tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81227690707176603982024-03-22T01:15:06.348-07:00A Brit AbroadI'm a Brit living in Southern California. I’ve been here for about 20 years now and yes, I can be a bit gobby. These are my observations, comments and sometimes rants about the differences between my home and my adopted home.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.comBlogger124125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-4714651922505383492018-12-29T22:03:00.003-08:002019-01-07T19:54:56.980-08:00My Christmas Card Excuse<div style="text-align: justify;">
So it’s almost Christmas and over the last few months, my side business has really gone crazy and I’ve been rushed off my feet and working two full time jobs, or at least it feels that way.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">[*Yes, my side gig got in the way again and I started this post before Christmas and got side tracked*]</span></div>
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Obviously when you have paying customers (which has been quite rare in the past, to be honest), you can’t let them down at the last minute, so my own home life has been put on the back burner. Needless to say, I have not yet got around to sending Christmas cards. Ooopsie, and sorry to all my family if you are reading this – doesn’t look like you will be getting anything in the mail from me this year!</div>
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Except… well hello <a href="http://paperlesspost.com/" rel="nofollow">Paperlesspost.com</a>.<br />
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I was recently introduced to this website and asked if I would give it a try. Do you remember back in the early 90’s there was a website that was all the rage where you could send invitations and funny cards to your email list? It was free, but the recipients basically got a GIF in an email… very un-classy [is that a word?]</div>
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Paperless Post is so much more. You can send cards, invitations, save the dates and flyers, to name a few things. There is something on there for pretty much any occasion and the best bit? They are so upscale looking and can be personalized!! (Who doesn’t want a picture of you and your dog in matching jumpers?)</div>
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You choose your card, add pictures and/or text, choose your font for your envelope address and even get to choose a fancy stamp. You add your email addresses and then send it off. When it’s delivered the recipient has an opportunity to write a note back to you. Probably something like “Thank you, I forgot to send cards too – Happy Christmas!!” </div>
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To get started, you buy ‘coins’ which come in different sized packages and depending on what type of card you pick and what options, you pay by using your coins. There are actually quite a lot of free cards too. Here's a couple of examples of different styles.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6oFEZGz1ZMN8wLF0U6oGVnrO6AXjH92s3kkeAe3t_806LbUWQNcOoZi4SILEZyKIWVD9CH_HCFFxgMv15w-Fz-h1TJgYHX0lSww4gvSMy7z8eWh1xWQ4_8RELlTIt2p6guyj3NiCFBNb/s1600/bubbles.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="254" data-original-width="266" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6oFEZGz1ZMN8wLF0U6oGVnrO6AXjH92s3kkeAe3t_806LbUWQNcOoZi4SILEZyKIWVD9CH_HCFFxgMv15w-Fz-h1TJgYHX0lSww4gvSMy7z8eWh1xWQ4_8RELlTIt2p6guyj3NiCFBNb/s320/bubbles.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clearly me on New Years Eve!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg65ZsxTTOFCsq4dESg06cffAu5w_dH04gi3ldoBT4T3iigQP0jsVLRGb1qHw6qrQfA7KyFTGo05ny2oH9Vzx09xJMADvkr0AUgV-r762wvw0P9tWQyo76PlLKGqtKGVCSSIpeqVQ9w9W5B/s1600/reindeer.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="233" data-original-width="309" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg65ZsxTTOFCsq4dESg06cffAu5w_dH04gi3ldoBT4T3iigQP0jsVLRGb1qHw6qrQfA7KyFTGo05ny2oH9Vzx09xJMADvkr0AUgV-r762wvw0P9tWQyo76PlLKGqtKGVCSSIpeqVQ9w9W5B/s320/reindeer.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Did you spot the smoking reindeer?</td></tr>
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You're probably thinking it's a bit late to send cards now, but you know what, I could send a New Year's Eve card instead. Who wouldn't like that?</div>
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And that's me covered for the year.... cards for everyone!</div>
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Oh, and if you were wondering what my side business is - you can find it right here....: <a href="http://www.gobbybritdesigns.com/">www.gobbybritdesigns.com</a></div>
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HAPPY CHRISTMAS and a VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR everyone!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-57603493950329789562018-05-25T14:25:00.000-07:002018-05-25T14:25:14.435-07:00Diamonds - Always a Girl's Best Friend<div style="text-align: justify;">
If you’ve ever read any of this blog, you will know that I actually quite like a tipple every now and then. Not that I’m always drinking, mind you. But when I do…..well.... [that sounds a bit bad really, doesn’t it?]</div>
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Aside from that, I also have a bit of a problem with glasses. No, not eye glasses, but any funky, cute or original kind of drink glass. I probably shouldn’t be admitting this, but if you serve me a drink in a lovely glass, you will most likely not get it back. It will be in my bag and end up in my kitchen cupboard. I love those tiny little sake glasses and any kind of beer glass that has the name of the beer on it – if it’s an English beer, then it truly is destined to go home with me.</div>
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Talking of unique glasses, I was recently asked to review the Thumbs Up Diamond Glasses and oh my goodness, these are exactly the kind of thing I cannot resist. A glass - shaped like a diamond!</div>
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First of all, let me say, the box they come in is lovely. It looks so classy and is definitely something you could give as a gift an<span style="text-align: justify;">d have the recipient think you spent a bundle. It’s decorated nicely and is really good quality. I got mine in the mail and there would have been no problem had my postman drop-kicked it to my front door from the street. I’m actually hoping he didn’t, or I will need a word with him, to be honest. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG0cXTMAQjEs8NnvEEkVNax9-lWvVXvIMf7TLso5RjjbrCKBtfi4Aj7iLMDUzq0ZCyIxbZzZ1XmV1WfDuue7AdbC3Yxh-Re1HMYTUtuDzuPc6pj8ZWE5m6mhS5w_SaxCSXuRIUIgO4jNXm/s1600/81AFn9CY6cL._SL1500_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG0cXTMAQjEs8NnvEEkVNax9-lWvVXvIMf7TLso5RjjbrCKBtfi4Aj7iLMDUzq0ZCyIxbZzZ1XmV1WfDuue7AdbC3Yxh-Re1HMYTUtuDzuPc6pj8ZWE5m6mhS5w_SaxCSXuRIUIgO4jNXm/s320/81AFn9CY6cL._SL1500_.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Their tagline is:<br />
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Be the diamond in the rough with this set of diamond style glasses.<br />
Fashioned to look like a diamond; these glasses stand at an angle which allows you to rotate the glass to enjoy the full bodied flavor of your favorite whiskey!<br />
relax, top-up and drink a diamond!.</div>
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I’m not really a whiskey drinker, but why should these be limited to whiskey? I’ve tried them with vodka, gin and rum – and they all work [*smile*]</div>
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The first time you use them, you notice that they feel really light and there’s a fear that they might break with the tiniest knock. But the fact is, they are made of borosilicate glass which, according to thomasnet.com “<i>is far more durable than traditional glass so they can withstand accidents that would break other glassware.</i>” Think Pyrex dishes.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ZWwXLxh5mvhgQU01abYgesjMLkrLO5q1z-0HyAOiOCGJIWFrp75uLnqXa8JaHq8jCqK1Lqj2h_jgVhLcQxcWO_IWSw07SQi4W3Xvg8EV7qvD5JqON58ky8bijh0c4KYwZV0lXvMEWPi1/s1600/Glasses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7ZWwXLxh5mvhgQU01abYgesjMLkrLO5q1z-0HyAOiOCGJIWFrp75uLnqXa8JaHq8jCqK1Lqj2h_jgVhLcQxcWO_IWSw07SQi4W3Xvg8EV7qvD5JqON58ky8bijh0c4KYwZV0lXvMEWPi1/s320/Glasses.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The only problem I found, is that you have to remember when pouring a drink, you shouldn’t pour all the way to the top because as the glass sits at an angle, you will spill half the contents when you put the glass down. (No, I am not talking from experience here, really, I'm not.) They are actually designed for sipping from i.e. whiskey or some other after dinner drink and hold approximately 2 oz of liquid. All very classy.<br />
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What's also nice is that they fit in your hand perfectly. I managed to take a pretty good representation picture, which is quite hard to do with one hand, but it will give you an idea of the side and shape.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoF8WtSOmwR_K7_wxgJzXDVOcDk4gggyWjHHRpeQFfennXNvWM-xTduY_eJBV0uMMjpBSQWATOh2aM7Ab3SrOcHQWa0szMFiGaWyjCaL8bnpq89ElmgYUsVSZwNb275BjLjrvlmAoVl4pO/s1600/glass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="514" data-original-width="640" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoF8WtSOmwR_K7_wxgJzXDVOcDk4gggyWjHHRpeQFfennXNvWM-xTduY_eJBV0uMMjpBSQWATOh2aM7Ab3SrOcHQWa0szMFiGaWyjCaL8bnpq89ElmgYUsVSZwNb275BjLjrvlmAoVl4pO/s320/glass.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The glasses are available on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Thumbs-Diamond-Glass-Clear-Set/dp/B00NA8IRRM" rel="nofollow">Amazon</a> for only $25 for a pair and would make a fantastic wedding or wedding shower gift – because all brides want diamonds, don't they? So be that person and be the diamond in the rough (and also very thoughtful).</div>
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As they say, diamonds are a girl's best friend, and these are definitely my go-to drink glasses at the moment. So cheers!!<br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arimo; font-size: xx-small; text-align: justify;">This post was sponsored by <a href="http://thumbsupuk.com/" rel="nofollow">Thumbsupuk.com</a></span><span style="font-family: Arimo; font-size: xx-small; text-align: justify;"> The opinions are completely based on my own experience</span></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-12015966538288103492018-01-26T11:15:00.001-08:002018-01-26T11:15:11.726-08:00The Joshua Tree<div style="text-align: justify;">
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.</div>
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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!</div>
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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 “<i>Where the Streets Have No Name</i>” had a relevance to our lives at that time</div>
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“I want to run, I want to hide…..<br />
We're beaten and blown by the wind, trampled in dust,<br />
I'll show you a place high on a desert plain,<br />
Where the streets have no name”<br />
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It basically summed up how I was feeling then, sad, lonely and lost (literally).<br />
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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? </div>
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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.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNp17jXTSr09tbV68ZpBvpDjiUBM-tjRhEFPW_00j55efSWPQgKWvwfo500NWTexnuIyhoVO0vnf6f_6ntS2_aBCQ42bUUrhwzRId14PiTUwg-f4_ypsnU-29CLNNnEuslPamIuDTnRGu_/s1600/Joshua+Tree+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNp17jXTSr09tbV68ZpBvpDjiUBM-tjRhEFPW_00j55efSWPQgKWvwfo500NWTexnuIyhoVO0vnf6f_6ntS2_aBCQ42bUUrhwzRId14PiTUwg-f4_ypsnU-29CLNNnEuslPamIuDTnRGu_/s400/Joshua+Tree+1.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bleak roads</td></tr>
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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. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWJphGwntEuxqhQZbalRDcKyrBsBzY-LqfWPnYXpqdnKs2ECH5Y89EAdvdmlOHLHDvxREg-gqJCmbvlmiQDv1veova4AphzP6OR8dauWti9oQuE8CufPiJouRBN_E16QmPjurlmTh04Vkb/s1600/Joshua+Tree+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="337" data-original-width="631" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWJphGwntEuxqhQZbalRDcKyrBsBzY-LqfWPnYXpqdnKs2ECH5Y89EAdvdmlOHLHDvxREg-gqJCmbvlmiQDv1veova4AphzP6OR8dauWti9oQuE8CufPiJouRBN_E16QmPjurlmTh04Vkb/s400/Joshua+Tree+2.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joshua Trees</td></tr>
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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?<br />
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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]</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC2COYpMGvzemzPlRhYGP0M4ukYCdt6TURV097loy7oCLO7XY4HdynjYPsiOB3OrFsI7yGAkB7KGL5YlT7LsT20RgXP_Hz2gD82JG6I8s7XCLeFNi2ZT4AMOyyWeVuMeVghk6yUHQ1yj2R/s1600/Joshua+Tree+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="474" data-original-width="640" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC2COYpMGvzemzPlRhYGP0M4ukYCdt6TURV097loy7oCLO7XY4HdynjYPsiOB3OrFsI7yGAkB7KGL5YlT7LsT20RgXP_Hz2gD82JG6I8s7XCLeFNi2ZT4AMOyyWeVuMeVghk6yUHQ1yj2R/s400/Joshua+Tree+4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-28695244006530230102017-08-25T14:48:00.002-07:002017-08-25T14:48:18.774-07:00The Military Diet Experiment<div style="text-align: justify;">
In a couple of months, we're going on a cruise and as you do, I looked in the mirror the other day and thought “Blimey, I need to go on a diet!” I’m not sure I actually do, but I feel and look heavier than I feel comfortable with. Probably because of married bliss and eating a lot of chocolate, to be honest.</div>
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Anyway, I decided I needed to do something that wasn’t Weight Watchers because quite honestly, I don’t want to pay to diet. It’s bad enough starving yourself, let alone paying for the privilege.</div>
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After doing my research (i.e. scrolling through Facebook) one diet in particular caught my eye – The Three Day Military Diet. Sounds a bit strict, although the gossip was that you <strike>could</strike> would lose 10 pounds in three days! Sign me up….. Okay, I actually didn’t have to sign up because its something you do on your own, although there is a menu you have to stick to religiously, or militarily if you prefer. Three days? How easy is that, I thought. No problem, I can do three days….<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4dXlTSedeD2bfVkDzcka61_BICpO689VXza8au4_M3mmXKT6hvPvUAytUbhkuzrMZ6GtFFtBO2uPbikdQGgIwZiModKmCqa-Zb7jDvNhREgvNuDr2Sfb9VYMyJ_HtJYBETJ1ncNuuFQV/s1600/trooping-the-colour-horse-guards-parade-cr8mxy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="446" data-original-width="640" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI4dXlTSedeD2bfVkDzcka61_BICpO689VXza8au4_M3mmXKT6hvPvUAytUbhkuzrMZ6GtFFtBO2uPbikdQGgIwZiModKmCqa-Zb7jDvNhREgvNuDr2Sfb9VYMyJ_HtJYBETJ1ncNuuFQV/s320/trooping-the-colour-horse-guards-parade-cr8mxy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You don't have to wear the uniform, by the way</td></tr>
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<b>DAY ONE</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlruA6h9HiKYwFr-HVw_MiF2ZgsEab_Xdinh6_n8SrHOiMqqJvVSjaHBSn41FD3Nlrr4_qUHrxt-rRevNsG9FtyJdYpQtbLxTuAXlHe3W6cfklHeeOuvRrprjprTUiXPUV2gIMnyWPVPJj/s1600/day+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="590" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlruA6h9HiKYwFr-HVw_MiF2ZgsEab_Xdinh6_n8SrHOiMqqJvVSjaHBSn41FD3Nlrr4_qUHrxt-rRevNsG9FtyJdYpQtbLxTuAXlHe3W6cfklHeeOuvRrprjprTUiXPUV2gIMnyWPVPJj/s320/day+1.jpg" width="294" /></a></div>
<i>Breakfast</i><br />
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You’re not supposed to substitute anything unless it’s on their list, but I only decided to do this after I'd eaten breakfast and I'd already had a glass of orange juice and some toast, so I skipped the grapefruit and had a cup of tea and a spoonful of hummus instead. Let me just say right here, hummus on its own is bloody awful. I had substituted it for peanut butter because, well, eww.. </div>
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<i>Lunch</i><br />
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This wasn’t bad. A nice cuppa and some tuna on toast. Although, the tuna would have been better with a dollop of dressing because it was as dry as the Serengeti in a heatwave. Thank goodness for the tea.</div>
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<i>Dinner</i><br />
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I could get used to this as it seems like a lot of food. I had chicken with the green beans and then enjoyed the ice cream with the fruit. I was a bit stuffed actually.</div>
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<b>DAY TWO</b><br />
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<i>Breakfast</i><br />
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Uh oh, the portions are getting smaller. But when I’m at work I don’t usually eat breakfast so having a boiled egg on toast was a bit of a luxury really. It kept me full until lunch anyway.</div>
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<i>Lunch</i><br />
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Bloody hell, another hard boiled egg. I’m sure my co-workers loved me that day. [I never did admit it was my stinky eggs smelling up the kitchen] I substituted Greek yoghurt instead of cottage cheese. [what, even, the hell is that stuff??] The five <i>tiny</i> saltine crackers went well with the egg though. I actually couldn’t eat all of the yoghurt, maybe because it was sitting in my stomach like, well I don’t know what it was like, I’ve never eaten that much Greek yoghurt in my life and a cup is a LOT.</div>
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<i>Dinner</i><br />
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This one looks small, but it wasn’t actually bad. I cut everything up into slices and had as much broccoli and carrots as I could fit into a cup (not much, by the way). The hotdogs gave some flavour. And then there was at least ice cream for pudding.</div>
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<b>DAY THREE</b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, actually, that is a wine stain on my menu</td></tr>
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<i>Breakfast</i><br />
Again, this was a bit of a treat having breakfast. But then again, maybe I was just starving by then.<br />
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<i>Lunch</i><br />
Yes, another hard boiled egg, but this time only with a dry slice of toast. Yummy (sarcasm added)<br />
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<b>A quick aside here:</b><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>I had been weighing myself daily – yes for all of two days – and the weight was falling off. Okay, I lied, after starving myself for two day I had lost 2 pounds. Yes, you did read that right, TWO WHOLE BLOODY POUNDS!! </i></blockquote>
<i>Dinner</i><br />
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Soooo, I may have cheated a little bit because, well, who can live on half a tin of dry tuna, half a banana and a bit of ice cream. So I made myself some Thai curry with rice and papadums and a huge glass of wine. (I know papadums don’t go with Thai food, don’t judge me I was starving, okay). I may also have had a packet of crisps, a hotdog bun and possibly some chocolate, not necessarily in that order.</div>
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I went to bed that night fuller than I had in three days and when I woke up the next morning, I was really surprised not to find 8 pounds of fat in the bed next to me because according to this diet plan you <i>will</i> lose 10 pounds. I jumped onto the scale and yes I had still only lost 2 pounds. Actually, I hadn’t lost anything because I put it all back on in that one meal the night before. [*sigh*]</div>
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So the moral of this story is that unless you constantly eat and gain weight every day, don’t do the Military Diet, it does not flamin’ work. I followed it to a “T” and all I got was starving hungry.<br />
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I just suffered for <strike>three</strike> two and a half days and lost about the same amount as if I’d just had a big pooh!!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-47775199641282300502017-08-07T13:26:00.000-07:002017-08-07T13:26:14.879-07:00The Awkwardness of Meeting People from Home<div style="text-align: justify;">
There’s always that moment and awkward conversation when I meet someone from England. This is how it usually goes:</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“<b>Hello, how are you?</b></div>
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<b><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Fine thanks, and you</b>?</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>……[Awkwardness]….</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>So, how long have you been here?</b></div>
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<b><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>…… 2, 4, 10, 15, 20… etc years ….</b>.</div>
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<b>What part of England are you from?</b></div>
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<b><span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>….Doncaster… Rugby… Milton Keynes… Brighton…. [Pretty much anywhere in the country that I’ve either never been or is no where near anywhere I’ve ever lived.]</b></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre;"> <b> </b></span><b>Oh, okay</b></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>….. [More awkwardness] ….</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>What brought you here then?</b></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre;"> [</span>Insert any number of reasons…]</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span>.. <i>crickets</i>...</div>
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<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre;"> </span><b>Sooo, um, how do you like the weather here</b>????”</div>
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And there it is - the great British small talk 'go to' - the weather!!!</div>
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What makes it slightly worse is when a friend wants to introduce you to someone and says “Oh, you both sound exactly the same - you must come from the same town.” You know, like we all live together in a big commune and everyone knows everyone, including the Queen.</div>
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This happened the other day. I was given the "you sound exactly the same" speech and told I would meet 'her' later.</div>
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Fast forward about an hour and over he trots to my desk, all excited, and says </div>
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“Meet <i>(so and so)</i> She sounds JUST like you!” </div>
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Well, I liked her immediately because when he said that, she rolled her eyes! Oh, true English attitude.</div>
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Then, the moment she spoke, I knew straight away that we was, in fact, from “near me” and she did “speak exactly the same.” So with baited breath, I asked where she was from and bloody hell, if she didn’t say Croydon!! Or South Croydon to be exact. </div>
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And to my never ending embarrassment, I actually squealed and shouted "Oh my God, I lived in Caterham!"<i>[Which will probably mean absolutely nothing to anyone]</i></div>
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That broke the ice and we did actually have quite a nice chat - no tea though. It’s just a shame I don’t remember her name, but I do know she lives in Denver. </div>
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But getting back to that other bit…. Yes, I squealed, I FLIPPIN' SQUEALED. Could I be more America… ugh! </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-75688524260174271872017-04-14T13:12:00.001-07:002017-04-14T13:12:32.841-07:00The Holiday Camp<div style="text-align: justify;">
The school summer holidays, six whole weeks of doing nothing and going back to school seemed ages away. What a great feeling that was and what made it even better was when your mum and dad said you would actually be going on holiday, and not any old holiday, but to a Holiday Camp. Butlin's or Pontins, how bloody fantastic! (Little did we know) A totally British institution, the holiday camp. I don’t think there’s anywhere else in the world that has anything like it. </div>
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The first Butlin’s was opened in 1936 in the glamorously named Skegness by Billy Butlin who’d had a terrible holiday on Barry Island in his youth, (and who hasn’t?) and wanted something better. He grew up traveling around the country with his uncle’s Fun Fair and branched out into having his own Fair which became so successful he was able to develop a static fair in Skegness in 1927 which, in turn, morphed into a holiday camp when he built “chalets’ which allowed people to stay for a week or two. Food was included (three meals a day) and there was live entertainment every night. The weekly rate in 1936 was between 35 shillings and £3, approximately £173 today. Cheap at half the price! </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSRPpeLjN_ikU2Ja55Ipbba0r26TiZGu9jtSrF6OA_QmrEGPYMD-K8inB7cLA9J2d2Kx-7ckfO1i9F8_aEx5B144d1YOQM8H2SS7yPEBNARz3DpY0ZeY5guqmjlRmdCPlCMk1sJ1L2wUgY/s1600/Early_Butlins_Chalet.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSRPpeLjN_ikU2Ja55Ipbba0r26TiZGu9jtSrF6OA_QmrEGPYMD-K8inB7cLA9J2d2Kx-7ckfO1i9F8_aEx5B144d1YOQM8H2SS7yPEBNARz3DpY0ZeY5guqmjlRmdCPlCMk1sJ1L2wUgY/s320/Early_Butlins_Chalet.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The very first and original chalet is now a listed building</td></tr>
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Picture Courtesy of <a href="https://www.blogger.com/By%20Mr%20M%20Evison,%20Stuart%20Jamieson,%20CC%20BY-SA%202.0,%20https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=14981869" target="_blank">Mr. M. Evison</a> .<br />
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I’m not sure how fancy the inside of the chalets were back then, but having been to a Butlin’s in the 1980’s I can truthfully say, they are crap. It always seems that no matter what time of the year you plan on going, it rains. <span style="text-align: start;">I can clearly remember a couple of occasions when I spent a wet and soggy week in Bognor Regis (another glamorous sounding place). </span><br />
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<span style="text-align: start;">Most of the camps seem to be built in the most unsunny (is that a word?) places, with names that do not conjure up daydreams of palm trees, beautiful beaches or even nice weather. [Bognor, Skegness, Pwllheli, Clacton, Minehead, Barry Island] It’s usually so cold you can’t use the swimming pool for fear of losing your toes to frostbite, the arcade is full of whiny children and the playground is a flooded mess. Mum and dad trying to make you play board games and wishing they hadn’t bothered to book the holiday at all. Looking out the window onto the desolate landscape is what British holidays are made of. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More like an Army barracks</td></tr>
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I think the main reason we were taken to Butlin's or Pontins was because of adverts like this, which made it look like your parents would have the best time and wouldn't have to put up with you all day. A holiday club is all very well, unless you are that extremely shy child that doesn't make friends easily, then it was a week in hell.</div>
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But on the plus side, without Butlin’s we wouldn’t have such jewels as the Glamorous Granny Contest, Miss Lovely Legs, Holiday Princess (aka, Bathing Beauties) or Red Coats (Blue Coats if you were at Pontins). </div>
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Ironically though, the best sentence I've found in the history of Butlin's is this beauty:</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #bf0000; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.3333px;">"The first day of the camps opening saw snow and during the next three days of the season Bill (Butlin) was aware that although the holiday makers had settled in very well they <b><i>seemed to lack enthusiasm</i></b>." (emphasis added) </span></blockquote>
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That pretty much sums up how everyone feels about a holiday camp nowadays - Lack of enthusiasm.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
But what about in America. There is no such thing as a holiday camp… there are, however “Summer Camps.” It couldn’t be called a holiday camp, as a “holiday” includes a celebration, i.e. Christmas and July 4th. But I digress. An American “Camp” is something that children do, on their own, in the mountains, or the middle of nowhere. Parents just pack up their kids and ship them off. You know, you see them all the time in films. Little wooden cabins in the forest near a lake, which apparently you are required to swim in. Sounds absolutely horrible. Not to mention, there's usually a mad man running around said forest with a massive knife. <br />
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These camps are usually called something weird like “Camp Waziyatah.” “Camp Moosilauke,” “Camp Wicosuta,” or Camp Weequahic.” I kid you not, these are names of real camps in Maine, New Hampshire, and Pennsylvania respectively. [Although it may look like I had my fingers on the wrong keys for a moment]. I’m sure they are also designed for parents to have a child free summer. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAsdatKZmorPAH9nt8Hia2KiRXxaPr13q081GWOySDVrftCusulRCn2-Ku0Mv1nly9CXJ5vaINoXqVxbbQKiDID_7MmxgKKQWOv11FUO43bhLIb8WbLKpK05oNq-VVy3_Om1tqd3oYIqJB/s1600/img-about1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAsdatKZmorPAH9nt8Hia2KiRXxaPr13q081GWOySDVrftCusulRCn2-Ku0Mv1nly9CXJ5vaINoXqVxbbQKiDID_7MmxgKKQWOv11FUO43bhLIb8WbLKpK05oNq-VVy3_Om1tqd3oYIqJB/s400/img-about1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's a bit more fancy looking</td></tr>
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I don't plan on going to a holiday camp any time soon, unless, of course, it's something like this one, because, hello, wine, no children and no contests. Also probably no swimming.</div>
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Then again, I wouldn't mind this one too much either.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKRKawtDkXP0KSea_wtZ2g26YQH3ZrDwyAbSxBms7CzF70b2FbdhNfJfgB5oQpG4McRG3YlzrDa5yn0SrsjQORKE-jb9ri6fmCe5D0QFZyTyWPweKHG1OhVBAEFYJq2TB29Eg4BHobualJ/s1600/317494501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKRKawtDkXP0KSea_wtZ2g26YQH3ZrDwyAbSxBms7CzF70b2FbdhNfJfgB5oQpG4McRG3YlzrDa5yn0SrsjQORKE-jb9ri6fmCe5D0QFZyTyWPweKHG1OhVBAEFYJq2TB29Eg4BHobualJ/s400/317494501.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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What are your memories of holiday camps? Were you ever a glamorous granny? Do tell.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-44577406496699427572017-03-16T15:16:00.000-07:002017-03-16T15:16:47.245-07:00Harry Potter and the Very Expensive Beer<div style="text-align: justify;">
Last week I had a bit of a skive off work and we went to Universal Studios for the day. We had gone there back in the summer and the lines were horrendous - including spending 1.5 hours in line for the Harry Potter ride, only to be told it had broken down [Grr…]. While we were there, we had decided to pay the extra $14 for our tickets to last a year. It turns out their version of a ‘year’ is actually seven months (which included many, many black out dates), but whatever, we had great plans to use our tickets loads of times, so it would be a great deal. As usual, that didn’t happen and we only had a couple of weeks left to use them, so off we went.</div>
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It was a Thursday, in the middle of a week of hellacious rain storms and we managed to get a day with no rain whatsoever. The place was almost empty…. Brilliant! I’m not going to do a post about how great the day was with the longest queue being only 10-15 minutes, although that was lovely. Nope, this one’s about Harry Potter. </div>
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I’m not a big Harry Potter fan, by any means, I think I’ve seen all the films, but couldn’t tell you for sure. But he’s English for goodness sake, so what’s not to like. First up, is the obligatory picture of entering Harry Potter Land. I will call it that because I have no idea what it’s actually called (see, I know nothing).</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghxX4iiHFNycURH3m1ad7PmDLpqSUdt4zix0g5R5qWu-PaxZcCQT0LCTBYHPXasSilaKZgQjx5R9AFnRphJEd6_miwOfB8h8v6mWR3HzWCIpO9bg0ED_UB7jCRux9x81bpgnK8aAZbqRLe/s1600/blogger-image-249451848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghxX4iiHFNycURH3m1ad7PmDLpqSUdt4zix0g5R5qWu-PaxZcCQT0LCTBYHPXasSilaKZgQjx5R9AFnRphJEd6_miwOfB8h8v6mWR3HzWCIpO9bg0ED_UB7jCRux9x81bpgnK8aAZbqRLe/s320/blogger-image-249451848.jpg" width="237" /></a></div>
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With all the hype and uproar over the place, you would think there would be more than two rides. Yup, only two and we went on both of them. One of them, though, was so short I hadn’t even begun to scream before it was over. I cannot imagine queuing up for over an hour for a 30 second ride. I would have been so bloody fuming. As it was, I hardly had time to catch my breath, it was that fast.</div>
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Then there’s Butterbeer. What in the heck is this abomination? Good grief, it was awful. “It’s quite sweet,” they said. “Try it frozen,” they said, “you will probably like it better.” Ugh… it’s the sweetest drink I believe I’ve ever had in my entire life. Pretty much a cup of sugar with a tiny tad of water and butterscotch flavouring. Basically, its diabetes in a glass. We shared one and couldn’t finish it. Trust me, it’s the furthest thing from beer that you could ever imagine. My recommendation would be to steer well clear and don’t waste your money.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzNtlo6nmIs3LRPb74UUsxux4w3qUmniXZfD0szpielTcU3rAcJL_iyt8pi7-5pzwsD6zDXAlad0XecLpjxhrDOswQzvooiUH37sJWiooKwJPUp8d7XxsZark7xEtuTrf85INX3EwkUvww/s1600/blogger-image-1709725876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzNtlo6nmIs3LRPb74UUsxux4w3qUmniXZfD0szpielTcU3rAcJL_iyt8pi7-5pzwsD6zDXAlad0XecLpjxhrDOswQzvooiUH37sJWiooKwJPUp8d7XxsZark7xEtuTrf85INX3EwkUvww/s320/blogger-image-1709725876.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't do it!!</td></tr>
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But then we found the restaurant – the English restaurant no less. The menu was tempting, although why it would be called a “Traditional English Breakfast” when it has breakfast potatoes, scrambled eggs and a flippin’ croissant, I don’t know. It didn’t tempt me as I was sure the bacon was American streaky bacon. As it was, I couldn’t decide between the Beef Sunday Roast (even though it was Thursday) and the Bangers & Mash. It took me a minute and then I noticed the ‘roast potatoes’ were actually sliced and baked (possibly) with herbs, so definitely not your mother’s Sunday roast! Bangers & Mash it was, and to tell you the truth, it was pretty nice. My only request would have been to have lashings of gravy on the mash when in fact, there was none. (oh and that tomato was a bit dodgy and the peas were hard - but overall a good B)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk2Vj5S82KTCudcsUGINcRnGf0QRyr33CFOxKPZTyt_Eqyx5sn5aoYFf1YpAE5ERCJuU_IXehKtgnLbjp3iGE9jWqDIPrTE72WOyQ3IeIb161kPqOcD6yKyQSn59M5tpp3DX4hFA0I_i_Q/s1600/blogger-image--181703500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk2Vj5S82KTCudcsUGINcRnGf0QRyr33CFOxKPZTyt_Eqyx5sn5aoYFf1YpAE5ERCJuU_IXehKtgnLbjp3iGE9jWqDIPrTE72WOyQ3IeIb161kPqOcD6yKyQSn59M5tpp3DX4hFA0I_i_Q/s320/blogger-image--181703500.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sausages - no gravy</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbYbp76sFTJyPEKPJ6EXJfOJsq-t0r1QIpfjFTE6QabV2WaRRK4uvya6tjngGV0-453Bb5nIm_fzhW6PE6pqPA6F4KT12veFSykR298FGeX4f5APFavubN6P8x6z5AE1rbFGC63WKpg9pJ/s1600/blogger-image-1521265675.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbYbp76sFTJyPEKPJ6EXJfOJsq-t0r1QIpfjFTE6QabV2WaRRK4uvya6tjngGV0-453Bb5nIm_fzhW6PE6pqPA6F4KT12veFSykR298FGeX4f5APFavubN6P8x6z5AE1rbFGC63WKpg9pJ/s320/blogger-image-1521265675.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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The price was quite reasonable too…. That is, until we wanted drinks. They didn't do a nice cup of tea, obviously so I went with the next best thing - beer!! The other half had a water (<i>lightweight</i>), but we both needed a seat when they told us the prices. $4.00 for a water, which is a bit steep, but I've probably paid more, to be honest. As for the beer well…. I think they like it a bit much…. $11 for an IPA in a plastic cup, no less, not even a glass. Maybe they’re charging English prices? <br />
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I don’t know, but it seemed a bit expensive to me, but I suppose that's what you expect at a tourist attraction, isn't it? Then again, the more they charge, the less likely there will be drunken hooligans running around the park, unless they are really rich hooligans, that is!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTes4nlTIHVhjx01HrSBw2Wqn01GxSW8hEyUB2zF07LUeDnBk0hkVi4vHlGM-t7nSVz8mlpJwdfwm_S5B2L__jhmzoSJPeWV7zASC2IQzj93cQNusT_AyfaGgrnHkVq3cdSjPRoYKfKoV_/s1600/blogger-image--500190389.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTes4nlTIHVhjx01HrSBw2Wqn01GxSW8hEyUB2zF07LUeDnBk0hkVi4vHlGM-t7nSVz8mlpJwdfwm_S5B2L__jhmzoSJPeWV7zASC2IQzj93cQNusT_AyfaGgrnHkVq3cdSjPRoYKfKoV_/s320/blogger-image--500190389.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's a really tiny water</td></tr>
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All in all though, it was a fantastic day and the bonus of a couple of bangers, which I wasn't expecting, was nice. I may have sounded a bit negative about Harry Potter world earlier, but they've done a great job and it looks lovely with the sun shining.<br />
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Oh Blighty, how I miss you! (Even pretend Blighty)</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-32089111976199786172017-01-31T09:19:00.001-08:002018-01-30T12:35:12.533-08:00I Am An Uncommonly Brilliant Gift Giver<div style="text-align: justify;">
When I worked in England and I don’t know if this is still the case now, but when it was your birthday, it was <i>your</i> responsibility to bring cream cakes to the office for everyone. While this seems to be a bit backwards, at least you were guaranteed to get a cake you actually like. This doesn’t seem to happen in America. Sometimes there is a monthly “birthday celebration" with a cake for the entire office, but nothing like those delicious real cream cakes of my memories.</div>
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Why am I going on about this? Well, I work in a big office and there are birthdays almost every week. I don’t buy presents for most people, but the couple I do <strike>like</strike> buy for usually end up with alcohol. We’ve morphed into regular beverage connoisseurs. The problem is, you can get a little bored with the same old bottles of wine or gin. [No, really you can….] </div>
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This last Christmas, I was surfing the interweb looking for something alcoholy - but cool - as you do, and I came across the best website. <a href="http://uncommongoods.com/" rel="nofollow">Uncommongoods</a> is a website selling handmade, recycled and organic products which contain no leather, feathers or fur. It may sound a bit like a hippier version of Etsy, but don’t be fooled. They actually have really great stuff and you can pretty much find something for everyone. For example, and going back to my alcohol obsession, I got these glasses for my lady boss. Yes, she likes a tipple too and her poison is gin. These were absolutely perfect, except maybe there's not enough gin. (*smile*)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/gifts/by-recipient/gifts-for-women" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzpl8ykSEUPOwopGf48y2CUyEI0mL-7Hnd9YrsuDMnXncWld73o-bLLZo1kPSa4UYg_AG3Gr07B3_Xa1s-sLJoivf9eEszq5BNj6lkw4aLXJcAML9mi_pT4X3huOaIOcvPG3gWov1zqCT9/s320/blogger-image--1425143357.jpg" width="318" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/gifts/by-recipient/gifts-for-women" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Great Gifts for Women</a> </td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">Each item has information on where it’s made, how it’s made and who made it. Some items are made to order and have longer ship times, so you might want to check that out if you are ordering for a </span><a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/gifts/birthday-gifts" rel="nofollow" style="text-align: justify;" target="_blank">birthday</a><span style="text-align: justify;"> and have a deadline.</span><br />
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Everyone who knows me knows I’m a sucker for anything, <i>anything</i>, England-related and the more obscure the better. Not for me silly plastic items with a Union Jack sticker on it, no I want something with a bit of class!! My poor husband has to live with my obsession and England is slowly but surely taking over the house. I even buy him British things now and again and I found these beauties which will be great for our upcoming <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/gifts/anniversary-gifts/anniversary-gifts-for-him" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">wedding anniversary</a>, because I’m sure he can’t wait to get a few more London-themed items. [*sigh*]</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But who wouldn't want these coasters of London?</td></tr>
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You really should take a <a href="http://www.uncommongoods.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">look</a> if you want to be that "cool" person who gives the best gifts that everyone will want to use and not just put in the cupboard to re-gift later. Oh, and another nice touch...every shipment comes with information to obtain a free shipping label so you can re-fill the box with donations and send it off to a charity. See, the more you buy, the more you can donate! Can't ask for a better excuse than that, can you?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJpiAp_QUkCD3onsHxgWW5hY0hxR4ZFuYIMpf1KZvwl-22oiABRa-JkH1CnmzGCmOdwVjUYFi5jku_hr9Bl_rK4GGjFiTj4TdHw1YANIE4W9RN9PBMGl3uujc-J-MRSdXZ9CPtWGzy0Nc9/s1600/blogger-image--771138523.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJpiAp_QUkCD3onsHxgWW5hY0hxR4ZFuYIMpf1KZvwl-22oiABRa-JkH1CnmzGCmOdwVjUYFi5jku_hr9Bl_rK4GGjFiTj4TdHw1YANIE4W9RN9PBMGl3uujc-J-MRSdXZ9CPtWGzy0Nc9/s320/blogger-image--771138523.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">This post was sponsored by <a href="http://uncommongoods.com/" rel="nofollow">uncommongoods.com</a>. The opinions are completely based on my own experience.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-43987917945507133022017-01-18T14:27:00.000-08:002017-01-18T14:27:25.104-08:00It's Raining, It's Pouring....<div style="text-align: justify;">
It’s been raining in California for the past two weeks. By rain, I don’t mean a little drizzle, I mean full on pouring; raining cats and dogs; pelting down; bucketing down, whatever you want to call it, there’s been a lot of rain.</div>
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Now this is California, the state that has been under drought conditions for as long as I can remember. Every year we are told “save water” and “don’t wash your car or use your hose.” The lack of any rain whatsoever just creates terrible summer fire conditions and without fail, every summer there is a glut of fires sweeping through mountains and towns. </div>
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Fast forward to 2017 and we have the wettest winter in 20 years. Northern California is on track to have its wettest winter <i>ever</i> and southern California is expected to tie it’s wettest year ever, which was in 1968-69.</div>
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It’s the end of the world, and I mean that quite literally. California people do not know how to cope with rain and it might as well be acid coming from those clouds (which it possibly might be, but that’s another story entirely). </div>
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Freeway driving is horrendous and quite frankly a little bit scary. People seem have two speeds, 30 mph and overly cautious (think “Sunday drivers”) or 80 mph while weaving in and out of traffic (passing those 30 mph-ers). Invariably, they don’t have their headlights on either. I’m not saying I’m a perfect driver and I’m usually somewhere towards the high middle of those two speeds, but I grew up in England for goodness sake, I should know what I'm doing in the rain. But last week, even I was driving more carefully. This is what is looked like…</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvzAhPripxlleY2_Sd41pz4E1CVdazViV8koq7Og8yyNqlRQhFN10cRWCRP_i3D-z9Ean9GzWAw3eRz-_qhDx8o8SWceWdi_gEPanJMTZtffXS92vym8OeoJdRhm3s2fJtKnBC4Wmd28V/s1600/blogger-image-2092590850.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmvzAhPripxlleY2_Sd41pz4E1CVdazViV8koq7Og8yyNqlRQhFN10cRWCRP_i3D-z9Ean9GzWAw3eRz-_qhDx8o8SWceWdi_gEPanJMTZtffXS92vym8OeoJdRhm3s2fJtKnBC4Wmd28V/s320/blogger-image-2092590850.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notice cars with no lights?</td></tr>
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There’s a vicious cycle in California. The summers are so very hot and bone dry which results in wildfires leaving big open areas of scorched earth with no vegetation. Then it will rain, usually only a little bit, but always enough create flooding and to turn all the burn areas into mudslides. [I’m beginning to wonder why I still live here]. This year, though has been incredibly bad. So much so that the famous drive through tree “up north” has fallen down. </div>
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When I heard the news reports that the “Pioneer Cabin” tree was gone, I was a little upset, but only because it was on my bucket list to drive through it, or at least to get a photo. You know the one I mean, it’s the one you see all the time in adverts for camping holidays in National Forests. It was also in the opening credits of National Lampoon's Vacation.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT6ETwcdr8kMeBBbo1Nj9NL9uzONMcEznQYLs2eQ4i_sGZgiZUIE0iwjXshptBVShYS9_2Sw9j8pW7FdYUz7y60_OyQx6_xyQx4DQTkckkmhZBtQzBEVogEYyI3-1gJa8pU8WwLVY6e5rg/s1600/pioneer-cabin-tree-calaveras.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT6ETwcdr8kMeBBbo1Nj9NL9uzONMcEznQYLs2eQ4i_sGZgiZUIE0iwjXshptBVShYS9_2Sw9j8pW7FdYUz7y60_OyQx6_xyQx4DQTkckkmhZBtQzBEVogEYyI3-1gJa8pU8WwLVY6e5rg/s320/pioneer-cabin-tree-calaveras.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Pioneer Cabin Tree</td></tr>
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It now looks like this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiVojmHnhy2rF1AdlANyiCWAwSdUWYR3zy5d3JwGetPQDVI8KWCxqhsh-WjwcEmlJo_pRZ4wceUudd7sOuSNoirosQqN4aps0Kf9OsTx-fx1tWjmPnZDTAyMGxEu5UU3L9O-e5tKKVxpJD/s1600/15873181_10154814677845135_678109952407852569_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiVojmHnhy2rF1AdlANyiCWAwSdUWYR3zy5d3JwGetPQDVI8KWCxqhsh-WjwcEmlJo_pRZ4wceUudd7sOuSNoirosQqN4aps0Kf9OsTx-fx1tWjmPnZDTAyMGxEu5UU3L9O-e5tKKVxpJD/s320/15873181_10154814677845135_678109952407852569_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Apparently the storm was just too much for the 3000+ year old tree and it toppled. [You don’t think it had anything to do with having hardly any roots do you?] I was gutted that I’d never get a chance to see it, but you know what, even though everyone’s so upset it fell, while doing a bit of research, I realized there’s actually flippin’ loads of them in California. There’s an area of the Redwoods called “<a href="http://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/2043" target="_blank">Avenue of the Giants</a>” where you can drive through them all. I also found <a href="https://www.fs.usda.gov/Internet/FSE_DOCUMENTS/fsbdev3_058751.pdf" target="_blank">this little</a> info flyer-thingy which shows a few of them. So maybe my bucket list is still intact after all.<br />
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What I have realized in the last few weeks though is that I actually miss English weather. I've really been enjoying the rain as I've had the chance to wear my English raincoat and wellies and use my brolly. It might have something to do with not having to put up with it every day though. So I will just enjoy it while I can.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_v4wO-_jd6f9msTMiegRTBhkzgatz-Rgp0iWVH9qLyV5Ml3cpHe6X3dN6LptzHUpQVfodvijIIvADnCjDS6030t7FtcztMkp8eT8N_d_mbIOvcjKaRoDVhyDx5CwzPU707xILPrfBYgYk/s1600/blogger-image--133372196.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_v4wO-_jd6f9msTMiegRTBhkzgatz-Rgp0iWVH9qLyV5Ml3cpHe6X3dN6LptzHUpQVfodvijIIvADnCjDS6030t7FtcztMkp8eT8N_d_mbIOvcjKaRoDVhyDx5CwzPU707xILPrfBYgYk/s320/blogger-image--133372196.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-32372855356457854802017-01-11T12:10:00.000-08:002017-01-11T12:10:33.711-08:00Bikers and Barbies<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinuOeS1j-CEtY2HoFNGQfmo2oEp4kZ17xYIitjtYJDTOlM1slwxlVdqbDRNmW9NlQms9PDbRaeWTSVkaDiYIPGCAxTryLTHazuIOAEaVfIaT85dNsd3NNfWuRQzIEfxmf06P4QhNONBHAe/s640/blogger-image-1598511383.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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My other half is in a motorcycle club and around Christmas, there’s always a lot of charity going on. A few of weekends ago was their annual Toy Run which, this year, was to benefit Hillsides, a non-profit children’s foster care and family resource program in the Los Angeles and Pasadena areas of California. Apparently they help 13,000 children (yes, that many)</div>
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I will admit that the day did not start brilliantly for me – we had to leave our house at 6:00 a.m. and the temperature was only 37f (17c). On a motorbike that feels like -10, just so you know. This year, I gave the bike a miss as I was designated as the 'toy truck driver.' Thank goodness because by the time we were at our destination last year, I was absolutely bloody freezing and could hardly move. Although it was nothing a nice warm Starbucks Crème Brulee Latte couldn’t fix, to be honest. You might not think that’s particularly cold, but this is California, for goodness sake! </div>
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The ride began at their clubhouse in Santa Clarita where scores and scores of bikers turned up with toys strapped to their bikes. Some had small decorations on their bikes, some went a little further, like this man. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKKnfAbWYJ8XyZPc5qUlC-svYCrvdcUefXKJGoSG7mtNN5pRotyjZOj4inj7CJx1Kd0bf4M5c_qvUetDycxKTW8W7QHlJSeBakHxZgrZ2xsvxgeymwhcBL9VHveDLstkEP6_w-b0m_M1B/s1600/blogger-image--978521857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKKnfAbWYJ8XyZPc5qUlC-svYCrvdcUefXKJGoSG7mtNN5pRotyjZOj4inj7CJx1Kd0bf4M5c_qvUetDycxKTW8W7QHlJSeBakHxZgrZ2xsvxgeymwhcBL9VHveDLstkEP6_w-b0m_M1B/s320/blogger-image--978521857.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bit much?</td></tr>
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I was left in charge of loading the truck. Okay, let me re-phrase that. My organizational skills were drafted to load the truck. After watching people just throw the toys over the side and into a messy heap, which in no way would stay in the truck until we got to where we were delivering them, I began moving them around and packing nicely. You don't want to be leaving a trail of toys down the freeway, do you? Now I’ve had a lot of experience getting loads of stuff into a little space… obviously because every single time I come back from England my case is almost splitting at the seams with food, chocolate and Ribena, so if anyone could get all those toys in that truck it was me!!</div>
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And of course, no Christmas event would be complete without a Father Christmas. Step up that man.... </div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-0MBgHuBuzqrB_fLIEhTnWLMhtreHIyAPi2O8_LH9uGlnCz3tctXESGCkPlCgKP0AaO3YJ3E29we1U8qTdGlFC0DWrahOMRi3ftZNiuOHcYz9nxsviaeGcr_CsPEaO6hyKOMD-9i_BsZ1/s1600/blogger-image-720979266.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-0MBgHuBuzqrB_fLIEhTnWLMhtreHIyAPi2O8_LH9uGlnCz3tctXESGCkPlCgKP0AaO3YJ3E29we1U8qTdGlFC0DWrahOMRi3ftZNiuOHcYz9nxsviaeGcr_CsPEaO6hyKOMD-9i_BsZ1/s320/blogger-image-720979266.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Green and white</td></tr>
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Everything has to be just that little bit different, hence the green and white Father Christmas, which just so happen to be the colours of the motorcycle club.</div>
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So after a couple of hours collecting, we took the truck to the orphanage. We get a great reception and the kiddies love it, especially when the truck turns up like this...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeXwO64G8h1RUqNuYgS6jEPNs-edBSoDt39ILBIe0n9KPRPfjoIKHQrXzSt-jX9Bl5ezavSDrZ1ZB_D7i6t6Y1qKzzXuM-8GTu9cRYbSzFWTF_sQMf1DUzbBSLn_PEeSSp-fYAyr967ImD/s1600/blogger-image--515563199.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeXwO64G8h1RUqNuYgS6jEPNs-edBSoDt39ILBIe0n9KPRPfjoIKHQrXzSt-jX9Bl5ezavSDrZ1ZB_D7i6t6Y1qKzzXuM-8GTu9cRYbSzFWTF_sQMf1DUzbBSLn_PEeSSp-fYAyr967ImD/s320/blogger-image--515563199.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95c62ldSEtuzAnxStk8nClzeaEmO_d_D1zqtE_BYNrDthoh8SUal0u5X9hC2_Kn25HqDjPp2Ogxni5EiK2NBFQZe_4x_WHE4CyiL-vPZDmLwHiwh6OoeDdktYhZ0Ro4K9e9ChanPO8qN3/s1600/blogger-image-1377897725.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg95c62ldSEtuzAnxStk8nClzeaEmO_d_D1zqtE_BYNrDthoh8SUal0u5X9hC2_Kn25HqDjPp2Ogxni5EiK2NBFQZe_4x_WHE4CyiL-vPZDmLwHiwh6OoeDdktYhZ0Ro4K9e9ChanPO8qN3/s320/blogger-image-1377897725.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Of course, no charity event would be complete without a few celebrities thrown in, and this was no exception. Riding with us were <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001598/?ref_=ttfc_fc_cl_t152" target="_blank">Robert Patrick</a> [Terminator 2, Scorpion], <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0004729/?ref_=ttfc_fc_cl_t53" target="_blank">Mike Beach</a> and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0729256/?ref_=ttfc_fc_cl_t19" target="_blank">Emilio Rivera</a> [Sons of Anarchy].<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIdLWQwTc_k0PCdKL8VDfqq8HartSXbAUaGYzaKuTD4HKSMbCJQA7oeO92cVbUxiEC6ykzMqymfUatvt9DZZkhwfmaA8wSymWHdeQXOOLOhKS6K3x0oaeNg5w7q4AcmfXSJoZKqNLUFR41/s1600/blogger-image--2100061460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIdLWQwTc_k0PCdKL8VDfqq8HartSXbAUaGYzaKuTD4HKSMbCJQA7oeO92cVbUxiEC6ykzMqymfUatvt9DZZkhwfmaA8wSymWHdeQXOOLOhKS6K3x0oaeNg5w7q4AcmfXSJoZKqNLUFR41/s320/blogger-image--2100061460.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPwxrS3RorVl5mGl3ub8IySxyGdk3qRf0sFqYbe2RFJCJBnHqcttIkjjK3InenkxnvcQtBKu49DmeIjpYLLtc_wWSF5hjSntCkVng_VnLI1uFaYH-3u3_qyJv5eX91zHAIw_qFfIkQyCN_/s1600/blogger-image--1122079446.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPwxrS3RorVl5mGl3ub8IySxyGdk3qRf0sFqYbe2RFJCJBnHqcttIkjjK3InenkxnvcQtBKu49DmeIjpYLLtc_wWSF5hjSntCkVng_VnLI1uFaYH-3u3_qyJv5eX91zHAIw_qFfIkQyCN_/s320/blogger-image--1122079446.jpg" width="286" /></a><br />
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After posing for all the obligatory photo opportunities, the toys were taken into the home. This is what it looked like ...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLAkS3q1Nm20Vhjv0jL3XGB7n8AUjd6053yyge3niUYmifFbyLSqd9BLGGcUzMFD3jGt_2IFapo7eRd2Yqi738IZsBXhTiAjPyK-d5w5CgGnyKCviKiWXrgICvRFb1Hg69WrS9MGZmO1FS/s1600/blogger-image-1016336492.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLAkS3q1Nm20Vhjv0jL3XGB7n8AUjd6053yyge3niUYmifFbyLSqd9BLGGcUzMFD3jGt_2IFapo7eRd2Yqi738IZsBXhTiAjPyK-d5w5CgGnyKCviKiWXrgICvRFb1Hg69WrS9MGZmO1FS/s400/blogger-image-1016336492.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Not a bad turn out. It just goes to show all those big bad bikers are actually cuddly teddy bears deep down, but don't ever let them hear you say that!!<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-42126747177563673732016-11-15T15:53:00.001-08:002016-11-15T15:53:22.975-08:00Some Sweary Stress ReliefAbout three weeks before my wedding the stress was gradually strangling me….<br />
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When I'm stressed, I tend to swear - a lot. Not that I don't actually swear a lot anyway, but added stress just makes me a bit more vocal. Ask anyone who knows me, they'll tell you.<br />
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So when I was approached to review a product, I literally jumped at the chance. (Well, not literally. I mean, obviously I didn’t jump out of my seat and grab it, but you know what I mean.)</div>
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One of my other little pleasures (apart from the aforesaid swearing) is colouring. Yes, I said it. I-like-to-colour. It's that pent up artist in me that just never gave up hoping I would be the next Vincent Van Gough [pronounced Goff, not Go, dear America]. Obviously, that didn’t happen.</div>
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I've always liked to colour and it's been a while, but adult colouring books are everywhere at the moment. Apparently it's a thing now. I've seen a few around and they're usually full of flowers and puppies and other cutsie things which are okay, but don't really peak my interest that much. Not so now. This little beauty right here is perfect for me - right up my street, as it were.</div>
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The only really true 'adult' colouring book I've seen so far. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrO5HseqcNz3So25QOTaC0tOeP6lc6L3QCq2eqGNS7eg4GMFqWeLJcqYYOwPW18FUIsOjMGKP93MIf0lLnvTqTghu_qinBE_R5_wew4EgfPMGxrKtE9f0STqJwgKHjd5cp_n9SjXxMmLE4/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrO5HseqcNz3So25QOTaC0tOeP6lc6L3QCq2eqGNS7eg4GMFqWeLJcqYYOwPW18FUIsOjMGKP93MIf0lLnvTqTghu_qinBE_R5_wew4EgfPMGxrKtE9f0STqJwgKHjd5cp_n9SjXxMmLE4/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="287" /></a></div>
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Yes, it's a <i>real</i> adult book totally chock full of sweary pictures and affirmations. What the heck? <br />
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The book is quite small actually, 8" x 8" but I suppose that's so it can fit into your bag and you can have a sneaky colouring session wherever you are. [Don't foget your crayons]<br />
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It’s got some great colouring pages, and this one just made me feel at home. (I am English and Rawr, I will). (??)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzynDFF3RU5-TZcLHfdNA-zCwAQfaJRZIb2wg5OUENe_LH0XND2C613KszPjLAcY_slRDXIh3WXtakCypkXg1RGg833FgsJAy2-c_j0WSG7rnfoNb3mFLVrvP0dQeV-sxSIFC7kv-ey3e5/s1600/blogger-image--1744220315.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzynDFF3RU5-TZcLHfdNA-zCwAQfaJRZIb2wg5OUENe_LH0XND2C613KszPjLAcY_slRDXIh3WXtakCypkXg1RGg833FgsJAy2-c_j0WSG7rnfoNb3mFLVrvP0dQeV-sxSIFC7kv-ey3e5/s320/blogger-image--1744220315.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
If I were to be a little negative about this book though, its that some of the lines are really, really thick and it takes away from the picture. But perhaps it's designed like that because, after all, we're not all Van Gough are we?<br />
<br />
If you want a copy, you can get it <a href="https://www.amazon.com/You-Can-Whatever-ckety-Want/dp/1534762566/ref=sr_1_99?ie=UTF8&qid=1479241752&sr=8-99&keywords=adult+coloring+books+swear+words" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-80236394381408801662016-10-10T14:50:00.000-07:002016-10-10T14:50:50.345-07:00Wedding Traditions - UK v. USA<div style="text-align: justify;">
I know I’ve been beating this topic to death recently, but I promise this will be the last mention of weddings… no, really, it will.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I recently came across an infographic showing the differences between American and English weddings. I hadn’t really thought too much about it while planning my own, I just knew what I wanted and, well, went for it.</div>
<br />
Starting at the beginning:<br />
<br />
<b>The Engagement:</b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In the United Kingdom, apparently the average length of an engagement is between 16 months and 2 years. In America, it’s only 13 to 18 months. Personally, mine was about 6 or 7 <i>years</i>! We Brits like to make sure we’ve got it right, I think. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Just after I was engaged, I was constantly asked “So, when’s the big day?” and I didn’t have an answer. Just because you’re engaged, in my opinion, doesn’t mean you have to rush off down the aisle. I’ve worked with people who have been engaged and married within a year. As soon as that ring passed the knuckle, the cash register started ringing and there was no holding back. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhw0d4Xyycol55xbgoWsjnvb2Po_94yR7kMyN1KXC1VVMSHD9pcpxnqZma9N5p-Qxw-neHOWb_VR6WuuLBGLnVn-4mXQ0Mk8lLyHgpuS8o0wvxkVUWqNnWTX6W13lm_yD-hfzJCqcnKMpZ/s1600/cartoon-bride-dragging-her-groom-by-ron-leishman-6771.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhw0d4Xyycol55xbgoWsjnvb2Po_94yR7kMyN1KXC1VVMSHD9pcpxnqZma9N5p-Qxw-neHOWb_VR6WuuLBGLnVn-4mXQ0Mk8lLyHgpuS8o0wvxkVUWqNnWTX6W13lm_yD-hfzJCqcnKMpZ/s200/cartoon-bride-dragging-her-groom-by-ron-leishman-6771.jpg" width="193" /></a></div>
<b>The Cost:</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
According to a survey by The Wedding Secret, the average cost of a wedding in England is £21,000 [$27,300]. Quite pricey. In the USA the average is $32,641.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Note: This is the <i>average</i> price - I've seen quite a few that have cost a whole lot more!</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
[<i><b>I would like take this moment to point out to my hubby that he got a bargain and I am rather thrifty, contrary to what he may believe.</b></i>]</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMwXf5Cv37YNBeaDC5yxDJKcChHsiWGNxsKJ-oM_gJlo7WLakYPft7y3cHYbHEriNcYNV8Sm3QBUNYePhqo77Q7nMMIAmhIWqQrkZJvT2BaRPyJbQxRmsYbNwZpTTYRrPDQ8uwCdXhoT7-/s1600/ker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMwXf5Cv37YNBeaDC5yxDJKcChHsiWGNxsKJ-oM_gJlo7WLakYPft7y3cHYbHEriNcYNV8Sm3QBUNYePhqo77Q7nMMIAmhIWqQrkZJvT2BaRPyJbQxRmsYbNwZpTTYRrPDQ8uwCdXhoT7-/s320/ker.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>PRE-PRE-WEDDING</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Ahh, the fancy named “Bridal Shower” where basically you invite as many people as you can to your house (or some other lush location) and ask them to bring presents. Usually, its just women who go to these things. I’ve never been to one myself, but apparently weird games are played which may involve wrapping the bride-to-be in toilet roll to make a wedding dress. A bit odd really. I think it’s just an excuse to get early wedding presents if you ask me. Hopefully, alcohol is provided, because I couldn’t imagine going to one if there wasn’t. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I’ve been away from England for too long to know if there is such a thing there, but I’m sure it’s gradually sneaking over.</div>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitemYpb-FdkifvrVBJl4fJPa_yytwqWZwJhS-SYVR2Znjax5n61vi843LyFTeDwADEb1XscmvyMMzDhvrjks4WaObGT3dycyiPmBe_e54M_RHnLaQmF3FcE9kCeRlQmGmqrKLHE9Yasf4J/s1600/toilet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitemYpb-FdkifvrVBJl4fJPa_yytwqWZwJhS-SYVR2Znjax5n61vi843LyFTeDwADEb1XscmvyMMzDhvrjks4WaObGT3dycyiPmBe_e54M_RHnLaQmF3FcE9kCeRlQmGmqrKLHE9Yasf4J/s1600/toilet.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, just no!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>PRE-WEDDING</b></div>
<b>UK – The Hen Night</b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Basically a big 'girl’s night out' which may, or may not, involve loads of alcohol and scantily clad men (aka male strippers). Also, there may be a pub crawl. On second thoughts, there will definitely be alcohol. There will probably be some crying, throwing up and declarations of love to the bride-to-be (and quite possibly to the aforementioned strippers)</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjhzelwuikxRYFA7Ip0tOXNx9jHqWIOKfRI05oiRR3GZsE5Yo7alcyOCdxiDdo71OOm_CAgvy1P4Y_NXqtRsQ31aBe5d95UYSE8Gn9TRYJGusMVyU9I0d8IyKQff_5RHJqEcfmhETVrg_/s1600/toilet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjhzelwuikxRYFA7Ip0tOXNx9jHqWIOKfRI05oiRR3GZsE5Yo7alcyOCdxiDdo71OOm_CAgvy1P4Y_NXqtRsQ31aBe5d95UYSE8Gn9TRYJGusMVyU9I0d8IyKQff_5RHJqEcfmhETVrg_/s1600/toilet.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Classy English!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>USA – The Bachelorette Party</b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
While I’ve never actually been to one, I’ve heard they are quite similar, although pubs aren't really involved. They get a bit more expensive too as they tend to be at fancy places like wineries (possibly in a limo) and there may also be a whole weekend away. There also always seems to be a 'theme' and everyone has to dress the same. The Maid of Honour and bridesmaids have to pay.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNKQ76PY5ydmnM0TblPFI2LHkIDUpSygqGb-L3MTuWkusi4Uv2Qh46Wbu_0DwqdZ5hp8BWft5_8T9WjU9SfbacxnKuvPCN4yU1oAoN1GbOx0Qooptzph7HD-kzsfu6_pzxsg12XDDAfrSh/s1600/bachelor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNKQ76PY5ydmnM0TblPFI2LHkIDUpSygqGb-L3MTuWkusi4Uv2Qh46Wbu_0DwqdZ5hp8BWft5_8T9WjU9SfbacxnKuvPCN4yU1oAoN1GbOx0Qooptzph7HD-kzsfu6_pzxsg12XDDAfrSh/s200/bachelor.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Always a bit matchy-matchy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="text-align: justify;">I didn’t have either – although I’m thinking a pub crawl would have been nice, but living in the USA pubs are few and far between and definitely there are not enough to crawl to.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: justify;"><b>THE CEREMONY</b></span></div>
<div>
<b style="text-align: justify;">UK</b></div>
<div>
<span style="text-align: justify;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<ul>
<li>The groom has his back to the congregation and does not get to watch the bride walk down the aisle, so it's a bit of a surprise when she gets there.</li>
<li>The bride walks down the aisle before her bridesmaids (otherwise how will someone hold her train?)</li>
<li>The wedding party (i.e. bridesmaids, etc) sit down with the congregation during the ceremony.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhouapFGLTmcq80EAXi93ptoQBwwEcPhyphenhyphen9Qn67O8qTQm1IcB5Asg0gfnVmBOtYe-5EuMpCaKKWUCU6bGgIeFEQM7_UjonqGGgX74rrvhtD3btEYQQDw1xCjk9SZC42Lcg70XFgE3HtIhTls/s1600/aisle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhouapFGLTmcq80EAXi93ptoQBwwEcPhyphenhyphen9Qn67O8qTQm1IcB5Asg0gfnVmBOtYe-5EuMpCaKKWUCU6bGgIeFEQM7_UjonqGGgX74rrvhtD3btEYQQDw1xCjk9SZC42Lcg70XFgE3HtIhTls/s320/aisle.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bridesmaids definitely behind the bride</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>USA</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br />
<ul>
<li>The groom faces the congregation so he can watch the bride walk down the aisle and presumably notice if she falls on her face.</li>
<li>The bride walks down the aisle <i>after</i> the bridesmaids. (Then who holds the aforementioned train?)</li>
<li>The wedding party stands for the entire ceremony.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>THE RECEPTION</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<b>UK</b></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The sit down meal is the main point of the day. Getting a fancy meal you don’t have to pay for, makes it all worth while. Not until later, after the speeches are complete and the cake is cut does anyone get up and dance. I’m wondering if this is, in fact, because nobody wants to make a fool of themselves until they’ve had a couple of glasses of wine? You know, British reserve and all that.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>USA</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As soon as the bride and groom enter the dining room, they have to dance. They don’t even get a chance for a quick swig of champagne. Everyone has to wait until they’re finished until the meal is served, which tends to be a lot shorter than those in the UK. Many people actually get up and dance between courses (the cheek of it!). </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>THE CAKE</b></div>
<div>
<b>UK</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
British wedding cakes are traditionally made of fruit cake and are tiered with anything from one tier to pretty much as many as your baker can get to balance. Three seems to be the magic number though. Each tier has little pillars holding each layer. Obviously, butter icing is not a thing. Nice hard Royal icing holds the shape. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9JLBvsY7EkJko6KLvqegbu11yryIUylryk12qsphatAFYtkXKppDbcKUQ6hxsAFssOMkMd4nRGk1xS4_bsi2LXl8DIdyfLokGTue7rU4V93CMX-fkN5ym5FHVFqC4GjnxKp9mdoRqbGY0/s1600/cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9JLBvsY7EkJko6KLvqegbu11yryIUylryk12qsphatAFYtkXKppDbcKUQ6hxsAFssOMkMd4nRGk1xS4_bsi2LXl8DIdyfLokGTue7rU4V93CMX-fkN5ym5FHVFqC4GjnxKp9mdoRqbGY0/s1600/cake.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very 1970's style</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<b>USA</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Most American cakes are made of sponge with butter icing (or frosting) and are ‘stacked’ which pretty much means they are just put on top of each other. Then there’s the awful tradition of feeding each other a piece of cake, which invariably ends up being smooshed into someone’s face. [see this <a href="http://thegobbybrit.blogspot.com/2016/06/no-wedding-cake-for-me.html" target="_blank">post here</a> for my views on that malarkey]</div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
Clearly, I am generalizing here and not everyone has a massive wedding, but if you want to go traditional and all out, then you might want to get saving your pennies because wherever you live, it’s going to cost a bob or two.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My wedding was in no way what you would call “traditional” being in Las Vegas, but I did sneak in a little bit of jolly old England. I changed the wording to the old fashioned Church of England vows which include “love, honour and <i><b>obey</b></i>” and you can imagine what reaction I got to that little word. [*smile*]. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I’m just an old fashioned romantic at heart. </div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-39428621099642962822016-09-09T14:46:00.001-07:002016-09-09T14:46:19.574-07:00The Big DayAhh… so the wedding day arrived. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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?</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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*]</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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]</div>
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</div>
Yes, I went full on American/British.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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.<br />
<br />
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].<br />
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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*]<br />
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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.<br />
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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. <br />
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At about that time we all subconsciously let our breath out and the party began. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdvCvOM1jNZjfdNastIYgDs-t9J-Dfuq92UQPGdBMnzRriocMHF2OzelZQhkHHOB9qSTl1lY7py4iVzuJ4hbpDsXKk0tui9bYvPDFTlNK3ulIm4MJGGrQQJbHLFLWeeONAD1_NP1cHfKCU/s640/blogger-image--1344157478.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdvCvOM1jNZjfdNastIYgDs-t9J-Dfuq92UQPGdBMnzRriocMHF2OzelZQhkHHOB9qSTl1lY7py4iVzuJ4hbpDsXKk0tui9bYvPDFTlNK3ulIm4MJGGrQQJbHLFLWeeONAD1_NP1cHfKCU/s320/blogger-image--1344157478.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Do I look happy? (that it's all over)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<i> really</i> wanting to sound like a McDonald’s advert…. I’m Loving It!!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19Ms06GUGhzvE2KUxhhiJ9datF5uiauj0_68X03rYCzI7NElC32ku-zMCO1aTpJUxwtZMhLlsoMfSSMEEtjtYjXCTxythk-u_JKJ47ajjxQD7nzRVHrBJDFtddWbJNo1jOMfFWS3K9MjK/s1600/flags.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi19Ms06GUGhzvE2KUxhhiJ9datF5uiauj0_68X03rYCzI7NElC32ku-zMCO1aTpJUxwtZMhLlsoMfSSMEEtjtYjXCTxythk-u_JKJ47ajjxQD7nzRVHrBJDFtddWbJNo1jOMfFWS3K9MjK/s320/flags.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sticking to my roots!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-66048036831519478672016-07-27T09:00:00.000-07:002016-07-28T10:14:23.858-07:00Wedding Weight Problems<div style="text-align: justify;">
You know when you're trying to lose a bit of weight to get into a dress for a special occasion? Well that's what I've been doing. The only problem is my family have been here for a week and of course they brought me all kinds of goodies .... Marmite crisps, Mini Cheddars, Galaxy <span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">chocolate, Jammie Dodgers ... Mmmmmm..... So there went that plan. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">I've now got four days before I get married and I've put on pretty much all the weight I lost. I'm not really one of those avid dieters or calorie counters but I couldn't get my dress done up when it arrived so I had to do something. I am now afraid it won't fit again on Saturday. Whoops ... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="text-align: start;">Even a day at Disneyland with these hoards of people won't move any of that excess poundage, I'm afraid.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOSpd0Nzv98VNHX9Vs_Si_E0PVNRoZSI6yP3puN9qDJfWtYx2aZ75HkRVhSN9vZQKDK4b8vCSaTLKcDdTxA8gHiKvjpXndz5dO0xaaAvuqD2Wl694BJmxi855bDVDw7Y7NwSD01WuuLTI0/s1600/blogger-image--1221046671.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOSpd0Nzv98VNHX9Vs_Si_E0PVNRoZSI6yP3puN9qDJfWtYx2aZ75HkRVhSN9vZQKDK4b8vCSaTLKcDdTxA8gHiKvjpXndz5dO0xaaAvuqD2Wl694BJmxi855bDVDw7Y7NwSD01WuuLTI0/s400/blogger-image--1221046671.jpg" width="300" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">But you know what? Those CurleyWurleys are just too good to resist! [And anyway, that's what safety pins are for, isn't it?]</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyJZWMXjyiOyx5yUk5VbtITEN5YhpZSmgzFgEsZyAgPP-HxARS9L1YGRh-mugZ6l5-UfMCyZ9EO7yV6VG_1rD3W3Yx89YXEXHyPH-mS8Eu7u6A1aNczMxsf7ORFMWkza_BIq9SQM_wW25D/s1600/blogger-image-183415257.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyJZWMXjyiOyx5yUk5VbtITEN5YhpZSmgzFgEsZyAgPP-HxARS9L1YGRh-mugZ6l5-UfMCyZ9EO7yV6VG_1rD3W3Yx89YXEXHyPH-mS8Eu7u6A1aNczMxsf7ORFMWkza_BIq9SQM_wW25D/s320/blogger-image-183415257.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-22310906246215520042016-06-30T08:10:00.000-07:002016-06-30T08:10:12.553-07:00No Wedding Cake for Me!<div style="text-align: justify;">
Is it too late to change the theme of the wedding only one month before the ceremony?</div>
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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*]</div>
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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:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4rOYwMt88w79SPoqw8TywKYziQen27lij3CZyzp4d88JXooZLMkAUl0YEBM50ESPjcgmM0LmPPLGiBzZRwsau_eOpcGZg9S2xkbURfJ2mhBiQpVJeHxJzJUnD9qDOR4E-g2QNhXyyAHA-/s1600/new_orleans_wedding_cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4rOYwMt88w79SPoqw8TywKYziQen27lij3CZyzp4d88JXooZLMkAUl0YEBM50ESPjcgmM0LmPPLGiBzZRwsau_eOpcGZg9S2xkbURfJ2mhBiQpVJeHxJzJUnD9qDOR4E-g2QNhXyyAHA-/s400/new_orleans_wedding_cake.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #363636; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">Photo by wedding photographer <a href="http://babsevangelista.com/pricing/new_orleans_wedding_cake" target="_blank">Babs Evangelista</a>.</span></td></tr>
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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!</div>
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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…..</div>
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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!</div>
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But really, how could he <i>not</i> absolutely love one of these?? [*grin*]</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJIUSX6sd1-97Wo3FtfGdlM00s7qKP7OuIdsH9F8U7rOBiRmg8ZJfphoqKOcUIY-NUbZOx8ieOL-RdO87lUaw4SG0nslRivvnEm60BrOvi_AO79cRP646eYjNc74Yv22ZPTWfo_vHPHezZ/s1600/cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJIUSX6sd1-97Wo3FtfGdlM00s7qKP7OuIdsH9F8U7rOBiRmg8ZJfphoqKOcUIY-NUbZOx8ieOL-RdO87lUaw4SG0nslRivvnEm60BrOvi_AO79cRP646eYjNc74Yv22ZPTWfo_vHPHezZ/s320/cake.jpg" width="247" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ct1G8NkP8zyUVYHBJiD4guSrpzFciIsHljVpo8z_lBAx-mykLCVFfullAu00vnDj7zF3YBzELGzLbyzuF91xbNuSPwwOCNZOiGrECZKsj6yve-4hny5fpMCS9jiafktbke5oiAw3TNjJ/s1600/redwhiteandblue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ct1G8NkP8zyUVYHBJiD4guSrpzFciIsHljVpo8z_lBAx-mykLCVFfullAu00vnDj7zF3YBzELGzLbyzuF91xbNuSPwwOCNZOiGrECZKsj6yve-4hny5fpMCS9jiafktbke5oiAw3TNjJ/s320/redwhiteandblue.jpg" width="221" /></a></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-7659654675823357052016-06-03T15:56:00.000-07:002016-06-03T15:56:51.089-07:00The Problem with the American OfficeThe problem with the America office (apart from the atrocious spelling, obviously) is this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDJMUkaycgCr65UT8jCB_DCqALdlLCBJGJc9ULKaIOw_2vhLvNI0V1O9Z7YnBlqvHtKOcjrxDlk6ywFFr1SnNQH8_aPVEE-bsNIBY00fbFXyrDYV2Kq6AAE_l0O__MDyvbgyE_gT9pz8b1/s1600/blogger-image--1531022150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDJMUkaycgCr65UT8jCB_DCqALdlLCBJGJc9ULKaIOw_2vhLvNI0V1O9Z7YnBlqvHtKOcjrxDlk6ywFFr1SnNQH8_aPVEE-bsNIBY00fbFXyrDYV2Kq6AAE_l0O__MDyvbgyE_gT9pz8b1/s320/blogger-image--1531022150.jpg" width="288" /></a></div>
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Yes, those are goosepimples (or goosebumps as they say in the good ol USofA). <br />
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It seems like the minute the mercury moves up the tube, the air conditioning is cranked up (or should that be down?) and I have to sit at my desk freezing my backside off with my little heater barely taking the edge off. I can try to turn the thermostat down, but there’s always that one person who complains “waaa... it’s too hot” and turns it back up. I sometimes wonder what’s wrong with everyone. I’m sure it must have something to do with growing up with air conditioning that you get used to being freezing all the time.</div>
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The worst thing though? If you plan on going out to dinner and see this on your phone, you have to think, “Oh, I must remember to take a coat” because not only are offices bloody freezing, every single restaurant is like a meat locker! [And then they try and force you to drink iced water]</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVu2tv9935zgVS6FzqZmADX3aVMgJUdeNRXWFW1fefKAyFqiLbBl4POhRlf_4iicM8na0LIxCyoHdVnN6SFg5iH4LQWpqMCXcsswNmpivA4Ujcm3n98IgsstRymezFl5SbQaPMxipz4Vc0/s1600/blogger-image-569869075.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVu2tv9935zgVS6FzqZmADX3aVMgJUdeNRXWFW1fefKAyFqiLbBl4POhRlf_4iicM8na0LIxCyoHdVnN6SFg5iH4LQWpqMCXcsswNmpivA4Ujcm3n98IgsstRymezFl5SbQaPMxipz4Vc0/s320/blogger-image-569869075.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Partly cloudy??</td></tr>
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Oh how I miss summers in England without the merest hint of air conditioning. At least if it get’s a bit warm, we can open a window!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-52387379162214693262016-05-23T14:41:00.000-07:002016-05-23T14:41:09.360-07:00Wedding Planning - Part 2<div style="text-align: justify;">
If you read my post a while ago about the terrible time I’m having planning my wedding, this is a second installment. If you didn’t read it, <a href="http://thegobbybrit.blogspot.com/2016/03/hello-its-me.html" target="_blank">here</a> it is.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Anyway, when we left off, I was up to the “Save the Date” part. They’d gone out and now people think it was the invitation. Since that time though it’s been pretty much radio silence. A couple of people left a message on our wedding website [yes, we have one of those too *sigh*] and that’s it.</div>
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So what have I been doing, you may ask. Well, this time around I’m having bridesmaids - I know, its only a Vegas wedding, but still. My daughter, obviously, is one and so is my sister. But that left my daughter’s very best friend (who’s like a daughter) having nothing to do, so I made her one too. The other half wanted his family in the wedding, so now there’s a best man and two grooms men, both his grandchildren. (Can you see where this is going?) What about my tiny niece and nephew? Yup – flower girl and ring bearer… and on it goes. I’m rethinking that Westminster Abbey reservation as I write…</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Of course, I’m supposed to be saving as much money as I can on this wedding – it is not going to be a Charles and Diana affair (oh, there’s the Abbey gone). So for bridesmaid dresses my daughter suggested going to the Los Angeles garment district where you can buy stuff for cheap, cheap, cheap. Unfortunately, this time of year is Prom time and it looked like this:</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5rd9hY6FzBbhzz7gzWKoD_2mUG81ZtYa0uB9Xmz-MIws4XA4ugR4r16PpuCtfVOjkBKVLIdZu6ZHjA-aGZ96tNd5WYGRIVH5D44fmMTTicA5qxVnljuOffxHXRzBx6TBEtNC34cjKqBFC/s1600/IMG_3320+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5rd9hY6FzBbhzz7gzWKoD_2mUG81ZtYa0uB9Xmz-MIws4XA4ugR4r16PpuCtfVOjkBKVLIdZu6ZHjA-aGZ96tNd5WYGRIVH5D44fmMTTicA5qxVnljuOffxHXRzBx6TBEtNC34cjKqBFC/s200/IMG_3320+%25281%2529.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's flippin' pandemonium down there!</td></tr>
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Whatever, I used to go to football matches every Saturday, so I’m used to pushing my way through crowds. *smile* </div>
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Would you believe it, we actually found a dress they liked in record time. They tried it on, loved the fit and we asked if they had it in the colour we wanted. “Oh yes, of course we do” they said, “We will order it and you can pick it up” they said. Hooray you say. Well, not so… it turns out the person who told us that was not the boss. “Oh no” said the boss, “they don’t do it in that colour.. how about white?” he said. Whaaaaa…..!! Typical – nothing goes right, does it? The expression ‘Too Good to Be True’ was running through my head.</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
Not to be discouraged we took the name of the manufacturer, went home and did what any reasonable person would do nowadays – we Googled. And I only found it on Amazon didn’t I? But sadly not in the right colour …. And this is where it gets interesting (just in case you were nodding off)</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX1eUwPrv3Oum9Yk1QVUMMbZX1V4orfW0J-UKwf6VEDAd6jgyJ8XYWCpdkUZbx-80XmU4NRYRnJQkGbHNsXe9CPHSrWZ6ba6jAGLOxrshp8nBNWKDypJUMYdQMVms9phRdRs2yUxax6xmh/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX1eUwPrv3Oum9Yk1QVUMMbZX1V4orfW0J-UKwf6VEDAd6jgyJ8XYWCpdkUZbx-80XmU4NRYRnJQkGbHNsXe9CPHSrWZ6ba6jAGLOxrshp8nBNWKDypJUMYdQMVms9phRdRs2yUxax6xmh/s200/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="151" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, I do not want white!</td></tr>
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I emailed them, yes they can get it in the colour I want and will make it specially, send the measurements. … so I did (well, one at least). Turns out they were in China and yes, we’ve all heard the horror stories about beautiful dresses from China looking like rags when they arrive. Well, after waiting a few weeks the dress turned up and *Drum Roll* it was bloody perfect. The colour is exactly what I wanted and it fit my daughter like a glove. Nice one China!</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
A few texts and email messages later, I got the measurements and gleefully ordered the other two dresses. Fingers crossed they would get here as quickly as the other one. And they did – except – and it’s a big except.. they are a <i>DIFFERENT</i> colour!! Well, that’s a bit dramatic, they are actually a different shade, not a different colour, but at this stage, who’s arguing. *Cue tears*</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So for the last week I have been emailing to China to try and sort it out. Apparently they no longer have the same colour material they made the first dress out of, not sure how they could have run out so fast, but whatever. They can make me a new one in the colour of the other two, so let’s see what happens. </div>
<br />
My fingers are crossed, as are my legs, toes and eyes. I’m going crazy and my daughter’s helpful comment on the whole situation? “Well, what do you expect when you order from China?” <br />
<br />
Thanks, thanks a lot!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-91191494711503603332016-05-10T13:09:00.001-07:002016-05-10T13:09:29.296-07:00Another Brit Style Mother's Day<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji_8srO3yHsDgEYKs1C3lP1zV6q3btuzGWNQ5pz3kQAB0by8JfRSmTnGWy5sKdmrRdqPCZpq9PANgu3hzf0bFDJDD8D09XKLGFALEfi7OO-kq6L1hBe7N3sUt38V-tIJUl2B8_9uNLdvC0/s1600/blogger-image-1612733208.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji_8srO3yHsDgEYKs1C3lP1zV6q3btuzGWNQ5pz3kQAB0by8JfRSmTnGWy5sKdmrRdqPCZpq9PANgu3hzf0bFDJDD8D09XKLGFALEfi7OO-kq6L1hBe7N3sUt38V-tIJUl2B8_9uNLdvC0/s200/blogger-image-1612733208.jpg" width="174" /></a>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. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDbkw-BmAHz9ebbKd0KxnzSoXH__ROt8xPdtOICjL0rXJ6dpxHCA-QR2VBwln9qBJj8VnyO5TsNfj7-fHpMFblMVv54IHsgvbhkPgIoc_eDX_2XcM2onEOkj7DvHPyu-Zwv25ch8feWtFw/s1600/blogger-image-1439710245.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDbkw-BmAHz9ebbKd0KxnzSoXH__ROt8xPdtOICjL0rXJ6dpxHCA-QR2VBwln9qBJj8VnyO5TsNfj7-fHpMFblMVv54IHsgvbhkPgIoc_eDX_2XcM2onEOkj7DvHPyu-Zwv25ch8feWtFw/s320/blogger-image-1439710245.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What to choose?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkcb25avGHC-Mq9Cs_cwtulapDqN2OBmGNfPZxI8feh8SXcg2JHBQEGLKsZfOP97pcqLEIU1-6SoTd5YGYpOerSEuj8QikNVwSxnKJg5T8Xsh0JXvCvnNJRGvKfFuicctayqFDmuNCNGw6/s1600/blogger-image-1883193699.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="118" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkcb25avGHC-Mq9Cs_cwtulapDqN2OBmGNfPZxI8feh8SXcg2JHBQEGLKsZfOP97pcqLEIU1-6SoTd5YGYpOerSEuj8QikNVwSxnKJg5T8Xsh0JXvCvnNJRGvKfFuicctayqFDmuNCNGw6/s200/blogger-image-1883193699.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-Pv4W3qc4-t9hPfeWDYy1z39k8Kieb6AUdogjCa8C09Uhl0iX6TaOeUofes00ST5m5sjD55L99mptiNWflpoGGTxrPIbcY9RJAe_vx_aM6QqD-eT12sM7n0D80rUAP9Yb2wV_7Uk8-Ng/s1600/blogger-image-1022901326.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR-Pv4W3qc4-t9hPfeWDYy1z39k8Kieb6AUdogjCa8C09Uhl0iX6TaOeUofes00ST5m5sjD55L99mptiNWflpoGGTxrPIbcY9RJAe_vx_aM6QqD-eT12sM7n0D80rUAP9Yb2wV_7Uk8-Ng/s200/blogger-image-1022901326.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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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! </div>
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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.</div>
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If you want to try this place, here’s a link: <a href="http://www.yeoldekingshead.com/">www.yeoldekingshead.com</a> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisBJYpe_C83ouQeIXBbeAhvj0NeYF6IQCHPdSq7ax6dRJ4IrY6wwB4Uq1wrUBQYLZGbxbRUL1J3yaxqzrf8vrgMRN8DvOkit8h6U_pQxvZNN3CZcrk-fLwFZgBtH4KMl2pEBMoW46Nv-R2/s1600/blogger-image-938852554.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisBJYpe_C83ouQeIXBbeAhvj0NeYF6IQCHPdSq7ax6dRJ4IrY6wwB4Uq1wrUBQYLZGbxbRUL1J3yaxqzrf8vrgMRN8DvOkit8h6U_pQxvZNN3CZcrk-fLwFZgBtH4KMl2pEBMoW46Nv-R2/s320/blogger-image-938852554.jpg" width="246" /></a></div>
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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.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUCHjNRJUqIoqo0760u-hyJVniU4GaW9uZ1D_mzza8ZIUgFVAmlRO4_NDjWie0q4iO_K56WK-3GGRVpIhyuU9FCu0ZxaEGasNXuq-W9ZIFjlg7UHtSrUYCziehliWYFEB_W4Uqisuwy2K5/s1600/blogger-image-1341461215.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUCHjNRJUqIoqo0760u-hyJVniU4GaW9uZ1D_mzza8ZIUgFVAmlRO4_NDjWie0q4iO_K56WK-3GGRVpIhyuU9FCu0ZxaEGasNXuq-W9ZIFjlg7UHtSrUYCziehliWYFEB_W4Uqisuwy2K5/s320/blogger-image-1341461215.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is NOT Brighton</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLn7jAIiEJwEwxhJAm3UlXTPpKL3FBgNCJxLzfFBeTGI96f8kwnacw8u38y_4Jw0V-SjooT6c7pajK1wGO6On1hbQX2tdEgb2z16MxZTrjSJcEPqXsqG93PhduloYBmg_CkWPBlRWlTpel/s1600/blogger-image-1347760502.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLn7jAIiEJwEwxhJAm3UlXTPpKL3FBgNCJxLzfFBeTGI96f8kwnacw8u38y_4Jw0V-SjooT6c7pajK1wGO6On1hbQX2tdEgb2z16MxZTrjSJcEPqXsqG93PhduloYBmg_CkWPBlRWlTpel/s200/blogger-image-1347760502.jpg" width="178" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No rock, but there is a Big Wheel</td></tr>
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This is not a paid review, but I had to share because it's great. And also, I can't <i>not</i> post a picture of the other present I got. My daughter seems to know me so well!!</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBvHwPuMpSpqgAzRjILPoR5x8SORx1-YofDLq6drGKEwbvBFyzJFLB1sayFaiTRKcCKe1CRtcTmiOTPTM8ELE3rnFQCsw_T86WsjHKp1dm2COx2AAStt_hYYuogIJ0S4DCg57_JAghqVPK/s1600/blogger-image-540305802.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="108" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBvHwPuMpSpqgAzRjILPoR5x8SORx1-YofDLq6drGKEwbvBFyzJFLB1sayFaiTRKcCKe1CRtcTmiOTPTM8ELE3rnFQCsw_T86WsjHKp1dm2COx2AAStt_hYYuogIJ0S4DCg57_JAghqVPK/s320/blogger-image-540305802.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's for the wall in my office!!</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-46370075791242452632016-04-29T15:54:00.000-07:002016-04-29T15:54:03.621-07:00The Day I Choked at the London Marathon<div style="text-align: justify;">
To an American, reading that heading, it sounds like I was
actually running <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">IN </i>the London
marathon and that I choked (aka failed).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>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*</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">CHOKE</b> – Informal – to fail to achieve something, especially because
you lose confidence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">
American English synonyms or
related words for this sense of choke<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">To fail, or to stop being successful:</b> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">to go tits-up, fail, flounder, languish, backfire, fizzle,</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">miss,
collapse, flop, crash</i></span></div>
<br />
Oh no, this was something entirely different, indeed.<br />
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</div>
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It was during one of the first marathons they ran, maybe year
two or three, yes a long time ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In hindsight though, I realize that if you
were actually <i>in</i> a marathon, you might want a programme so you could show you
did something with your life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>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)<br />
<br /></div>
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</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">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…. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6EgUL3N4h3UuL8EkVDBZSUxXzc911GS7Aaj85Ng9ezzzzuu_BJv9njZbrryQkSUvmtBRuuffQJgPO9eyGmJCCekhkIsA_9qLNmmS2mYI4VES8ksMl42L6XLviCc1JFgcy3wFtfVE9I5NT/s1600/viscountmintcream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6EgUL3N4h3UuL8EkVDBZSUxXzc911GS7Aaj85Ng9ezzzzuu_BJv9njZbrryQkSUvmtBRuuffQJgPO9eyGmJCCekhkIsA_9qLNmmS2mYI4VES8ksMl42L6XLviCc1JFgcy3wFtfVE9I5NT/s1600/viscountmintcream.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These are made by the Devil</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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.<br />
<br />
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!<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><br />
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.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6C4Hq9x13ZaqevSn1pCM8j1iw3YbRIO7rD1yqbuMKfu0aX7COzn-xnUZ0BfyTEVBUdAWcerCMKaD7myO6DUMj4Fk_NXfzSu2ayqDMkroZU47pazaq5Vk4CyrMtcjPIHDH-eS8vEvp6v34/s1600/heimlich_maneuver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6C4Hq9x13ZaqevSn1pCM8j1iw3YbRIO7rD1yqbuMKfu0aX7COzn-xnUZ0BfyTEVBUdAWcerCMKaD7myO6DUMj4Fk_NXfzSu2ayqDMkroZU47pazaq5Vk4CyrMtcjPIHDH-eS8vEvp6v34/s400/heimlich_maneuver.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How embarrassing would this have been?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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!<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-41496445161339872802016-03-29T14:52:00.000-07:002016-03-29T14:59:58.157-07:00British Television Phrases Americans Will Never Understand<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There are a few phrases that practically <i>every</i> 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.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtAX7Pi6gQpdxDyUkj8fIipdXCPTn0Xirb3z1QoVZQu3z786E3IfgbQgsQmwgSn4zJ-URFw2kg-IHfZceQvWVroSHnwtdviBZe6T12RCQnREZMb09nnjaCPHZukQ4mLiZFvtojg-HGYYe/s1600/tv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtAX7Pi6gQpdxDyUkj8fIipdXCPTn0Xirb3z1QoVZQu3z786E3IfgbQgsQmwgSn4zJ-URFw2kg-IHfZceQvWVroSHnwtdviBZe6T12RCQnREZMb09nnjaCPHZukQ4mLiZFvtojg-HGYYe/s320/tv.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think we actually had this television.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>That's Handy 'Arry</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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"]</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<b>Luvley Jubley</b><br />
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<span style="text-align: justify;">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? </span><br />
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Oh and obviously, you have to rub your hands together while saying it.</div>
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<b>OooEee Mr. Shifter</b><br />
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I am ashamed to say that I have <i>actually</i> 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. <br />
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<b>Can ya Ride Tandem?</b><br />
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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.</div>
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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.<br />
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Does anyone else have a long forgotten phrase they use frequently? If so, remind us....<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-34011942948649599372016-03-17T15:44:00.000-07:002016-03-17T15:44:05.875-07:00Hello... It's Me<div style="text-align: justify;">
It’s been a while since I’ve actually posted a blog… and for anyone who cares – I’m sorry!!</div>
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You may have thought I was taking a sabbatical (which is basically a fancy word meaning I couldn’t be arsed to write anything) but that is definitely not the case. I have, in fact, been terribly busy on other stuff. Doesn’t that sound intriguing?</div>
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Well here goes – I’m only bloody getting married, aren’t I?? Yeah, yeah, we’ve been together for ages - years in fact, but I finally broke him down and he agreed to an actual wedding date. I’m not really that Machiavellian of course, although he may feel he was duped into it. [*sorry, babe*] Let’s just say, the events leading up to it may feel like they had been planned, but truly, they weren’t.</div>
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So what have I been doing, you ask? Well, let’s put it this way – I’ve never had a “proper” wedding before so this is all new to me. My first <strike>disaster</strike> wedding was at the local registry office with a six month old baby on my hip and less than ten people there. My wedding cake was a Black Forest Gateaux (yes, really)… and don’t even ask what I wore! [I had to borrow money to buy it] It was not my best day ever…</div>
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So discussing this one, and it being a second marriage for the both of us, we decided we would do the most American thing we could (in my opinion anyway) – we’re getting married in Las Vegas!! Obviously, I have put my foot down and we most definitely will <i>NOT</i> be married by Elvis Presley, nor will it be in a drive-through wedding chapel. I still have some class, you know. [*smirk*] So the MGM Grand it is. (See, very classy!)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEift8kAxtjSHlDwGEc27Ir4U9J9kLB4ruC-Y5ZvHEIj4foZQXewT5HN3d2wFFshNNcP01FRKB_mpPw0OaGljPVmH5nE2dfjKznLOPrtEPQNdP8JwywAc0xB7v7463eBTl-ruGl1j2zFH8-X/s1600/elvis-las-vegas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEift8kAxtjSHlDwGEc27Ir4U9J9kLB4ruC-Y5ZvHEIj4foZQXewT5HN3d2wFFshNNcP01FRKB_mpPw0OaGljPVmH5nE2dfjKznLOPrtEPQNdP8JwywAc0xB7v7463eBTl-ruGl1j2zFH8-X/s400/elvis-las-vegas.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is NOT happening</td></tr>
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My first mistake (and there have been a few so far) is that I looked up a list of what you’re supposed to do to get ready for a wedding. I signed up for a wedding planning website - Oh dear, I opened a flippin’ Pandora’s box which I have been trying to escape from for a month now. There’s a “To Do” list which showed me I had about 100 items overdue. Overdue? Really, I only just decided to get married for goodness sake. Well, apparently, these things are supposed to be planned <i>years</i> in advance. Oh.</div>
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Ah, what the heck, I just ticked off stuff I wouldn’t be doing – you know, arranging travel for the guests and booking/paying for hotel rooms for everyone. Who even does this? As if weddings aren’t expensive enough as it is. Oh, and jeepers, I’ve seen some women on the forums who are spending an absolute fortune and are whining about the smallest possible things. Really, does it matter if your invitations were printed in an oh-so-slightly darker shade than you wanted? [Apparently it really, really does]. </div>
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Then there’s a guest list creator.. who knew <i>that</i> would be so hard. It’s Las Vegas so it should be a small wedding right? Nope. By the time you remember family and close friends and people you want in the wedding and people you should invite, but don’t really want to but you have to, and then other friends who you wouldn't say were 'close' but would be offended it they weren't invited, it all adds up<b><span style="color: red;">**</span></b>. For a little Las Vegas wedding, we are now up to about 50 people. Not that big in the whole scheme of things, but I feel like I probably should have booked Westminster Abbey at this rate.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Westminster Abbey - I know I could fill it</td></tr>
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Then there are “Save the Dates.” Now I’m not sure if these are a specifically America thing, but I don’t remember ever, in my whole life, having received one in the mail. But then again, it’s not as if I’m going to weddings every week either. Although I hadn't really heard of them and seeing as I am now sucked into that wedding web, I decided to send them anyway, obviously. Of course, being the cheapo I am, I made them myself, which may sound tacky, but I think I made a good job of them, even if I say so myself! But now I’m confused because everyone who got one thinks it’s the actual invitation *sigh*<br />
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I really don’t know what the heck I’m doing…. So stay tuned as there will be a second installment to this wedding caper post.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: red;">**</span> For any of my family and friends reading this, you are definitely NOT on either the 'don't want to invite' or the 'would be offended list' :-)</span></b></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-47593330231143494502016-02-01T12:54:00.000-08:002016-02-01T12:54:01.402-08:00The American Office<div style="text-align: justify;">
So you’ve decided to move to America, get a job and live your life in the sun. Fine, but what about when you actually start work? [I’m talking about in an office here] Do you really know what you’re getting yourself into? I thought so too, I mean, how hard can it possibly be? Americans speak English, so there’s absolutely no problem. How wrong I was. </div>
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I have commented a little on this before in this post <a href="http://thegobbybrit.blogspot.com/2014/02/what-happened-to-u.html" target="_blank">HERE</a>.<br />
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Computer keyboards and spelling were the very least of my problems, I quickly found out. Walking into an American office is like being in a whole new world. They’ve got their own words for absolutely everything. Here are a few:</div>
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<b>CV aka Curriculum Vitae: </b>You won’t be providing your CV at a job interview, you will have to have a <i><b>Resumé</b></i>. Of course, it’s basically the same thing, but you know those crazy Americans! In my experience, the only people who have a Curriculum Vitae are doctors, because apparently they are special.</div>
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<b>Pay Rise: </b>It might take you a while to get one, but if you are going to ask for one, don’t forget to ask for a <b><i>Raise</i></b>. I’m sure you will be understood, but you really don’t want to chance it, do you?</div>
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<b>Make Redundant: </b>There’s always the possibility that if you ask for too many raises, you will be <b><i>Laid Off,</i></b> which I don’t actually think is a reason you can be sacked (<b style="font-style: italic;">Fired </b>or<b style="font-style: italic;"> Dismissed</b>), but you never know.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQiNnf2kwc2O-kBki8Yj7m1dbiITw4qJhEExdLA-IX4ZXQOyp4LWh4d-_FOx1XROXSTQmuDZ5EVpdeM-nnFB7pYsJ1WYSmn-_mY1-rOiuH8YjY2-1jqKiCqwXCKRrdiazCiv7so2tTmMQy/s1600/layoff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="157" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQiNnf2kwc2O-kBki8Yj7m1dbiITw4qJhEExdLA-IX4ZXQOyp4LWh4d-_FOx1XROXSTQmuDZ5EVpdeM-nnFB7pYsJ1WYSmn-_mY1-rOiuH8YjY2-1jqKiCqwXCKRrdiazCiv7so2tTmMQy/s200/layoff.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<b>Square Brackets: </b>Sounds simple enough, but not in the good old USA. Square brackets are known as <b><i>Brackets</i></b>. Somewhat confusing, but what makes it worse is to us Brits, [these] are "square brackets," and (these) are “brackets” - to Americans [these] are “brackets” and (these) are “<b><i>parentheses</i></b>”. I was once very confused about all this. I was working as a medical transcriptionist the first time I ever heard anyone say 'parentheses.' I had to ask what he was saying because I thought it was some terrible disease. [true story]<br />
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<b>Curly Braces: </b>Yes, of course there’s a different name for {these} too. They are just <b><i>Braces</i></b>.<br />
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<b>Sellotape:</b> Although this is the largest manufacturer of sticky tape in the UK, apparently they haven’t reached America. <b><i>Scotch Tape</i></b> is the biggest seller here, so that’s what it’s called. </div>
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<b>Tippex: </b>The same can be said about Tippex. Try asking for it here and you will get a blank stare. Probably the same kind of stare you would get from someone who’s been sniffing the stuff. [It does smell nice though, doesn’t it?] It’s called <b><i>Liquid Paper</i></b> here (a bit obvious, if you ask me) Apparently, so the rumour goes, it was invented by the mum of one of the Monkees. Ask anyone here and they will tell you so.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglF-fvWY-KwBDqTNGsKR4eFodpqPWWAzZRMgfvgqh2AFzYWzcZeVhqnh1DAOv2AHFfBbLgMHy5N5uTbP4DlnVIiRGsLruM4pIL_Y4BsgLqP91vIBJZA8bpCrJsqrToolaF9DufVCp2QevX/s1600/Tippex.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglF-fvWY-KwBDqTNGsKR4eFodpqPWWAzZRMgfvgqh2AFzYWzcZeVhqnh1DAOv2AHFfBbLgMHy5N5uTbP4DlnVIiRGsLruM4pIL_Y4BsgLqP91vIBJZA8bpCrJsqrToolaF9DufVCp2QevX/s200/Tippex.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The original 'old school' bottle</td></tr>
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<b>Tick:</b> You know, the thing you use when you’re taking a multiple choice test and you have to a tick the right answer. If someone in America asks you to <b><i>check</i></b> the box, don’t be looking around the room for the box they want you to check. A check or <b><i>check-mark</i></b> is really a tick.</div>
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<b>Drawing-Pin:</b> This one actually makes a bit of sense. <b><i>Thumb-tack</i></b> does actually describe it a bit better, after all you don’t actually draw with a drawing pin, do you?</div>
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<b>Bank Holiday:</b> Those days that you count down to on the calendar because you get a day off work and can drink. In America, it’s just called a <b><i>holiday</i></b> even though the banks are, actually, closed too. Mind you, just because it’s on the calendar, doesn’t mean you will be lucky enough to have the day off. A lot of <i style="font-weight: bold;">holidays</i> are not recognized by everyone.</div>
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<b>Holiday:</b> You know, the fortnight in the summer that you also count down to. It’s a <b><i>vacation</i></b> here and it never seems to be two weeks. It is quite frowned upon to actually take a whole two weeks off at the same time. You seem to have to take a week here and there or a Monday or Friday for a long weekend.<br />
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<b>Guillotine:</b> This has to be the best sounding piece of office equipment ever, doesn’t it? Just makes you think of all those heads falling into baskets. The first time I asked for one here, I got looked at like I could be an axe murderer. You want a what?? What are you going to do, are you angry at someone? Nope, I just need to cut some paper, please. Oh, the disappointment when I found out it was called a <b><i>Paper Cutter</i></b>. How dreadfully boring! (but also a bit obvious)</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not exactly what I was looking for</td></tr>
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Oh, and just so you know, all offices look like this - the cubicle nightmare:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg92-grwaDfdPM909aPiK1MRXa5An6wezvSIU3Lny-p5RBDy7jNj6nsZs70deA0zNZraC3d-uE5FY08Wa120zbiQBwnKB_T5N7BmerGwIko25sobUthE9631BCxl_JIQmduPS0HL64lsrz1/s1600/Office-Cubicles1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg92-grwaDfdPM909aPiK1MRXa5An6wezvSIU3Lny-p5RBDy7jNj6nsZs70deA0zNZraC3d-uE5FY08Wa120zbiQBwnKB_T5N7BmerGwIko25sobUthE9631BCxl_JIQmduPS0HL64lsrz1/s400/Office-Cubicles1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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No, I am not kidding. (Okay, maybe I might be).<br />
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Let me know if you have heard any other weird/different names for everyday office stuff .<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-69742900249345372182016-01-21T12:43:00.001-08:002016-01-21T12:43:50.517-08:00Oh Good Grief - It's National Hugging Day!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO7ySzrSdbYBOTS7UCSxKPolmSsmFxONXnw7_c3YrRWrDnAlUU3-ID1abUb41FCBOjgo87YkzBhh5BZMyYm5i14F0-FTwvVYjqpZyReAuBLldoaf268VVJivuOPRoMifrRKc_MoBKdex4f/s1600/new_hug_day_image.1143836_std.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO7ySzrSdbYBOTS7UCSxKPolmSsmFxONXnw7_c3YrRWrDnAlUU3-ID1abUb41FCBOjgo87YkzBhh5BZMyYm5i14F0-FTwvVYjqpZyReAuBLldoaf268VVJivuOPRoMifrRKc_MoBKdex4f/s200/new_hug_day_image.1143836_std.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Today in America it’s National Hugging Day… yes, you did read that right, it’s a day that celebrates hugging. [*shudders*]</div>
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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.</div>
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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. </div>
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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.</div>
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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]</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj11N0jlU8nISUUHveKbXHNCE7w8yrZrS6jnG_op6V_u-IkIpRXZnPruFgwiUWAwWb2bCsVRtHZH8AyPJGv9k3eaMage4j6MGghN_BplAWaJUglGhcuswQgOCdPR_M8BtdycCGAfT6-9P07/s1600/hug2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj11N0jlU8nISUUHveKbXHNCE7w8yrZrS6jnG_op6V_u-IkIpRXZnPruFgwiUWAwWb2bCsVRtHZH8AyPJGv9k3eaMage4j6MGghN_BplAWaJUglGhcuswQgOCdPR_M8BtdycCGAfT6-9P07/s320/hug2.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So true!</td></tr>
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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]</div>
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Thank you.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-13155109793976422002016-01-04T10:31:00.000-08:002016-01-04T10:31:01.384-08:00New year, New ....?<div style="text-align: justify;">
.. Well not exactly new me. I ended the year as a gobby cow (as usual) and began it in the same way. Obviously not my fault...</div>
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We were in a bar (not a pub) who had decided it would be a good idea to have karaoke for New Year's Eve. Not brilliant on a normal day, in my opinion, but it takes all sorts. </div>
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So there we are, a couple of minutes to midnight when up steps probably the worst "singer" in the place. (Singer being used in the loosest meaning of the word here). And he wailed and he whined his way through some awful rendition of something. </div>
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All the while the televisions have been on in the background and the pre-recorded ball drop from New York begins - and he just kept on going. </div>
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5... 4.... "Stop Singing" I shouted, 3.... "Shut Up" ....2.... "<b>STOP</b>" .... 1! Too late. </div>
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And then it was midnight and he just kept right on going. Talk about ruin the moment. Party poppers were being pulled, noise makers were being blown, there was cheering, clapping and kissing and there he was in the background screaming to be heard! </div>
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By this time I wanted to take his microphone and stick it where the sun don't shine. Of course, I didn't because I'm much too nice to do that. I just stood and moaned to everyone around me.</div>
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But what do I know, it might have been on his bucket list to bring in the new year crooning to a bar full of people, so I will give him the benefit of the doubt. I just wish I didn't have to be a witness to it. [*smile*]</div>
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Oh, and of course there was a fight. I don't think it was as a result of the karaoke, possibly just too much alcohol, but then it wouldn't be a proper New Year's Eve without a fight would it?</div>
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<b>HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYBODY!</b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqHdkjfWo88COhafGIg_vbdaUoMh6AZeCQJvZWHeBLvIT5n99i4w4rkXGuCMcJIqlaLiVxWUMzrqcF82a0yc248YyhM_2vwcnKlUteZyq0xnnJjDJtRzJJGmHSubJkESMFwB9hdx681we0/s1600/bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqHdkjfWo88COhafGIg_vbdaUoMh6AZeCQJvZWHeBLvIT5n99i4w4rkXGuCMcJIqlaLiVxWUMzrqcF82a0yc248YyhM_2vwcnKlUteZyq0xnnJjDJtRzJJGmHSubJkESMFwB9hdx681we0/s400/bridge.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture courtesy Metro.co.uk</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8122769070717660398.post-6606399054301386672015-12-09T11:58:00.001-08:002015-12-09T11:58:50.300-08:00The Advent Adventure<div style="text-align: justify;">
I remember the good old days when the only way you knew it was getting close to Christmas was when the advent calendar came out. I don’t think my mum was cheap, (sorry mum) but I had the same one every single year and it wasn’t one of those fancy calendars with chocolate. Oh no, I had the one with a little nativity picture behind every door. <br />
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The excitement grew throughout the month as every morning you ran to find the door of the day and open it before school. I got to know that calendar so well that I pretty much knew what each picture was going to be. But somehow, it didn’t take any of the thrill out of it. The day of the 24th was always the best because there was a double door! [*squee*] I already knew there would be a picture of baby Jesus in his manger, but I didn’t care because the next day the big man himself would be here.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNDuZPI_dpm_EfJIFtxH5xS0l7AiZCPigXHqqY5tZe_pC72W7MjvYKHXKZMDU1Ix1LXreQYsBmd4ueell4haxVBsSybzuciK-99TvpnPIFKh2m2YGx29g2yeQZy-JV7rcKK-XipIP4AEQZ/s1600/advent6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNDuZPI_dpm_EfJIFtxH5xS0l7AiZCPigXHqqY5tZe_pC72W7MjvYKHXKZMDU1Ix1LXreQYsBmd4ueell4haxVBsSybzuciK-99TvpnPIFKh2m2YGx29g2yeQZy-JV7rcKK-XipIP4AEQZ/s320/advent6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how I remember it</td></tr>
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It really was a brilliant Christmas that first year the calendars came with Cadbury chocolate behind each door. Of course, I was too old by then to have one, but my children benefited nicely. I’m not sure exactly how healthy it was to have a lump of chocolate before school every day for a month, but it did get them out of bed quicker, I must say.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8BcL8eTDhKrYJzzCqyRuH84mWJ8JiqqNO4jthPB-q_QyO7uD9hRINezV6wcV0CZe6Mb25Zvxp_yugKSX4sRoz6RbMyHUfYf0Gob9lhMssSF9Uvhl3s1MDg7aTAWJjAoFfTK9mxbiU1sN9/s1600/240g_CDM_Advent_Calendar_Render+2013+FLAT_1375231502854.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8BcL8eTDhKrYJzzCqyRuH84mWJ8JiqqNO4jthPB-q_QyO7uD9hRINezV6wcV0CZe6Mb25Zvxp_yugKSX4sRoz6RbMyHUfYf0Gob9lhMssSF9Uvhl3s1MDg7aTAWJjAoFfTK9mxbiU1sN9/s1600/240g_CDM_Advent_Calendar_Render+2013+FLAT_1375231502854.jpg" /></a></div>
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It all changed when we got to America. It seems like nobody knew what an advent calendar was. My poor kiddies had to wait for some kind relative to send one to us each year, which invariably did not arrive until the middle of December. This was actually fine by them as they got to eat two weeks worth of chocolate in one day.<br />
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It was like an actual Christmas miracle that first year I found an advent calendar here. I was probably in one of those swanky “European” shops which sometimes sell PG Tips and Christmas Crackers. But there they were, up on the shelf, just glowing and calling out to me. Of course I had to buy two and those flippin’ things were expensive. (Now I know why I had the same one every year).<br />
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Over the years, they have become more available, but obviously still not as popular as in England. On a recent shopping trip, I noticed that America, apparently, still doesn’t <i>entirely</i> understand the advent calendar concept. These things are everywhere – can you spot the problem? You’ve got to put your own “stuff” in each day. Where’s the excitement about that? No, just no. Sorry America, please go back to the drawing board.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKZ4YNBWOjwscqatnetmhEGW5oxZvv1J2clnqBBsRFpMRNoKrdd035ccSPkQvRPCwD3WIKQp3hmwn5q072gTlgcUxDSIwaVBASxAH3AwmQH44ra0_Ic5YmHUfItma4UTMfn2IQnqyEUeHn/s1600/advent.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKZ4YNBWOjwscqatnetmhEGW5oxZvv1J2clnqBBsRFpMRNoKrdd035ccSPkQvRPCwD3WIKQp3hmwn5q072gTlgcUxDSIwaVBASxAH3AwmQH44ra0_Ic5YmHUfItma4UTMfn2IQnqyEUeHn/s200/advent.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>
I don’t have any children living at home anymore, so really, the Advent Calendar days are behind me…. Or so I thought. Then I found this little beauty. It's a Gin calendar... GIN!! Please, please can someone buy one for me. And no, I don't care that it will be half way through the month. I'm sure I can handle it. Thank you. And Happy Christmas!! [to me]</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1tG6whcdRQvR_LcIx98iGNfniWee93PDOwViqef4dJJml6-tve96NjIhPpb5u2ViQjEO8DeAaAOzdebi4h4Iq8P3RUxWjRZBPOKFsTUnQQa-2KCYNZAVw_EK2VvBBO1O-Bx7nAZunVodH/s1600/gin.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1tG6whcdRQvR_LcIx98iGNfniWee93PDOwViqef4dJJml6-tve96NjIhPpb5u2ViQjEO8DeAaAOzdebi4h4Iq8P3RUxWjRZBPOKFsTUnQQa-2KCYNZAVw_EK2VvBBO1O-Bx7nAZunVodH/s320/gin.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gin - Don't mind if I do!!</td></tr>
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Oh, and for all those US born peeps who still don't understand what I'm talking about - and I know you're out there because I've asked many of you, this is from Wikipedia:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
An Advent calendar is a special calendar used to count or celebrate the days in anticipation of Christmas. Since the date of the first Sunday of Advent varies, falling between November 27 and December 3 inclusive, the Advent calendar usually begins on December 1, although many include the previous few days that are part of the season. The Advent calendar was first used by German Lutherans in the 19th and 20th centuries but is now ubiquitous among adherents of many Christian denominations.</blockquote>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01680144649526602586noreply@blogger.com0