Yee-Haw!

Oh boy, I just love America. Despite the fact you all talk pretty weird, drive recklessly and completely shamelessly on the wrong (listen to me here, it's downright dangerous) side of the road, and also have surely got to have got the most crappiest and banal TV ever to grace the airways - well, despite all of that, it still has so, sooooooooo much going for it, not in the least of which is the very real, sincere and generous hospitality that you guys are famous for.

So where were all the car-jackings, drive-by shootings and pan-handlers the "True-crime" channel promised, eh? You know, the kids all clubbed together before I left to buy me a bullet-proof leaving vest; proper disappointed they were to have it returned back, as new.

Oh, and yeah - hey c'mon, I'm a Brit - we're not used to folk smiling at us in the street. (The dour Scot in me questions if you all aren't on the happy pills?) Shop assistants and waitresses not only make eye contact, they actually give you what you ask for, and sometimes, just for the sheer hell of it, they even look happy about it. (Maybe it's something in the water?)

Thought it was supposed to rain in Seattle? All I got was sunshine and blue skies. Oh and my God, your food - I simply gorged, I'VE DISCOVERED MEXICAN (no, not the take-out variety, the proper home-cooked stuff) it beats my porridge any day! My hosts laid on a veritable feast over Easter, we all converged at the farm in Oregon to where a real fine time was had by one and all. Here they are, say "Hi"!

A finer bunch you have yet to meet. Christina (seen stood strangling Max, the dog) and her fiancee, Jason (bravely attempting to restrain her from behind) are hoping to visit London in a year or so's time, I sure do hope to see them again when they do. Her Gran, Sharon, is in the centre, she is the one who was responsible for hosting our get-together - she works as a nurse, and Christina, well she teaches children with special needs.. These are good people, honest and true. My friend Mary is the one kneeling down with Teddy, the little Dachshund hanging from her arm.

True to form, I did have a little mishap at the airport, but they let me in eventually (I refuse to go into the detail for fear of proving how dumb I am - end of.) Frazzled and late, I finally met a very understanding Mary whose first act of mercy was to turn me out loose for a much needed nicotine hit. It was pure joyl all the way from there on out. I can honestly say time simply flew, I've had the time of my life.

Aww, God bless America, eh?

Grin.

So here I am back in old Blighty again, and certainly all the better for having had my little adventure. After almost two weeks of not having to so much as watch the clock, never mind think about what to serve up for the masses to eat, I am only now just slowly getting back into the daily routine again.

It sure was good to do a runner - much as I love my family, what is it they say about absence making the heart grow fonder?

It's good to be missed.

(Wink.)

My Last Sunrise In Seattle

Happy belated Easter everyone, I hope you all had a good one! I am still quite jet-lagged.. but it was so good to see you all in here, and such a great welcome back for me. I promise to update soon (once I've unpacked and caught up with some zzz's).

Don't go far!

Sleepless In Seattle

Taken 5am this morning from my friends balcony - how lucky is she to wake to this view every morning?

Back soon.

Stepping Out

(You may wish to see the fresh up-date at the botom of this, for those of you who have already been in.)

Last time I did the London tourist bit must be well over two decades ago. Living there, you tend to get a bit blase about it all. In the seven years since moving away, being as it is only an hours flight, I still tend to slot in an annual return.

Well, it's come around to that time again, so on Saturday I'll be setting off on another little venture across. Only this time it is going to be different. For one thing, I'm not going to hold up the plane home (don't want to live through all that again). But besides that, this time I've decided I'm gonna' be taking in all the sights - and the result is I'm about as excited as an excitable excited kid held in an excitable kids holding pen!

The London Dungeon is a must, not to mention Buckingham Palace. I'll be staying in central London, and have pre-booked tickets for that and just about everything else, from The Tower of London down to Madame Tussauds. I'll be taking in the Jack the Ripper Walk, be cruising the sights by Land and the River Thames from a London "Duck" bus, and catching a panoramic aerial view of the City suspended high from a capsule in the London Eye. I plan on exploring much of the night life too, not to mention stuffing my face in China Town, and perhaps even squeezing in a night out at "Ronnie Scotts" (a well-known jazz club frequented in my youth). I have no idea if there will be time enough left to take in any of the art galleries, but I'll give it a go. It all depends on how much hat shopping I need to do in Regents Street first (it's all a matter of priority..)

Ooooooooooooooh, I can barely contain myself (I may implode at any second with all this anticipation).

Naturally, that new camcorder of mine will be put to very good use, so you might as well resign yourself to being bored rigid upon my return.


So, I hear you ask, how come I've suddenly become a born-again tourist? Well, it's like this you see - the friend I am going with has never been to London before, and it has somehow brought out the latent tour-guide in me. Showing your old home-town off to a fresh pair of eyes is always fun, especially when the friend in question is also a very dear one. We are hoping to do a "Thelma and Louise" type getaway, but hopefully without the crime and averting that icky suicide bit at the end.

So there we have it, I'm gonna' be gone for a bit, but not for too long. In my absence, be good, try to behave, and don't you dare to run off anywhere, you hear? ('Sides, I'll only track you down and drag you back again).

Be seeing ya' all!! xx

(Oh, for goodness sake! Hardly an auspicious start.. I've missed my sodding bloomin' flight. I dragged my bones out of bed at 4am this cold dark morn, only to be knocked back at the check-in. Well, not me so much as the over-the-weight-limit megga-case holding my entire essential life-support system. God, what a palaver, now everyone flying to Gatwick knows my preferred knicker size and style, not to mention the embarrassing stuff which I knew not to pack, but did. Here I am at the top of the longest queue imaginable, turfing my secrets out for the amusement of all and sundry.

Worst thing is, hubby warned me this would happen, but I was having none of it. I even saw him off, told him not to wait for me to check in, I'd be fine. The only option left if I am to still make the flight is to find Security and beg them to hold on to my stuff until someone can come claim it for me. So here I am in the middle of my full blown panic-attack, when who should come along and tap me on the shoulder?

"Told you so."

Thank heavens hubby never listens to me. He was lurking to make sure I got through. But even with his help, by the time I made it back to the check in, the loading gate had already closed and the miserable, mean-spirited, moron of a jobsworth who is responsible for putting my case on the plane refuses to open it again - despite the check-in steward doing her very best to convince him otherwise. What a b*****d, the plane still had over half an hour before take off!!!

Not only have I missed my flight, I've also had to shell out over a hundred odd quid for this privilege, can you believe it? That's how much it cost to transfer me over to the next flight out.. (which incidentally, won't be 'til well after 5pm), shower of thieving dipsticks that they are.

So what else can go wrong, I hear you ask? Humph, don't even bother to ask, I'll keep you posted.

Sigh.)

On a Happier Note

Yup, that is a beer before my 17yr old, and I make no apology for it either. (Besides, it's permissable in Britain for him to drink at age 14 so long as he is at home with his parents, not that he actually ever did mind you, but still, here in the UK the official legal drinking age is set at age 18. It appears we Europeans are a tad more relaxed over alcohol than our American cousins may be ).

Anyways, I figured the kid had earned a beer, it was the least he deserved.

The highlight of our holiday was when he phoned home to receive the results of his GCSE exams. He wrote them down as they were read over.. with only two "B's", the rest were either "A" or "A star's" (he achieved 100% on several of his papers). Having passed another GCSE last year, in all he has totalled twelve excellent grades, and I am now insufferable! Forgive me for crowing folks, I know how boring a mothers pride can be, but the boy did well, and I can't help but to be as proud as punch (so is his little sis', she's the one holding up the pad for the pic). He is leaning towards entering medicine, and appears to be well on track to achieving this goal. (Though he's told me to dream on, I'm still secretly hoping he'll specialise in cosmetic surgery, in the hopes he'll keep his old mum young and wrinkle-free in her dotage..)

He swopped his school uniform for a suit and tie last week, the official garb for the Lower sixth form, and I allowed him a tailored Calvin Cline pinstripe for his efforts. Thing is, it looked so fabulously smart, when he passed it over to me for a few minor alterations, well, I couldn't resist but to have a bit of fun, could I..?

Ahem, the boy may tower above me, but he sure as hell has got stumpy arms and legs! (Psst, we're not going to tell him though, right?)

Do you believe in Fairies?

I make no apology for re-posting this from my old blog. It contains the most amazing photograph I have ever taken, and I'm still at odds as to how it appeared. I had my daughters with me at the time. Both have long, dark hair, and being the mud-magnets that they are, I NEVER dress them in white. Outside of them, we were completely on our own. This photo, you have to focus and really look to see - I missed it first time around, in fact so did most others - it wasn't until "Skinny Little Blond" left a comment that I picked up on it. Do you see a fair haired child dressed in white? It made my hair stand up on end. This image has in no way been manipulated, it is as I took it. I reproduce it again with the original post as I first published it:

Most people know we have fairies on our island. It's essential to wish them "Good Day" on passing, lest they play a trick on you. It's common knowledge you don't anger a fairy for they are far from benign creatures. Many tales abound of the mischief they can wreak. But it is also said that if you care to tie a wish to the fairy tree and bring it with a gift, miracles have been known to happen. It is not easy to reach the fairy tree, it is by the bridge that straddles the main thoroughfare from the north to the south of the island. Despite it's steady use, the road is narrow, and there is no pathway to walk, nor any room to park. However, those determined enough to do so still seem to find a way through, so intent as they are to cast their precious wish. But I have some bad, dreadful news for them, because you see I know a big, big secret, I know this is not where the fairy-folk really live!


In terms of the history to the island, this Fairy Bridge is a relatively new addition. It's all part of our government conspiracy to fool the hapless tourists! Fairies are much too shy and far too wise to live by the side of a road, the real Fairy Bridge is located miles away (a five minute drive from our house, then a fifteen minute hike along an overgrown track). Not many people ever find it, the track you need to follow is little known, even if you do happen across it, if you blink, you would miss the entrance, as it has been very carefully concealed. It is marked on the old ordinance surveillance maps, but frankly, unless you've looked it up, you would be none the wiser. Despite all of this, it remains lovingly tended.

Enter through the archway and follow the river along a way...it will eventually wind you along to the bridge where the real fairies hang out. Not that you will see any, they can sense a human approaching before you even make it through the archway. But you know they are there, you can feel it; hundreds of tiny eyes watching your every move. The birds love the fairies, and allow them to ride on their backs, that's why the glen is so lit up with their song. The fairy tree is laden with wishes, and a hollow in the bridge holds a shrine of gifts. Before you lay yours down, you mustn't forget to greet them, as they are very particular about that.

After laying your gift, all you have to do is to tie your wish to their tree, and hope that the fairies decide to favour you (they see in to peoples hearts, and don't favour everyone). They obviously favour someone though - for who else would dare to set up camp here?

Not safe to be let out alone

I was more than a little relieved to learn I needn't find my own way back to Gatwick again. Give my mate her due, she saw me off in style. With a slap up meal and glass (or two) of wine, we
had time enough for a last few piccy's before her partner called round to take me to the airport. He even helped me with the meggacase. I said my goodbyes and trotted off to the check in with almost a full two hours left to spare. Boots, jacket and belt removed, I even finally escaped setting off the security alarms.


I don't know about you, but I find airports and ferries deathly boring. You are always waiting in limbo til you can move on to the place where you are really meant to be. Waiting for the gate to be announced, I found me a bar and relaxed with a sigh into my new Stephen King novel. Perfect, huh? Well, it was, up until I glanced at the clock.


Oh no! Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger!!! It was ten minutes after my flight was scheduled to depart! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek! I still didn't even know which gate I was meant to board from. I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but I truly have no internal compass where it comes to directions, I always get lost even at the best of times. Darting around like a headless chicken, even with the gate number now in my mind, I still couldn't find the way to where I was supposed to be. I'm running at this point (skinned toes n'all). I had visions of me having to spend an extra night at the Hilton again. (This happened the last time I visited my mate, but that wasn't my fault - honest Guv' - and besides, that's an entirely different story altogether.) Now I can hear the gallery incredulously asking why on earth I didn't hear my name being called? Because, my dear friends, Gatwick is a silent airport - they no longer announce stuff like "Can the stupid bint holding up flight no. XYZ kindly get her arse into gear?" any more.



By the time I arrived, flushed, out of breath and apologising profusely, the gate had already closed. I have to say they were very nice, all things considered. Seems they'd been waiting for me. Of course, everyone had already boarded by this time. I might just explain something here - the plane I catch is only a hundred seater, and this being the last flight out on a Sunday night, it was fully booked. Did I tell you what a tiny island I live on? As luck would have it, my seat was at the very back, the farthest one away from the door. Even avoiding all eye contact, I still felt the collective wave of hate swimming up to greet me. Worse, at least two thirds of the passengers probably knew me by sight, if not in person.

I waited last to disembark, and kept my head down. I'd delayed us by half an hour. Of course, this had a knock on effect upon all the hapless folk waiting to meet us outside. My fifteen year old has the voice of a fog-horn (and he has an uncanny ability to cut straight to the chase.)

"Mum!" (Yelling from 50 metres) "Your plane was late, why was it late?"

I ducked the barbed mutters from the crowd and went to speedily bundle him back to the car, whispering, "I'll tell you later, bonny lad.."