thousand years. I don’t know if it’s wrong, but I do know that it’s a little strange.

Anyway, our walk also took us to Temple Wood Stone Circle, a near perfect circle of erect flat stones that was the location of several burials in ancient history and is now a truly serene and stoically impressive site.

The Nether Largie standing stones, a few fields away, are more than nine feet tall, also erect, and lined up over a fairly great distance in a group of five (well, we saw seven in total – there are others, as well). Scientists and researchers remain uncertain as to their purpose, but they are largely assumed to have been helpful in some astronomical sense.

After our walk back up to the visitors’ center, we drove down to Lochgilphead, where we stayed in a lovely B&B on a farm. The couple recommended a pub in the next village for dinner, so we went there and came back for a cup of tea in the living room. The farm was quite remote, and we were exhausted, so we settled in for some Rummy Cube, which we noticed on the shelf in the living room. The man of the house came in and asked a few questions, so we invited him to join us. He had some crazy backwards rules for how to play Rummy Cube, but it was his house, so we went with it.

He still didn’t win, by the way, but we enjoyed listening to him pontificate about local politics and international politics, about why hikers and wind turbines are pests, about why the council should have allowed him to adopt donkeys and about his next plans for the farm. He was a Scot, and his wife was an English lady – they both had lots of fun stories to share, which made for an entertaining visit.

The next morning, we went for a walk around the property – mostly to visit the animals. We met the Heelin’ Coos – Angus and Hector, I want to say – the beautiful Herdwick sheep, which they bought at the farm auction upon ridding themselves of some other, troublesome male sheep. They didn’t plan to buy anything, but the sheep were just so cute, so they bought five. We met the bull and the WEE Heelin’ Coo (couldn’t get a picture – he was cute but behind a bull – didn’t really feel comfortable moving the bull), a few male sheep with scary horns who we were warned to avoid, and a few cats and dogs.

Fully exercised and breakfasted, we went on our way, and after a brief pause in Hellensborough, flew back to London feeling like we breathed a week of fresh, clean air. It was a wonderful vacation, and I hope we get to go back someday.

Have a look at our pictures from Kilmartin Glen and Lochgilphead.

You see, my boss – in the sense that she’s the boss of the boss of my boss – my big boss – She is head of most things at the moment; I won’t get into why, but suffice it to say her opinion counts.

Anyway she used to sit two floors above me. Now she sits in an office near me. It took me a minute to try to remember to turn the volume down a bit, maybe watch the language, and just be careful not to whine too much on the less-good days, but I got there. I think.

Now, she – the big boss – has had the folks who do such things replace the wall between her desk and mine with a window. By window I mean glass wall – floor to ceiling. So. I can see her, which is good, because it will be easier to remember that she’s there. BUT, she can also most certainly see me, which is potentially less good, because I – and this won’t surprise a sole who reads this blog – act like a freak at work.

Don’t worry – not more of a freak than in my life otherwise – in fact slightly less so, I’d say, but still. The big boss might not appreciate spirit fingers – that’s all I’m saying.

I will let you know of any further developments.

At the moment, one of the coolest things for 10 year-old English children are shoes that have wheels in the heal. I’m not sure if they are popular in the States, but here, everyone under 13 seems to have them. With the shoes kids will walk along and suddenly lift their toes off the floor and glide. It’s the weirdest thing the first time you see it. After you quickly figure out what’s going on, you are overcome with a desire to get the shoes yourself. I’ve been looking for the shoes in adult sizes, but have yet to see some.

Anyway, you see kids gliding along everywhere, the supermarket, the sidewalk, and while waiting for tickets at the Tate Modern. The floor in the hall is a long gentle slope, so while we waited we were treated to a spectacle of children wheeling down the slope weaving around passersby and crashing into their parents. It was quite fun.

After the “Kids on Wheels” show, we finally got our tickets and proceeded to the upper floors of the museum. The point of the exhibit is to return to the bottom of the turbine hall in record time. Yes, they have installed slides that wind their way down from the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th floor to the ground floor of the turbine hall! It was really, really fun. The slides were similar to waterslides, but instead of water, you slid down on a sack. The turns in the slide were a little bumpy, so when people screamed it sounded funny as they hit the turns, “Aaaaaaaaaaaaah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-aaaaaaaaahhhhhhh.”

All in all, it was a really fun day. We took a few pics of the slides.

The road on Mull has one lane, so it turned out that leaving early was the best way to get to the ferry quickly. One lane means stopping in the little pass points whenever traffic comes. In addition, the best part of Iona – in my opinion – is its extreme quiet, and the throngs of tourists who arrive throughout the day may have completely changed my impression of the island.

Iona Abbey is visibly thick with ancient Celtic history. It features beautiful stone crosses and other carvings. We decided against taking the tour, electing instead to walk around on our own. We may have missed some details, but I enjoyed the peace of wandering through the gardens, looking at the sheep and peaking in the rooms of the Abbey as we walked. There was a very friendly American man working in the gift shop – he said they commonly have seminary students come from the States to work at the Abbey for a semester, which I found interesting, and we bought a post card from him.

Then we walked over to the ruins of the convent, which were right next to the Abbey. The gardens are lovingly maintained by the daughters of a woman who loved that convent, and the attention shows.

After a brief stroll along the water, we took the ferry back to Mull and drove out to Tobermory, which is a pretty, colourful little town that might have – in retrospect – been a good place to stay.

After a good night’s sleep, we headed out to Duart Castle, seat of the MacLean clan – that’s the Scottish side (my mom’s side) of my family, so obviously the castle was awesome. In truth, it is really beautiful from the outside, but the inside is a bit weird. They renovated the castle so that visitors could experience what it was like to live there in the 1920s.

Exactly.

What’s the point of a castle that has been around for well over 600 years being JUST like it was 80 years ago? Well, I guess the head of the clan – one Sir Fitzroy MacLean – bought the castle and turned it from ruins into something impressive back then. So it was a pretty impressive castle nonetheless, and I loved being there and thinking about the gillions of MacLeans who come in there all year long. Oh and looking at family pictures. The head of the clan now is Sir Lachlan MacLean, but I saw pictures – it’s not my Papa – must be a different Lachy. Yeah, huh. Family pictures. Weird castle.

We then went to the Torosay Castle & Gardens. It actually more of a house than a castle (by this time I knew a castle when I saw one), but it and its gardens were breathtaking. One of the descendents of the people who lived there turned it into a museum. They were a well-to-do family and had interesting photos of Winston Churchill, who was a distant relative. The most interesting thing to me was the stuffed head of a tiger, which was attached to the wall above the entryway. There was a note from the son-turned-curator, which said something like, “My mother shot this tiger in Africa in the 1920s. Later in her life, she was deeply embarrassed by having killed such a precious animal.� I guess it goes back to what they say about hindsight.

We took the ferry back to Oban that afternoon and made our leisurely way down through Kilmartin Glen.

Check out our photos of the Isles of Iona and Mull.

We wanted to drive to Kilchurn Castle, because our guidebook said, “. . . at the northern end of Loch Awe are the scenic ruins of Kilchurn Castle, built in 1440 and one of Scotland’s finest.� Thing is, Kilchurn Castle is just sort of out in the middle of a tiny little piece of land. There are no signs or any other indication of how to get there. Eventually, following the confusing suggestion in the book, we drove down a little lane and parked in a makeshift parking lot.

There were railroad tracks between us and the castle, and a sign warned of big fines for crossing them, so we found a path that led around into the field in front of Kilchurn Castle. The approach through the field was picturesque, and we were looking forward to our visit. Then the field started to get a bit wetter. Then the field turned into a virtual marsh with no visible escape other than THROUGH the icy puddles. We tried our best to avoid the water at first, but eventually it was too late and we plowed on through. It wasn’t FAR, really, it was just a pond. Not far through a pond = cold, wet McNeils.

The castle was actually among the most beautiful we saw, and it was worth the trip through the puddle (easy to say six months later) to see the views from inside. On the way back, we found the path. It lead directly to the railroad tracks again, but this time we crossed them in effort to avoid being ridiculous. So, if you’re ever at Kilchurn Castle, just cross the tracks the first time.

The sun came out that afternoon while we were visiting Dunstaffnage Castle. I was grateful to feel the warmth through my wet trousers. Shoes, not so much, but trousers, yes. I ended up having to throw those shoes out – they got pond stink in them.

Back in Oban, we changed our clothes and headed back into the town. We visited the chocolate company and went to the Oban Distillery – I do love me some whisky, after all.

We had our anniversary meal that night at the Manor House hotel and restaurant. It was one of the best meals we have ever had together. I would go back again if I had an occasion to do so.

Have a look at our castle pictures. . .

We forgot about it, and the cats seemed fine when we got back. Then Andy started getting bites again, and we decided we might have another type of bug. And we were right. Bed bugs.

Bed bugs = revolting.

I found one bed bug on Sunday, and I went completely neurotic about it. I vacuumed like I have never vacuumed before. Every crack and crevice – every everything. That night, I sheepishly asked Andy if it would be too wimpy to sleep on the Aerobed in the living room. He said no, so that’s what we did. Andy called the council on Monday (in England, you always call the council to fix everything – socialism). The council said they could come on the 18th of January. The 18th of January isn’t even HERE yet, and it has already been a week! Anyway, I had no intention of sleeping in an infested bedroom ever (note: bed bugs don’t actually live IN the mattress), let alone until the 18th of January.

Upon hearing this news, I called bedbugs.co.uk. They said they could come the next day for roughly the same price. They said they could do it for free if we were willing to go on national telly to talk about it.

Yeah. No thanks.

Although, I don’t seem to mind writing on my blog about it, so maybe I should have just gone for it to begin with. Then I could post the video on the blog and you could all WATCH me being horrified. Fabulous. Heck, maybe it would have been my break. “From humble origins on Al Alberts Showcase in Philadelphia, PA, Tiffany made her return to the small screen in a revealing segment about her struggle with bed bugs.�

Anyway, we slept on the air mattress Monday night, and on Tuesday, Andy took a few hours off to greet the bed bugs guys. I had visions of these guys pulling up in a big van that said “ANDY AND TIFF HAVE BED BUGS� on the side, walking into the flat in hazmat suits while shouting on a megaphone, “STAY AWAY Neighbors – there are bed bugs in town.� But apparently it was fairly discreet.

Now comes the less gross part. Kevin, our Bugzpert, found zero bed bugs. He found a couple of poos and one little track. This, combined with the welts on Andy’s skin, convinced him that we were correct in our diagnosis of bed bugs, but he said he had never seen so light an infestation.

Then he called us pansy prima-donnas and went on his way.

Kidding. Then he told Andy that he did the right thing and – mostly – that he’s very lucky that he is so extremely sensitive to their bites, because they can be a real nuisance, but we caught them early.

He sprayed the room and gave us instructions which said, among other things, that
1. We MUST sleep in the bed, because that will encourage the bugs to come out of their hiding places, through the poison, to bite us. Brilliant.
2. We can’t clean the bedroom for 14 days.

Kev said we would almost certainly get bitten during the first 2 days, but that it’s normal and not to worry that the spraying hadn’t worked.

Fortunately, neither of us has been bitten once since then. Well, I wouldn’t have noticed the bites anyway, so unless their bored with Andy, neither of us has been bitten. YIPPEE!

We can clean the bedroom next week, and I’ll be glad to have things back to normal. Mostly, though, I’m glad to have replaced bed bugs with dead bugs.

Incidentally, we decided that Andy collected the little hijackers at a dodgy hotel in Birmingham, where he went for an ultimate Frisbee tournament. He’s not allowed to stay in dodgy hotels anymore.

Here’s what we packed for our hike up Ben Nevis:

5 Litres of water
2 Litres of Lucozade
1 big bag of peanuts
4 bananas
2 cheezy bread thingies
1 box of Scottish malomars
6 granola bars
1 can of Pringles
1 bag of raisins
2 pairs of waterproof trousers

Here’s what we brought back DOWN:

2 Litres of water.
1.5 Litres of Lucozade
Most of a bag of peanuts
2 bananas
2 banana peals
½ a box of Scottish malomars
6 granola bars
½ can of Pringles
1 bag of raisins
2 pairs of waterproof trousers

So, maybe we over-packed. A little. But the thing is, Ben Nevis was supposed to take 3.5 hours up and 2.5 hours back. But THEN, as we got further up the mountain, it was cold and windy, and we couldn’t see too well, so stopping for a photo wasn’t worth the bad photo and cold hands. Normally, we do lots of stopping for a photo, but not this day.

At the summit, it was FREEZING! SO, we ate our cheesy breads and some handfuls of nuts and Pringles, and obviously a few Malomars. This stop took about 5 minutes, compared to the usual 20-30 for gazing at the view, resting weary tootsies, and enjoying lunch. Stinging rain arrived and asked us to head off, so back down we went.

In addition to the above factors, it’s worth noting that there are NO trees on Ben Nevis. This is good, in a way, because we didn’t have to worry about the midges, but in another way, less good, because BEN NEVIS = NO WHERE TO PEE. This lack of places to pee is partially responsible for the amount of liquid that came back down, BUT the amount of liquid that did NOT come back down is responsible for the reason I REALLY had to go. SO. I ran down. Poor Andy ran down, too – because he was nice enough to keep up with me.

To be fair, I didn’t REALLY run – that’s just crazy. But I did go very very very fast. It ended up taking us about 2.5 hours to get up and about an hour and 15 down. At which point I left Andy at our massive rental car and bee-lined it for the loo.

It was a fun hike, and we – well, I – felt very hard core for hiking in such X-treme conditions. It was so rainy and windy and cold up there. You can tell in the pictures.

After that, we drove straight to Oban for our next adventure.

Click on the photo to access the album.

Now, I’m used to this sort of behaviour from Dad, so I’ve learned to play along. “Um,” I say, “What’s a pantomime?”

He says, “Go and get the Evening Standard, and find out where we can see a pantomime. And yes, I would really like to spend the night. That sounds lovely.”

That was Saturday morning. Between that phone call (about 9am) and when Dad arrived (about 2pm), we cleaned the flat (which was a silly mess thanks to both of us working and me studying so much over the past month or so), decided what to make for dinner and breakfast, went grocery shopping, and returned back to the flat at about 1:45 with just enough time to put the groceries away.

This means that we did not look up the pantomime. Bad children.

We were able to track a few down on the computer, decided on Peter Pan, and headed out to tea having purchased our tickets. At this point, Dad explained that a pantomime is a performance of one of the classic children’s stories – Aladdin, Snow White, Rumpelstiltskin, and so on – usually featuring a reasonably famous actor or two, with the usual songs plus whatever the heck songs they feel like putting in there – broken up by a few comedy shticks and some slapstick, and all – as we say in the media biz – “double-coded,” so that there are jokes the children find hilarious as well as jokes that the children don’t get but the adults find hilarious.

All of this occurs in a background of audience participation. When the good guy comes on, everyone cheers. When the bad guy comes on, everyone boos, and advice is shouted to and fro from the audience to the actors throughout the performance. The best bit is that it only happens at Christmas time and is apparently a really big Christmas tradition – particularly in London.

Well, who KNEW?!

So, we chose Peter Pan. The reason we chose Peter Pan is that it featured . . . wait for it . . . Henry Winkler – that’s right: the FONZ – as Captain Hook. That, my darling readers, is comedy gold.

We arrived at the theatre, and the audience was packed to the gills with children. Children, parents, children, parents, and quite a few groups of mildly inebriated 20-year-olds.

It was hilarious. All three of us were hysterically laughing. Just seeing an aging Fonz in a pirate suit was funny by itself. We laughed at the thought that Fonz probably agreed to do it ONLY on the basis that he got to wear the best jacket. As per tradition. There were several subtle and some less subtle allusions to his “Happy� history – like when he said, “You know what we call today? We call today. . . . a Happy day.� Sounds lame out of context, but pretty funny after an hour and a half of trying to forget he’s the Fonz. There were so many classic lines – hopefully Dad will comment with some good one-liners, because I can’t remember any right now.

To give you a flare for the style of comedy, Winkler’s press announcement (which, incidentally, alluded to the little comic gem of a factoid that Winkler was cast to replace David Hasselhoff – who goes by “the Hoffâ€? because the rest of his name’s a hassle – budum bum*) that he would participate in the pantomime included the following statement:

“I am so excited about playing Captain Hook. He’s a bad guy, but I truly believe he’s misunderstood. I mean, you have your hand eaten by a crocodile, that’s got to create some anger and resentment. I think he has redeeming qualities. He’s very dashing. He’s a good leader—he doesn’t delegate well, but he’s a good leader.�

Of the tradition of panto, he said, “I understand there will be hissing and booing—that’s a tradition. Well, I’m telling you right now: if I am booed, I will come down to the footlights and take names. But I promise you, I will be dastardly. That’s for sure.�

Oh, was that man booed. You should have SEEN these five-year-olds on their FEET yelling at the Cap’n. At one point he said something about how much children everywhere love him. That was the last straw. These kids were seriously fuming with him – all the while loving every minute of it – for asserting such a blatant falsehood. Cries of “NO WE DON’T CAPTAIN HOOK YOU’RE MEAN!” and so on filled the air.

It was just amazing – I highly recommend it.

Can’t wait ’til next year!!

For more Info: http://www.theatre.com/story/id/3003712
*joke stolen from Luke, who – in retrospect – might not want credit for it.

Instead of getting a whole turkey we got a stuffed turkey breast. We figured that a breast would suit the two of us. The decision to get the roast might also have had something to do with the fact that turkeys ring up at $5.18/lb!

Going into the day, I was worried that this would go horribly wrong. I tried to counter act this by developing a matrix detailing when to do what, how to manage the oven, and how to do it all with one oven timer. The matrix was working well, and everything was going to plan!

So while I was prepping the mac and cheese and draining the broccoli, the timer went off. The timer indicated that it was T-70 minutes to finish, the roast turkey had been in for 10 minutes and needed nothing, the candied sweet potatoes had been in for 30 minutes and needed to be basted, and the pumpkin pie had been in for 45 minutes and needed to be checked for burning crust and rotated. As I was rotating the pie, POP! Pop-pop-pop! The Pyrex pie plate containing the pumpkin pie on the shelf above the turkey and sweet potatoes exploded. I was shocked, surprised and finally disappointed. The turkey and sweet potatoes were showered with large and small glass shards, and the pie, well, it no longer had a container.

With a stiff upper lip, I cleaned up the mess and pressed forward with what was left. This year we’ll have to settle for a ’side-dish’ thanksgiving dinner. All that remained was mashed potatoes, stuffing, macaroni & cheese, broccoli casserole, cranberry sauce, and bread. We ate what was left (which all came out of the oven at the same time, a little late thanks to the matrix and a minor delay while picking shards of glass off the oven rack with tongs). For dessert, we had a lovely bag of marshmallows that was intended for the sweet potatoes.

Well, I’m off to go see if the oven has cooled enough to vacuum the bits of glass off the bottom. Here are some pictures of our meal.

About six weeks ago, the bin disappeared. The lid stayed, but the bin left. Assuming that someone took it for some weird reason (oh look – there’s a green bin – i could use that as my lunch box!), Andy ordered another one from the council. That was about a month ago, and it never arrived. In the mean time, we went to Italy and worked and took classes and most certainly did NOT pay attention to chores, blogs, or anything else beyond the essentials. The recyclables stacked up for a while and we, feeling naughty, used our neighbors’ recycling bins. Not the same building every time, of course – and if it was really full we might move to the next building. Anyway we were just getting around to ordering a THIRD recycling bin – one of those chores that keeps getting lost in the shuffle – when this morning, we went outside, and VOILA! Our OLD recycling bin underNEATH our NEW recycling bin (which we had never before seen). BOTH full of recyclables and in our front yard.

WHAT?!

We were so confused. We decided that our upstairs neighbors must have brought them inside, stocked them up, and brought them down for collection day. But who DOES that?!

Option 1: Write our Flat number on one of the bins in hopes that the neighbors will get the message.

Option 2: Dear Neighbors, you are more than welcome to use the recycling bins that WE ordered from the council, but please leave them outside so that we can use them too. Cheers, The Annoying Yankees with the Loud Cat.

Option 3: Order another bin and hope they don’t have room for THREE.

We went with option 3. Andy ordered another bin today.

Then we got home, and both bins have disappeared. Again. We’ll keep you posted.

Incidentally, the very same day I was wearing a new shirt. My new shirt has French cuffs, which means I need to wear cufflinks. So there I was studded out with my silver cufflinks and my new shirt… and my new sneakers. HA! Who wears cufflinks and sneakers?!? It didn’t notice the combination until I was halfway to work. I bet monocle man is writing in his blog about how he saw a guy wearing cufflinks and sneakers. “I was on my way to the cobbler when I was struck by the strangest sight. Unless my glass onion deceived me, I saw a chap wearing both cufflinks and trainers. Who’d have guessed that such a prosperous combination was possible?”

In case you were wondering my new sneakers are Converse One Stars. Yeah, they’re not good enough to be given all the stars, just one. On a scale of zero stars to all stars, my sneakers score a paltry one. My cuff links, on the other hand, are stylin’.

Our “Gortex” jackets that Andy acquired for £10 in China turned out to be pretty darn waterproof, which proved useful throughout the trip. The next day, after an absolutely massive breakfast (I had porridge, thinking it would be a bit lighter than the bacon. Umm, no. Scottish porridge is apparently made with heavy cream or something. It was nuts. I had about four bites and decided against porridge for the rest of the trip.), we went over to the village of Luss and hiked around Loch Lomond. We hiked around an old slate quarry which was absolutely rushing with water and beautiful, pristine slate. We later found ourselves in the Coach House Coffee Shop, which is, according to our guidebook, “easily the best place to eat on Loch Lomond.” I had Grandma’s caramel apple pie, and Andy had a toffee shortbread with hot chocolate. I’ll tell you what – it ran CIRCLES around the reheated pub meal from the night before, which was our only other Loch Lomond meal out.

We made our way very slowly to Fort William, our next stop. The drive to Fort William passes through some of the most amazing countryside I have ever seen. The mountains in Scotland seem to shoot up from nowhere and are just bursting with mountain lakes and waterfalls. Everything was so green that it far transcended the grey skies. We stopped in Glen Coe and hiked around Three Sisters for a while. Glen Coe is famous for a terrible massacre that happened back in 1692, and Three Sisters is – as far as I can tell – three mountains near each other in Glen Coe. It was a lovely hike and by then the weather had brightened a bit.

We eventually made it to Fort William, went out for a yummy meal – I had salmon, Andy had chicken, and we shared a yummy raspberry dessert. I don’t know why I think you care what we ordered, but oh well – you don’t have a choice. We watched a little bit of the World Cup Final in a pub; then we started to get tired and went back to watch the rest in the lounge at the lodge.

The next day, we were hoping to hike Ben Nevis – the tallest mountain in Scotland, but the weather did not cooperate. We went to the visitors’ center, and the lady told us that if we could go on ANY OTHER DAY that we should postpone our trip. Something about huge wind gusts and rain. We decided to postpone it for the following day and instead embarked on a hike in Glen Nevis. It was still a sizeable ascent, but it was a beautiful hike which included a wire bridge and ended at an amazing waterfall (I’m a sucker for a waterfall). Andy took the picture for our masthead (what I like to call the top of our blog site) there. We were eaten alive by midges. Midges look like gnats but the BITE like nobody’s business, and it HURTS and makes red dots all over your hands. If you ever go hiking near trees in Scotland, bring bug spray. Midges = torture.

On the way back we decided to stop in at Ben Nevis Distillery for a tour and perhaps a tasting. We drove past where we thought it might be. Eventually, we turned around and drove past where it might be again. Eventually, we turned around and stopped in a hotel that was called the “Ben Nevis Distillery Hotel� to ask where it was. He said, “Keep driving in that direction; you can’t miss it. If you get to the intersection, you’ve gone too far.� Well I am here to tell you that you most certainly CAN miss it. We missed it three, count ‘em, THREE times. On the third pass, we saw the writing on the side of the building, turned around again, and found our way there, all the while thinking, “Yes you CAN miss it. What do you MEAN you can’t miss it?�

The tour was great. Very informative, when we could hear and understand the little Scotsman who gave it. The whisky was – well – whisky. On the way out to the massive “people moverâ€? we rented (which was – incidentally – supposed to be a Ford Focus or similar. Um, not so similar.), we looked out again at the entrance to the distillery, only to see a proper community gathering at the entrance, where they were . . . wait for it . . . erecting the new sign. It is a HUGE sign and probably replaces the former HUGE sign, and my guess is that NOW – you can’t miss it.

Feeling vindicated with our new knowledge that the distillery was actually very EASY to miss during those few hours that it was without a HUGE sign, we found our way back and had a delicious Mexican meal at a pub in Fort William, all the while crossing our fingers that the weather would be acceptable for our Ben Nevis hike the next day . . .

Something from more recent events: The worst smell in the world is spinach that used to be a bag of frozen spinach but is now a pile of soggy moldy spinach because your freezer, unbeknownst to you, doesn’t work anymore.

Pictures of our hikes in Glen Coe and Glen Nevis


Whisky Pictures

We spent the first two days of our trip on the island of Barra. Barra is in the outer hebrides, and is about as far west as one can go and still be in Brittan. The main reason we visited Bara is because it is the island from which a large part of the MacNeil clan originated. Opting not to take the seven-hour ferry we decided to fly from Glasgow.

The flight to Barra was an interesting experience by itself. The island is serviced by one flight per day, operated by British airways. The plane lands on a large flat beach. After landing the plane is unloaded, reloaded and departs before the tide comes in and covers the “runway” with water. The flight times vary daily so ensure that the plane lands during low tide.

The Barra airport has three runways each marked with a pole at both ends. There are no lights, no lines or markings of any kind. Just sand. After we got off the plane, Tiffany foolishly tried to grab he bag off the rack. The guy motioned her to leave it and explained that it would be taken to baggage claim where she could pick it up. The baggage claim area is a shelf under an awning beside the control tower. We had no trouble finding the baggage claim shed because it was fitted with a huge sign that read “Baggage Claim.” We watched the ground crew guy pull the cart up to the shed and place all six bags on the shelf where we were then allowed to retrieve it.

After we arrived on the island we rode the MacNeil bus driven by Mr. MacNeil to Castle Bay. The bus took us directly to our b&b, which was operated by Mrs. MacNeil. The bikes we rented were owned by a man who was married to a MacNeil. The island was truly bursting at the seams with MacNeils! And to think, we missed the bi-annual MacNeil clan gathering by only two weeks. That might have been a few too many MacNeils for us.

We went straight to the MacNeil Castle (Kismul Castle), which sits in the middle of the bay. We also had the best Scottish tablet of the whole trip at the hebridian toffee factory / sandwich cafe place. Then we rented bicycles and rode the whole way around the island. We finished our day with a meal at the pub in Castle Bay. The next day we rode bikes in the morning and took the McNeil van back to the airport.

I forgot to mention that when we booked our flights from London to Glasgow to Barra and back the website said, “We cannot issue e-tickets for this flight, paper tickets will be posted to you.” So we had to do it the old fashioned way, “honey where are the tickets” “I put them in my purseâ€? etc… When we checked in to our flight from London to Glasgow we embarrassingly presented our paper tickets. Who uses paper tickets anymore? Then, when checking in at the Barra airport the whole paper ticket made more sense. The lady looked at our tickets and crossed our names off the list that was faxed over this morning and carried our luggage over to the cart.

All in all Barra was a fun experience. The island was picturesque and the people were friendly.

A while back I posted pictures from our time on Barra.

Flying to Barra


Kisimul Castle


Cycling round Barra

Now I took a class in college called “Adventure Games.” It included rock climbing, self-belaying, climbing trees, zip lines, ropes courses, you name it . . . and usually at considerable altitudes. I loved it. I certainly got scared a few times, but never too scared to go for it. I guess I always figured that it wasn’t in the college’s interest to kill me.

SO, you can imagine my excitement when one of the tasks involved helmets. There were two metal cords attached to trees, and they started close together and finished far apart. One person on each cord, leaning against each other, starting at the close end and scoot along as far as you can to the faraway end. The cords were about three feet off the ground, so nothing too dangerous. Anyway, I was obviously first in line, and there’s a girl on my team of a similar height and weight, so she was selected as my partner. Well, we didn’t get very far before we lost balance and fell off. She managed to jump back and land on two feet, but the Queen of Grace would obviously not go down so easily. Oh no. I slipped off the cord, LANDED on the cord, then landed on my rear end and smacked my head on the ground. All in one beautiful, dance-like motion. I couldn’t see it, of course, but I just know.

I sat for a moment and decided to take a short break while Liz got back up – this time with Nick – and got much further along than we did. They didn’t get all the way to the end, though, so we needed to start over to earn maximum points, and obviously I – having ignored my lesson – was first in line. This time Luke volunteered to be my partner. We jumped up and just motored along those wires – all the way to the end so impressively that people cheered. Go team!

The funny part of all this – well, funny to me – is that I am so proud of my battle scars – the massive bruises I collected on my way down. I feel as if it’s proof that I am ever so brave and adventurous. No, Tiff, no. Any idiot can fall off the wire – it’s really just proof that you’re one of them.

Hmm. . . . . oh whatever I’m so completely bada$$ and you know it.

So we went to the next station and walked back to St. Paul’s. Rushing and therefore grumpy (well I was grumpy – Andy was fine), we arrived about five minutes before the recital was due to start. No Eastonians. We went into the church and looked for them. Still no Eastonians. We waited on the steps, and at 5:02 or so, they arrived – a little breathless and sweaty – having walked from the wrong tube station, just like us.

The recital was lovely, and afterward we started to talk about what to do next. Decision: pub. Hmmm . . .

Hadn’t thought of a pub. We came up with a pub, though – across the river overlooking the Houses of Parliament. The bonus? We get to walk over the Millennium (a.k.a. wobbly) Bridge on the way there. Alas, no. When we got within view of the other side of the river, we saw HORDES of MASSES of people on the other side. The Eastonians took a river tour earlier in the day and shared that the day in question was the anniversary of the Battle of Britain. so. BIG festival, and VERY crowded pub. No dice.

U-turn, and we went back to a pub we had walked by on our way there. The pub ended up being perfect for the occasion, but eventually people started getting hungry. We decided on a place to eat, which was obviously NOT one of the four or five places on the list. We thought a bus would be the ideal mode of transport and jumped on the next one that was going in the general direction of the restaurant.

Incidentally, we were going to the Newman’s Arms – a pub in Soho that has an upstairs pie room. We’re not talking American fruit-based pies. We’re talking English meat-based pies. Lamb & Rosemary, Beef & Guinness, Chicken & Broccoli in Pepper Sauce is my favourite. We went there with some other, FORMER Eastonians a while back, and they loved it. Plus, we love it, so we thought it a good option.

Anyway there we were, on the bus, and conveniently in the most horendous traffic jam we have ever seen in Central London. GAAARRRRBage! Eventually, we gave up on the bus with a view toward finding another means of getting to the pie shop.

Then it started to take forever. Then people were getting hungry. Then we came upon Zizzi’s – an Italian chain that’s – well . . . fine. Good food, ok service, mediocre atmosphere, and well – just not as good as what we were hoping. It was a lovely evening, a nice meal, and we really had a blast despite all of the little hurdles.

When we got home, we both found ourselves in excellent moods. We felt warm and cozy and altogether pleasant, and we decided that seeing the Eastonians is the next best thing to seeing our families. Come BACK!

I’m not sure when I stopped riding my bike, but it probably got lost during my ludicrously busy teenage years. Anyway, the next time I rode a bike was in college – Thad’s old bike and I think I rode it a few times here and there – mostly to the gym – I liked walking.

Then I rode a bike on Block Island but I fell off. Like a chump.

Annnnyway, I got a new bike!! Well an old bike, but new to me! AND I have been riding it to work!! I had it for a week or two before I rode it to work, because I was scared. Then the first couple days I left REALLLY early because I didn’t want there to be very much traffic, because I was scared. Then I kept having to get off and back on at intersections because I was scared. WHICH kinda made me laugh because when Andy played Grand Theft Auto for the first couple times, he kept accidentally getting out and back in his car. Out, back in. Out, back in. Driving down the highway, getting chased by the cops, . . . . Oh, gotta get out for a sec. HHHHAHAHAHHAhahahha. Anyway that was me on my bike. There were always 5 or 6 other people on bikes and I felt a bit like, “Oh, don’t mind me, I’m just um . . . getting off for a bit.”

Ok anyway now I’m doing better. The past two times I rode to and from work, I didn’t have to get off at all!! I’m starting to get all the right gear, too. Obviously I have a helmet, but I got some long shorts (short pants?) that won’t get caught in the thingies, and next I’m getting lights, a new lock, and a fluorescent yellow jacket. Look out world, I’m a BIKE rider now!!

One day, when I was locking up my bike in the little room at work, my iPod headphones hung out of my backpack a bit, and I thought “Holy COW! How SCHOCKingly urban!” Ahh, well yes – I do live in the big city, after all!

Anyway, what’s surprising about riding my bike is that I LOOOVVVVE IT!! I love it so much that it frustrates me when I have to take the tube for some reason. I love it so much that I’m trying to figure out where I can put my bike during my classes after work, which are not exactly next door. We’ll see though – I’m still scared about that, because at work there’s this room with a code that no one can get into. On the street I need a new lock and I need to learn how to use my quick release stuff so that I can lock it up correctly. AND it’s dark and I don’t know the way, so I think I might do a trial run this weekend.

I haven’t remembered to use my bell yet, but when I do . . . Ding Ding!! Look out, London!!

When left on our own (without our trusty A&T guides!) we were able to travel without too much confusion around the city once we figured out which side of the street was the correct side for the bus that we needed and which underground lines went where! There were maps for everything…underground maps, bus maps, block by block city maps, and self guided walking tour maps! And if we had a question about anything we could just ask the web!

Most mornings we stopped by the grocery store to pick-up our picnic lunch! We found lots of pre-packed sandwiches that were really tasty and also fresh fruit, such as raspberries or strawberries packaged with the name of the grower and the location! One could find a picnic spot anywhere from the underground seat to a bench in one of the many wonderful gardens around the city or at a museum when the lunch hunger struck! And of course at the end of the day we found a pub (easy to spot with the beautiful hanging flowers baskets) to have a pint or two!

Photos of pubs visited.

We would head home either to pick up groceries for dinner or to figure out where to go for dinner or where to have a picnic dinner! My, my…such decisions to make when on vacation! One evening Tiffany and I were the pasta makers and we did a superb job making roasted red fettuccine pasta!

I guess you can gather that we had a great time…our B&B provided all the comfort of home plus more! Two hip Londonites, two meowing cats, great coffee and with breakfast yummies of scones upon our arrival and other wonderful breakfast treats through out our stay as well! Make your reservations quickly! We had a wonderful time exploring the city and “burbs� of London with great trips to Greenwich, Cambridge, Windsor Castle, Hampstead Heath, and all the wonderful market places filled with all types of foods, antiques, and clothing. We had the opportunity to watch a cricket game as Andy explained the rules and regulations of protecting those silly little wicket sticks! What didn’t we do…oh I am sure there are plenty of places we missed! So you may be asking… are we planning another trip to the UK…you bet! And hopefully with a side trip to the Highlands of Scotland!

After dinner, our hosts thought we might enjoy a pint at their “local.” That’s English for local pub, and it holds warm, cozy connotations of tipsy, seemingly timeless Sunday afternoons spent with neighbors and friends. In London, it tends to be the closest pub and the one you might find yourself in most often, whether it be cozy or completely un, timeless or noisy barmaid shouting, “LAST CALL” in your ear while stealing your glass out of your hand.

It’s funny, because growing up with an English father and a Scottish grandfather, I learned a handful of pub songs and had visions of dozens of old men in the local pub singing their evenings away – visions exacerbated, mind you, by the fabulous movie Sliding Doors, in which Gwyneth Paltrow joined in for festivities just like the ones I envisioned. NEVER have I come across a singing pub.

I mentioned this to my Dad once. He said that singing pubs are quite hard to find and that what I needed was a very small town and a bunch of VERY drunk people who are ALSO in a very good mood. AND you need one or two folks – or six or ten – who are willing to get the ball rolling.

Katy and Steve’s local is a singing pub. Apparently the fella behind the bar plays guitar and every so often he breaks it out for an impromptu sing-a-long. It’s the kind of place in which the bartender calls last round and everyone ignores him knowing full well that he won’t REALLY close the pub. We arrived to Cheers-like greetings, hugs, kisses, and a hearty “what are you drinkin?” from Graham, a Springsteen fan (I told him about you, Todd) who we had never met. It was Jane’s birthday, and this meant Jane wore a hot-pink wig, which quickly got passed around to any takers or nearby onlookers. When Steve wore the pink wig, the other men chimed in quickly with a Top Gun-esque “You’ve lost that lovin’ feelin’; woah that lovin’ fee-eelin’. . . gone. . gone . . gone. . . woah. . oh. . oh.” and on they went. We only stayed for about an hour, but it was wonderful. and hilarious. and a bit surreal.

Now if only we can find a real local that’s actually local!

Anyway, my training finished at 5:15, so I went shopping. I went to Zara and bought a grey sweater on sale, I went to the Body Shop and got more lotion (I was out), and I went to Harrods to . . . well, just to go. It is an absolute MAZE in there. I suspect that I could walk around for about 4 hours without seeing everything. Yes, I most certainly could. As it is, I only looked at SOME of the first two floors, and I probably spent about an hour in there.

So anyway there I was, walking along through the fancy ladies clothing (I didn’t even touch anything – too fancy), and then the next room said something like, “Luxury Gowns through to Escalators.” Sounded good, so in I went, and apparently they left the best part off of the sign! On the way there, I stumbled into a room of AMAZING hats!! Feathers and bows of all sorts, and big signs that said, “Please Request Assistance with these Hats.” Well, good move, Harrods, because I THINK that I would have been all OVER those hats. I think. I occasionally get a bit shy about such things, but I suspect I might have gone for it.

I passed on into the wedding gowns section (the real wedding gowns bit is roped off, but I could still see. Everything was beautiful. I did end up buying new makeup on my way out from the SECOND American I met that day. She’s from Houston – doing a master’s in theatre. The first one was in the training session – she’s from Altoona, PA! She went to Penn State, but she has been in England for six years and she does a similar job to mine. TWO in one day!!

OK one more completely unrelated thing. This is the COLDEST August EVER in my enTIRE life. Today I wore jeans, sneakers, a long-sleeeved shirt and my new grey sweater with a fake pashmina (2 for £5 – Camden market) and a light jacket. That was a bit too much for the afternoon but just right for the morning. Crazy, I tell ya. Everyone knows that August is supposed to be HOT. Nope, not this year. Not here. Not hot. Cold. The nice thing is that it already smells like Fall, which is wonderful and makes me want apple pie.

We’re heading up to hike in the Lake District this weekend, so hopefully – if the weather’s good enough – we’ll be able to “bag” our third peak – that’s the highest mountain in Wales (Snowdon), Scotland (Ben Nevis), and England (Skafell Pike). Folks like to do them all in 24 hours to raise money for charity. We like to do them all over the course of a summer because it’s fun. We’ll let you know how that goes.

The entire visit was wonderful because Andy and Tiffany are such great hosts. In spite of the saying that ‘dirty laundry and house guests begin to smell after 3 days’ we were having such a great time that we anticipated each day’s adventure with the same spirit that we had on the first day. What I would like to do now is to relay several stories about situations where things were not looking as good as they could have been and yet a combination of chance and our hosts’ good planning created a truly wonderful event.

One morning early in the trip Sue and I were on our own and planning to take a double-decker bus to the Westminster area. This was our first attempt at riding a bus without the help of Andy or Tiffany. Let me remind you that traffic drives on the ‘other’ side of the road in the UK. As we were waiting for our bus, Sue asked, “Which way do we want to go?â€? I responded, “That way.â€? Sue then said, “Shouldn’t we be on that side of the street to catch a bus going that way?â€? I responded, “Oops! There’s one now!â€? The stop on the other side of the street was about a half a block away and we had just missed the bus we needed. Note: Things were not looking good to me right then. We crossed the street, walked to the other stop and waited. Another double-decker bus picked us up several minutes later and we found seats in the upper deck near the front of the bus. While riding the bus near Trafalgar Square we noticed escort cars with flashing lights approaching and then saw the Queen’s Guard on horseback coming towards us on the street. I was able to get a good photo of them through the bus window and pointed out to Sue that the people on the bus that we missed could not have seen the same sight. A simple mistake on my part had led to a ‘We’re really in London now.’ event and a great photo.

Queen’s Guard on horseback.

Our first train trip out of London was with Andy to see Cambridge. We got to the station later than we had planned and Andy sent us directly to the platform and ran to buy the tickets for the three of us. Sue and I got to the platform on time and waited for Andy. He rounded the corner to the platform just as the train was pulling out. Oops! While we waited 30 minutes for the next train to Cambridge we were able to buy coffee and lunch supplies for when we got there and we also got a photo of Andy doing the Harry Potter train platform trick at the station where it was filmed. A sign for Platform 9 3/4 was mounted on a brick abutment with the back end of a luggage cart mounted against the bricks. In a Harry Potter film, the students that were heading to whizard school pushed their carts forcefully into the brick abutment to get to the platform 9 3/4 and board their train. Our misfortune of missing the first train gave us time for coffee, food and another great photo.

Andy going to whizard school.

Another train trip that we took was to Windsor to see Windsor Castle. The line to get into the castle was so long we decided not to go inside. Oops! We took a walking tour of Windsor instead. One of the out of the way places on the tour was a very old church that was quietly nestled in an overgrown churchyard that was full of grave markers. We walked into the churchyard and wandered through the quiet setting wondering what the inside of this very old church looked like. Along came a local man and his wife and I thought that maybe we should wander out of the churchyard in the opposite direction. He told us that he and his wife were there to remove flowers from a wedding that had happened and offered to show us inside. While his wife took care of the flowers he spent about 15 minutes discussing the history of the very old church, the architecture, the refurbishing that has been done and their plans for the future. They do not plan to spend the 100,000 pounds it would take to repair the beautiful pipe organ. They decided to buy an electronic organ last year. One interesting fact is that the very old church had often taken in women of the oldest profession to rescue them. Many of these women are buried in the churchyard. They usually did not have last names because of their profession so their markers all have the last name Magdalene. I got a photo of one marker that had the names of two of these women.

A grave marker with two Magdalene’s.

The last story I have for you shows how Andy and Tiffany can make a visit truly special. Sue and I had visited several museums that day and were headed home with heavy feet. Sue wanted to stop on the way home for food to prepare a dinner for the four of us. I felt like taking the underground for a quick trip home. Then we could get to the store and home to start dinner in no time. Sue wanted to take double-decker buses so we could see the sights. I didn’t tell Sue but for me the bus idea was just asking for another Opps! The underground beats the buses every time. Buses seem to stop every couple blocks for pick-ups and drop-offs and then they have to pull out into traffic. I prefer the underground because there’s no city traffic and I’m a point A to point B kind of person. We found a bus that was headed to Oxford Circus. From there I knew we could transfer to a bus that would take us home. The traffic was horrible. Oxford Street, which is a busy shopping street with sidewalks that are full of pedestrians, is closed to all traffic except buses, taxis and bicycles. It was still very slow going. Just after we got started on the second bus headed back down the same street we got the regular ‘end of the work day’ call from Andy. “Where are you guys?â€? …. “OK, Are you on the upper level of the bus?â€? …. “Which side of the bus are you on?â€? …. “See you soon.â€? I was watching the pedestrians below in order not to watch the traffic. Two stops after the phone call from Andy I spotted Andy and Tiffany waiting to get on our bus. They waved, got on the bus and came to the upper level. A person volunteered to move when she saw us talking so we could sit together. With Andy and Tiffany along to keep us company the bus ride was no longer an Opps! for me. We all shopped for dinner and prepared dinner together. (I opened the beverages.)

The wonderful hosts pose with a statue of Peter Pan.

Click the photo of us at a cricket match below to see photos of the trip.

The instructions for the pasta maker are in multiple languages and each version starts with “Everybody loves fresh pasta!” So now we practice saying that in every language (except Chinese and Greek, because we have trouble with the pronunciation). All together now: Alle mögen selbstgemachte nudeln!

Our contingent was the first to arrive at the venue, so we were able to squeeze in extra practice that proved invaluable. Soon after the tournament got under way. My new partner (who was also American) and I decided to let our Italian co-worker choose a team name for us. He was thinking along the lines of Clint Eastwood films, and decided on Pale Rider. It was a bit awkward, the two of us having a singular name, but we managed to get used to it.

To cut to the chase, we won our matches 4-2, 4-3 and 4-0 in the finals. We were crowned the champions and retained the trophy for next year. I maintain that I was lucky in my selection of partner both years, and have no real croquet skills, but I can still call myself a two-time croquet champion.

Maybe I’ll post a picture of the trophy after it is engraved.

First, let’s mention that the weather here in London has been uncommonly hot of late. I like it, because it really feels like summer, and let’s face it – what would everyone talk about if we didn’t have remarkable weather?

Saturday, we slept in a smidge and then cleaned the kitchen. Thrilling, I know. THEN, we had a picnic on Primrose Hill with X and Lauren, which was just wonderful, because we haven’t seen them in forever and it’s nice to remember that we actually do have friends. The great news is that they are in the process of moving back to London, so we will be able to see a lot more of them in the future. Yippee!!

THEN it started raining, which is very good because London is having some serious drought problems. We moved our party to the pub for a rain-sodden pint and then Andy and I set off for John Lewis (a big Brit department store) where we perused the home wares on a quest for a list of items which we were hoping to acquire for our flat. ANNNnnnyway, while down in the sticky home wares department (not so big on AC here), we noticed that people were taking pictures with their mobile phones. We looked up and VOILA! Gordon Ramsey!

You know – of “Hell’s Kitchenâ€? fame, and here in England, of “Hell’s Kitchen,” “Gordon Ramsey’s Kitchen Nightmares,” and “The F Word” fame. Anyway, how fun! We’re so hip and didn’t even know it. So in case any of you are curious, Gordon Ramsey is a big dude. I mentioned this to a co-worker only to find that this is very much common knowledge. Apparently he used to play professional football in Glasgow. Who the HECK goes from pro footballer to celebrity chef?! I SO need to start achieving something.

Anyway, Sunday was largely uneventful compared to Saturday, exCEPT that I recently bought Andy a pasta maker, and we made fresh spaghetti for the first time EVER last night. It was so much fun – I can’t wait to do it again. Heck, maybe tonight’s fettuccini night. You never know!

Other news: Todd and Vicki got engaged!! Way to go, monkeys.

Anyway, Andy and I were numbers 2667 and 2668, I believe. After pretending to be Dave got boring, we read for a while, got some food from the church fundraiser along the line (GENIUS idea, by the way), read a bit more, and eventually, three or so hours later, found ourselves on the other side of the fence! WHOOPEE!! WIMBLEDON!!

I watched quite a bit of Wimbledon throughout my life, and I remember having “breakfast at Wimbledon� with the family, which basically meant cereal in front of the TV at that time, but as it turns out, all that watching of Wimbledon earned me a pretty solid knowledge of Wimbledon pomp, circumstance, and tradition, all of which the tournament has – as they say here – in spades.

After inspecting the order of play and determining that we are most decidedly out of touch in the tennis department, we made an immediate pit stop at the strawberries and cream stand. £2 bought us a gorgeous Styrofoam bowl of beautiful Kentish strawberries with rich cream and sugar. It was most certainly £2 well spent.

Post-berries, we had a little exploration around the grounds and quickly realized that Wimbledon is JUST as pristine and exquisitely attentive to detail as we ever could have imagined. The buildings and grounds were covered in thousands upon thousands of deep purple flowers, and there were some areas of the club that we could see but not get to. You know – the “here’s what you COULD have if you were a little bit richer, cooler, more famous or better at tennis� type places. They were beautiful, from what we could see.

I read an article today about the “unsung heroes� of Wimbledon. It talked about the groundskeeper, who has special grass-cutters that only cut horizontal growth, so that all of the blades of grass point up. There was an interview with the man who paints centre court – they cleverly call him Stumpy, because he’s short – he said he always watches the TV coverage looking for spots that he missed, and the bit I liked best is that he likes to sing to himself while he paints. He must be a nice man. Only nice people sing when they’re alone. The article talked about the lady who grows the strawberries, the man who strings the rackets, the head steward and the ball-kid trainer. I enjoyed reading about the contributions of all those people, but I certainly wasn’t surprised to learn about them. Wimbledon just oozed care out of every little nook and cranny.

Incidentally, we also saw some people play TENNIS!! We watched a few women’s singles matches, a few men’s singles matches, a men’s doubles match and a few mixed doubles matches. The weather was extremely hot and sunny, which was wonderful, if perhaps a bit – well – hot. The most exciting match we saw was between Fernando Gonzales (seeded 10th) and David Ferrer (ranked 23rd). The match went to 5 sets and was close throughout. There were NO seats in the shade, so we sat in the sun. It was an exceedingly sweaty experience, but the match was most certainly worth the mild discomfort, and I felt better when I realized that I was most certainly not the stinkiest person in the crowd. (It may have been Andy, though. Kidding.)

After that match, we paused for a beverage and walked around a bit more, and when we did, we saw John MacEnroe! He was wearing a suit and fancy shades, and my goodness he has that Hollywood swagger down pat. He signed an oversized tennis ball for a little girl without looking at her or breaking stride. Very impressive.

Then, about 30 seconds later, we saw Martina Navratilova. Only SHE was geared up for some tennis playing! We eventually found out where her match was and went to watch her play. I naively assumed that it would be an exhibition match (and the lady at the information desk distractedly confirmed this), but we found out later that she is playing in both the mixed doubles and women’s doubles tournaments. Holy moly if ONLY I could play world class tennis at the age of 50. Actually, it’d be pretty good if I could do that now. Or ever. One other thing about Martina’s match was that her competitor was unhappy with some line calls, so he started yelling at the chair umpire. He knew enough not to say any bad words, so he just kept saying – well, yelling – things like, “You STINK! You STINK! You can’t be SERIOUS!� So funny. You Stink? That’s the best you can come up with? Geesh.

We also saw Lisa Raymond play mixed doubles, and I like her, because she’s from Southeastern PA like us. We also saw Andy Roddick walk by right before he lost to Andy Murray. That struck me as funny and I enjoyed pretending that everyone was cheering for the Andy I know. Go ANDY! ANDYYYYYY!!! HAAAAhahahaha.

OK, here are some pictures of us at Wimbledon. . .

Goodness we really WERE busy while we were not blogging. Here’s the co-wrote guest blog from Melinda and Kate . . . (Katie and Steve, you’re on deck!)

Our trip to Barcelona was awesome partly due to our guide book, ‘Top 10 Barcelona.’ In the spirit of the book (which basically tours Barcelona in a series of top 10 lists), we offer you the revised version (the better version) of the Top 10 things about Barcelona:

1. Garlic Mayo – A potent mayo/garlic combo that the Catalans practically lick off their plates. Its fine to dip your fries in it just a little but they slather it on.

2. Sangria – Cheap, tasty, and perfect at anytime of the day.

3. Barcelona Bread – Served with most meals, this one was genius. Baked bread drizzled (sometimes drenched) with olive oil and then rubbed with tomato.

4. Rat Tails – Not just an American thing anymore. Common folk and the uber fashionable sported this look all over the city.

5. Street Escalators – Barcelona is pretty hilly and to get to some the best views and/or places, you actually had to use outdoor escalators to reach your destination. Parc Guell began with a near vertical hike up to the first of three escalators.

6. Hot Girls on Motorcycles or Mopeds – Kate pointed this out and we all followed suit. These chicks looked so awesome carrying their helmets and riding their hogs.

7. Gaudi – Gaudi is Barcelona.

8. Mosaic Stuff – Partially because of Gaudi, Barcelona is absolutely COVERED in mosaic stuff. Benches, walls, columns, buildings, lots of Barcelona tchotchkes in all shapes and sizes . . . you name it, it comes in mosaic.

9. American Section – Almost every time we went into a cute little restaurant, we were escorted through a kitchen or other narrow passage – or three – back into an unknown and empty corner of the restaurant that we decided was the American section. VIPs only. From here, Andy consumed massive quantities of chorizo.

10. Phil and Jackie – A very nice couple from the Lehigh Valley. We met them in the line for the taxi in the middle of the night, and then we met up with them at the Palau de la Musica Catalana and then at the Picasso Museum, and THEN, they took us out for lunch. They were outrageous.

A bit more about Phil and Jackie. They were married and then divorced and then married again, and they do not – shall we say – get along like peas in a pod. They get along likecucumers in a pod, or something otherwise uncomfortable. This was very clear when Phil spilled his glass of red wine and a few droplets found their way to Jackie’s blouse. She looked like she might just punch him. Or maybe throw hers at him. Oh yeah – that would have been funny. Instead she just yelled at him and made him feel really bad. This only got worse when he accidentally started drinking HER wine while she was trying to clean up. Oh Phil. Poor fella probably didn’t have a good night.

One story that didn’t quite make the top 10. One day while we were sipping Sangria in a little plaza, the oddest family (La Prima Loco Familia) in the world appeared. They pulled up in some broke down looking hatchback, on a road that’s not meant to be driven, sat down at one restaurant but tried to order from another – ordered drinks from the right restaurant but pulled food out of their car (still parked on the curb), and pumped music from their car stereo while people were trying to enjoy a quiet lunch. Only they couldn’t seem to get the music just right so the teenager had to keep going to the car to change the music. And to top it all off, they had the tallest hair in the universe. The tallest-haired family in the universe. Find another family with taller hair – go ahead, try.

Finally, we should mention how we spent our time in Barcelona. We ate and drank a lot, but other than that, we went to the Sagrada Familia (to the top even), walked up to see the view from Montjuic, looked at the sea glass on Barceloneta beach, checked out La Pedrera – an apartment building designed by Gaudi, strolled along Las Ramblas, did some shopping, went to Parc Guell, another Gaudi masterpiece which contains his former home (now a museum which we also went to), explored Josef market, the Palau de la Musica Catalana, the Picasso Museum, and that might be just about it. But that’s a lot for four wonderful days.

Have a look at the pictures.

And look how quickly we’re catching up . . .

We went hiking in Wales over Easter weekend. One of the beautiful things about England is that the Friday before and the Monday after Easter are holidays! So, we selected our region and tentatively selected our hike, and we took the train out to Snowdonia, which is in the Northwest of Wales.

One very important point about hiking in Wales is that the Welsh call it “walking.” Now, some of the hiking Andy and I have done in the past would qualify as “walking,” and some is perhaps borderline between walking and hiking, but some of it (namely Mt. Washington), was out-and-out, through-and-through, sweaty-backed, take lots of breaks, granola bars and 4 liters of water hiking. Our hike in Wales was by far the most challenging hike – er, walk – that we have ever done.

The hike is called “The Snowdon Horseshoe.” It is supposed to take about 6 hours, is a 910 meter height gain (about 3000 ft) and an 11 km distance (just under 7 miles) to cover. Doesn’t sound as hard as Mount Washington, which is taller and farther. BUT, Mount Washington doesn’t have Crib Goch, a ridge walk that we assumed couldn’t be as scary as described in the book, and Mt. Washington has one peak. One. Like a normal mountain.

The book we bought said to approach Crib Goch on the left in order to avoid the near vertical drop on the right. When we got there, we had a moment of doubt as to whether we were on the correct side. It was pretty darn vertical, . . . but then the other side was more darn vertical, so on we went.

I went VERY slowly, so between waiting for people to pass my slow bum and waiting behind other slow people, that 6 hours I talked about turned gradually into 8 hours. The real killer about the Snowdon Horseshoe is that after Crib Goch comes the summit of Snowdon, but then you don’t get to go down the rest of the way. There are three more challenging peaks to reach before the final descent begins. It was quite a long and arduous day, but my goodness was it amazing.

We had perfect weather and gorgeous views of the surrounding lakes and mountains. We followed – and were followed by – some extremely friendly Irish folks who travel around hiking together. They were a smidge difficult to understand, but trying to understand them made for a welcomed distraction as we climbed up the tricky parts. As expert hikers, they also gave us lots of helpful hints about how to traverse difficult sections (one of the reasons we tried to stay close behind them), and even better – one of them sang an occasional Irish folk song, and we wound up the de facto audience. What a nice addition to our journey!

Along our way, we came across some mountain sheep to whom we said hello, and when we got back exhausted that night, we found our way to Pete’s Eats. Pete’s is the kind of place that sells one type of beer and eNORMous plates of exactly the food I needed – fries, baked beans, boiled eggs, burger, and I can’t even remember what else. It all (well I didn’t QUITE finish) went down wonderfully and left me to a wonderful night’s sleep.

The next day a Welsh friend of ours and his lovely lady came to meet us – we said we were up for a leisurely stroll. We found out later that a leisurely stroll with a Welshman is actually a 3-hour hike up and down some serious hills – tough on sore legs, but worth the climb for the views of the Welsh countryside.

That’s about it for Wales. Still yet to recap on Barcelona and on Katie & Steve’s visit. One day, Andy might post about his trip to China; he took a gillion great pictures. Anyway, check out our Wales pictures.

PS. A VERY VERY warm welcome to Madeleine, Fyl and Meghan’s new baby girl who shares my birthday!

In England they also have summer holidays that relinquish everyone from the daily grind for an extra day. However the Brits don’t use the days to pay tribute to anyone or anything. This is made plainly obvious by the names they give these holidays: Early May Bank Holiday, Spring Bank Holiday, and Late Summer Bank Holiday.

The reason I bring this up is because yesterday was Early May Bank Holiday and incidentally it was exactly one year to the day since we arrived in the UK. So how did we commemorate this feat you ask? We went to museums. Sunday we went with Caton and Anna to the Natural History Museum. Anna saw lots of “doggies” (anything with four legs and fur). Monday we went to the Science Museum to see a Pixar exhibit. We had planned to go to more museums but apparently everyone else in England planed to go to museums to, so we finished our Bank Holiday with a walk in Hyde Park.

Some Pics of the weekend:

Tiffany and Anna ride the tube.

Tiffany in Hyde Park.

The IRS published a fairly large document that explains how to do everything, and this morning’s activities included a thorough read of the relevant portions and a little bit of T-bone-style underlining and annotating. When things get confusing, the IRS helpfully clarifies with examples of hypothetical people: how they qualify or don’t for various exemptions, what they do for a living, and well – pretty much everything else about them. So, here’s how we learned that we may or may not satisfy the tax home test in a foreign country:

From IRS Publication 54 – Tax Guide for U.S. Citizens and Resident Aliens Abroad

“Example 2.

“For several years, you were a marketing executive with a producer of machine tools in Toledo, Ohio. In November of last year, your employer transferred you to London, England, for a minimum of 18 months to set up a sales operation for Europe. Before you left, you distributed business cards showing your business and home addresses in London. You kept ownership of your home in Toledo but rented it to another family. You placed your car in storage. In November of last year, you moved your spouse, children, furniture, and family pets to a home your employer rented for you in London.”

So far, so good – we have the London thing down and we even brought the family pets! Then it got a little nutty . . .

“Shortly after moving, you leased a car and you and your spouse got British driving licenses. Your entire family got library cards for the local public library. You and your spouse opened bank accounts with a London bank and secured consumer credit. You joined a local business league and both you and your spouse became active in the neighborhood civic association and worked with a local charity. Your abode is in London for the time you live there. You satisfy the tax home test in the foreign country.”

OK. Apparently, we have a lot of work to do. First of all, we have to get a house in Toledo and promptly rent it out. I did get a library card, so maybe one of us qualifies, and we have a bank account, but goodness me do I need to get out and get inVOLVED in the community!!! We need to do some CIVICS and some bUSINESS LEAGUE (Whatever the maLARKI that is) and some serious local charity. Otherwise, no tax home test for us. Full stop. (Heehee. I just typed Full stop {full stop})

We discovered this a few weeks ago, when we borrowed a friend’s membership card to the Tate Modern. We went out to the museum and – as we members do – beelined it for the members’ cafe. We explored the special exhibits, which are free for us members, and took a short respite on the balcony overlooking the North Bank. As we sat, we noticed two pigeons on the ledge in front of us. One of them – presumably the male – had extremely puffed up feathers, was strutting around confidently and going brr brr, as pigeons do. He seemed to be after the female pigeon, so we watched curiously to see what would happen next.

Oops. What happened next was VERY naughty. Someone spread some feathers, and someone else landed on that other someone and, well, there are few words to describe it. Here are two: fast, awkward. It made us want to hang a sheet or something – “Nothin’ to see here, folks – move along, move along.” Really, if you have the opportunity, don’t watch – it’s just too much.

That said, though, ever since then we have found ourselves stopping for uncommonly long periods (5-10 minutes even) to see if a strutty male pigeon manages to seal the deal. So far, no such luck. Those female pigeons can be pretty elusive. Although, there are some with – well – with less discretion. We have seen a few female pigeons standing still, back to male pigeon, looking around as if to say, “HellLOOOOOOoo, lady pigeon here!” They don’t seem to get ANY attention.

So maybe it’s a smidge weird that we traipse around the city watching pigeons get on with their business and secretly hoping to see something naughty again – it was just such a victory for that male – he must have had a very good strutty brr brr act. You would understand if you had seen what we saw. It’s just so elaborate!

Anyway, if you ever need to talk to somebody about the birds and the bees, we can probably help you out with the birds part.

Today, I referred to someone as, “kind of a putz.” BLANK. Blank stares. Nothing. Hmmm . . . Go ahead – YOU try to redefine putz. There’s just nothing quite like it. The closest I could think of was “tool,” but I had to go into much more detail than that, of course.

A better example happened yesterday, when I was talking to a girl in my class. She lives in the London equivalent of – oh, I don’t know – maybe Secaucus? Anyway, I asked her if she would be interested in studying with me after work one day before she goes back to the boonies. Laughter, inquisitive expression, “boonies?” Hmm . . . OK, let’s see . . . She said, “is that like suburbs?” “Well, no,” I said. “. . . sticks?” She laughed with comprehension. I said, “You say ’sticks’ but not ‘boonies?’ Go figure.” So now you all know. “Sticks” is an international expression. “Boonies?” Don’t even try it.

I also tend to come up with expressions that they do understand but that they think are hilariously American. (Aside: It’s funny how comfortable I am now with the fact that in Britain, the term “American” is an adjective descriptive of a specific set of qualities, rather than simply a nationality) Our CEO announced his retirement last week; disappointing news, since he founded and drove the company to its current state AND since he essentially embodies everything good about the company. Anyway, upon returning to my desk, I said, “Man, I’m so BUMMED.” Mass hysteria. It didn’t even occur to me until the hysteria set in that I said anything out of the ordinary. Now that I just typed it, I realise that it may indeed be a silly thing to say. Nonetheless, I don’t think it would have been SOOOO funny in America.

Another highlight occurred when I ate a chewy piece of fruity candy, and it was DEEEELicious. So I made an expressive “MMH” type noise and said, “Nothin’ wrong with that!” This happened about 6 weeks ago, and the fella who sat behind me at the time STILL says that. It may have been something I had never said before in my life, and now it is unofficially a typical American, Tiffany type phrase that gets repeated whenever he feels the urge. Another typical American expression that I may have actually started is the affirmative “Oh, yeah.â€? That’s what one guy says when impersonating me. Oh, yeah. Geesh. I didn’t even know that I ever said that. Sorry, Yanks, I don’t mean to be a bad ambassador. Do you have any other phrases that you want me to turn into typical American ones? I have such power!

Also, they love when I say “Awesome.” That one’s always a hit.

Other news:
I surprised Andy with a second-hand PS2 last week. You’ll be happy to hear that he’s rubbish at Grand Theft Auto. He does appear to have moved beyond the phase of randomly getting out of the car and back in. Out, back in. Out, back in. BUT, he still has an alarming propensity to roll cars and get shot. Oh, and he likes to listen to the classical music station while running people over and whatnot.

Next week, we have a long weekend for Easter, so we’re going on a hiking holiday to North Wales. It may rain a bit, but it’s supposed to be gorgeous and extremely mountainous. I can’t wait!

My tests are the 5th and 7th of June, so I would expect blog frequency to pick up after that. Apologies for the recent dearth!

I forgot to mention how gorgeous Athens was. You probably noticed in the pictures, but the amazing thing about the city, in my opinion, is that there are small mountains speckled throughout the buildings, and to me it looked like someone just came along and poured the city into this basin, where the buildings just spread right around those mountains. In addition, there are orange trees everywhere, and when one finds one’s self atop one of the hills, the water is always in the distance, and the city almost looks like it continues into the water. YES, it’s dirty. Yes, the people can be a bit pushy. Yes, we got amazing weather. Nonetheless, I recommend it highly.

Moving on.

On Friday, we took a highly recommended (by Jenn & Griff) tour to Delphi, the site of an ancient Oracle, a monument to Apollo, and a village of other amazing ruins, all of which are thoroughly steeped in mythology. The basic story is that people traveled from throughout Greece to ask questions of the Oracle (”dis is a place, not a pehrson”) . A woman (the pythia) sat on a sacred tripod over the oracle, which was a crack in the ground that emitted fumes. She was ecstatic and could not be understood without the help of two translating priests. When people came, they made sacrifices and brought offerings to Apollo in exchange for answers to their questions.

Aside from the monument to Apollo and the oracle itself, the site includes ruins of each city-state’s treasury, where the small offerings were kept. Large offerings (statues and the like) were kept outside of the treasuries. On the site are also the ancient theatre and stadium. We took a bus there, and we arrived in late morning at the site. Our tour guide walked us through the museum, where we learned that the site was not excavated until the 1890’s, when they found some extraordinarily well-preserved statues. Highlights of the tour included the explanation of that statue (she points) “Dis is Socrates question mark. We are not sure,” and another statue, “Emporer Hadrian was homosexual. Dis was his lahver.” Nice. No “so they say,” no “allegedly,” just out with it already.

There were TONS of cats living in Delphi. Not so many dogs.

Delphi is also the home of the omphalos stone, which was deemed by Apollo to be the center of the Earth. You can see Andy manipulating the center of the Earth in one of the pictures below.

The most interesting thing about Delphi, to me, was that many of the stones from which the walls were constructed were covered with ancient Greek writing. Our tour guide explained that people carved their stories into the stones: “I came here on this day to ask the Oracle this question. I offered ___ to Apollo. The response was ___,” “___ was king when we started building this wall. ____ was king when we finished building this wall.” Things like that. AMAZING. I figure this blog is the same thing, except I didn’t carve it into any walls. Maybe I’ll start working on that tonight.

After checking out the monument, we took a quick visit up to the theatre, where Caton pretended to sing and I got shy; the stadium, where we wrestled and I tried to race but couldn’t find a competitor; and the fountain of youth, where I lost 10 years and for about 30 seconds (until Andy splashed in it) made Andy look like a dirty old man married to a hot teenager. Now we’re even again. Phew.

That’s about it for that day – we took the bus back (stopping for lunch on the way) made some baked pasta with the leftovers, played with Anna, who was feeling MUCH better, watched some AFN and hit the sack.

Ahhh . . . it was warm in Greece. Come on, Spring! I need the feeling back in my fingers!

PS. I love March because I think it’s a hopeful month (crocuses, some warm days, etc). Andy thinks it’s a disappointing month (you always think it will be warm and it never is). I suspect we’re both right, but I sure as heck hope it warms up before he gets back on Sunday, or I’ll definitely lose this debate for 2006.

Photos from our amazing trip to Delphi.

When we arrived on Wednesday afternoon, we went for a nice walk through the park by Caton’s parents’ house, and we went shortly thereafter to the grocery store, where we acquired the requisite olives and feta. MMmmmm. . . . Mark made us a yummy Greek salad (Greek salads, by the way, don’t have lettuce) and a wonderful pasta dish with chicken and artichokes.

After dinner, we watched some AFN – satellite American television provided to the Armed Forces and other members of the foreign service (i.e. Caton’s dad), complete with a truly impressive selection of reassuringly low-budget armed forces commercials. You know – talk to your sergeant about this new service we offer, don’t steal from the commissary – that kind of stuff. The best part was Oprah. Oh how I’ve missed her. After some Dave (as in Letterman), we very sleepily stumbled up to bed.

On day 2, Caton & Anna stayed home in effort to rest off a nasty cold-type sickness, and Mark, Andy & I went to the Acropolis. Let’s clear this up right away. The Acropolis is the hill, the Parthenon is the building. I had no idea until we went there. To get to the Acropolis, one must hike up a big hill, past the Acropolis arena, past another monument that is currently being taken apart and put back together, and up to the Parthenon itself, which is AMAZing. It is huge and just as beautiful as it looks in the pictures. We spent some time looking at the building itself, and then we perused the museum, said hello to the resident doggies (there are resident doggies all over Athens), checked out the Erecthion and headed down the other side of the hill.

Quick note about the museum. I once mentioned the British Museum of Stolen Goods, in which they have a gorgeous display of some of the most important pieces of the Parthenon. There has been a disagreement between the Greek and British governments. The British originally told the Greeks that the stones would be better cared for in the British Museum, because Athens did not have an appropriate facility. SO, Athens built an appropriate facility, and the British said, “Well we didn’t say we would GIVE them to you if you DID have a good facility.” The POINT is that in the Acropolis Museum, the descriptions often said what the item was, and then something like “the remaining pieces are kept in the British Museum.” Knowing the story, one could almost sense the bitterness, and of course it did seem odd that they weren’t there. Poor Athenians.

On the way down the hill, we spent some time exploring the Roman Agora, a gorgeous little chapel, loads and loads of ruins of other ancient buildings, and the Thission, a monument built in about 450 BC that is in excellent condition. After all of that, more importantly, we stopped at a taverna looking up at the Parthenon. I had a Greek salad and Moussaka, and they were both FABUlous; I knew I had good eating to look forward to for the rest of the day.

After lunch, we walked around the Plaka, a shopping district, looking for a specific jewelry store where Mark wanted to look for a birthday gift for Caton. We eventually found the store and had a great time drinking Ouzo with the owner and trying things on while Mark picked out something gorgeous.

We headed back, had dinner nearby and headed back home for some more AFN. Tune in next time for the details of our tour of Delphi.

PS. In England, when things go wrong, they often say, “It’s all gone pear-shaped,” which makes me wonder: what shape were you going for?

Photos from our first touristy day in Athens.

OK, let’s see. In Florida, I hung out with my mom and Amber, and I was quite lazy. I did some highly unsuccessful shopping, had some nice dinners, laid on the beach and by the pool, and rented movies. ExACTLY what I needed. They’re very nice ladies, those two. I sure as heck didn’t want to come back to cold England! BRRRrrrrr . . .

On my last day in Florida, I remembered that I wanted to pick up some Cadbury Mini Eggs, because they’re different here, and I thought my coworkers would be interested in a taste test. Well, we conducted the taste test today, and I was happy to discover that the response was mixed. I fully expected to be the only proponent of the American ones, but there were two or three other fans. All in all, I’d say about 60% of the testers prefered the British ones, but only ONE of those testers did it blind. I did it blind and still picked out the American one. I thought it was the British one but had to confess that I liked it better anyway, BUT it was the American one, so PHEW!

Now I’m watching the British “What Not to Wear,” and they just said, “You look like a million dollars.” Surely it should be a million pounds, but what do I know? I guess maybe she doesn’t look as good as all that.

Back in February I got an invitation to the Electrical Contractor Association’s annual dinner. The dinner was on Valentines Day and my host was desperate to fill his table. Since Tiffany has classes on Tuesday evenings I accepted the offer.

The invitation read “dinner jacket” so I pulled out the suit jacket I almost never wear and set off for a nice evening. As I was walking towards the venue, I noticed a couple of men wearing a tuxedos. I saw three, five, a dozen two dozen more men in tuxedos. “Wonder where everyone is going?” I thought. Once I arrived at my destination, the Grosvner house on Hyde park, it became clear that it was their destination as well. Through the glass facade of the Lobby was a sea of tuxedos.

I called my host to tell him that I must have missed something and was woefully underdressed and tried to back out. He said that he already had three empty seats at the table and could not bear to have one more so it didn’t matter to him what I was wearing. So I went in, and was very embarrassed. Upon finding my host, I told him that I thought the invitation said dinner jacket. He informed me that in England a dinner jacket (or sometimes DJ) is what we Americans call a tuxedo. It seems I learned that one the hard way…

As I tried to sneak in to the dinning room relatively unnoticed, a man quietly asked me my name at the door. Then as I went through the door he shouted “PRESENTING MR. ANDREW MCNEIL!” And I found myself face to face with two guys wearing medals and other fancy adornments – the president and vice president of the association. It wasn’t the discrete entrance I was had hoped for.

Of about 1000 people at the event there were maybe 50 women wearing gowns, 910 men in tuxes. 25 men in kilts with tux jackets, 14 men in dark suits with black ties, and me in brown pants and a dark grey jacket with green tie. Whoops!

This was the same man that hosted the Croquet Tournament to which I didn’t wear white. Well lets just say that he now knows that he needs to tell me exactly what to wear to any event. He has bravely invited me to the Lighting Design Awards dinner later this month. This time I’ll know exactly what to wear… A powder blue Dinner Jacket!

Other interesting things that happened at the dinner:
– We toasted to the Queen.
– Dinner music was provided by a brass quartet that played mostly marches, Mozart and umpa. But they somehow managed to squeeze in Eternal Flame by the Bangles.
– There were several boring speeches finished off with a mostly funny comedian (”You do the ECA dinner twice in your career, once on the way up and once again on the way down. It’s good to be back”).

While I’m catching up on the old blog-a-roni, I have some pictures to add:

Photos from quiz night with Brooke and Melinda.

The only photo we have from Todd’s Visit.

My visit to the McNeilorama headquarters was nothing short of spectacular. On my first night, I suggested we go to a play. Not just any play, but one that featured Neve Campbell and Matthew Modine and was written by Arthur Miller. Sounds promising, right? Since Tiffany had a marketing class, it was just me and Andy. The show was called “Resurrection Blues” and there were two things we didn’t realize going into it that might have been good to know: 1) It was the last play that Arthur Miller wrote, so it was probably written when he was senile and coasting on his reputation as a great American playwright. 2) It was only the third night of previews, which explains why someone in the crew was loudly feeding lines to one of the leads. Andy, thanks for being a good sport and indulging my giddy tourist inclinations.
One English staple that I highly recommend is tea and scones. Andy and Tiff made reservations at a fantastic little place called the Muffin Man. We met Mark, Caton and their adorable baby Anna there after strolling along the Portobello Market for a couple hours. I think the English are onto something. I’m going to start lobbying my office here in the States for a daily tea break. I’ll let you know how my crusade goes from the comfort of the unemployment line, where I’m sure one can have tea and scones whenever he bloody well pleases.
Another night of my trip saw a McNeilorama first: a foray into the London indie rock scene. I am a huge music fan and after reading about a concert in TimeOut London, we ventured out to a club called Metro. Soon after entering the tiny dark underground lair that is Metro, Tiff ran into one of her co-workers. She noted that her presence at the show would do wonders for her street cred among her office mates. During the first band’s set, Tiff asked me if I had heard of Morrissey. After telling her I had, she pointed out that he was about 10 feet behind us. No sooner had I turned around, then the man himself was walking right by us. I proceeded to enter fanboy mode and contemplate trying to get my picture taken with him. Fortunately, Tiff had the good sense to steer me away from this course of action and leave the poor guy alone. Nonetheless, it ranks up there as one of the coolest rock star encounters of my life. All in all, we had a great time and got to hear some brilliant bands (forgive the British expression, but it seems appropriate). I was pleased when Tiff said that they should go to more club shows, though next time they will go prepared….with ear plugs.
One last highlight that I will share before I shove off and hand you back to your rightful bloggers is of the chippy. First, I must explain that a “chippy” is what the British lovingly call an establishment that serves fish & chips. Not only did they take me to their favorite chippy, but it was a kosher chippy, which I would guess there aren’t many of in London. I was pleased to know that our food would all be fried in matzoh meal. Much to my delight, it didn’t disappoint and I have gained newfound respect for that most English of delicacies.
For the unititiated, I would be remiss if I failed to point out that Andy & Tiff’s air mattress is extremely comfortable and one of the million reasons to visit the McNeilorama braintrust. I can’t thank them enough for opening their home (and their blog) to me. Cheers!

Quick hello to Patrick, of the McNeilorama comments Hall of Fame, who is bringing McNeilorama global (well, more global) courtesy of the US Army. Do us proud, Pat. That’s right, readers, keep on traveling – this blog is GOING places.

OK, off to bed, then off to Greece!

Hopefully I’ll be able to catch some z’s on the plane. We’ll see. As for planned activities, I suspect we will walk around, take loads of pictures, and eat. That’s my plan, anyway. We’ll see if all parties agree with this plan.

In other news, I am giving a presentation in class tomorrow – it’s an easy one, but I have to try to keep it short and sweet, which is not my forte. Long and chatty is my forte, as you may have guessed. OK, I have to go to bed, because tomorrow night I only get about 3 and a bit hours of sleep, so I need to stock up! I probably won’t get to post until we get back, so more next week, and happy Doughnut Day!

Kermit ate about a third of a croissant the other day. Through the baggie. I don’t think she knows that she’s supposed to be a cat.

Andy went to Amsterdam for a few days for work, and now he’s in Berlin for a few days for sorta work (”teambuilding”). So he came home last night and said that he went shopping in Amsterdam. I thought, “Hmmm. . . did he buy some glassware for the kitchen? A pretty article of clothing or piece of jewelry for his wifey?” Then he said, “Guess where I went shopping?” I’m thinking, “Where did we go when I was in Amsterdam? Why would I know where he went shopping?” Well, silly me. He went shopping at the grocery store, and he bought cookies. I really should have known, because the man sure loves his unusual cookies and biscuits. Don’t worry, we have loads of them. Syrupwafflen, to be specific. If you’re curious, I think you can buy them in Starbucks – they’re called Dutch waffle cookies or something like that. We didn’t notice them there until after we had them in Amsterdam, but anyway – they’re delicious.

Also of note is that I made beef Wellington for the first time last night. I had NO IDEA how easy it is!! I’m making it again and SOOn. It was delicious.

OK, bed time.

OK OK I know. I really wish I blogged more, too. We’ll probably lose readership at this rate, but we’ll just have to build up our vast following again when we have more time. Basically I started taking those classes I told you about, and I have also been working a bit much lately – they decided to put the weekly, monthly, quarterly, 5-year strategy, and brand planning deadlines all in the same week. Well weekly deadlines are every week, but you know. It should slow down over the next few weeks, so that will help with my prolificacy.

On to the title topic. . . As Andy and I had a very busy day planned on Valentine’s Day itself, we decided to go out to dinner on Saturday night. We went to a Greek restaurant in our village (one of a very few “places we have to try� left on our list), and it was just lovely. We think we learned something, though. We think that when one enters a restaurant in London, rather than saying, “Hi, 2 please,� as one would in the States, it’s probably more effective to say, “Hi, do you have a table for two available?� The reason we think that is because every time we go into a restaurant and say, “Hi, 2 please,� the host says, “Have you booked?� Well, no sir we have not – your restaurant is EMPTY. Here, it doesn’t matter. Here, the options seem to be 1) make a reservation, and 2) ask politely if perhaps maybe they might be able to find room for you. I think. I’ll test it and let you know how it goes.

When Tuesday (the real Valentine’s Day) came, Andy got up early to make me a yummy breakfast, which turned out to be raspberry coffee cake. Look out, future guests – it was WONderful. What began as a romantic idea gradually turned into a ludicrous fiasco, and it happened as follows. The raspberry in the raspberry coffee cake decided to leak its way onto the bottom of the oven and smoke the place out. Andy opened the window while I was in the shower wondering why my yummy breakfast was smelling alarmingly like burnt breakfast.

When he checked on the cake, it set the smoke detector off. He took the cake out ten minutes early, because the smoke was getting a bit intense, and when he did, we were prepared. Our smoke detector is on the ceiling, so I violently waved a dishtowel at it for the few minutes it took Andy to check on the cake and decide to take it out after all. So there I was in my smoky flat on Valentine’s Day franticly waving a dishtowel over my head in the general vicinity of the smoke detector. When we finally sorted the cake out, Andy started the coffee and got in the shower while I continued to get ready for work. I came out of the bedroom to the homey aroma of freshly brewed coffee, burnt raspberry filling, and delicious coffee cake, and then I realized that the coffee smell was particularly strong. Because the coffee was everywhere.

Our coffee maker has a tricky mechanism that, on the whole, makes it much cleaner and keeps the coffee hotter than other coffee makers, but it also means that if the carafe is slightly off the mark, the coffee could potentially go everywhere. We won’t do that again. So I spent a good five minutes mopping up coffee with our recycled paper towels which, though eco-friendly, are complete garbage in the soaking up coffee department.

After I made more coffee, we had a wonderful breakfast, and the cake turned out to be amazing. We then decided that, rather than eat the entire cake, I should take it into work to share. I carted it to work on the tube (after setting my travel mug down on it – oops), and when I arrived, I said, “Andy made a coffee cake.� “Why the h*ll would you ever make a coffee cake?�

Turns out they don’t really have coffee cake here! They thought I meant a cake that tastes like coffee, rather than a cake to eat with coffee. They tried to get me to explain what it would be like: “Is it like a crumble? Is it like a muffin?� Well no, and sort of. Anyway, the ended up loving the coffee cake, but most of all, they were VASTly impressed that Andy and I managed to have so many adventures before the day even began. So, the moral of the story is that waking up early leads to all sorts of new life opportunities, or – at the very least – can on occasion supply some good blog material.

Notes: Getting cat hair out of the keyboard is a challenge I never thought I would have to think about.

Todd was here this past weekend – we had a wonderful time – more on that later.

We’re going to Greece next week and I can NOT wait.

Melinda is coming back in May – this time with the wonderful Kate. We’ll miss Brooke, but we like Kate too, and besides, maybe Kate can just wear her glasses or something.

In England, the paper is taller, but the binders only have two rings. Explain this to me. This makes ZERO sense. Zero. Oh sorry, naught. Naught sense. Anyway, I got two purple two-ringed stupid binders, some paper, and a hole puncher. After I bought the school supplies, I walked down toward the book store (via the Gap, of course) to meet Andy, but on the way, I acquired a free sample of deLICIOUS hot chocolate. We’re talking nearly City Bakery quality. All I can say is that they did the right thing by handing out free samples, because now I know they have wonderful chocolate, and I might just pick some up should the occasion arise (take note future visitors).

Now I get to punch holes in all of the notes I have so far and put my binders together while watching the Olympics. Perhaps it says something about me that I’m really looking forward to that. Not sure.

Moving on . . . We just got back from visiting Barry & Claire in Wyndmonham, which is pronounced Wind’m. (I could go on all day about leaving letters out of words here. Southwark is pronounced Suthurk. Worchestershire – as in the sauce – is wuster) It’s very close to Norwich (you guessed it – Norich) and way the heck out in the country, where there are trees, woods, furry creatures, and even flowers. It was wonderful, and I genuinely feel like I can breathe better today than I could two days ago – fresh air is so exhilarating.

We arrived on Saturday morning, had a yummy lunch of ham, soup, and salad, and set off on a walking tour of Norwich. We went to the beautiful cathedral in the town, within which was an exhibition of the Quaker tapestry. Back in 1981, Quakers all over the world began to make a tapestry explaining the history and core beliefs of their faith. Today it is 77 panels strong and quite impressive to see. Also impressive were the cathedral’s bosses. Bosses are the baubles on the joints of the arches in the ceiling. There are over 1100 of them in the cathedral, each of which is unique and tells one of the stories of the Bible.

When we returned to the cottage, Violet and Basil came to dinner. Violet is Andy’s grandfather’s cousin. Oh by the way, Claire is Andy’s mom’s cousin. Anyway, Violet has an extensive family tree (which even I am on) and Claire has a book (published in 1904) that details the family history back hundreds of years. Apparently one of Andy’s ancestors commanded forces in the Civil War. We spent hours looking at photos and through the book; we saw an amazing picture of Andy’s grandfather as a young man, leaning on an airplane. I found it fascinating to look for family resemblances in people I never knew.

We all stayed up later than planned, and poor Violet and Basil went home sleepy as could be, while Andy and I stumbled up to bed and barely made it there before falling deeply to sleep.

Today, we had a lazy breakfast, a walk around the garden and a tour of the rest of the property, including Barry’s studio. Barry is an artist and has loads of extraordinary paintings all over the house AND, not surprisingly, in his studio. Then we had a lazy lunch and even managed to cram in a giant cookie before our next adventure – working in the woods.

Barry manages an ancient woodland behind their property. The entire park spans about 100 acres, and a portion of it is managed by a process called coppicing. Essentially, when the naval ships were lost fighting the Spanish Armada, Queen Elizabeth saw the need for a constantly refreshing supply of wood – in order to build more ships. The property is divided into sections, and in a 20-year rotation, the growth is cut down to about 6 inches high. Every year, Barry, Claire and cohorts (which today included Andy and me) chop down the growth in one section of the woodland, so that they constantly have 20 completely different habitats for wildlife and whatnot. They leave 10 big trees per acre, but the rest is cut back to leave room for wildflowers, butterflies, and birds. Our job was to chop up some pieces that had already been cut down and drag them into piles according to size. It was so nice to go outside and work hard – we don’t get too much opportunity to do that sort of thing in central London.

Now we’re back, we’re watching Moulin Rouge and waiting patiently for the Superbowl to start. I’m pleasantly surprised and excited that it will be on television, and my goal is to make it through the half-time show, which I figure will be over at about 1am. We’ll see.

When the cats finally turned up in the lobby, we had to carry them to the bus stop, which was probably about half a mile across and down a four-lane highway with no crosswalk. Fortunately, we had the intellectual wherewithal to leave our bags at the airport bag-holder place during this process, and it was well worth the money.

I was nervous about bringing them here, because – as some of you may already know – Toby is a neurotic anxiety disorder of an animal, and I thought he might die of a heart attack on the airplane, or at the very least tinkle all over our worldly possessions when he arrived. Kermy, on the other hand, likes to run around a lot, and I thought she would be depressed about moving from a nice big house to a teansy little flat. The good news is that everyone seems to be settling in just fine.

Kermy is completely torturing Toby – she bats at his face when he’s trying to use the litter box and growls at him when he jumps on the bed at night – but he is holding his own. Sometimes he stakes her out – waits for her around a corner and then attacks her when she walks by. It’s hysterical.

The most important kitty news is that, since we have immediate access to the outdoors now, we thought it best to get them collars. We have never tried a collar on Toby before, but we used to try to get Kermy to wear one, and she kept tearing them to shreds and ripping them off her head. We went for some fancier ones this time – black with LOTS of diamond studs on them, and well – I guess they like the bling. They practically strut around in their new collars. Here are some pictures:



And while I’m at it, here are some more pictures of Brooke & Melinda’s Visit:



In other news, I wanted to quickly follow up on some comments from Dad McNeil, who tried to encourage a show of e-hands so that we would know who reads the blog. Don’t worry folks, I love all of my friends and family – blog readers or no – and I actually know that loads of you read it, because some of the more shy readers send me emails or ask me questions on the phone, and that’s wonderful, too. I just like to joke about how there aren’t very many readers, because let’s face it – I don’t think Eucerin is REALLY going to pay me for my recommendation. Although, it REALLY worked. My so-called eczema is almost gone. Wait they really should pay me.

Finally, this is officially our 100th post to McNeilorama. Time to turn on the Celebration Light, I suppose. Incidentally, we found out that the Celebration Light is – unbelievably – worth £490. It was designed by Verner Panton in 1969 and originally manufactured by Louis Poulsen. Check it out (it’s available in red, orange, purple, blue or turquoise).

Then we transferred to our next train, which – according to the sign – was only going to Baker Street (we go further). When we got most of the way to Baker Street, the train operator/ announcer guy came on and said, “Sorry about this, but I’ve just been told that this train will not go on past Baker Street.” That was funny, because we already knew that – I guess nobody told the driver.

Then at Baker Street, the next train on the line we usually take would have been another 6 minutes away, so we decided to take one of the other lines. The other platform was quite crowded, but when the train came, we found space, and again, we waited on the train for a long time. After about 4 or 5 minutes, the announcer lady came on and said (in a thick, Cockney-like accent), “Ladies and Gentlemen, I apologise for the delay; the line manager has decided to let all of the trains on the other lines out before us. Again, please do not have a go at the staff – it’s the line manager’s fault.” That was funny all by itself, but we found it extra funny, because we might have left earlier if we had waited for one of those trains that the line manager decided to let out on the other line, where we were in the first place.

THEN, when we finally arrived at our destination station, we stumbled upon a Canadian couple who made us laugh again, because we had recently been discussing the ways to tell Americans and Canadians apart, and we said that one easy way is that Canadians don’t want people to think they’re American, so they tend to wear Canadian flags all over themselves. This man had on a Canadian flag scarf and had Canadian flag patches on his bags, and the lady with him had a Canadian flag hat (complete with pompom and hangy-down tassle thingies) and Canadian flag gloves. I can understand why they don’t want people to think they’re Yanks (lots of people don’t like Americans – how can you not like a Canadian?), but it’s still funny.

So that’s how our day started yesterday, and when I was walking home, it snowed. It was WONDerful. Little boys jumped around and tried to catch it on their tongues, and I grinned my way back home from the tube stop. It reminded me of home.

Incidentally, has anyone noticed how comfortable Aerobeds are? We have resolved to sleep on our Aerobed on the weekends, because it’s just that comfortable. Plus it feels like a little sleepover, which is kind of fun. I LOVE being a grownup!

Incidentally I think I should get donations from Eucerin and Aero for mentioning their products in such a favourable light and to such a MASSIVE audience. Of 7-10 people.

Ok so maybe I’m a little random tonight. You’ll manage.

Today the sun rose at 7:51 am and set at 4:34 pm. As a point of comparison, in New York today, the sun rose at 7:13 am and set at 5:02 pm. You guys have an entire hour and 6 minutes on us. Geesh. At least it was light out while I walked from the tube to work, but I’m about done with this. I am trying to be pleasant, but really I feel pretty grumpy, and to make matters worse, so does EVVVVVeryone else. Miserable so-and-sos – all of ‘em. The GOOD news, however, is two-fold.

1. It will be daylight savings time before I know it. March 26th is a mere two months away, and between now and then Todd is coming to visit and we’re going to Greece! Not bad, really.
2. Because it gets so dark in the winter and so light in the summer, the change seems to happen faster, so when we came back from the States on the 5th of January, the sun rose at 8:05 am and set at 4:07 pm. That means that we have already gained 14 minutes in the morning and 27 minutes in the eve- ok, maybe in the afternoon. But still – that is a noticeable change! Once it gets past the time I leave work, I think I’ll really start to notice.

Anyway, how do I know that it’s getting to me? Well, I yelled at a lady I don’t know. BUT she was being horrible. I was trying to wheel Melinda’s suitcase through the little tube doors, and I bumped into this lady, because she was trying to get past me (presumably thinking that I would be slow thanks to the suitcase). So I very sincerely said, “Oh I’m sorry!,” and then she huffed and puffed and took the Lord’s name in vain, which -admittedly – isn’t as great an offence here as it is in America, but still – I said I was sorry. So I really yelled at her, “I SAID I was SORRY!” She walked off saying, “Take it easy” and looking embarrassed.

For a second, I felt a little bad. The poor lady was probably having a bad day, and I’m sure if I were having a miserable day I might huff and puff if someone got in my way. But then, I decided that no – she was being nasty, and if I were – on my miserable day – being nasty to someone, I would absolutely deserve to get yelled at. So now I’m OK with it, but goodness it surprised me when it came out of my mouth!

The point of this whole story is that the sun needs to come back out, and also, everyone else needs to stop being grumpy so that I don’t have to be grumpy back. No worries – only 2 measly little months to go.

We spent Monday through Wednesday in Paris doing the typical touristy stuff and here is what we learned about the French:
1. They LOVE assigned seating- On the Eurostar train to Paris we were kicked out of our seats THREE times because we didn’t know that there even was assigned seating.
2. Much like the English, they hate doorknobs.
3. Paris is the sleeping capital of the world- We slept 14 hours in one night
4. They hate sneakers- We were literally the only ones wearing sneakers in Paris
5. They make excellent croissants and the same goes for all their pastries.
6. La Bon Marche- maybe the best thing Parisians have to offer. They were having a huge sale, we spent 2 out of 3 days in the department store and got GREAT deals on purses.
7. They have more cafes than ATMs.

Since we’ve been back in London we’ve eaten leftover croissants, shopped “in� Oxford Street, discovered Bershka (great store), saw Tiffany’s office, went to Windsor, ate some Indian food and enjoyed a fabulous Quiz night at a pub.

Quiz night was so great that it deserves a small explanation. We showed up late to Quiz night, but only missed one round. We were quite surprised to see how old some of the people there were, because we thought it would be a bunch of young drunk people, but it was a mix of young and old drunk people. Quite a few of the questions were specifically related to the U.K., so with the exception of one that Tiff could answer we struggled with those. Then, along came the Family Fortune question (much like Family Feud) and the category was “five other words for cry�, well we got four out of five and since a few other teams also got four out of five, we elected Andy to answer the tie breaker question. He of course answered it correct and our team, the High-5ers, (named that because Tiffany’s co-workers seem to think American’s high 5 a lot) won a bottle of wine! Quiz night was so much fun and we are trying to bring quiz night to America.

Our flight leaves tomorrow and we are not ready to leave. According to the law, we can stay in the U.K. up to six months and we are not allowed to work, so that sounds pretty good to us… look forward to our blogs from London in the months to come!

Our flight from Newark (shout out to Dirrrty Jerz) to Heathrow on Virgin Atlantic (the best airline ever) was excellent, partly due to the OREO CHEESECAKE we were served for dessert. This was a fantastic start to our carbo-loading vacation! Upon arrival, we went though customs where we were threatened to be “sent back to the States this afternoon� for not knowing Tiffany and Andy’s address and/or phone number. Relieved at the fact that our trip could continue, we went on our merry way to meet the McNeil’s.

We went back to their flat for some delicious breaky made by Andrew McNeil (almond brioche, if you want the recipe we’ll be happy to email it to you) and a shower! Then, we were on our way to Camden Market. It pretty much looked like the East Village- complete with Mohawk wearing Punkers and a giant flea market, which was overwhelmed by the smell of incense. Realizing how overly tired we were, we decided to go to Kensington for tea and scones at The Muffin Man (thanks to Sharon Light’s brother for the suggestion). After a delightful snack, we decided to head home for some celebrating. With the Celebration Light illuminated and matching champagne glasses, we toasted to our trip and our friendship. It’s time for dinner (Tiff is making Chicken Divan- yum) so we’ll write later.

We went to a bar down town. It’s the kind of bar in which one might run into miscellaneous high school acquaintances and in which one may drink 60 different types of beer in order to earn a metal stein which than hangs conveniently from the ceiling for one’s future drinking pleasure.

We sat in the bar, had a couple of tasty beverages, and watched the bowl game over the bartender’s shoulder while chatting about various topics, primarily the many antics of Andy and Patrick’s high school and college days. When we were nearing the end of round 2, the man next to Andy tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Excuse me, are you guys planning to leave soon? I don’t want to rush you, but we would like your seats.”

What? Uhh. . . we don’t really know umm. . . do you guys want to . . . uh. . .

At around the same time, open mic night commenced. We talked to the “I don’t want to rush you but” guy for a few minutes – mostly because he was insistently offering us a round on him for being so rude (it really was rude, but he clearly didn’t mean it that way – he felt REALLY bad). Then we decided that our time had come and perhaps we could find a cup of coffee somewhere.

We went to the coffee shop. It looked open, so we went in, and it was open – they were selling t-shirts and mugs and whatnot, but as it turns out, they were closing, and open mic night had just ended. The owner advised us that while they were indeed closing, she knew that some people were heading over to the bar (from whence we came), because they have an open mic night over there. That’s right – the open mic participants were headed down town to open mic participate again. How about that? Apparently Andy’s home town has an artists’ community of roving open micers. We wondered if Thursday was open mic night throughout the town and if so, when and where does it start, what stops does it make, and does it ever end?

Without a coffee shop to turn to, we went to another bar and spent the next half hour or so trying to figure out how best to steal the Christmas tree (which was full-sized, fully decorated, lit, and plugged in – and which, of course, we had no intention of stealing). I thought I could unplug it, lay it down, and then slide it out somehow. Pat & Andy suggested that I quickly hurl it through the window when no one was looking. Too bad the open mic tour wasn’t there yet (or had already been there?) – a little entertainment would have been just the distraction I needed to pull it off.

So about the band. How do I say. . . . um. . . well, they were called Middle-Aged Mitch and the Moodswings.

Yup.

Mitch, sporting a grey, tightly-curled old-school (meaning pre-Achy Breaky Heart) mullet, burst energetically onto the stage and announced that, while many bands consider themselves to be oldies bands, be not confused. The MOODSwings, said Mitch, “prefer to think of ourselves as a ROCK ‘n ROLL band . . . that likes to play old music.” While perhaps not the most talented rock ‘n roll band that plays old music in the world, Mitch & Co. were also not the worst, and at the very least, they were tremendously entertaining.

The former residents of #134 (apartments 1, 2, and 3) and friends were some of the youngest folks at the Eve-ent, and we joined a large group of middle-aged, Central Pennsylvanians and shook our booties to Mitch’s killer tunes.

Incidentally, we attended the party with some folks in the beer industry and ended up having a nice chat with the owners of the brewery. We learned a lot about beer. Most of all, we learned that beers tasting of green apple have been rushed through the brewing process, which means the brewers didn’t leave enough time for the acetaldehyde to do. . . um. . . whatever it does when it goes away.

So about New Year’s Efforts. I think that New Year’s Resolutions are a bad idea. I won’t pretend that I’m the first person to think of this, but the thing is, most people don’t keep their resolutions, and then they feel bad about themselves. That is just silly. I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for deciding that an occasional M&M won’t kill me or that I don’t need to exercise 5 times in every single week. Nonsense, I tell ya. I do think, however, that setting goals and making concerted efforts toward self-improvement are generally positive steps toward a more fulfilling life, and the New Year is as good a time as any to think about the aspects of your life that might need re-evaluation. AND SO, I have decided that from now on I will have New Year’s Efforts. Down with resolutions.

Here’s my effort this year: I am going to try to be a more sincere person. I realised (or remembered, rather) that I am not quite funny enough to be a sarcastic person, so I tend to offend people. Therefore, sincere is probably a better way to go for me. We’ll see how it goes.

By the way, two days after our beerducation, Andy joined our friend Chris in a home-brewed beer that one of Chris’s buddies’ dads made. Green apple, all the way. That guy needs to brew his beer longer. That acetaldehydle’ll get you every time.

PS. We’ll try to post pictures soon. . .

We saw Andy’s entire immediate family and all of their friends, Tiffany’s entire immediate family and much of the extended family, Caton, Mark, Anna and THEIR family and friends, loads of Andy’s college friends (aka.the peeps), Tiffany’s old work friends with Melissa & Lee, our neighbors from Jersey City and their family, Jenn, Griff, Hadley & Scarlett, and Fyl & Meghan. If I left you out, well, I’m sure I’ll hear about.
We went to 1 graduation, 1 birthday party, three Christmas parties, a New Year’s party, and a Barbie Monster Truck Rally Wedding.
We met two babies, one boyfriend, and one USDA veterinarian, saw one new house and watched at least 4 or 5 football games.

Tomorrow, we have to take the cats to the vet for their last check-up before their big move, and then we have a very important football game to watch, and Wednesday will undoubtedly be consumed by packing and preparing for our afternoon flight back. I feel tired just from writing about all of that.

I will try to write more and potentially post some pictures when we get back, but for now I’ll just say that we are having a wonderful time visiting everyone, and we feel lucky to have enough vacation time to see everyone and hang out. NOW it’s your turn. Brooke & Melinda are coming in a few weeks, Todd’s coming in February, and Melissa’s talking big about May, but there are quite a few others who we would REALLY love to have over. Let us know when you’re coming!!

Also, GO PENN STATE!

For those who don’t know, we’re bringing the kitties back with us when we come home, so I have been busily running around acquiring kitty things. I THINK we’re ready for them, and the McNeils have gone absolutely bonkers trying to get all of their paperwork together, so hopefully everything will work out ok. We’ll see. I do miss them. . .

Anyway we’ll have email and internet access in the states, so don’t worry blog readers – we won’t disappear altogether. I have to go clean the bathroom and vacuum now. YIPPEE!

The Y Boulevard was a hostel that was recently purchased. The new owner has converted it into a hotel, almost. There are some details that have yet to be addressed. For example several of the balusters are missing from the handrail on the side staircase (the one that happens to lead to my room). When I put my hand on it the first night I noticed that without balusters the railing is not very sturdy. I decided to take my hand off and lean against the wall instead. In the room there is no clock, iron, or phone. To make sure I get up on time I use the alarm clock function on the TV. I wake up to Dutch cartoons every morning. I am now aware, however, that the hotel does give wakeup calls. “Knock, Knock, Mrs. Johnson, its 6:30 this is your wake up call� (the walls are thin).

So Thursday night at about 9:30 the radiator in my room starts to make a loud screeching noise. After about 15 minutes, I decide to go down to the front desk (I can’t call – no phone). On my way I notice a man banging on the radiator in the “restaurant� (which is directly below my room). I tell him that mine is making the same noise. So he came to my room and banged on my for a while, Then went upstairs a banged on that one for a while, after about 30 more minutes he managed to get them to stop. The guy then came up with a glass of orange juice as compensation for the disruption to my evening. I didn’t really want it, but I drank it anyway. Later I came to the conclusion that he probably fixed it by closing a valve because my room was freezing in the morning.

Friday night the same noise again. At 1:00am this time. After 10 minutes I put on clothing and I went down to complain. It stopped after 10 more minutes. No orange juice this time and it was cold the next morning.

Saturday Evening, I return to a room that is hot and steamy, much like a sauna. The carpet is soaked (it splashed with every step), the chair by the window is soaked, half my clothing is soaked. I complain to the front desk, and they called a repair man and start sopping up the carpet. In the meantime, they give me a large beer to go with my take out Chinese (from Ralph’s Asian Wonderfood), send my clothing to be cleaned and offer me a free meal for Sunday. After the radiator is fixed, they explain that they can’t change my room, because they are completely booked (including room with about 20 bunks still remaining from the hostel days), so they put down towels down to cover the still damp carpet. Today when I return the carpet should have been cleaned and my clothing should be ready, and I should have a free meal. We’ll see how that goes.

Outside of the hotel, I’ve done a lot this weekend. Yesterday I went to the NEMO (Science museum). It’s a Renzo Piano building that sticks out into the water, is shaped like the bow of a boat, and sits on top of a tunnel entrance. The museum was neat, they had an exhibit about building structures. There were models of building frames to which you could add diagonal bracing and a core, and test for deflection from wind loading. Lateral systems 101! There were also bubble machines very similar to ones my dad and his friend made for the children’s corner at the Baum Craft show many years ago. And lot’s of other neat stuff that I won’t bore you with…

After NEMO, I went to the SMCS, which is the temporary location of the Stedelijk Museum during renovations. It’s in an old post office building near the train station. It’s similar to Moma Queens for you New Yorkers. I finished my day at a coffee shop that doesn’t have free wifi, but as the barista put it, “sometimes you can get a signal from the person living up stairs.� There were 7 people in the café with laptops.

Today I went to the Concert Brouw. If you have a ticket to the Sunday morning concert you can pay 4€ extra for a tour before the performance. I didn’t understand most of the tour because it was in Dutch, but I had a tour friend that translated the most interesting bits for me. The tour guide seemed boring anyway. The highlights included going above the Hall where all the winches and equipment are for the rigging. You could look through the holes in the floor to the concert hall. We also went down to the performers’ area in the basement where the orchestra was preparing for the concert. As we entered the cafeteria there was some witty banter between the performers, the tour guide and some of my fellow tour mates. I didn’t understand the actual words, but I understood the wittiness. Okay maybe I just acted like I understood the wittiness.

When I bought my ticket to the concert they told me it was an obstructed view. What they meant was, “you’ll be sitting in the cello section�. I was in the front row staring at the shoes of a cellist. There were cellists to the left and cellists to the right. I could make out a viola or two behind the cellos and could see the conductor’s arms when they were above his head, but that’s about it. From the lengthy applause, I was able to determine that the rest of the audience heard an excellent performance of a horn concerto. I however heard a marvelous cello solo with horn accompaniment. During the standing ovation I found myself face to face with a cellist. I said to her “You were very good. I couldn’t really hear anyone else, but you were excellent.� She laughed and said “dank u.�

I decided that you can’t come to Holland and not go to see a windmill, so after the concert I went off to track down the only remaining windmill in Amsterdam. Now I find myself back at the coffee house without free wifi, posting to the blog.

I’ve posted pictures from this weekend.

And pictures from a farm/petting zoo near my office.

Today is the day I started to feel Christmassy. I did a bit of Christmas shopping today, and there were so many people out shopping; that’s what started it. There were also people buying Christmas trees, there was a brass quartet playing carols on the sidewalk to raise money for the Salvation Army, and the weather was just lovely – crisp and cold, but bright and sunny. Ahhhh. . . . I love Christmas time.

I joined Mark & Caton for some mulled wine and a few cookies, and then we shared a yummy meal at the pub nearby. Everything is so cozy and warm and smelling of ginger and cinnamon. I just can’t wait for Andy to get home to share this wonderful time with me, and I also can’t wait to go back to the States on Friday!!! I haven’t been this excited about Christmas since I was about 12 or so. I haven’t seen most of the fam and friends since about April – my nieces are probably twice the height they were last time I saw them. I can’t WAIT!

Anyway, perhaps not as exciting for anyone else than it is for me, but there we are.

Incidentally, something in our flat beeps every night at midnight. I have no idea what it is and if I’m awake when it happens, it bugs me. I go over and take a quick look but don’t see it, and then I decide to look for it another time. Then I forget, and life goes on as such interminably. Any ideas about the beep? It seems to be coming from the corner in our kitchen that contains (mostly in cabinets) our tools, wine, olive oil, makeup bags filled with medicine and rarely used toiletries (i.e. nail polish), and our tupperware. OK Go.

Andy posted some pictures of our weekend in Amsterdam. Check ‘em out!

We showed up at the museum (which we read about in our guide book), and the door was closed. We had to ring the bell, and a little Dutch man (well a tall, skinny old Dutch man with glasses, to be precise) came to the door, looked at us confusedly for a moment, and said, “You like to visit the museum?” “Yes, we would.” So we went in, paid our 5 euro, and shortly discovered that it would be 5 euro well spent. There were three other tourists there, who were together, and the museum was in two rooms. The little man talked us through the history of player pianos from beginning to end, supplemented with various performances! The first Pianolas were big machines that ran on suction. They wheeled up to the front of a normal piano and played the notes for you, but someone still had to sit there and regulate tempo, pedal, and dynamics with pedals and knobs and things. He did this for us, and it was astounding.

Then he showed us the next player piano, which was similarly operated, but from within the piano itself. He explained all about the folks who bought them, what life was like at that time, the place the player piano played in their social lives, etc., as well as the technical aspects of the pianos’ development – how the pianos work, how the music scrolls were produced, how many different pieces were produced as scrolls, how many they have at the museum (over 20,000), where the scrolls are now, where you can get them now, etc. He explained that there is one company that still makes them, and one can therefore acquire modern music as well as the traditional, classical works. He put a scoll in to play for us, and we expected Billy Joel or Elton John, or perhaps even something more recent – Norah Jones, maybe? Nope – At Last. He played At Last. Great song, of course, but it just made us giggle a bit after the emphasis he placed on how modern some of the pieces can be.

There were four demonstrations in total, but he played more than one piece on each of them, and he even took requests. One thing I did not know is that the companies who sold the scrolls actually paid famous virtuoso pianists and even composers to record their performances onto these scrolls. (Little man didn’t know how the recording worked – he said all of the recording machines were lost during the Great Depression) SO, one can actually here how Prokofiev wanted his pieces to be played, or how Horowitz played Mozart. That, to me, is amazing. Watching this piano play a piece exactly how Prokofiev himself played it 100 years ago was an experience unlike anything I had ever imagined. Wow.

So anyway, if you’re in Amsterdam, you should go say hi to the little man and check out the player piano museum – it rocks.

Quick note:
Party was excellent. ZERO good gossip, unfortunately, but I won an award for being so awesome. About 12 people won it, and the 6 remaining members of my department were among them, and we actually won together for being an awesome department, but still – very cool to be recognised.

Anti-American slurs overheard so far this week:
- (Looking at photos of a recent wedding in America) “Well, you know how Americans are – just look at them – how do they get so fat? They are SOOOO fat.”
- (Talking about the number of English people getting plastic surgery as their Christmas gifts) “Soon we’ll all be walking around with massive plastic surgery and have fake everything like the Americans.”

Amsterdam was GREAT. It is such a beautiful city that, even in the chilly cloudiness of winter, we had a lovely time walking around and exploring all of its many – ahem – virtues. Don’t worry – no “we don’t serve alcohol/over 18 only” coffee shops here, but we did have to swing on by the red light district and check out those mostly naked ladies. One word: weird. These ladies dance around and jiggle a bit, and they make pouty faces and strut and smile at boys while just standing in the window there. We only saw one person actually talk to one of them, but we only walked by there in early evening time, so that might be why.

On Saturday, we went to Anne Frank’s house, which was amazing. It seemed to me that her father still owned the property after the war, so it has been preserved from day one, including the pictures she hung on the walls and her little boyfriend’s board game. It was quite sad, but it’s important to remember her legacy and everything she did to teach us about life at that time.

After Anne Frank’s house, we checked out the Van Gogh museum, which was CROWDED but very interesting. I don’t know that I have ever seen such a thorough exhibit on one artist. The paintings were arranged chronologically, so the changes in his style and improvements in skill are readily apparent. I learned that Van Gogh just up and decided to be an artist when he was 27. SWEET. That means I have a good 5 months to decide what I want to be and I can still become one of my new discipline’s greatest-loved geniuses. Any ideas? If you say media research, you’re going down.

We went back to the hotel for a regroup, and then we went for a lovely meal before the concert! We decided to go to a piano concert at the Concertgebouw, which is the city’s famous concert hall. It was – as I call them – a double-piana concert. That means dos pianos. Sorry – twee pianos (that’s Dutch). It was in the small hall, and it was SOOOO good. Well, I fell asleep once, but that was entertaining, too. Andy gently elbowed me and I gently JUMPED. Then it was over and we thought, “What, no encore?” AND we sat there for a while in disbelief thinking, “Gosh that was short,” and then we saw that nobody left and they were serving cappuccino. INTERMISSION!! AHhaaaahhhh. . . . YAY! So, twee cappuccinos later, we got to enjoy another whole half of concert! AND an encore. It was FAAAABBBbbulous.

Apparently I’m really into putting waaaaaayyyyy too many letters in my words.

On Sunday, we went to the Heineken EXPERIENCE. That’s what they call it. It’s a tour. Well, a tour with free beer. We paid about 10 euro each to get in, and we were force-fed three free beers while we were there. They had one of those ridiculous hydraulic rides (like they have at the mall) that taught us what life is like when one happens to be a beer bottle. I tell ya – it was ROOOUGH. Especially that party at the end. It’s important to remember life from the perspective of a beer bottle. Sorta like Anne Frank. Except lame. On the whole, though, it was a positive experience – I liked the horses the best. They have a crew of horses who ride through the streets of Amsterdam every morning, and we were able to look down on them and say hello.

We had a lovely meal – again – and I think we did something else. But I can’t remember. Yup, I swear there were two things on Sunday.

I must mention something VERY important about Holland. We wanted to have some real Dutch food, so we checked in the guidebook, and it turns out that Holland doesn’t have its own food. It has really good French and Indonesian food (which is a bit Chinese for the purists, according to the guidebook – we turned our noses WAY up at that Chinesey Indonesian food), and other than that they pretty much eat French fries with mayonnaise. BUT, they ALSO put jimmies on their toast. GENIOUS! They have the typical jimmies, but they also have some more gourmet-seeming lovely flakey-type sprinkles. YUMMMMy. And they serve them every day in cute little boxes at Andy’s hotel, so he’s probably stealing some for me right now. If he loves me. xxxx

So, now we get to the blubbering. When we got to the train station, I was sad to leave Andy. I was a little teary as I got onto my train, being careful to pick the right side of the platform – my train was on 13a and so avoidance of 13b was paramount to the success of this operation. Well? Wrong train. The platform across from 13b is 14. 13a is on the other END of the platform – same side. How can you have TWO trains on the SAME track on the SAME side of the platform?! Geesh. These Dutch people. Anyway, I didn’t just get on the wrong train a little bit. I got on the wrong train which was conveniently the FAST train to Amersfoort, which is bloody MILES away from Amsterdam, as I judged based on the fact that it took about 40 minutes to get there on the fast, non-stop train. When the conductor told me that I had the wrong train (Incidentally, I had to ask), I knew right away that making my flight would be a long shot, and I started crying like a big moron. Tears and tears. Also, it was raining ALL afternoon, and something about rain. . . Anyway, then the conductor explained to me how to get back to the airport in the fastest possible way and told me that it would get me there – if everything ran on time – about 20 minutes before my flight was due to leave.

You never know, so I pulled it together and tried to watch the towns go by on my hour-long train ride back (this one had stops). I got off the train and ran upstairs – asked someone where the airport was, because the signs being in Dutch suddenly became much more frustrating in my rush – ran toward the airport, asked someone for EasyJet – ran to EasyJet, said breathlessly that I was on flight whatever, and was told, “I’m sorry, it’s closed.” Oh goodness I cried and cried and cried. I said, “You’re sure it’s on time and there’s nothing we can do?” “You can come back at 7:00 tomorrow morning and for 56 euro you can change to flight 2156.” Snivle Snivle. “OK. Do you know where I can use the internet?”

I needed to check my email, because that was the only place I had Andy’s phone number. I tried the phone booth thingy, but it wouldn’t talk to me. Then the lady told me to try the phone booth thingy downstairs. Wouldn’t take my cards. Then I tried the information desk. Still snivvling. By this point, I started battling myself. “Pull it together, T-bone – you are SUCH a target standing here practically holding a sign that says I’M VULNERABLE AND I’M HOLDING MY PASSPORT AND WALLET AND A STOLEN BOX OF CHOCOLATE JIMMIES.” For Lord’s sake, save the jimmies.

So information desk guy told me to go to the Sheritan Hotel, which I did, and use the internet there, which I did. I called Andy and cried and cried and cried. I was just so MAD at myself for getting on the STUPID wrong train. The good news is that I got to spend another night with Andy, AND I actually made that flight in the morning, had an egg McMuffin, because McDonald’s reminds me of home, slept like a baby on the flight, and managed to get to work by about 10:00. My eye sockets were sore until about noon from all the crying and the not sleeping (too nervous about missing the morning flight). That is just silly.

OK now it’s getting late and I would like to go to bed soon – plus you are probably tired of reading or maybe you’re getting in trouble with the W-ster for reading too much blog at work. Brooke.

Tomorrow is the office Christmas party, so expect some gossip next time I write. Supposedly the sales boys always make out with all of the marketing girls. Shoot – we should just film that! Also, this will be the viewing of the film for which I did all of my silly dancing and whatnot. Hmmm. . . .good thing I have a pretty shirt to wear – when I get embarrassed I can say, “Do you like my new top?” and then they’ll stop talking about me being a weirdo.

By the way today is Sherri’s birthday. Sherri was my friend when I was about 4-6 years old and I haven’t seen her since. Why do I remember stuff like that?

I’ve been enjoying my time in the Amsterdam office. They’ve been exposing me to Dutch culture. Today, for example, was Sinterklaasavond, the traditional Dutch gift-giving day when Sinterklaas and his Moorish helpers visit Dutch children to leave a sack of presents. I’m told that it is becoming more common to give gifts on Christmas day, but Sinterklaasavond is still popular among the Dutch youngsters. It isn’t a day off from work, but from what I gather, one would typically get together with family for diner.

According to my guidebook, it is also customary for friends give poems caricaturing each other, so here goes. Ahem…

You are our loyal blog reader.
You come here to practice the skills you gained at a young age.
Whether you learned phonetically or traditionally, you are literate.
You read our stories presumably for entertainment.

Your comments make us happy.
Joy fills us.
We like to hear from you.

Note the complete lack of rhyme and rhythm. I guess this would be a “free form” poem, or maybe just a “bad” poem. Next time I post a poem I promise I’ll work on it a little more.

1. I can catch up on all of the things I have been neglecting like buying birthday cards, getting down toward the medium priorities on my list at work, going to the gym, perhaps even playing a little ditty on the piano, taking bubble baths, and I’m planning to get a massage.

2. I can watch all the lifestyle programmes I want – tonight’s episode of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition is on commercial break at the moment. Oh it’s back – they’re 4 hours behind schedule.

3. I can sneakily go Christmas shopping for him while he’s away.

4. When he gets back, it will be time to go to America for Christmas!!, and. . .

4. I can go visit him in AMSTERDAM!!

I have never been to Amsterdam. All I know is that they wear wooden shoes in Holland, and maybe they yodel? I’m not sure, but wooden shoes are very good things. Probably not very comfortable, but excellent for clogging and pretending to be Dutch, and they score major points in the novelty-value category. Maybe they yodel in Switzerland? I had this clear when I went to Switzerland, but now I forget.

I know they do soft drugs in the cafes in Amsterdam and that there are naked ladies everywhere you turn, but that’s not really my thing, and I have to say, if you are one of those people who tries to say funny things about how those Amsterdamian brownies are supposed to be good and whatnot, you’re just not very funny. Well, ok – you’re funny if you’re the first person to say it and also coincidentally my brother. You’re not funny if you’re the 20th person to say it and also some random person from work.

I want to go to the Anne Frank house if we get a chance, but that’s the only thing I know about culture-wise. Andy emailed me to say he bought a guidebook, so hopefully he’ll have some more ideas. Anyway, that’s where I’ll be this weekend, peeps. Yodelayee yodelayee yodelay hee hoo!

In explanation of why it wouldn’t work and of why I would be the office monkey even if it did, I offer two examples from the recent past – well within the past few days, to be more precise.

Last week, a man with a camera came up to the woman who sits next to me and said, “This is for the Christmas Party,” and then whispered to her for a few minutes, to which she said something like, “No, absolutely not, you picked the wrong girl. No way. Don’t even think about it.” Then he looked at me and said, “I’m wondering if you can help me.” I said, “Sure, I’ll be your monkey – what do you need?” He explained the concept of “Stealth Disco,” the purpose of which is to conduct a personal disco behind some busily working colleagues without them noticing, and then carry on as if nothing happened. SO FUN, and SOOOO Right up my alley.

So I walked up behind one of my most serious colleagues and started seriously freaking out. I waved my arms around and probably made some horrendous faces while miscellaneously stomping my feet, and then I walked ho-hummingly back to my desk. It didn’t work, though – he didn’t really see me, but he saw the camera and perhaps noticed the hubbub. Then he said, “I feel really self-conscious.”

Later, the camera man tried to convince another lady in my department to participate and received an even more vehement answer of “No way – don’t even tell me about it, because I won’t do it.” So he looked at me again and said, “Want to do it again?” “YEAH!” Well I had to get it right, didn’t I?! So this time I went behind the sports guy and the PA to the chief executive, did a few step snaps and a turn or two, and then casually turned my way out of there to walk la-dee-dah-ingly back to my desk. TOTALLY pulled it off. They had no idea. I can’t WAIT to see the video. I’m sure I look, as they say here, “like a right moron,” but whatever – somebody has to be the monkey.

Then today, our department was summoned up to one of the floors in the building that is being renovated at the moment, and when we arrived, we were given various accessories, wigs, etc., and told that the “brief” (marketing speak for ‘description of what you’re supposed to do now’) is “motherf*er.” Wow, I completely don’t even know what that means. Anyway, everyone looked really embarrassed as the marketing lady held out an outrageous wig, and so I said, “Oh, go on – hand it over” took the wig, and looked completely ridiculous as we were told to rap, break dance, and generally look really tough. Again, right moron. The thing is, though, why act embarrassed when I’m clearly not, and I somehow think it makes everyone else feel better if you just go for it. If all of us stood there meekly, it would make for a less than entertaining Christmas video. I took one for the team.

It should be clear now that if someone were to, for example, paint a watercolour rendering of the office at work, or make a clay pot or something, I just don’t think anyone would care. They certainly wouldn’t get in trouble. AND, I would totally win anyway, because everyone else is a big wimp.

The party was a huge success. We were among about 7 or 8 Americans, there was one token Brit, and the rest of the party came from other parts of the world. Some German, some French, a Spaniard, a Japanese family, . . . and very few of them had ever experienced Thanksgiving dinner. I have to say, for all of the slack the British give the Americans, they never look down on Thanksgiving. They know that Thanksgiving is something the Americans do right – very very right. Goodness me that food was delicious, and I think a few people went home with some serious Turkey Day envy.

Tonight, we went back to St. Paul’s, because we wanted to attend the advent carol service. The choir was fabulous – all male, with boys singing the high parts. I love that. The service? Well, a bit fearmongery, a bit long, kinda slow, filled with carols I’ve never heard before, and REALLY pretentious. It was definitely worth it for the music, but it’s not something I would want to do again tomorrow.

That’s about it for this weekend. Back to work tomorrow, and also back on the gym kick. Expect complaints about sore legs again by Tuesday.

I was frantically taking notes on this conversation, because I thought that looking busy was the surest way to avoid conversation with crazy man. Then he started to get a little nasty with the receptionist and the practice manager, and I was already nervous, so this contributed to my angst. Then, in I go, and the dentist says, “How are you?” “Nervous.”

Well, SIX shots of Novocain later, I survived. That’s right, six. So it’s good when your solitary wisdom tooth is descended like a normal tooth, because then you don’t need surgery, but also you have to lay there GRIPPING the handles of the dentist chair while they shoot your mouth up with Novocain and then tug a bit and then say, “Now does it hurt?” Oh goodness I’m SO glad it’s over.

When the dentist finished, I asked her if it was normal that my eyelid was numb. She lost it. She laughed and laughed. Then she said, “Can you close it?” Yes, I could close it. “Well then you’re fine.” Then I asked her if it was normal that my cheek was eNORMous. She said it’s fine. Then I asked her if it was OK if I went to the grocery store and then made pies, because she had told me earlier to take it easy tonight. She said, “Yes, you’re not ILL.” Oh. OK. She gave me preventative anti-biotics, because “I can tell you get nervous,” and sent me on my way.

I went to the grocery store, half convinced that my shoulder was getting numb, and bought my antibiotics, paracetemol (which is like Tylenol – for the pain), yogurt (because the dentist said to eat one a day to help with the nausea from the antibiotics – no joke – they really DO think that yogurt fixes everything), and two cans of evaporated milk (for the pies – I’ll get to it later). Then I went to Caton’s to borrow her pie pans, and then I came home to start baking pumpkin pies!! Andy and I are bringing pumpkin pies into work tomorrow, because – well mostly because you’re supposed to have pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving, goshdarnit – but also because my coworkers showed LOTS of curiosity, and I needed practice before Saturday. No one at my office has ever tried it before, and I think they’re interested but a wee bit wary. I’m so curious to see if they like it!

By the way, while I was baking the pies, my vision went a little blurry. I think my sense of sight got numb. It’s better now, though. It’s a good thing that pies conform to the shape of pie pans, because otherwise, I probably would have made wonky-shaped pies.

The dentist said it would take about two hours for the Novocain to wear off. It is now 10:41 PM, my appointment was at 4:00, and I still can’t feel my cheek. Maybe it takes two hours per shot?! Hmm. . . Anyway, have a very happy Thanksgiving, and I’ll let you know how the pies turned out.

I thought, “I Miss America.”

Then I told my co-worker about the bizarrely cheerful Yank in the Starbucks, and she sort of rolled her eyes and looked annoyed, as if to say, “How could you POSSIBLY find that anything other than annoying?”. Hmmm. . . Apparently not everyone appreciates a little morning cheer.

That’s all for today, except I’ll quickly mention that this lady at work just got back from a trip to America and was recounting a story about it. I didn’t really listen to the story, but the woman she was telling it to suddenly said, without any sense of sarcasm or irony, “And besides, Americans have NO sense of humour.” I thought, “What is WITH you people and your generalisations?!” Then I realised that I was both generalising AND demonstrating my lacking sense of humour. Crap.

Between the wardrobe and the dresser I acquired about a month ago, we almost have a real apartment now. Things have places, and places have things in them. PHEW!!

Incidentally, in order to purchase the wardrobe, we borrowed a station wagon and drove to Ikea. That’s right – we DROVE (well, Andy drove) – on the WRONG side of the ROAD! It was quite scary, but I only had to remind him to drive on the left once. I actually reminded him about 13 times, but I only HAD to remind him once, and there weren’t even any other cars on that road. London is very hard to navigate, by the way. I landed us on the wrong road about three times in a row. We got here eventually, though, and we have the wardrobe to prove it.

In other news, Thanksgiving is just around the corner, and we have big plans to attend (and make mashed potatoes for) Caton & Mark’s party next Saturday. I have gradually been stocking up on pumpkin pie filling (which is hard to come by here), and now I probably have more pumpkin pie filling than I have in any other year. Oops. Don’t worry – I’m sure I’ll find something to do with all of it!! Goodness – I do love this time of year.

Annnyway, when I went to the gym the first day, I went on the treadmill. I’m not a huge treadmill fan, but it’s a good, sweaty, feel like I did something type workout, so I went for it. Quick start, and up up up the speed. 6. Still walking. 9’s ok but feels a bit slow. . . what the. . . ? OHHHHHH kilometers. So then I increased it some more until it felt right and spent the rest of my workout thinking through the math in my head. I happen to know that a 5K is about 3.1 miles. I know that because I ran one once and someone told me that. So if I’m doing 10K per hour . . . I think I’m a bit dumb when I’m running, because it took a few tries.

Anyway, then I was excited to do some bicep curls and such, because my arms are so weak from being lazy for six months. So I go to the free weights (in the boy part of the gym, which is already uncomfortable), and they’re labeled from 1 to 10. Not the 2, 5, 8, 10, 12, 15, 20 that I’m used to. Hmmm, I think. . . OK, how about 7? 7 looks about the right size. No way, jose – 7 is too heavy. 6? 6 was a bit much, but I managed, because I didn’t want to downgrade TWICE – then I would have looked like a real wimp. I decided while fighting with the 6-ers that perhaps this was 6 kilos. Hmmm. . . 2.2 pounds. . . yeah I actually never finished that math problem – I’m even dumber when lifting weights, apparently.

THEN, I got on the scale in the bathroom. My options are stone and kilos. Oh geeze here we go again. I go with stone, because I know that one stone is 14 pounds. Then I do the math, and let’s just say that if the scale’s right, I’m skinnier than I have been since about 10th grade, and those who knew me in 10th grade will know that I was a scrawny little thing, and now I’m a grownup. I got back on the scale to make sure I didn’t see the wrong number, and then I did the math again. Still completely out of the realm of possibility. So apparently being really lazy and eating pub food is a really good way to lose weight? FAT chance. Who does this gym think they’re fooling?! All these ladies probably think they weigh about 10 pounds (sorry – 5/7ths of a stone) less than they do. I guess there’s no harm in it, until they get on a correct scale and get really depressed when they find out the truth.

Anyway, let this be a warning to you. Going to the gym in another country is a wee bit tricky. What with their wacky metric system and what-not.

So with coffee on the brain, on Sunday evening, we went to St. Paul’s to watch the free organ concert – you know that already – but THEN we went to Starbucks, because the Christmas drinks have ARRIVED. One mug of chocolate mint bliss for me, and one mug of gingerbread latte for Andy. We sat in the window (by the way, they serve it in REAL MUGS here) and watched the people walk by in the rain. It was just wonderful. Then, the next day at work, some lovely ladies were talking about their Sunday nights, which involved playing pool at the pub with mates, so I told them about my Sunday night, and at first they looked at me with that trying-to-be-nice-but-what-kinda-weirdo-does-that expression, and then one of them asked me if Starbucks reminded me of home. I said yes*, and when I’m really homesick I go sit in McDonald’s with the fat people and smell that vat of oil, and ahhh. . . . the memories. . . mom used to slave all day over that . . uh. . . cash register. . .

I guess I can understand in a way – there really isn’t an English equivalent to the mega-corporations of American origin that everyone loves to hate, so if tea and biscuits or a pub lunch would remind and English person of home, why wouldn’t McD’s be a beacon of warm, fuzzy nostalgia for the Yanks? Then again, come ONNNnnnnnnn. . . . .

OK so then, this morning we went to breakfast, as we do regularly, and in Mr. Cappuccino, a teeny cafe with excellent croissants (and cappuccinos, as one would hope) that happens to be our most frequent breakfast spot, there were three guys filming a movie. We were there first, and then a guy came in with two other guys behind them. Then they broke out these big professional cameras and started filming the first guy as he drank his coffee and read the Guardian. Ok, WHAT?! There are 6, maybe 7 teany tables in this place, and two of them are now in a movie. A movie is happening in my left ear and Andy is talking into my right ear, and can you DO that?!

Guess so.

So look for my left elbow in some random movie in another language. I’m wearing a pink sweater and my elbow is VERY pointy. You won’t miss it.

*”Said” in this sentence refers to the blog definition of “said,” which means that my wittier, post-conversation, post-steal jokes from Andy self had thoughts of this general nature and then the real version of me claimed that I actually said it when in real life what I may have actually said may or may not have actually been lame.

It was a bit scary at first, but once I got used to it, I realised its charm. See, when you watch an orchestrated fireworks display, you might clap at the end, but you have no idea who you’re clapping for. Here, when someone does something impressive with the fireworks they paid for with their own money and set up with their own ingenuity and creativity, you cheer for your neighbor – the little guy – the person who did this to help make Guy Fawkes day a little more fun for all of us. That sentiment, combined with the occasional “HIT THE DECK,” made Guy Fawkes day MUCH more exciting than I anticipated. Also, from where we were standing, we could see fireworks all over the city – it was quite impressive.

There was a distinct lack of bonfire on Primrose Hill, by the way, but I don’t think it’s one of the official bonfire night celebration spots. Maybe next year.

By the way, today we went to St. Paul’s cathedral for a free organ concert. What a huge perk of living in a big city! Free recital by someone who must be one of the worlds greatest organists, and in one of the most beautiful churches I have ever seen – and I’ve seen a lot of churches (see the Paris posts).

Remember Remember, the 5th of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot,
I see no reason why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.

Aside from reciting poorly constructed sentences, tonight the good citizens of Her Majesty’s dominion will trek out to their neighborhood park/hill/green space and stand around a huge bonfire in the cold, cold rain. WHOOPEE!!! The holiday is named after a fella (Guy Fawkes) who intended to assassinate King James I by blowing up the House of Lords during the opening of the 1605 session of parliament. This was called the Gunpowder Plot, and – poor Guy – it was FOILED! Then they captured him, tortured him into revealing all of his co-conspirators, and then had him hung, drawn and quartered in the Old Palace Yard in central London.

The holiday marks these events with bonfires and fireworks all over the country. I have done some research (with my poor coworkers, as usual), and I really don’t think there’s anything else to it. No food, no family gathering – just the bonfires and fireworks, but everybody LOVES this holiday. They’re so excited. I say, “What are you going to do?” thinking there will be parties or big meals or forced grimacey smiles as Dad wins Monopoly – AGAIN – but no. Just bonfires and fireworks.

The weird bit is that atop these bonfires around the country are effigies of Guy Fawkes. They make little Guy Fawkes dolls and burn them. It’s like the 4th of July, only cold, wet, lacking in the hot dog department, and really quite morbid.

Interesting Guy Fawkes-related factoid: the word “guy” in English – particularly in American English – comes from this fella here. Read more on Wikipedia.

Tonight, in effort to be well-behaved, culturally participatory immigrants, we’re meeting Caton, Mark, and Johanna for dinner, and then we’re planning to catch some fireworks, and as this is the 400th anniversary of the whole debacle, it may be a particularly spectacular display. Then again, with nothing to compare it to, I suppose we’ll never know.

PS. We changed the banner, but you might have to empty your cache to see the new pic.

Tips for travel to the McNeils’ . . .
1. Mind the gap – This term can be confusing. It means not to trip when entering the Tube but can be applied to many aspects of daily travel.
2. Look right whenever you think to look left – British traffic officials apparently recognize that this is a problem and conveniently label the ground at the crosswalks for you.
3. The signs of camera pictures on highways do not mean tourist photo opportunities – Contrary to what one might think when driving through the streets, a flash shortly following these signs means that you can expect a picture of your speeding and a souvenir ticket in the mail (or two).
4. American coffee (a.k.a. Café Americano) is not what you think, unless if a glass of watered down espresso is your thing – Be forewarned. The funny thing is that you can find a Starbucks on every other corner.
5. The exchange rates are deceiving – Prices appear to be inexpensive. Remember it is double.
6. Litter cans are hard to come by – I advise swinging by a local hardware store and bringing your own. Rubbermaid makes some excellent handle locking and rolling models, which will closely match your carry-on luggage.
7. Train tickets – If you plan to travel any long distances by train, buy tickets at least 7-days in advance. We learned this one the hard way.
8. Beans, Beans, Beans – They are everywhere on everything!
9. Change purses for men are cool – You don’t have to consider yourself a metro-sexual to appreciate this handy accessory for all seasons.
10. Be prepared when you ask for directions – There will be terms that require more thought (i.e. “Follow that lorry, you’ll come to a roundabout and have to take a left (a right is not possible when in a circle) then you’ll see a flyover that you should not take then go to the … )

Our accommodations . . . nestled in the mist of a peaceful yet lively West Hampstead you’ll find Chateau McNeil. This cozy and charming 16th century castle gives the ambiance of a home away from home. We stayed in the Orange Light Room, the most luxurious of the guest rooms. The personable Innkeepers exemplify the word hospitality. We were unable to confirm if they had a TV license (pronounced TEE-v) and fear this may put them out of business in the future if the authorities catch up with them. One slight adjustment was the lack of a shower curtain, Showering requires an certain confidence in your backside.

Our super ambitious planning for the trip somehow turned out resembling a script to a season of the Amazing Race, which got Missy a little frustrated at my repeat jokes of quoting the show at every leg of the journey. The good news is that each time we were the first team to arrive! Day 1 started out with us hitting the ground running. Once landing in Gatwick we dropped off our luggage and headed to Central London, after a stop in a local pub for fish and chips, of course. We took a neat ride on the London Eye, a sort of tourist Ferris wheel, to get a good lay of the land. Next we hiked to Westminster Abbey only to find out it had just closed. We then ran to Buckingham Palace for our next clue (sorry, I couldn’t resist). We suspect the queen was in because the flag was flying. Unfortunately, we had hoped to visit Hampton Court to get our first taste of a castle but found out before arriving that it is closed this week. Later that night we met Andy and Tiffany back at their place and probably looked like zombies.

My sister is studying in Oxford for her last semester and we met up with her and her boyfriend for Day 2 and decided to visit Stonehenge and the ancient city of Bath. Stonehenge was surprisingly easy to get to as it is literally right off the highway. Seeing a wonder estimated to be 5000 years old in spitting distance from a major roadway was somewhat unexpected. The neat thing is that most of the British tourist sites have this personal audio guide/tour stick thing that gives you information at stations as you tour the site. Bath was an amazing little city and we toured the Roman Baths. The excavation site was discovered under some of the city buildings and depicts much of what Roman times were like. Allegedly 80% of the Roman ruins still remain untouched. Amazingly, while the water was green from algae, the springs were still warm to the touch and bubbling from the gasses (oops, I mean Roman Gods). The day ended with a late Italian meal and I experienced perhaps the best tasting calzone I have ever had.

Day 3 we rented a car drove to the southern coast to the city of Brighton, which was an event in and of itself. Driving on the left side of the road and the right side of the car was not the problem, nor was the stick shifting with the left hand. The roads and signs were the most challenging obstacles to overcome. This was also where I learned, the first time, that the camera signs do not mean that you have reached a tourist photo opportunity. We drove throughout Brighton and found a parking deck and could not find the Royal Palace, expecting to see field of grass in front of a massive yard and palace in the distance. Convinced we were totally lost we continued to follow the signs and found out that the Palace was right in the middle of the city! The Palace was impressive with many items on loan from Her Majesty the Queen (probably the 300 year old stuff that just didn’t match her decor). Our original intention was to spend half the day in Brighton and the other half on the Isle of Wight, but sadly we did not anticipate the roads being as indirect and the travel to be as long so we missed the Isle of Wight.

Day 4 with the rental car was a little easier given the roads and direction we were traveling. Unfortunately, we got a later start (probably having the sleep and southern slow pace lifestyle we have become accustom to catching up with us). The plan was to tour the little towns in the area known as The Cotwolds. Each town, with its own unique character, could have been a few days of touring and will definitely be a potential vacation destination in the future. One of the more interesting street signs shown here shows the hustle and bustle of the English countryside lifestyle. The other part of our touring that day involved an unfortunately very quick tour of Blenheim Palace. Because of our late start, we had less time to spend there but did not want to miss it. This Palace was amazing! The countryside surrounding the Palace was magnificent and the interior of the birthplace of W. Churchill was perhaps even more impressive. We definitely could have spent more time.

Later that night, we joined Andy and Tiffany for a very delicious Indian meal. Usually not a fan of very spicy foods, I still enjoy flavor, which this meal had. If you are in London, the Indian restaurants are definitely worth the stop. We also had a brush with a celebrity as we walked into the restaurant just as Stephen Merchant, a writer/actor for the British comedy sitcom “The Office� was just exiting. We suspect he may be stalking Tiffany, as this is the second happenstance encounter. A point to mention if you do find yourself visiting the McNeils, don’t let them walk behind you. Expecting to get direction if we strayed from a more direct path, we later found out that we were part of a sociology experiment (kind of like rats in a maze) whereby Andy and Tiffany wait to see if you figure out where you are going or are simply get yourself lost.

Day 5 was a Saturday. Our original plans involved taking a train to either Scotland or Wales, but alas we planned too late. We highly advise buying tickets for the major city trains at least 7 days in advance but definitely not after 1800 the day prior. Seats are limited and the few that are left end up jumping in price significantly. Well, Scotland will have to wait for The Fro! Our alternative idea was just as enjoyable — we headed to Windsor/Eton to tour the Windsor Castle. This massive structure is a current residence of Her Majesty and home to the largest working Barbie house ever! While there Tiffany requested that Andy and I stand next to a guard and get stiff, I requested that that she never make that request in any other circumstance.

We wrapped up the week around London touring with Andy and Tiffany on Day 6. We visited the British Museum of stolen goods and saw half of Greece and Egypt. From what we understand, the other half remains in Greece and Egypt repectively. St. Paul’s Cathedral was our next stop followed by the Tate Modern Museum.

Day 7 included a trip to the Tower of London, which was surprisingly a very comical and informative tour. Who would have thought the spot of so many beheadings would end up being a tourist filled vacation destination?

The eight days flew by and we had a great time! Thanks Andy and Tiffany for hosting us!

Pictures from our trip…

WHEREAS, guests are fun to have and something to be celebrated; and
WHEREAS, making the journey is worthy of a reward; and
WHEREAS, we have a blog; and
WHEREAS, we are in constant need of content for said blog.
NOW, THEREFORE BE IT RESOLVED that guests shall be entitled to turn on and off the celebration light at will.
BE IT FURTHER RESOLVED that guests shall be granted the opportunity to make an official post to Mcneilorama.

Official Rules: ‘Guest’ is defined as someone whose journey was at least a 100 miles and has slept at least one night in our apartment. Inebriated London friends who pass out on our couch do not count. The post must be made before the guest completes their stay. Mcneilorama management retains editorial rights over topic and content of all guest posts. Offer void where prohibited. Actual cash value 0.00001¢.

*Not including Papa Mac who stayed a few nights with us at the corporate flat in Dorset Square and would be considered our actual first guest. In addition, Brooke and Melinda will be considered our first “real” guests for reasons that aren’t fully understood.

Also, when Andy came back from New York, he brought me presents from Brooke and Melinda – Halloween socks, Twix bars and deodorant. NICE! I love them. I am SUCH a cheap date.

As for me, I am very VERY excited, because Andy comes back from his business trip tomorrow AND because Fro & Missy are coming on TUESDAY!!!! They are officially our first overnight guests, and we can’t wait.

Yesterday, I got to go buy guest sheets and towels, which was so much fun, because I love sheets and towels. The sheets are different here, though. I bought a fitted sheet and a flat sheet, and I bought the flat sheet that was a little bigger than the fitted sheet, but then I opened the flat sheet and it’s basically the exact size of the bed. Who needs a flat sheet the exact size of their bed?! It needs to be BIGGER than your bed! I thought I got the wrong size, but then I remember on our trip to Switzerland, the duvet covers didn’t fall over the sides, either. Speaking of, the flat sheet is actually a duvet cover. So, kinda strange if you ask me, but I’m not planning to take it back to Ikea (it’s just not worth the trip), so I hope Fro and Missy are comfortable enough.

While at Idea, I also acquired a dresser, which has been a long time coming. We have NO storage in our flat, and this dresser will be a VERY helpful addition. This morning I put it together. I made myself a cup of tea, put the TV on, and worked away. I LOVE putting things together. It was quite a pleasurable 2 hours.

After the dresser was together, I went grocery shopping. And DID I go grocery shopping. See, while Andy was away, I didn’t really buy any groceries – just some bread, beans, and soup. Otherwise, I worked through some of the food that one tends to forget about – you know, that little bit of cheese, the last handful of raisins, etc. – all on the bread I bought. Well, not the raisins. Anyway, the point is that today I had the most massive grocery adventure. I bought the usual suspects – salad stuff for lunch, yogurt, milk, cereal, AND I bought ingredients for chicken lasagna florentine and some type of cookies – haven’t decided yet if they’re chocolate chip cookies or almond biscotti. AND satsumas (smallish citrus that are almost indistinguishable from clementines) were buy one bag, get one bag free, so I bought two bags of those lovely little fruit gems.

Anyway, walking back with all of the above and two new pillows was NOT a picnic. I made it, though. Then I did some laundry, had some dinner, and now it’s almost bubble bath time. I think I’ll actually get to bed at a reasonable hour tonight, but we’ll see. Actually, looking at that list makes me feel remarkably less lazy than I thought I was being today! Go me!

Despite our best aspirations to get up early enough to beat the crowds to the cafe from the day before, we got up late-ish and beat the biggest crowds at the cafe from the day before. We ordered deux of package 1 (there were 2 choices), which came with your choice of hot beverage, pressed orange juice, a croissant, and freshly baked bread with jam. Sounds simple, but it was absolutely delectable. I tragically sent half of Andy’s bread tumbling to the floor, where it acquired a hair and was therefore declared inedible (no, the dirty city sidewalk was not enough on its own). I am still mourning its loss. Tragic. I can’t imagine how Andy feels.

After breakfast, we consulted our trusty plan tourisme to see what we could find nearby. Answer? The Panthoen. Not knowing what the Pantheon might be, we thought it worth exploring. It is an enormous building with no windows on the ground floor. As it turned out, there used to be windows. The building was commissioned in 1744 by Louis XV. It then turned into a national civic temple, then back and forth and back and then forth into a civic temple upon the death of Victor Hugo. It is absolutely enormous. The windowless walls are covered with enormous paintings (and we know how we like enormous paintings), and it is marked by large, imposing columns and huge sculptures. Most notably, though, is Foucault’s pendulum, which hangs from the center of the main dome. According to a video playing in the Pantheon, Foucault himself invited folks to come see him demonstrate proof that the Earth rotates, and if I understood correctly, that happened in the Pantheon itself.

The basement is a crypt, in which are buried some of France’s most notable dignitaries, including Voltaire, Rousseau, Victor Hugo, and Marie Curie, to name a small few. It wasn’t very crypty, though. Nothing really dark or scary about it. Actually, if you have to be buried somewhere, I highly recommend the Pantheon. Good company, less dirt.

Then we went up in the dome – well we went to go up in the dome, but then the go up in the dome time was about an hour away, so we figured out how to get our tickets stamped to come back in, and we HOOFED it to the Pompidou Center. Goodness me, it does NOT blend. At all. We took a few pictures of it and hoofed it back UP the hill to the Pantheon, and then we walked up the 250+ steps to the balcony around the dome, where we looked out at the city from a completely different perspective than from the Eiffel Tower the night before. It was lovely.

We stopped at a little place for a baguette and a yummy dessert, and then reassessed our time. 2 hours. where to? Well, we were staying one block away from St. Germain des-Pres, and we thought that it might be a bit silly if we didn’t pause for a gander. It was quite different from the other churches we saw – MUCH older (the bell tower is the oldest in Paris), and it felt that way. It was a bit more echo-y, and the walls had that very old, cracked, washed out look to them. Some parts of the church were built more recently. The statue of St. Germain, par example, was installed in 1961 and is made of wood and quite modern looking.

When we finished at St. Germain des-Pres, we looked at our map one last time, and we decided on St. Sulpice. It seemed like it would probably be something worth seeing, partially because it sounded familiar to us. Off we went. We went in the church and walked around – toured the chapels, etc. St. Suplice has another amazing chapel to the Virgin Mary. To me, this church felt like even more of a sacred place than even Sacre Coeur. It just had that soft whir to it that reminded me to keep my yap shut and watch the language.

Then we noticed that people kept gathering in one corner of the church, and Andy said to me, “G, is this the church in the Da Vinci Code?” “Yes. Yes it is.” We absolutely went there by accident. We looked at the line on the ground (the “Rose line” from the book), and saw the sundially type installment, and then decided, as they say here, “sod it.” We had to see what there was to see. Before we went to that corner, we felt a smidge guilty. As I mentioned, it was clearly a place of worship – not a point and stare and say things like, “OHHHH THAT’S FROM THE BOOOK!!!!” type place. THEN, we got there, and there was a typed note on the wall.

In an irritated tone, it said things like, “Contrary to a recent best-selling work of fiction, the meridian line through this church was built in – - – - by – - – for the purpose of – - — . It has never been known as a ‘rose line’ and it does not point toward the – - – . In addition, the P and the S stand for – - – - – not the completely fictional ‘Priory of Sion’.” OKAY OKay we get it. Get out of our church, you stinkin’ yanks.

So we walked around some more, and then we went on our merry way. We stopped for some delicious gelato that we had been eyeing up for two days by then, and then picked up our bags at the hotel and took the tube back to the Gare de Nord, from where the Eurostar departs.

On the whole, it was a wonderful, wonderful trip, and we can’t wait to go back. Especially because now we don’t have to do ANY touristy stuff next time, because we did it already!

I wish you could buy cases of 50 or 100 croissants and then eat them all year without them turning gross.

We didn’t remember our camera battery for the Louvre, so the day 3 pictures are really just the Eiffel Tower. Really, though, that was the best-looking part of the day. Sunday was a bit rainy in the morning, but we managed to get a few good shots anyway.

I hope everyone had a fun day!

Here are the pics from Day 2.

On Saturday, we woke up late. Again. And we went toward an area that we passed by the night before, because we saw LOTS of good cafes there. We couldn’t really find one with any seats available, though, and we had to get on our way, so we resolved to go back to the best one early on day 4 and picked up some croissants at the patisserie instead. We walked to the river Seine and ate there as we watched the people go by and looked at the city. It was wonderful.

We consulted our plan tourisme to see what we should check out next, and we saw that while there was a metro stop called Bastille and all sorts of streets and such named Bastille nearby, there was no building on the map. So we decided to go there and see if we could find the Bastille or not. Well, no – no Bastille. I just looked it up on Wikipedia, and it turns out that some businessman had it destroyed completely by November of 1789 – within months of the storming. So – there hasn’t been a Bastille for a while. That said, it was in a very cool neighborhood with lots of real Parisians and a smaller percentage of tourists than most of the other places we went. There was a huge “art mart,” as we called it – one of those outdoor art shows/markets where artists display their stuff and one can purchase works at one’s leisure. We took a lengthy stroll around the art mart and decided that it would be nice to have lunch there, rather than waiting and having lunch in a touristy neighborhood.

We popped into a little cafe and ordered deux croques, l’eau de robinet and some vin rouge. It was delicious, and aside from a bit of confusion about moutarde (mustard), which apparently I don’t say right, it was very successful. After lunch we decided to pay to see some more famous – but perhaps less interesting – art, and so we set off for the Louvre.

The Louvre is the most ridiculously massive building filled with art that ever existed. Ever. It is just plain silly. We got of the tube and went through a series of tunnels that soon turned into a mall and then suddenly the pyramids were over our heads and there we were below street level in the Louvre. Did you know that there’s a mall under the Louvre? I didn’t. We found the underground entrance to the Louvre, but then we decided that going into the Louvre through the mall entrance didn’t seem quite right. We went outside and entered the proper way – through the big pyramid.

Did I mention it’s huge?

We grabbed the map and, after some debate, chose some areas we wanted to check out. First, the medieval Louvre. Apparently it used to be a castle or fort of some sort, because some of the original walls still exist, but here’s the thing: the signs are all in French. The other museums seemed a bit more user-friendly somehow, but the Louvre definitely seemed like it offered up a big F you to the Yanks. After the medieval Louvre, we went to check out the large format French paintings. I always love the enormous paintings. They tend to make me think about the logistics of how the HECK the artist painted them in the first place. There was absolutely no shortage of enormous paintings in the Louvre. In fact, I kept thinking about how it’s a bit of a shame that they all sit together in that enormous museum. There must be thousands of paintings in there – gorgeous, priceless paintings – that hardly even get a glance. But what do I know.

Then we made our way over to see Mona. One great side effect of the Louvre’s enormity is that it was not nearly as crowded as some of the other museums. EXCEPT for the path from the entrance to the Mona Lisa. Tres crowded. We went the sneakier way, through the Spanish paintings. On our way, we noticed that the window treatments were completely inadequate and that the Louvre should really redo all of them. Andy knows what he’s talking about when it comes to museums and daylight, but even I know that galleries with priceless 14th-century paintings shouldn’t have beams of sunlight pouring into them. So you can check that out when you next go to the Louvre.

Ok, about Mona. Everyone says that the painting is smaller than they expected. Well, it wasn’t smaller than we expected, because everyone told us it was so small. It’s a normal painting-sized painting, but it is located quite closely to the aforementioned enormous paintings, so maybe that’s part of the problem. Anyway, it is truly a really beautiful and remarkable painting – I left thinking that I understand now why it’s so famous. Also, she does have quite a cheeky little smile on her face, that Mona. She looks like she’s thinking about something that’s kind of making her laugh a bit to herself. Or maybe like she’s up to something silly or a little tricky.

After Mona, we went through the French sculptures – which were REALLY hard to get out of (the place is an absolute maze) – to Napolean III’s apartments. I just looked this up, but apparently Napolean III was Napolean Bonaparte’s (aka. Napolean I’s) nephew, and he ruled France later than N1. Again, the French nobility seriously know how to do luxury. As far as we could tell, these were rooms that N3 had in the Louvre for to use at his discretion. FILLED with gold and velvet. Crazy chairs of all different shapes and sizes, amazing chandeliers, gorgeous draperies and a bed with what must have been a 15-foot canopy. Now, of course, we want a great hall with chandeliers and all different seating arrangements so that we can have HUGE fancy parties. You can come.

I should mention that from about halfway through our Louvre visit, we found ourselves taking regular breaks. Sort of like every time we saw a bench we sat on it type breaks. Yup, sort of like that. So, perhaps needless to say, after that visit, we bee-lined it for the hotel and took a serious nap.

We wanted to see the Eiffel Tower at night, so we woke up and went there at about 5:00. We stood in the long line and took the elevator all the way up – and yes, we saw a couple get engaged on the way up. That’s what you DO at the Eiffel Tower, apparently. We looked around, took some pictures, went back down to the 2nd balcony, which was MUCH less crowded and in some ways a better view, because things were close enough to see and take better pictures of. Then, we found some steps and decided to walk down them. It ended up being a staircase down to the 1st balcony, and it was the BEST PART of the Eiffel Tower. We called it the innards. We watched the gears and ropes take the elevators up and down, and when the lights on the Tower started to blinkety blink, we felt like we were looking out at the world from inside its largest Christmas tree.

The first balcony had an exhibit on the movement of the Tower due to wind, etc., and a little museum that showed how they paint it and change its lightbulbs. Also, both levels had expensive restaurants, and there were all sorts of gift shops (with Eiffel Tower-shaped cows and giraffes, for example) and coffee shops, and a post office, which was closed. We were surprised to see that they sell Ben & Jerry’s ice cream in the Eiffel Tower. Ben & Jerry’s! Isn’t there some French ice cream or creme brulee or something they can sell? So STRANGE! Ben & Jerry’s. Straight from Vermont to you. Here. On the second balcony of the Eiffel Tower. In Paris.

We didn’t buy any.

We did wander our way down, sit on the grass and look at it for a while, and walk along the lane to another recommended restaurant, which we decided against when we saw a place that was more what we were looking for. Cafe Constant. We sat down at a tiny table RIGHT next to (almost touching) another tiny table at which sat an English couple, which we proceeded to pretend to ignore for the rest of the evening. Andy ordered Les Saussices (sausage & mash), and I ordered beef. Well actually I didn’t recognize what it was, but it came with mashed potatoes (I recognized that in French), so I asked. It said something completely unintelligible, so I said, “Quelle est, en Anglais, . .. ?” “Beef.” “OK.” “Medium?” “Oui, merci.” You might see a theme here. I had LOTS of conversations in which I spoke poor French to French people, who then spoke good English back to me. And back and forth, back and forth we went. Whatever – it worked.

Our table neighbors seemed nice, if perhaps a bit “oh I’m such a super-intelligent artist type”-y. They helped us order, because we copied them. Especially on dessert. I planned on ordering the one that contained the word “chocolat,” but when the neighbor ordered it and raved about it, I felt more confident. It was indeed delicious. Kind of a super-rich mousse in a creamy sauce. Yummmmm. . .

We walked back to the hotel from the restaurant, and we were soooo tired that I couldn’t even entertain the thought of taking notes on the day or of reading my book or anything. Phew – I feel tired just thinking about it.

News: I got completely drenched in the rain today. It quite enjoyed it, but I’m still kind of cold. Then again, maybe that’s because it’s really cold.

Other News: Today I attended a conference on unpredictability. How to predict unpredictability, mostly. It was actually quite interesting, but it was one of those times when I thought, “Are they serious about this? Is this REALLY my job?� Either I have a really sweet job, or I need to go write a book or something. Not sure.

OK, I know this is a bit annoying, but it takes a long time to post pictures. Here are the pics from Day 1.

On Friday, we woke up at 9:00, surprised to find it so late, but there we were. We decided to head toward the Musee d’Orsay and find a legit French croissant or similar along the way. We walked around and around, scoping out all of the potential places, and we had a bit of trouble, because all of the places with the best looking croissants didn’t have a place to sit. So we found a place with seats, ordered deux cafes and deux croissants, and sat.

We found the absolute worst croissants in Paris. Actually, it was the worst croissant I have ever eaten. It tasted as if it had been microwaved approximately 7 times and for entirely too long each time. You know how things like that get really hard and dry when they spend a touch too long in the nuker? Well, there you go. I never thought we would find such a thing in Paris. So, what do to? Well, leave half of the worst croissant in Paris on the table in the place with seats and head to a place without seats for one of the BEST croissants I have ever eaten. Phew. Mission accomplished.

The Musee d’Orsay trip included a long line outside and a shorter line inside. Apparently it was once a train station, and it has a huge open space in the center, with galleries going off to the sides where (presumably) the platforms used to be. We saw all sorts of amazing artwork, including an interesting exhibit on churches, which displayed original architectural drawings from churches throughout France. The museum also has a model of a section of the Paris Opera House, which we found particularly relevant considering the previous day’s events, and a huge collection of impressionist artwork. WHICH was VERRRRY crowded. It’s always amazing to me when I see paintings that I have seen so many times in art history books and on posters in various dorm rooms, and then it turns out that the real painting is about fourteen times the size of the poster and ten thousand times more amazing.

So after we acquired tired tootsies at the museum, we wanted to seek out some lunch. We found a lovely little cafe and sat outside in the bright bright sun. Andy had a croque monsieur (fancy grilled ham & cheese), and I had a salad with a really long name which was the wrong salad with the wrong really long name when it initially came to the table, but then it was the right salad after a half-English, half-French chat with the waiter. By the way, SO not my fault. I said it right. Ask Andy. Then we made the quintessential tourist mistake – we ordered water. Everyone else in the cafe had recycled bottles of tap water on their tables, so we ordered water, but as it turned out, we ordered a 4 Euro bottle of Evian. That’s when we decided that our next mission would be to find out how to say tap water. One other thing about lunch there is that the waiter was obsessed with our Swiss water bottle. We decided later that he must have been Swiss.

After lunch, we went to the Arc de Triomphe. In case you don’t know, the Arc de Triomphe is in the middle of the Champs-Elysees. And about 13 other roads. It is a massive MESS of a traffic circle, and to get there, we went through a pedestrian tunnel. It was quite big and monumental (heehee – it’s a monument), and lots of the statues were naked. Explain this to me. WHY would a fella with a shield, who is guarding the bigger more important guy, be naked? Nudie Tootie. Any art historians want to chime in? My theory is it makes the artist look like a more important, more highly skilled artist. Talk amongst yourselves.

While we were at the Arc de Triomphe, this lady came up to me and asked me if I spoke English. She seemed like she needed directions or something. “Yes,” I said. Then she showed me a postcard about how she was from Boznia or somewhere who knows and basically I should give her money. SCAMMED. Then we saw more of these ladies throughout the rest of our journey, and Andy kept trying to get me (since I’m a smidge less aware of my surroundings than he is) to linger just long enough and near enough to them to get them to ask me if I spoke English. Hardeehar. So Funny.

After the Arc de Triomphe, we had a while to spare before a respectable dinner time, so we decided to trek up the big hill to Sacre Coeur, which is the 2nd most famous church in Paris. On the way up the steps, we came upon gangs of young fellas trying to sell us handmade just-for-you type bracelets – just like the ones I used to make in 7th grade. They were THE most persistent young fellas I’ve come across in a long time, but I managed to (rudely) stave them off. What’s weird is that there were zero do-you-speak-English ladies there, which led us to the logical conclusion that perhaps they have zones. “Sorry, lady, this is a bracelet zone; you might want to head back to L’Arc de Triomphe.”

The church was beautiful, but we didn’t have a guide this time, so we really just looked at it. The most amazing part of Sacre Coeur, in my opinion, is the chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary. It was truly exquisite. Sacre Coeur felt much more like a place of worship than Notre Dame did, but it was still quite crowded, and there were a couple of nuns and priests about, and that led us to wonder – do the nuns and priests ever secretly wish they worked in small, quiet, country churches? I know that priests and nuns are generally grateful people, but I think I would get frustrated sometimes at the masses of people stomping through my church.

After our tour through the church, we looked at our “plan tourisme” to see if anything interesting was nearby, and what did we see, but the Moulin Rouge! Off we went. We just looked at it, assessed its tackiness relative to our expectations (for me, slightly less tacky than anticipated, but still VERY tacky), and then decided to seek a snack. We found a real cafe with real Parisians blowing their real French cigarette smoke in our general direction, and we found the best coffee we had in France there. MMMmmm. . .

We made our way back to the hotel (after a teansy bit of shopping), and got ready for dinner. This time, we decided to brave the restaurant we couldn’t quite do the night before. Before we left, though, we asked the concierge how to say tap water. L’eau de robinet. Now you know, for the next time you’re in a French-speaking country. CRUCial. Crucial information. Anyway, the restaurant was wonderful. Admittedly, we still didn’t recognize much on the menu, so we sort of took the easy way out – I ordered coq au vin, and Andy ordered filet du boeuf. They were both WONDerful. We also went for dessert – Andy had creme caramel, and I had mousse au chocolat, bien sur! Wonderful wonderful. Oh, and a VERY successful bottle of eau de robinet, by the way. When the waiter seated us on the terrace-y bit overlooking the street, we thought we had the best seat in the house. Then, when I used la toilette inside (en dedans – a ballet word which came in quite handy), we realized that we may have just been a smidge underdressed. We sat in the stupid American tourist section. What do I care? Same food!

After dinner, we walked over to the Louvre and took some pictures. We came back after 0:00 again, and as we fell asleep, we could here someone playing the accordion and a lady singing her little heart out. They seriously stay up late there.

News: It is cold and rainy here, and the forecast does not look so good for the next million years. Whoopee! We’re in England!

Let’s get down to it. Day 1.

We took the Eurostar to Paris, which is the train that goes through the chunnel. It is VERY fast, but with the exception of the huge headrests, it is not very fancy. The station feels so much like an airport that I found it surprising to be on a train rather than a plane at the end. Maybe it’s the security, maybe it’s the passport control, or maybe – just maybe – it’s the duty free shopping. Now that I know, I’ll remember to take everyone’s perfume and liquor orders before I go. So, while we were waiting for our gate to open, we had a coffee and watched our neighboring train-awaiters. Across from us sat an older British couple, and the man got up to get some snacks. While he was gone, an Italian (I think) woman sat down in his seat (there was another seat next to that one), and NOBODY said anything. Isn’t that weird? SO British. So he came back and just stood around. We’ll just be uncomfortable and maybe sulk a bit, but we will not ask her to move over no way jose. (another accent goes there)

When we arrived in Paris, we acquired some metro tickets and found our way to the hotel, which wasn’t really much of any note, but it did contain the TINIEST elevator I have ever seen. On the sign inside, it said that it would hold 3 people maximum, but I don’t know what scrawny three little people they tested that with, because it was TIGHT with two.

After acquiring some crepes from the nearby crepe stand, we decided to head straight out to Notre Dame. It was beautiful, of course. We paid 2 Euro for a guide, which we read in bits and pieces as we walked around the cathedral. Then we stumbled across a little mini-museum inside the church, so we paid another 2.50 Euro to go in there. Of course, we didn’t realize until we arrived inside the little museum that we had no idea how to read any of the descriptions of anything in there. So we looked. Then we walked some more and took some photos, and then we saw in the guide that somewhere in there were holy relics – a piece of the original cross, for example. I didn’t see it, so I’m afraid I can’t help with that. By the way, we didn’t go up into the towers, because it was expensive and we were a bit weary of it and there was a VERY long line and we had THINGS TO DO. . .

Next, we went to the Paris Opera House. I wanted to go there, because I remember it being amazing when I was there as a 7th-grader. It was so much more amazing than I remembered it. It is completely exquisite, luxurious, and meticulously decorated and cared for – top to bottom, side to side – unbelievable. We could have spent hours there just taking in the marble, the gold, the lush colours of velvet fabrics and gold roping. It has a library filled floor-to-ceiling with scores from various operas, an enormous parlor, where we could imagine the wealthiest of French aristocracy sipping their cocktails in ball gowns, tuxes, and furs. Needless to say, I want to go back and actually go to a performance so that I can dress up and play opera. One strange thing about the opera house was that it didn’t have clear distinctions between the OK-for-tourists areas and the don’t-even-think-about-it areas. Of course we got in trouble with a French guard-type fella, who said something in French and then shook his finger at us, as if to say, “non non non non non, c’est tres naughty.”

When we got kicked out of the opera house (because it was closing – not because we got in trouble), we went back to the hotel, where yours truly fell promptly to sleep. Never fear, though – I woke up in time for dinner. We decided to check out a restaurant that had been recommended to us, but after looking at the menu (and recognizing nothing), I chickened out and we went to the most crowded place, figuring there must be something to it.

We sat down and waited patiently for a menu while perusing the crowd (some of which might as well have been sitting with us – they’re into shoving lots of tables close together in Paris). We noticed that while there were more than a few Americans in the restaurant, there did appear to be a few legitimate French people. Phew. Our waitress eventually came over and said something in French to us. We looked at her, puzzledly, and she shifted her weight, rolled her eyes, and said, “How do you like your meat.” Ummm. . . medium? Then, the wine list was slapped unceremoniously onto the table, and shortly thereafter, a few salads were thrown in our general direction. As we ate our salads, which despite their lack of presentation (lettuce and pecans. that’s it.) were quite delicious, we listened to the waitress as she spoke to the American folks next to us (two older couples whose kids are 15 and 19 now – we learned all about them). Anyway, one of the women of the crew attempted to translate to one of the men, saying, “How do you like your meat?” “Medium-rare,” he says confusedly. And the waitress says, “NON! Medium Or RHRHRHarre. NO MEdiumRhrare.” Woo! OK.

Then the Americans sitting next to us started looking for and asking about Fifi, who works there. We didn’t quite sort that out, but we think maybe she was an exchange student or something, because when they found her, there were TONS of hugs and kisses exchanged.

Finally, the meat came. By this point, we figured out that everyone in the restaurant was eating the same meal, which was steak frites and TRES delicious, by the way. We talked – through giggles – about the virtues of this business proposition and the value of small plates in that they tend to look full. We chuckled over the complete lack of romantic atmosphere as we manged our boeuff. Then I saw the waitress walk toward the opposing table with a big plate of frites and load this dude up on frites. “Ummm, Andy?. . . I think this place is all-you-can-eat,” to which Andy replied, “Really?! Well. . . I can eat quite a bit!” And we did. More steak, more frites, and we giggle and giggle, more steak, more frites, and hilarity begins to ensue. Oh goodness me was it a yummy meal. We laughed for the rest of the evening about how we found the only all-you-can eat joint in Paris. It was like a French Ponderosa.

After dinner we went back out to Notre Dame to check out the lit-up version. It was also beautiful, and we have lots of pretty pictures of all of this, but it’s now 0:02, which is WAY past my bed time, so they will have to wait. Sorry. . .

News: My finger is almost better, and I almost spoke French to the guy in Starbucks today. Oops.

When we lived in New York, I used to joke about how I had an obligation to be rude to tourists, because that’s what they want. If I treated them kindly, then how could they go back to their families in Ohio and say the New Yorkers were rude? Anyway, I’m hoping the French pull through for me. I want them to be stinky, hairy, and REALLY rude. It will make for a much better blog post when we get back, non?

News: The finger is getting better. It’s healing and hurting less, and it’s teaching me all about where nerves go and where they don’t. They DON’T go around in circles or loops or back and forth. They DO go straight from core to tips. So, bits of my finger don’t have feeling, but most of it does. I’m so curious to see if the nerves start working again when it’s fully healed. Any predictions?

Something that annoys me: When gossip columnists combine the first names of a celebrity couple to make a stupid word like Bennifer, Brangelina, or TomKat. So annoying. Well, Tiffdy (Anany?) will be back soon – don’t miss us too much while we’re on holiday!

We went to dinner with Mark & Caton beforehand, and the four of us talked about our expectations for the evening. Mark said that he expected it to be a group of us, standing around with drinks and shouting at each other. DING DING DING!! ExACTly. That is EXACTly what we did. I met some of Ailsa’s doctor friends, and we didn’t really get past each other’s names before all involved parties decided that it wasn’t really worth the effort. They seemed very nice. We did have an enjoyable evening, but it also reminded me of why I generally don’t bother with clubs. Oh, and I found out this morning at work that the club we went to is considered lame. Ah well, there go my aspirations of being hip.

When we got home from the club, at about 1AM or so, we realised that the Penn State game was only 45 minutes away (9 PM Eastern), and while we generally don’t have television access to the Penn State games, we DO have a handy laptop and quite often watch the gametracker on ESPN. Not exactly the same thing, but somehow watching those little lines and arrows march up and down that little green rectangle is better than not watching the game at all. So we resolved to wait for it. I had some trouble staying awake until I found the X Factor on TV. The X Factor is basically American Idol for the people who don’t fit into the American Idol specifications. Old people, young people, and groups. It’s HIGHly entertaining, but only for about an hour and a half. I bailed at half time, but Andy made it through, and my GOODNESS are we excited or WHAT?! Go Penn State!

Other news of the weekend is that we got up on Sunday (late on Sunday) to make chili for the Eagles game later that night (which was an abysmal failure, incidentally), and somebody cut herself with a big knife, and it was me. Oh goodness it was so traumatic. Good news is that it seems fine now, and I think I might be able to get away with just a plaster (that’s Band-Aid) tomorrow instead of a dramatic-looking and unwanted attention-seeking gauze wrap. We’ll see how it looks in the morning.

Forgive me if you disagree, but I’d say it’s a SMIDGE over the top. Like creepy.

Time Out. I found out recently that English people find Americans a little over-emotional and cheesy. For example, a friend had a little team chat with her coworkers – “Let’s make sure we’re all on the same page here, please let me know if you have any concerns, questions, I don’t want anyone harboring any hard feelings . . .â€? That kind of thing, and this was perceived as being “very American.”

So this reporter type is asking people on the street about cuddle parties, and most people are saying no – they don’t know what that is. Then someone says, “Oh yeah, that’s something Americans do. They have parties where they all cuddle each other.” DING! OK, what the HECK?! We have CUDDLE PARTIES?! How come I’ve never been invited to a cuddle party? I’m cuddly! Geeze. If you people are having cuddle parties without me, no fair. OK now I’m creeping myself out a little.

After hearing about these alleged cuddle parties, I decided to find out just how widespread these rumours were. SO, I asked one of my friends at work, “Have you ever heard of a cuddle party?” She stepped back, laughed, and said, “Oh no, that’s DEFINITELY an American thing – we don’t cuddle.” Well I have to say, I think it’s nice to have the reputation of being a nation of cuddly people.

In fact, maybe I’ll bring cuddle parties across the Atlantic. England could use a cuddle after that whole losing the Empire thing. Ouch, that must have been rough.

So far I’ve learned that in French the same word means both avocado and lawyer. It’s very efficient, that’s one less word that I need to know.

There’s one other thing I learned in French class…

While at work I often find myself staring out the window into the building across the alley. It is only about 12 feet away from my building, so I can see quite well. I often would watch people walk around, talk to each other and meet in groups. I would frequently fantasize about what they did. In my mind they were sports writers, international news correspondents, or something else that is completely fascinating. In comparison, my job was about as interesting as counting beans (which is very similar to what I actually do).

Then one day a couple of weeks ago I noticed the people across the alley had the same office furniture that we did. “What a coincidence” I thought. Why would wine importers and strategic strategists choose the same dull furniture that we have?

Then my fantasy came crashing down. My last French class was in one of the other buildings that my company occupies (we occupy 14 buildings in London, it’s tough to keep track of them all). The building was down the street, and around the corner. So I was in this other building parle-ing François, and I glanced out the window and saw my coworker Jeff in the building next door. “What’s Jeff doing there?” I thought to myself. Then I realized, Jeff works there, that’s my office. I’m in the building across the alley. Why is my French class in the building across the alley? Then it hit me, the people I watch aren’t travel columnists nor are they food critics. They work for the same company I do, doing exactly the same thing I do, except they do it in the building across the alley.

When I returned to my desk, I realized that their… my… our company name and logo are all over their office. How could I not have noticed? It’s on the bulletin board by the water cooler where spunky girl once to discussed her video blog project with boss man. And it was on the sign at the printer where tall guy casually mentioned to long hair guy that he had signed a very lucrative deal.

Since that French class I haven’t been able to watch those people anymore. How could I? They were deceiving me all this time. Walking about all day as if their job was mega cool. Pbft, They weren’t cool, just a bunch of bean counting posers. I couldn’t even bear to look at them. Fortunately, I won’t have to look at them much longer. Their building is in the process of being vacated in preparation for demolition. They’ll be gone by Friday.

With nothing interesting to look at, I’ve been toying with the idea of moving my desk to the south side of the building. Saatchi & Saatchi are in the building across the street from that side of the building. I could probably envy them. Or perhaps I’ll sit tight and envy the wrecking ball operator when he shows up. He knocks down buildings every day. He laughs at my sedentary office job. But I bet his French isn’t as good as mine…

Oh and while we’re on the topic of toiletries, which I just realized I wrote about twice in a row – weirdly – I wanted to mention one VERY important thing about the deodorant yesterday. One of the options (of which soft solids were limited) was GINGER scented deodorant. Ginger. Sorry, but who wants to smell like GINGER? And it wasn’t that nice, homey, fall-type, cinnamonny ginger (although even if it was, questionable). It was the kind of smell that you take in when you open a tub of ground ginger or like that weird gingery stuff they serve with sushi. Some people think it tastes nice, but even those people probably wouldn’t want to smell like it. They also had chamomile and some other weird herby one. It’s kind of similar to the meat-flavored crisps, in a way. Oh and by the way, one can also purchase meat-flavored rice cakes. I’m taking orders for Christmas time. . .

PS. Thanks for the offers, but don’t buy us deodorant, you weirdos. It will definitely cost you more to send it than to buy it, and we will not reimburse you for it OR allow you to be so irresponsible with your fundage.

That’s what Andy was saying on Sunday, when he was officially on day 3 without deodorant. He ran out on Wednesday, wore mine on Thursday, decided he didn’t like mine by Thursday afternoon, still smelled of deodorant on Friday, and didn’t make it to the store until Sunday, at which point we found out what we plan to pick up next time we find ourselves stateside. LOTS of deodorant.

I’ll point out that unless one were actually to smell his armpit, Andy still smelled springy fresh. He says he was trying to be a bit more “continental,” which is a phrase he picked up at work. Those dirty so-and-sos on the Continent. Pft.

Anyway, we learned on Sunday that the English don’t really do solids. Especially not soft solids. They like aerosols (I mean seriously – who uses aerosol anymore) and roll-ons, but that’s about it. Andy had four choices – 2 brands x 2 scents. He went with Sure – but I’m not Sure what flavor he chose. I went with Nivea over Sure and Dove. I guess that sounds like a lot of choices, but not if you had seen how many billions of aerosols and roll-ons they had. Billions, I tell you.

Anyway, Secret Platinum soft solid (NOT invisible) in Botanical Silk flavor is apparently not an option. It’s not as if I’m picky or anything. Geeze.

News:
- Today I daydreamed that I saw Zack Braff on the street and I stopped him and asked him if I could just shake his hand and introduce myself “so I can tell my friend Melinda that I did.” Sometimes I feel like Ally McBeal.
- Eagles and Penn State both won AGAIN this week. William & Mary didn’t play, so sorry for those of you anxiously anticipating that result.
- We planned our trip to Paris this weekend – Bon voyage, moi!

The show was just what a West End / Broadway show should be. It was completely over-the-top, ridiculously cheesy, the actors were absolutely amazing – excellent dancers, singers, everything, and every person who sang was better than the one before. Fabulous. But then, I’m an easy sell – a sucker for a musical. Since Andy liked it, too, I think I’m right that it was lovely.

Watching a Broadway musical in London – particularly a Broadway musical about New York City, is quite an interesting proposition. The two lead actors were either real Americans or they had very good voice coaches, but the actors who played some of the smaller parts struggled a bit. For example, in one scene, the cops come into the main character’s office. They have on true blue NYPD uniforms, and yet something’s just not right. Some of you New Yorkers out there will know that the officers of the NYPD tend to have some of the thickest, born-and-bred New York accents around. They say things like, “Eh – buddy – who d’ya tink you ah?” and “Let’s go peopol. I’m big ‘n’ tuf. Be sceahd uh me.” OK maybe they don’t say exactly that, but they also don’t say, “Stohp you fiend. Just who, I pray, do you suppoehse you ahhhhh?” SOOOO funny.

Also, the audience didn’t get a lot of the jokes. In one scene, a man came out in a glittery dress, and when he did, I thought, “That dress looks like the Chrystler Building.” So later, he says, “I look like the Chrystler Building.” Nothing. Maybe a chuckle. Then in that scene with the cops, the guy in trouble pretends to be Irish so that the cops will let him off easy. Then the black cop speaks to him with an Irish accent, and the main character says, “I’ve heard of Black Irish, but this is ridiculous.” Joke: The NYPD cops tend to claim Irishness to an unreasonable degree. Nothing. Andy chuckled, but I didn’t, because I didn’t get it either. But that’s just me. There were also LOTS of Jewish jokes, and most of those fell flat, as well. The only one that got a big laugh was when the main character, who has just produced a play which is basically a rousing celebration of Adolf Hitler, says something about how he can’t imagine why it did well, “Half the audience were Jews.” The audience in the real play laughed a lot, but the joke, you see, refers to the generalization that Jewish people tend to go to the theater more than the average New Yorker. Half the audience in the New York version of The Producers probably WAS Jewish. So much funnier than they even knew.

In sum, it was a wonderful wonderful afternoon. We also went to the Borough Market beforehand – one of my new favourite places in London, and now we’re waiting for the Penn State game to come on because, much to Andy’s delight, “Do to technical issues beyond our control, we are unable to bring you the previously scheduled USC vs ASU game.” This means we get to see Penn State play Minnesota – both undefeated Big Ten teams. In other news, DO to poor spelling, Andy and I have lost even more respect for the folks running the show at NASN.

In other other news, I have a cold, and we have “Man-sized” tissues. Apparently I don’t have a man-sized nose or man-sized boogies to go in them, because they’re just TOO big for me. I know, I know – EWWW.

So tonight we went to dinner (yeah, I know – and no, multiple meals out in a day – or a week for that matter – is not by any means the norm), and when we got in – to the empty restaurant (apparently 7:30 is WAY too early for dinner) – we were told to sit anywhere “except here.” Ok, cool. This place was just lovely. It had a limited menu, and one of the lines on the menu said something like, “Each meal is made fresh, so please be patient.” Well, apparently lady-girl who sat at the ONE table not allowed did NOT read that part of the menu, because she stood up shortly after arriving and said, “HELLO? Can I ORDER?” Then she ordered. Then after about 10 minutes, she stood up and said, “IS my meal coming? I’ve been WAITing. . . ” and the waiter said, “It’s coming – she has to make it.” She got her meal and had left the one table not allowed before 8:30, which was the real time after which the table was not allowed. Anyway the place started to fill up as we were leaving, at about 9:00. So, now you all know the secret to getting a table in a London restaurant – just tell them you have no interest in sticking around – it’s a commitment thing.