The Joshua Tree

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bleak roads

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

Joshua Trees

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

***

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

The Military Diet Experiment

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.

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.

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 could 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….

You don't have to wear the uniform, by the way

DAY ONE

Breakfast

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..  

Lunch

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.

Dinner

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.

DAY TWO

Breakfast

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.

Lunch

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 tiny 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.

Dinner

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.

DAY THREE

Yes, actually, that is a wine stain on my menu

Breakfast
Again, this was a bit of a treat having breakfast.  But then again, maybe I was just starving by then.

Lunch
Yes, another hard boiled egg, but this time only with a dry slice of toast.  Yummy (sarcasm added)

A quick aside here:

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!!  

Dinner

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.

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 will 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*]

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.

I just suffered for three two and a half days and lost about the same amount as if I’d just had a big pooh!!

The Awkwardness of Meeting People from Home

There’s always that moment and awkward conversation when I meet someone from England.  This is how it usually goes:

“Hello, how are you?

Fine thanks, and you?

……[Awkwardness]….

So, how long have you been here?

…… 2, 4, 10, 15, 20… etc years …..

          What part of England are you from?

  ….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.]

Oh, okay

….. [More awkwardness]  ….

What brought you here then?

[Insert any number of reasons…]

.. crickets...

  Sooo, um, how do you like the weather here????”

And there it is - the great British small talk 'go to' - the weather!!!

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.

This happened the other day.  I was given the "you sound exactly the same" speech and told I would meet 'her' later.

Fast forward about an hour and over he trots to my desk, all excited, and says 

          “Meet (so and so)  She sounds JUST like you!”  

Well,  I liked her immediately because when he said that, she rolled her eyes!  Oh, true English attitude.

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.  

And to my never ending embarrassment, I actually squealed and shouted "Oh my God, I lived in Caterham!"[Which will probably mean absolutely nothing to anyone]

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. 

But getting back to that other bit…. Yes, I squealed, I FLIPPIN' SQUEALED.  Could I be more America… ugh!  

The Holiday Camp

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.

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!  

The very first and original chalet is now a listed building

Picture Courtesy of Mr. M. Evison .

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.  I can clearly remember a couple of occasions when I spent a wet and soggy week in Bognor Regis (another glamorous sounding place).  

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.  

More like an Army barracks

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.

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).  

Ironically though, the best sentence I've found in the history of Butlin's is this beauty:

"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 seemed to lack enthusiasm." (emphasis added) 

That pretty much sums up how everyone feels about a holiday camp nowadays - Lack of enthusiasm.

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.

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.  

It's a bit more fancy looking

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.

Then again, I wouldn't mind this one too much either.

What are your memories of holiday camps?  Were you ever a glamorous granny?  Do tell.

The Big Day

Ahh… so the wedding day arrived.

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

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

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

Yes, I went full on American/British.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sticking to my roots!

Another Brit Style Mother's Day

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

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

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

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

What to choose?

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

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

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

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

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

This is NOT Brighton

No rock, but there is a Big Wheel

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

It's for the wall in my office!!

British Television Phrases Americans Will Never Understand

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

I think we actually had this television.

That's Handy 'Arry

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

Luvley Jubley

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

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

OooEee Mr. Shifter

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

Can ya Ride Tandem?

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

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

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

New year, New ....?

.. 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...

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.  

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.  

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.  

5... 4.... "Stop Singing" I shouted, 3....  "Shut Up" ....2.... "STOP" .... 1!  Too late.  

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!  

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.

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*]

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?

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYBODY!

Picture courtesy Metro.co.uk

The Advent Adventure

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.

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.

This is how I remember it

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.

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.

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).

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 entirely 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.

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]

Gin - Don't mind if I do!!

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:

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.

The American Bath

Yesterday I had a little time to myself so I thought I would give myself a bit of a pamper.  It had been a while so I thought I would have a nice soak in the bath and do a facepack and all the girly stuff I don't usually do.

So I ran the bath got everything ready jumped in ... and then out again because it was too hot [isn't it always?] After running another couple of gallons of cold water, I sat myself down stretched out and this happened:

I have one question for America, the land of bigger is better. What the bloody hell happened to your baths?? Really?  I'm only 5 feet 2 and I can't lie down without my knees touching my chin!!  

To add insult to injury I turned around and saw this: 

The bath is so low, I thought Spencer was about to join me.  So much for my hour of pampering.  Its worse than having kids - at least you can tell them to bugger off out and close the door.

Yes, I did have my phone with me because as anyone knows, the minute you step in the bath the phone rings.

Also, it was not easy to get my hair washed in that tiny little tub so I gave up and went in the shower!

Oh, how I miss my English bath that was so long I practically had to drown myself to put my feet on the end and it was so deep I could barely rest my elbows on the edges without looking like I was trying to fly.  Ahhh... 

But then I remembered how flipping cold it was when you got out and tried to get dry and dressed before frost bite set in, especially in October.  That's when I decided I would stick with the American shower.

It's not like this was the first time I had ever been in an American bath, but it's been such a long time and it looked all neglected and lonely sitting in the corner.  I had just forgotten just how flaming small they were.  

Apparently countries have different priorities.  In England its all about depth with long, skinny and deep baths and in America its about width with short, wide and shallow baths.  [I'm sure there's a joke in there somewhere]

Still have no idea why those things are so small though.

This is what it felt like.

Sophisticated Shenanigans

When I was young and anyone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, without hesitation and without fail I answered “A Primadonna Ballerina.”  Not any old ballerina for me, oh no, I wanted to be the primadonna. [I know I was saying it wrong and it’s technically a prima ballerina, but what did my 7 year old self know?  In fact, I still say primadonna]  Here’s the thing though, I have never, in my entire life, taken a ballet lesson!  I wasn’t even particularly much of a girlie girl either.  But there you go…

Obviously then, a few months ago when I saw tickets for Swan Lake and the event happened to be 20 minutes from my house, I jumped at the chance.  I don’t think there’s anyone who doesn’t know Swan Lake and the fabulous dying scene at the end (although some people have told me they don’t, which I totally do not believe)  Surprisingly (or maybe not), I wasn’t able to get anyone to say they would come with me so, obviously, I roped in my daughter.  [*smile*]

So this weekend we had a very sophisticated night on the town, dressing up and going to the ballet.  Very posh it was.    Until we realized we had absolutely no idea what was going on… About five minutes into the first Act Hannah whispered to me “What’s happening?” and I had to admit I had no clue.  Oopsie.  But the dancing was pretty.  

There was a short intermission and the lights came on which is when we realized that the little brochure they had given us as we entered was, in fact, a short synopsis of the story.  Ahh…problem solved.  That made it much easier to follow, I must say.  It’s quite hard to understand that when the hero holds up a crossbow, he’s actually supposed to be shooting swans, for goodness sake.  [We are so uncultured].

To add to our uncouthness I decided to take a few sneaky photographs (as you do).

All went well until it got to the end and they lived happily ever after.  What??  Yes, that’s right, they lived happily ever after!!  What happened to the dying swan dance, probably the most famous bit of ballet in the world???  I was gutted!  What the flippin’ heck?  As I grumpily walked down the stairs I heard someone a little more knowledgeable than I telling her friend that “there are two endings and the Russians always use the happy ending.”  Well, I don’t care – it wasn’t a happy ending for me.  [*sob*]

Let’s go to the ballet, I said, it will be fun, I said, Swan Lake is a lovely story, I said, but a bit sad at the end.  

So what did I learn from my first trip to the ballet:

1. You can actually hear the pointes tapping the floor as the ballerinas walk and dance, which is kind of cool;
2. There's a lot of hopping in ballet (which made me think I wouldn’t be so bad at it, but it was just a quick thought);
3. You cannot get drunk, or even tipsy, at the theatre.  Drinks were $12 for a tiny little cup, although to be honest, that’s not technically sophisticated, is it?;
4. When there’s an intermission every single person in the theatre takes out their phone and checks it!
5. I think I was the only person there who hummed along to the Swan Lake theme and expected Madness to come onto the stage and perform it.  [They are not well known in America for anything except Our House, which in my opinion is not one of their best]  

Approximately 9 different versions of Swan Lake have been performed over the years.  I found this on Wikipedia, which apparently that other lady had read too:

In 1950, Konstantin Sergeyev staged a new Swan Lake for the Mariinsky Ballet (then the Kirov) after Petipa and Ivanov, but included some bits of Vaganova and Gorsky. Under the Soviet regime, the tragic ending was substituted with a happy one, so that in the Mariinsky and Bolshoi versions, Odette and Siegfried lived happily ever after.

So now you know.  My sophistication level has just gone up a notch because next time I can be the knowledgeable one.  Or at least try to..... 

In case you now have that Madness tune in your head here's this.  And if not, you will have by the time you finish listening.  

What's in a Name?

When I was about 16 or 17 I decided that should I ever have children, one would definitely be called Chelsea….. obviously this was because I was (and still am) a massive Chelsea FC fan.  Fast forward a few years and I actually had a child which I did not name Chelsea.  By that time, I had grown up and somewhat matured and realized that to name your child after your favourite football team would have been a mistake. (Not as bad as if I had supported Arsenal or Tottenham, mind you).  I also had the idea back then that I would get married on the pitch at Stamford Bridge before a game.  Young people and their crazy ideas…! [And no, that definitely did not happen either].

I’m just glad I grew up a bit before I got around to naming children.  Obviously, there is quite some thought that goes into the process so you don’t forever saddle your offspring with a name they hate.  There is such stigma surrounding names sometimes that it makes you wonder what parents were thinking.  Back in the 80’s the joke names were Sharon and Tracey - stereotypical loudmouthed girls from Essex with black tights and white high heels.  I would like to take a moment here to thank my mother who in her absolute wisdom actually named me Sharon Tracey… a name which I have never been able to live down since this programme was aired:

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

To this day, I still get embarrassed saying my full name, even though absolutely nobody in American knows the reason.  

But America has their own problems with names.  I’m not talking about celebrities and their weird Apples, Buzzes and Apollos, but your typical suburban stay at home mommies who have nothing better to do than have their hair and nails done and take the littles to the park.  It seems as though they are all trying to one-up each other in crazy names.  Here are a few I’ve heard:

• Duff - I wonder if he was named after the Simpson’s beer
• Cash - Apparently someone likes money
• Aristotle - More money?
• Bear - I suppose it’s better than dog
• Kindle - Do the parents have shares in Amazon, I wonder?
• Zeplin - This name is just a disaster waiting to happen [*joke*]
• Cory/Corky  -  They sound like cats.
• Maverick - Tom Cruise/Top Gun fans?
• Cosy - I’ve got nothing!
• Destiny - Lots of girls have this name.  I think Beyonce has something to do with it.
• Boden - What?
• Hunter - My dad had a dog named Hunter 
• Dublin and Ireland  - I bet the parents think they’re Irish because, you know, everyone does
• Bass - A beer or a guitar?
• Burton - I’m thinking he was named after the actor and not the clothing shop
• Walker - Wonder if he has a brother called Luke and a sister called Sky?
• Jace - Sounds like a lazy version of Jason that the parents couldn't be bothered to spell out.
• Lincoln - After a president?  Or maybe that awful car

I would like to thank Rosie M for some of the names on this list and I just have to mention the conversation she related when she asked a mommie if her daughter Porsche was named after the Shakespearean heroine and the answer was "No, my in-laws have a Porsche dealership"  (Lucky it wasn't Volkswagen really!)  [Oh dear].

Sometimes, these names backfire.  Atticus, for example is a name I've also heard bandied about a few times. But these parents didn't realize what they were doing and have now changed his name.  [*slaps forehead*].

It does seem though that boys have the worse end of the deal where names are concerned.  For the first part of 2015, the top five boys names in the USA are Atticus, Asha, Ezra, Silas and Declan whereas for girls they are Charlotte, Amelia, Olivia, Isla and Ava.  It appears Anglophilia is alive and kicking in the USA as obviously Charlotte is a nod to the new Royal.

So it would seem that my plan to call my child Chelsea wouldn’t have been that bad after all.  In case you were wondering, my first child is named Liam and, oh dear, he was kind of named after a footballer (oops). But his grandparents are, in fact, Irish so I’ve got that going for me.  

If you can name the footballer, there's a prize!!  (*smile*)

The Classic Car Show

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

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

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

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

Bubble Car!!

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

Is this a boat in disguise?

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

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

Bit ugly, to be honest

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

Why the duck?

Old cars with very new paint...

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

I don't like that colour

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

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

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