The Joshua Tree

It was 1994, it was August and it was one million degrees (which may be a slight exaggeration, but not much).  I don’t think you could get more of a difference in landscapes between south London and the southern California high desert.  Summer in London - probably either miserably hot and humid (low 70’s) or raining.  Summer in southern California - dry, extremely hot (low 100’s) and very dusty.

But it wasn’t only the weather that was different.  It was the whole lifestyle.  There wasn’t (and still isn’t) any public transportation whatsoever so we had to drive everywhere.  The biggest problem we found, apart from not knowing where anything was or where we were going, was the music.  The only stations we could get on the radio were country music (ugh!).  Can you imagine?  You’re driving around unfamiliar roads in the desert, the sun is blazing down and you’re listening to country music?  I half expected Clint Eastwood to come riding by on his flippin’ horse!

It turned out that we had a couple of tapes with us (yes, actual cassette tapes!) so we spent our drives playing them.  The problem was, we only had the two and they were both U2, the Joshua Tree being the one we played most – over and over and over…because, you know, California’s a big place.  That album became sort of our anthem.  Words in “Where the Streets Have No Name” had a relevance to our lives at that time

          “I want to run, I want to hide…..
          We're beaten and blown by the wind, trampled in dust,
          I'll show you a place high on a desert plain,
          Where the streets have no name”

It basically summed up how I was feeling then, sad, lonely and lost (literally).

Fast forward twenty odd years and I recently had the opportunity to see U2 live at the Rose Bowl (because let’s face it, seeing them dead at the Rose Bowl wouldn’t have been as exciting). Ironically, it was the Joshua Tree tour, so how could I not go and listen to that album …. Again? 

It didn’t take long for me to be transported back to 1994.  The images they were projecting were exactly those images that I remember so well.  Bleak desert roads with Joshua trees along each side.  Apart from the fact that Bono is way too political and ruined a great concert, it was a good night.

Bleak roads

But those videos, oh my goodness… they brought a tear to my eye.  Those days should have been exciting and the beginning of a new adventure and I suppose, in a way they were.  But I hadn’t wanted to come to America and those first few months were torturous.  I missed everybody and everything about home and not even having  familiar songs on the radio made it seem worse.  Two young children were with us on those drives, wondering what had happened and how their lives had changed and where their friends were.  I often wonder what went through their minds at that time.  

Joshua Trees

It all came flooding back to me as I listened to those songs and I cried.  I didn’t just sniffle a bit, I literally cried like a baby.  Trying to explain what was going on to my hubby didn’t help, it just made me cry more.  Of course, I tried to laugh it off, but who ever believes that??  Memories are like that, they have a knack of sneaking up on you and getting you all emotional, don’t they?

***

And on a different note altogether, I was once told that Joshua trees only grow in southern California and apparently there's a law that if you are going to build a house and there is a Joshua tree in the way you are not, under any circumstances, allowed to cut it down.  You either have to build around the tree, which is a bit inconvenient, or dig it up and move it.  I’m not sure how true this is, but I do know those things are everywhere!  [although there doesn't seem to be many in this photo I took]

The Big Day

Ahh… so the wedding day arrived.

I thought the morning was going to be lovely and relaxing, a right old pampering day for me.  What was I thinking?  This is me, I know how the rest of the wedding planning went, and it wasn’t really smooth, was it?

Nope, no wedding morning bliss for me, we had to go shopping.  Not shopping for lacy undies and bridal accessories, the nice kind of shopping, but bloody groceries!  We had to find a Costco so we could pick up beers, cakes and anything else we had forgotten – all the necessary party stuff.  Yes, we could have gone there the night before but the other half had just driven three hours to Vegas and had a cold, so you know ... men. [*sigh*]

I also remembered I was responsible for decorating the suite.  Yes, we went all fancy and a got an actual suite – mainly because we were having the reception there and thought that having people squash into a normal room would be a bit tacky, what with not being able to swing a cat and the only actual sitting area being the bed.  So decorate I did….[You might see a theme here]

Yes, I went full on American/British.

Well that all got done and I did a bit of faffing around (as you do) and suddenly it was 2:00 p.m. Oops… I had to be at the chapel at 4:00 p.m. and there I was not showered, not thinking about getting ready and actually, not doing anything.  The ‘girls’ showed up and it was mass hysteria for a full on two hours!  Can you imagine, five women, one tiny girl and a 6 year old boy who insisted on taking photographs of everybody and everything every twenty seconds.  Not the calmest of places in the world.

I was stressing, crying, laughing and crying some more.  Then I started shouting at everyone and at that moment, I realized it was probably time for me to leave.  Actually it was past the time I should have left  as it was now gone 4:00 p.m. and I was late.

I jumped in the lift and ran through the hotel to the chapel.  Thank God I wasn’t in all my finery as I ran around a corner smack dab into my husband-to-be and all his groomsmen who were supposed to be there 20 minutes after me.  [another oops moment].

Finally making it, I was calmed down and shoved into a dressing room, which in all honesty was a bit fab.  Private toilet, lots of mirrors, perfumes, powders and potions and my dress and shoes were there ready for me.  The only thing missing was a couple of shot glasses and a bottle of tequila, which in hindsight would have probably been a disaster.   Oh, and it turns out my shoes were actually too big and I had to stuff the toes with toilet roll – very classy!  Thank goodness I didn’t opt for open toed shoes.  [*smiles*]

Eventually everyone got there, final primping was done, pre-wedding photographs were taken and it was time to get this thing going.  Obviously, I was still bawling and shaking like a leaf, which made my dad tear up and we both ended up walking down the aisle with wadded up tissues – again, quite classy.

Then, in what felt like twenty seconds, it was all over and I was a married lady.  I’m sure it was longer than that, but who knows?  It was Las Vegas after all.

At about that time we all subconsciously let our breath out and the party began.

Do I look happy? (that it's all over)

I’ve now been married for six weeks (not that I’m counting or anything) and for the lack of something better to say and not really wanting to sound like a McDonald’s advert…. I’m Loving It!!

Sticking to my roots!

No Wedding Cake for Me!

Is it too late to change the theme of the wedding only one month before the ceremony?

I asked this question to my other half and he mumbled something about “Whatever floats your boat.” I have the distinct impression he doesn’t care one way or another. [*sigh*]

What prompted this?  Well, I was talking to my sister the other day and she asked me about our wedding cake and I told her I wasn’t having one and she was quite shocked.  When I told her why, she understood entirely.  It’s because of this:

Photo by wedding photographer Babs Evangelista.

This is the most godawful, crazy, terrible American tradition which would be right up the Mr’s alley. He would love nothing better than to smash cake into my face, the joker that he is.  Can you imagine how you would feel on the best day of your life with perfect makeup and hair and a (probably quite expensive) wedding dress and then some bugger smashes cake all over you?  Not a pleasant thought and I just don’t understand the American idea that your day is not complete until you have cake in your hair!

Obviously, it got me thinking.  A traditional British wedding cake with fruitcake and Royal icing couldn’t be smooshed onto me (without fear of knocking me out) so maybe…..

A search of the internet did not bring up any English cake makers in Los Angeles, obviously, but I did find a whole heap of British-American themed wedding ideas on Pinterest (Yes, I’ve been sucked into there also) and now I want to change my theme, not that I actually had one, mind you.  I want British-American Save-the-Dates and invitations [oops, too late], a Union Jack wedding dress [definitely too late] and a cake.  The Mr. is just taking it all in, knowing I’m dreaming and rolling his eyes!

But really, how could he not absolutely love one of these??  [*grin*]

Another Brit Style Mother's Day

Another year, another Mother’s Day, another British Pub.  What could be better?  Just about nothing, that’s what.  This year we tried Ye Olde King’s Head in Santa Monica.  

The Olde King’s Head has been in Santa Monica since 1974 so it’s got to be quite good to last that long – oh and it was.  They have a pub, a restaurant and a gift shop [Shoppe].  Obviously, I had to pop into the gift shop and pick up some delicacies before we left.  Actually, I only got some Bisto, but I could have spent a ton.  

Anyway, back to the restaurant.  We got there about 1:30 p.m. and it was busy, being Mother’s day and all and of course we didn’t have a reservation.  They have two rooms and an outside patio so there was room for us anyway.  The wind was blowing like anything so the outside patio was not our choice. It would have been nice though, as you can see the sea from there… yup, it’s just like being in Brighton! Sort of.

So as we sat down and looked at the menu it became increasingly obvious that we had no idea what to choose.  Everything looked so tasty.  Did I want a Sunday dinner, pasty and chips or a Steak, Guinness and Mushroom pie?  What a flippin’ dilemma, albeit a good one.  (I actually wanted them all).

What to choose?

I eventually narrowed it down and had the roast lamb Sunday dinner and my daughter went for the pasty with mashed potatoes instead of chips.  Both were bloody delicious and also bloody huge!  I have to admit that I am very ashamed of myself.  I could not finish my dinner, although I gave it my best effort.  There was so much there.  The only downside was that there wasn't enough gravy - but then I like my food swimming in it, to be fair.  I'm sure if I had asked, I would have been given more.

The place is actually quite fantastic.  When you walk in it’s as if you’ve just gone through a magic door to England.  British memorabilia everywhere, photographs, pictures, knick knacks – it was just like being at my nan’s house! *smile*  All of the waitresses we spoke to, or heard were English and the manager/boss was a very loud, very gregarious Liverpudlian.  We didn’t actually get a chance to talk with him as he was everywhere, making sure people were okay.   I heard him before I actually saw him and turned around expecting him to be the stereotypical Scouser complete with afro, mustache and tracksuit.  He did not look like that – at all!  

I will definitely be going back for the Afternoon Tea.  We kept eyeing the serving racks full of cream cakes and deliciousness passing by our table.  I took a photo of one of their flyers – they have sausage rolls and quiche and cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches and cream tea… oh my goodness, I could go on.  I’m drooling a little.

If you want to try this place, here’s a link:  www.yeoldekingshead.com  

Being at the seaside, we decided to take a stroll down to the seafront and along the pier (as you do). Once again, it was very noticeable that we were not, in fact, in Brighton.  Although it was quite chilly and very windy, there were a few distinct differences.  Look at that beach – definitely not England. Although there was a big wheel on the pier, but no penny arcade or bumper cars, and definitely no rock.

This is NOT Brighton

No rock, but there is a Big Wheel

This is not a paid review, but I had to share because it's great.  And also, I can't not post a picture of the other present I got.  My daughter seems to know me so well!!

It's for the wall in my office!!

The Day I Choked at the London Marathon

To an American, reading that heading, it sounds like I was actually running IN the London marathon and that I choked (aka failed).  Now don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I couldn’t run it if I wanted to, but I just have never actually wanted to. *grin*

CHOKE – Informal – to fail to achieve something, especially because you lose confidence.

American English synonyms or related words for this sense of choke

To fail, or to stop being successful: to go tits-up, fail, flounder, languish, backfire, fizzle,

miss, collapse, flop, crash

Oh no, this was something entirely different, indeed.

It was during one of the first marathons they ran, maybe year two or three, yes a long time ago.  I was at that time a regular programme seller at Chelsea Football Club and for some reason, we were asked to sell programmes at the London Marathon.  I thought it weird at the time that anyone would want to pay £5 for a book of what basically was a long list of names of people you’ve never heard of.  In hindsight though, I realize that if you were actually in a marathon, you might want a programme so you could show you did something with your life.  A souvenir of the day, if you will, aside from the blisters and shiny tin foil blanket you get at the end of the race (if you make it to the end of the race, that is)

Anyhoo, I had been wandering around all morning selling my wares when a few of us got together and decided to stop for a quick bite to eat.  (Translation, we were going to eat the packed lunches we took with us).   Now you should remember this was quite a while ago, long before those fancy insulated lunch boxes were invented so our sandwiches were probably squashed at the bottom of a duffle bag with a leaky bottle of coke.  But who cares when you’re starving, eh?  I remember very clearly though that I had a Viscount mint chocolate biscuit.  That was a mistake I still regret to this day….  

These are made by the Devil

I think we were standing across the street from Kings Cross Station and we were next to a boarded up construction site.  It’s not actually necessary for you to know that, nor part of the story, but I remember it with such clarity it’s like it all happened yesterday.  I had eaten my sarnies and bit into my Viscount and for some reason, I managed to get most of the biscuit in one bite.  No problem, you say, just chew it a bit.  But that’s the problem right there… I actually swallowed the thing practically whole.  And what happens when you try and swallow something that doesn’t fit?  Yes, it gets stuck. And did it get stuck…. Crikey, that thing got wedged in my throat sideways and I could not get it moved either up or down.  Try as I might, I could not swallow.

You have to remember, I was young, I was with lads who I only ever saw on a Saturday for a couple of hours and I was British – so I wasn’t going to make a fuss.  So what was a girl to do?  I wasn’t going to ask for help from basically strangers.  So I stood there, choking and turning blue, trying my best to clear the blockage by swallowing and coughing and not one of those blooming boys even glanced in my direction and even if they had, I’m sure they would have looked away just as quickly. You know how boys are!

So as I was choking for what seemed like three hours, by some miracle, something happened that dislodged the biscuit.  I think the chocolate perhaps melted, but I was able to swallow the entire piece. Mind you, it felt like I was swallowing a 2 by 4.

How embarrassing would this have been?

I have never been so relieved.  I would say my life flashed before my eyes, but it really didn’t, I was far to embarrassed for that.  I can just remember thinking “I’m going to choke to death and these boys don’t care!”  Obviously, once I’d swallowed that devil’s biscuit and realized that my throat was not in fact bleeding and torn I carried on as if nothing had happened.  Because, well, stiff upper lip and all that.  I didn’t mention it, they didn’t mention it and to this day, I don’t know whether anyone saw what was happening.  But I tell you what, my throat was sore for about a fortnight and I’ve never eaten one of those biscuits again!

British Television Phrases Americans Will Never Understand

There are a few phrases that practically every English person knows (and possibly loves) that tend to stick in your mind.  I have a few and they've nearly all come from adverts, or at least off the telly. Here's a few I use all the time.

I think we actually had this television.

That's Handy 'Arry

When something’s going brilliantly or you find something you’re looking for in the first place you look thats, well, handy.  I use this phrase all the time, mostly without even thinking about it.  The first couple of hundred times, the mister would look at me like I was mad, but it’s apparently made an impression because I’ve once or twice heard him mutter it too.  [Sometimes I even add the "stick it in the oven"]

Luvley Jubley

Ahh…. The immortal words of Del Boy.  I’m sure there’s nobody who hasn’t uttered this once in a while.  Luvley Jubbly just about sums up any brilliant moment.  In my case, this one usually refers to food.  I’m not sure if there is an American equivalent of this phrase – perhaps “Awesome” but that just doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it?  

Oh and obviously, you have to rub your hands together while saying it.

OooEee Mr. Shifter

I am ashamed to say that I have actually used this phrase a few times.  Funnily enough, it's generally when we're trying to get a particularly large item of furniture up the stairs.  [Sounds like we do that all the time, doesn't it? ... we don't]  I always tend to end up on the back end and panic when I think I'm going to be squished.

Can ya Ride Tandem?

These monkeys apparently made a great impression on my during my youth.  I have no idea why I say this, except maybe it's just funny, oh and the mister rides a bike.  Not a tandem, mind you, a bloomin' great Harley Davidson, so it just tickles me just a bit.

I know these two adverts aren't politically correct nowadays, what with all the animal rights activists and PETA, but you've got to admit that in their time they were brilliant.

Does anyone else have a long forgotten phrase they use frequently?  If so, remind us....

Oh Good Grief - It's National Hugging Day!

Today in America it’s National Hugging Day… yes, you did read that right, it’s a day that celebrates hugging. [*shudders*]

I can hear all British expats in the USA right now actually cringing.  This is going to be a day to stay in bed, I think, or at least not venture out of the house just in case you are suddenly accosted by some random stranger who wants to hug you.  [*gulp*]  How absolutely appalling.

This is just Not British!  I don’t understand why there needs to be a whole day of celebration and I’m sure I’m not the only one with that British aversion to hugging.  Why hug when a good old “How do you do?” and perfectly fine handshake will suffice.  But then Americans find us a bit standoffish and rude if we don’t hug.  

It has taken me a long time to get used to the fact that I will be hugged whether I like it or not.  To compound the fact, my fiancé is in a motorcycle club and their culture is to take anyone into an embrace or bear hug to say hello.  For the first few years, I would stand stiffly with my hands at my sides and kind of grimace.  It was a bit like being hugged by an ancient uncle whom you had never met, who kind of smelled like mothballs, and clutched you to his chest a wee bit long for your liking. So very uncomfortable.

I have tended to get over my phobia a little though, I pretty much had to, being around bikers so much.  I was once informed I was a bit of a snooty b*tch, to which my only reply was, “Well, I’m English, that’s how we are.”  [Sorry England]

So true!

So I’m just going to say once and for all “I’m sorry America that I don’t hug as much as you would like, go ahead and have your Hugging Day, but please, please, please do NOT include me!” [and certainly don't try to touch me]

Thank you.

A Letter to England.... I'm Sorry

I’m sorry England.  I’ve tried, I really have, but in the last 20 years of being here I have defended English cuisine until I am blue in the face, but I have to admit there are a lot of English foods I really can’t stand.  I know, I know, you’ve had to live with the terrible assertion by all Americans that English food is bland and well, unpalatable and I’m so sorry, I actually have to agree on some things.

Here’s a list of my terribly unBritishness

Jellied Eels

Oh good grief, I have no idea how anyone decided that these needed to be eaten.  Just the thought of them makes me a bit watery mouthed.  Who was it that first thought “Oh, that wiggly snake like creature in that river should be cut into tiny pieces and boiled in stock and left to cool so it sets into jelly and then eaten with a wooden stick.”  Um, no thank you.

Spotted Dick

Sure, when this was on the menu for school dinners it got a snicker all around.  Only thing is, you had to actually eat the awful stuff.  I don’t care how much [lumpy] custard  it was floated in, the boiled sponge is a thing of my nightmares.  A suet pastry and dried fruit concoction just sounds disgusting. And really, it doesn’t float in the custard, it basically sinks to the bottom because it’s so dense and heavy.

I do have that one friend though, who keeps giving me a tin of it every flippin’ Christmas.

Treacle Pudding

This was another one of those school “treats” that was regularly in rotation on the menu.  Again, and this is probably just me, but it was horrible.  A sticky, stodgy mess, in my opinion.  And treacle, just no.

Mushy Peas

While growing up, I absolutely detested peas with a passion.  I would sit at the table for ages before I could get down because I had to finish those little green horrors.  Eventually, as I grew up, I just basically gave up fighting and ate them.  I can’t say I actually ‘enjoy’ them now, but I do eat them. However, mushy peas are a whole other kettle of fish.  I just don’t understand why you would want to smash them to bits and dollop them on chips.  They used to be a purely “northern” menu item, but last time I was in London, they seem to have taken over.  Everywhere serves them… it’s like that old film The Blob, but now its a great big green blob of peas.  And they try to disguise it by adding mint! I think it’s the fact that marrow peas are used instead of normal peas – they have a whole flavour of their own.

Although, I will say, my other half really, really likes them – not that he’s ever going to eat them in my house.

Black Pudding

I know, it wouldn’t be a ‘real’ full English without lack pudding (or blood sausage as its called in the US), but in my opinion, you can keep it.  Really, how appetizing does pork blood and oatmeal shaped into a sausage sound?   Be honest here.  I have nothing else to say about this, except maybe YUCK!

England, there are other things which I just cannot eat, you know like Scotch eggs, Marmalade and of course Marzipan (why oh why do you have to spoil a perfectly good Christmas cake with a layer of the stuff under that wonderful icing?)  

I’m sorry and I feel like I’ve let you down.  I promise I have not handed in my British card and don’t ever intend to, so please be nice and send me some pork pies.  Everything will be forgotten and I promise I will never speak of my faux pas again.

Thank you

6 Sneaky American Words that have fallen into my vocabulary

Good – instead of nice.  I was once asked by a co-worker why I always said food was 'nice' instead of good. I’d never really thought about it before because everything was either nice or horrible. Somehow it’s stuck in my head and now every time, every flippin' time I think food is lovely I say “Ooh, this is good!”  Grrr…..

Dude - A terrible word, but I will admit that I only ever use it in a derogatory manner, usually while driving. i.e. Dude, move your F*cking arse!  or Dude, you drive like an idiot!  [Yes, terribly British]

Cute -  Yes, I know we use this in England, but usually for a puppy or a baby.  In America, it's for just about everything.  "Oh you look cute" people say... what, do I look like a puppy?  "Oh, what a cute car" they say... when you know they really mean wow, your car is tiny, how do you actually get in it??   But again, this one is stuck in my vocabulary.  I try really hard to use a different word but then there's a pause while I'm thinking, which tends to make it sound like "Oh you look...um...cute?" which really is not a compliment, to be honest.

Son of a Gun - Okay, I will admit I hardly ever say this because it's so awful. (And it's more a phrase than a word).  The reason I put it in is because I actually said it, out loud, today!  I was trying to get a packet of crisps out of the vending machine and they got stuck (*sad face*). Of course, my first thought was an expletive but I realized a boss was in the room so obviously I couldn't say what I wanted and went with "Arghh - Son of a Gun!"  I kind of surprised myself and I'm sure my face was a picture when I realized what I'd actually said!

Ladybug - I’m not sure why it’s called a bug, although I suppose technically it is a bug, but that just sounds like it would be a nasty creepy crawly… Ladybird sounds so much nicer, doesn’t it?  But to be honest, it’s not really a bird either is it?

But Ladybug has come into my vocabulary somehow and without thinking, that’s what I always say, but I mostly correct my self straight away.  And I wouldn’t even dream of singing “Ladybug, Ladybug fly away home..”  It’s just not right!

Soccer - I think this is the word that annoys me the most… Ugh… soccer [Actually pronounced in the US as Saaakkkerrr!!]  Pretty much most of the time, when I use this one, I follow up by saying “You know, real football.”  (*grins*)

Does anyone else have a problem with this?  What words annoy you that you can't help saying? Discuss.....

The Classic Car Show

Last weekend, which was Labor (Labour) Day weekend here, we went to a car and bike show – just a small one put on by a local organization and I must say, Americans love their old cars!

The thing is, they don’t love them in the same way British car enthusiasts love ‘em.  It seems to me in Britain a lovely old (classic) car is one that has been taken care of  since new, kept in original condition and given lots of loving care.  Basically, how your granddad treats his car.

In America, the old car needs updating with all new paintwork, chrome, souped up engines and new interiors. Very big and brash.  Definitely not your grandparent’s car!

The photos here were taken last year in England when we went to a small village fete and there was a car show which looked like a bit of an afterthought.  It was as if a few old fellows decided to give their family car a bit of a wash and polish and drive to the village green.  They are small and compact and very “British.” Look at the little mini, for example!! [Bless]  

Bubble Car!!

And then we have the Americans…. Big, bold and very, well, American.

Is this a boat in disguise?

These things are HUGE.  They’re like bloody boats and they’re not the kind of thing you see driving down the freeway every day.  Definitely not family cars.  It was all very American Graffiti. 

They were shiny, colorful and chrome-y (not sure that’s an actual word, but it works).   It didn’t look like many of them had their original color schemes either.  

Bit ugly, to be honest

Then of course, there's a fascination with flames...

Why the duck?

Old cars with very new paint...

Even a Rolls Royce which managed to look like an American boat.  I have never seen an uglier Rolls Royce in my life.  Because, you know, I'm always travelling in style (not)..

I don't like that colour

I could not even begin to imagine how any of these cars could use the roads in England.  They are so massive and I expect the turning ratio would just not work on those narrow country roads.  

They would get stuck on a corner and end up surrounded by sheep, causing a backup of irate motorists politely shaking their fists and grumbling about the queue.  I know, an unlikely scenario but it just sounds so very British, doesn’t it?

It was nice seeing all these cars, but the weather was so hot and the car park was sweltering so the very best part of the day was going into the bar for a beer!  Obviously.

English Stadium Etiquette (It's Not the same in the USA)

Last Thursday night, the mister and myself went to the Hollywood Bowl to see the brilliant Ed Sheeran. You have to, after all, support all British people/bands/acts/teams/companies that pass through Hollywood, don't you? [Okay, that's probably going a bit far]. Nevertheless, we crawled out to Los Angeles in rush hour traffic (2.5 hours, thank you very much) and it was really worth it. See....

The Hollywood Bowl is an outdoor venue with tiered seating.  A little bit like a football stadium, if you will.  Which is where it got a bit tricky.

If you've read a lot of this blog, you will know I spent much of my (mis-spent) youth at football games.  You pay a lot of money to get into those games and when you can't see the pitch because someone's standing up in front, a collective shout of "Sit Down" goes up.  Only it's not a polite Sit Down, it's more of a "SIIIIDDDDDDDAAARRRNN" sometimes followed by "You make a better door than a window mate."  Oh those days..

There I was, having stood in line for about 35 minutes for popcorn, of all things, when Mr. Sheeran came onto the stage.  Up went the cheers as I raced back to my seat.  Everyone around was sitting waiting for the first song - except for two bloody girls about three seats in front of us.  Well, of course I automatically shouted "SIIIIDDDDDDDAAARRRNN" and when they didn't, I shouted it again.  The Mister looked at me and mouthed "sit down?" with an incredulous look on his face and the lady next to me tried to hide under her seat and get as far away from me as possible (sorry stranger lady, if you're reading this).

It was so automatic I didn't realize what I'd done for a moment and then it dawned on me.  Oopsie, one is not at a football game, one better sit down and shut up.  [*sheepish grin*]  I didn't think those girls had heard me, but you know what, they didn't stand up again for the rest of the evening. (Score!)

I thought it was the English who were reluctant to show their disapproval and I couldn't believe all these people were sitting looking at other people's bums without saying anything or asking them to move.  Rude!

Here's a bit more of the show

The Sad Story of American Healthcare

About a month ago I had a little motorbike accident (ok, it felt like a pretty big motorbike accident when I hit gravel and went down at 65 mph).  Anyway, I ended up in the Emergency Room with a massive (I thought so) cut on my leg and I had x-rays of my legs and wrist done.  I wasn’t taken by ambulance as it wasn’t really that bad, although it felt so at the time.

Waaa... I broke my bike

And my helmet... [*sad face*]

A couple of days ago I received a bill in the post from the “Emergency Physicians” asking me to pay $800+.  I was a bit surprised at this because I have health insurance and I had given them my information when I was at the hospital.  They weren’t very polite on this bill either, I was told that I must pay the balance by June 18th or the bill “would be deemed delinquent and assigned to a collection agency.”  Bloody hell, I though, I better give them a ring and find out what’s going on.

So today, I rang them and after having being on hold for about 20 minutes, this conversation ensued after I had given them my date of birth, my account number, my home address, my first born….:

     Me:        I don’t understand why I got this bill, I have insurance and I gave the information to the hospital

     Them:   We show this was as a result of a motor vee-hick-al accident

     Me:    Yes, it was

     Them:    We need the information for the other driver’s insurance

     Me:    There wasn’t one, I was on a bike.  

     Them:    So there is no health coverage from a third party?

     Me:     No, but I gave my health insurance card at the hospital

     Them:    Oh yes, we have the information on file, I will process it now.  You can disregard this statement and if you get anything else in the mail, please call us back.

     Me:    Ummm… okay  [actually thinking what the heck?]

My question is, why did they not use my health insurance first?  This is the whole problem with the American healthcare system.  People are so quick to sue each other your insurance company would rather get the money directly from someone else, instead of using your own insurance (which you pay a mighty amount for every month, by the way) and then threaten to send you to collections if you don’t pay the bill, which you shouldn’t have got in the first place because you have health insurance…. It’s an endless bloody circle.  

Shouldn’t they have used my insurance first and, assuming someone else was actually to blame, then attempted to get a refund from them?  Why should I be threatened with collections when I pay a bloody fortune every month in case I need a doctor?

Yes, this makes me mad…

Okay, rant over.

Update:

I have been told they try and get paid by other insurance first because if they use your health insurance, they will have to give a discount, but if someone else pays, they can get their whole extortionate amount.  I'm still mad.

The Cadbury Godfather

If you've been following this blog for a while, you will know that I am right Royally peeved with the Hershey ban on the import of British chocolate.  It's obvious I'm not the only one as the #boycotthersheys hashtag has taken over Twitter.  What are we going to do without our yummy Cadbury's??

Well never fear, there are a few enterprising people out there who always see an opening in the market.  So with no more ado, I would like to introduce to you to.... drum roll....

ChocolateMailbox.com

 

Chris Turner and his business partner, both from just outside Manchester, have put together a wonderful website where you can order British Chocolate to be delivered directly to your house.  They have a variety of sizes to choose from, with a selection box of 10, 20 or 30 bars.  The boxes have brilliant names such as:

• Biggie Box
• British Classics Box
• Cadbury Crazy Box
• Cadbury Collection Box
• Smooth & Creamy Box
• Special Sharing Box  (who wants to share - not me!)

There's also a category where you can "Pick & Mix" your very own selection.  The price is a very reasonable $15.50 per box, no matter what size you choose.  Shipping varies depending upon where you live and how much you buy.

Chris told me he believes the recent ban by Hersheys is totally unfair and a sorry sign of the corporate giants flexing their muscles in the name of greater profits [I think we all agree with that].  It's his view that "It's everybody's right to be able to have the freedom of choice if they want to eat British Chocolate (read "real" chocolate) and no one company should be able to dictate to us."

I voiced my concern that chocolate being shipped to hot climates, particularly like California (yes, I was thinking of myself) would be in a mailbox for an extended period of time and would result in the chocolate turning to soup before I got home.  Nope, not a problem, they've thought of that already as they offer tracked and signed postal options so you will know when it's arriving and can either be at home when it's delivered or you can pick it up from the Post Office.  I got around that problem by having my box delivered to my work address. 

While I was waiting for it to arrive I was a little fearful.  What happens if it gets stuck in some airport on the way and the heat gets to it?  What happens if the post office open it and take my chocolate?  Oh the dilemma, the nightmares.  Well, this is what it looked like when it got here:

Post Office doesn't read, apparently!

Hmm... fragile??

I carefully opened the package (okay, I frantically tore into it) to see what goodies were inside.  All my fears were unwarranted.  The chocolate was packed really well and even though the box looked like it had been kicked around Wembley Stadium for 90 minutes, every chocolate bar was undamaged.  I could hear angels singing as I saw this little lot

From the selection, it looks like I received the 'Cadbury's Collection Box," although there is a cheeky Cadbury's Creme Egg in there too - just in time for Easter, how handy!

What was most exciting for me was the Freddo as I've heard so much about them. I don't think I've ever had one.  They were introduced by Cadbury's in 1973, but were discontinued in 1979 and for some reason I don't remember them at all.  They were reissued in 1994, presumably just after I left England, so this is is a first for me.  

This is definitely a great way to get your chocolate fix and very soon, you won't even have to order every month because a subscription service called "British Chocolate Club" is in the pipeline, where you will automatically be sent chocolate every month!  Can't really argue with that, can you??

So don't just sit there with your mouth watering, click on the link to the right and start shopping.  I have some vouchers for a 20% discount on all orders.  If you would like one, please let me know by contacting me here.  Better hurry...... meanwhile, I'm going to sit back, relax and eat my Creme Egg - very.very.slowly.

*This is a sponsored post on behalf of Chocolate Mailbox.com