Loaves and Fishes

fish

London Aquarium

hand

Emily and fish

Helen and Emily

yellow snow

Yesterday I met up with my dear friend Helen and her daughter (and my adopted niece) Emily, for a visit to see the ‘fishes’ at the London Aquarium. It was wonderful to see them both, and as is always the case, Emily had grown up beyond all recognition and kept me in constant fits of giggles with her exclamations of ‘oh no’ at the sight of anything untoward,  and was a lovely reminder of how amazing a place the world is when you have only 2 years worth of experience, and aren’t yet 3ft tall. The shock of the sensation of touching ice was enough to provoke tears, but a hug from Mum was all that was necessary to put everything to right again. These girls have a very beautiful relationship and friendship, and it was great to be part of their world for a day.

Sadly, however, not m/any snaps of our trip were in focus owing to the lack of light, a ban on flash photography, and the adventures of someone who is two, but this is of course by-the-by, and the good news is that no one was tempted by the yellow snow.

I have become a bit obsessed by bread blogs lately. I haven’t yet pursued this avenue of baking, but I am doing a fair amount of research with thoughts to entering a loaf into the Tilehurst Horticultural Association’s annual show. I fear I will face stiff competition owing to last years offerings, but I hope that 3 months of practice will hold me in good stead.

If not, I will be accepting ideas for a ‘garden on a plate‘ – this year’s theme being ‘The Olympics’. I consider that there is more than one way of being creative with a spring onion…

I dream of Paris

Paris at night - I dream of Paris!

Source: Inhabitat

I have always been a dreamer, and today all I can dream of is Paris.

My only visit was with Neil the weekend before we moved into our first house. Or rather I helped Neil move into his first house and never left.

A minor detail.

We stayed at a tiny hotel in a windy back street of the 15th arr. district. It was a really hot summer and I remember being really excited that we could see just see the Eiffel Tower from our bedroom window if we stood on tip toes, albeit rather obscured by the heat haze.

We of course journeyed to the summit of the ‘Tour de Eiffel’, took a boat trip along the Seine, saw a portrait of a lady smiling at the Louvre, took in the sights of the Champs Elysee, raised eyebrows at the Moulin Rouge, got lost in the Trocadero and had some very cheesy caricatures drawn of us that thankfully never made it near a frame.

My most favourite memory of Paris however was the night of the ‘Festival de la Bastille’. We had caught the Metro to visit the Sacre Coeur which although was closed, gave us the most spectacular view of the city at dusk. We ate at a street cafe, and I don’t even remember how many carafes of the house wine were brought to the table, but enough that I later spent my last few Euro on a tacky keyring that played the French National Anthem.

When the stars appeared we followed mysterious crowds that swept us towards the centre of Paris. We then sat with thousands of people in the middle of a street, tucking into what can only be described as a ‘custard slab’ sourced from a divinely fragrant patisserie which was as oozey as it was delicious. We were to this point however still quite unaware of occasion we appeared to be participating in, and so were somewhat spellbound when all of a sudden it emerged we were here to view the spectacle of a glittering Eiffel Tower forming the centrepiece of a booming firework display set to rousing tunes, so loud, you felt every beat. It was wonderful evening, just perfect, and I loved every minute.

I long to go to Paris again and visit the places we weren’t able to fit in to our first trip – Notre Dame, Versailles, the flea markets, the Artisan’s Quarter, the interior of the Sacre Coeur! But also a little bit of me is afraid that going again might spoil the romance of my first encounter.

So for now I will merely dream of Paris. I might get another custard slab though.

So this is what happened…

In approximately a week’s time my beloved and I were set to pack our lives into suitcases, give our house keys to some select strangers in return for rent money, and move to the United States of America. Boston, in fact.

One however can not always foresee the visa application process not following its intended course.

Still our fact finding mission in November last year threw light on a number of interesting points of note I thought I’d share with you – just in case you yourself are about to embark on a similar endeavour.

1) At the car hire place, when offered a free upgrade to a mini van, take it. Your choice of car (although completely adorable and, if you think about it, really quite funny…) means your husband will look like this. All week.

Neil standing next to 'The Beast'

2) When an estate agent tries to sell you a ‘ranch house’, and your mind conjures up a whole host of romantic and whimsical images of skipping through pastures green whilst the cattle graze on yonder hillock – they really mean a wooden bungalow. On a main road. Next to a gas station.

Ranch House in Newton, MA.

3) Ovens are HUGE. Even the little ones. This one was used exclusively at Thanksgiving and Christmas and for the remaining period as useful storage for an overflow of crockery.  This is not unusual. (Point of note – this is the kitchen we removed from our old house in England and we have seen many times since. Did everyone own this kitchen at one time or another?).

The omnipresent kitchen

4) A ‘full disclosure’ is normally provided with every house viewing (or ‘showing’ as our friends across the pond would have it).

Expect information to be forthcoming

5) A garden or ‘yard’ is normally only considered the domain of people with pets or children. Otherwise a deck for the purpose of ‘grilling with friends’ is thought sufficient.

An example of a deck. Perhaps not the best.

6) If you’re posh you frequent Starbucks. If you wear a Burberry hat at a jaunty angle and drive a modified motor vehicle, Dunkin’ Donuts is considered your crib.

The sun shines on the Woburn ('Wooburn') Dunkin'

7)  If One is employed in public services, work must be carried out during daylight hours.

Please note: an actor was used for purposes of re-enactment. This photograph does not represent a true occurrence.

8 ) Unfortunately my dry wit was ill received as it transpires no one has ever heard of Duncan Goodhew.

Local Reading store

9) You can travel half way across the globe, but still end up right back where you started.

En route

10) See.

Welcome to Reading, MA.

Reading, MA. high street.

11) They even have the same newspaper…

The Reading Chronicle

12) Our mini adventure ended with a trip to the beach at sunset where we watched as the plane that would take us home landed, ate chips, and froze ourselves to death. Just like England really.

Plane coming in to land at Logan airport

True Brit enjoying some bracing sea air.

Only a little bit different.

The end is nigh

This Tuesday I handed in my last ever piece of coursework at Uni (see above) marking the end of an epic battle with deadlines that has consumed my very existence for the past two years.

Ok – so I still have a dissertation to write – but no longer will I have to rise at 5:15am every Tuesday morning to catch a train, no longer will I have to endure painful lectures on the intricacies of Strategic Environmental Assessment, no longer will I have to stifle giggles at our lecturers emphatic hand gestures, try and hide yawns when sitting in the front row of class or pass out through tiredness on the bus home.

Now all that stands between me and freedom is 15,000 words regarding socially rented housing in high market value areas.

Hmmmm…..

Where’s that gin and tonic?

A short break in the schedule

I’m going to disappear now until at least next Wednesday.

As my friend Catherine kindly reminded me: ‘a neglected blog is the sign of a full life’.

Seeing as I have blogged almost everyday since the birth of ALBD, I feel a short absence may be in order before I start being able to write Perl script and actually know what ‘Nagios’ means (although I will be disappointed if it is not an aged Spanish horse as I imagine).

You see this weekend I shall be celebrating life on the ‘grown-up’ side of 25, a new era for me, although one where I doubt I will see any significant changes in my ability to become a ‘grown-up’.

But in my opinion that’s overrated.

Have a lovely weekend.

I’ll be seeing you on the dark side.

Goodbyes and Silliness

catherineleaving.JPG 

Today, another one is leaving us.

This time it is my very good friend Catherine who has seen me through all sorts of crises both personal and work related, and I am only just coming to terms with not being able to see her every weekday as I have for the past two years. Instead Miss Miles will be heading home to Bournemouth to pursue a career in Urban Design – something she has been working towards throughout her career, so we can only be pleased!

As we bid Catherine ‘farewell’ however, we once again have again embraced this chance for silliness. I say this sitting in an office full of professional planners going about their business wearing paper hats made out of Thursday’s edition of ‘The Times’.

I think Jim rather suits his….

jim.JPG

 Good bye and Good Luck Miss Miles! You will be dearly missed.

Eyes closed, deep breath, head down…GO!

As you may have gathered from the rather desperate plea below to Mr Savile, I have been approaching the start of the new academic year with enormous trepidation. Indeed, there is nothing like having 4 months of your own free time given back to you to remind you what it is like to lead a normal life again - where the only scary deadline involves using up the roasted vegetable humous in time, and reading books can once again be a leisure pursuit (although I still found myself desperate to make notes in the margin and reference the publisher in ’Havard Format’).

First day back at ‘Brookes’ however and all was better than I had anticipated.

I would even go so far as saying enjoyable.

It was of course great to see my friends and catch up on who has a new hair do/tan/diet/house/car/mrs/job/kitchen, and Claire reported some very anti-social behaviour in the dorms of an Edinburgh youth hostel (unfortunately I can not divulge such information in case of pre-watershed reading).  I must also admit to being very pleased with my choice of ‘elective’ this year, being the only one to have a field trip (to Birmingham) thus indulging several of my interests; journeys, new places and people that can’t speak properly and wear shell suits*. 

I just know they’re going to love me.

So, although the word ‘dissertation’ still scares the bejesus out of me, I’m terrified of the amount of work I have to do, I have no idea how I’m ever going to give a presentation that is half an hour long and not on a subject related to tractors or Colin Firth….I have to remember I’m on the final straight now, there really isn’t that long left of my course, and there is even potential for it to be fun!

I will therefore adopt the same philosophy to completing my degree that got Claire and I on the Oxford bound train yesterday (we stood shaking with nerves on the platform!):

“Eyes closed, deep breath, head down….GO!”

Thank goodness the door was open.

* Disclaimer: This blog has not been censored for political correctness and does not intend to cause any offence to people who live in Birmingham (or its surrounding districts), have relatives from or originate from Birmingham, or have none/any of the above and still own a shell suit. Shell suits are flammable when exposed to a naked flame and can cause serious injury to ones sense of style. Jim did used to wear a shell suit in ’Jim’ll fix it’. Jim’s ’magic chair’ was actually made in Reading! I’ve lost sight of why I’m writing this now…. 

Large Fruit

It is one of the strangest feelings to visit a place you know so well, but yet you have never been before.

These were the exact sentiments I passed by my other half 10 days ago as we stood, audio guide clad in the shadow of Lady Liberty, enjoying a somewhat surreal but spectacular view of downtown Manhattan.

For this Summers adventure (and hence my brief ALBD absence), Neil and I decided upon a trip to New York to see ‘in real life’ all of those things that were previously only known to us on the television, in films, or from pictures of its infamous skyline, normally complimentary with mounting when purchasing a frame from John Lewis. Indeed, as our Shuttle Bus from the airport ducked and dived between traffic in quite an alarming fashion on the Brooklyn Bridge (indicating is ‘so last year’), we could hardly believe that right before us was the backdrop to every Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan romance as the Chrysler Building, Empire State and GE buildings swept into view.

Used to the sort of beige and brown interiors hostels of recent university field trips have presented, I was also rather bowled over by our very grand and extremely spacious hotel lobby, as well as our very comfortable hotel room located on the 17th floor. There was no mistaking we were in New York now, where everything appeared to follow the mantra ‘bigger is better’ – even the people – which goes someway to explain the dramatic lean of our tour boat when a whole host of US citizens rushed to catch the first glimpse of Liberty Island on the starboard side - the first time ever I was grateful of paying attention to the saftey announcement and took careful note of where to find a ‘life preserve’.

Indeed, another striking thing about my first real stop in America (my 5 hour transfer in Houston I don’t think really counts) is that they call things funny. More so than I had expected. I thought I had a handle on the lingo before my Heathrow depature, and I was quite excited at the opportunity to engage in more sophisticated conversation with the local population, rather than the ’2 ice lollies and a boiled egg please’ and ‘how much is that corn plaster?’ I have been able to manage in other foreign tongues. I knew, for example, that across the pond a lift is an ‘elevator’, to ask for ‘chips’ when requiring crisps as part of a balanced lunch, ‘riding the tube’ means something completely different over there, and when needing to powder my nose I was to head for the nearest ‘restroom’ or ‘bathroom’.

What I hadn’t counted on was someone asking me how many ‘pattys’ I’d like (to me this is the lady who lives at No.45), whether I’d like Grande, Vendi, skinny fat, half fat or low fat when ordering tea, if I’d like the ’check’ at the end of my meal, and once curiously whether I’d ‘busted a haul out’ or had been ‘diggin the vibe on the down low’. To the last comment I, of course being English,  smiled politely at the young gentleman and nodded -much to his obvious amusement. Indeed most of the locals did seem very friendly, and one even commented I had ‘bitchin’ kicks’. I think he was referring to my shoes, and I was terribly pleased having polished them especially.

Despite these unexpected lingustic issues, New York certainly lived up to every expectation. It was tall, buzzy, exciting, dynamic and really got under your skin. We packed an incredible amount into the 6 days we were there, although we never felt rushed or were overcome with urgency as one thing flowed into another.

I’ll post evidence of our expolits on the gallery when I get my behind into gear for anyone who’d like to view my improving ability at ‘self takes’. The better framed photographs, the ones in focus and ones of me looking gormless will be Neil’s.

He is also particularly proud of his shot of Lady Liberty’s butt.

There is just no accounting for taste….

It’s all about the Journey

                    journey.JPG

I’m really excited.

August has filled itself with a plethora of events, all of which I am looking forward to immensely. Not at least the journeys…

I have always been a firm believer that is doesn’t matter what happens in life, it is the journey that counts. This is a philosophy however I also seem to have taken on quite literally. Indeed it has almost always been the case that on every trip I have ever been, one of the most enjoyable parts (for me) has always been the getting there.

Despite its appalling ‘green’ credentials I am a massive fan of flying for example. I love the whole experience from the buzz of the airport, to that tense moment when you don’t know if your new H&M belt will set off the metal detectors - meaning a security woman with a hairy top lip will have to run a bleepy thing over you…the departure gate bit where nervous passengers say their prayers, kids that have long tired with their activity books  play hide and seek behind the check-in desk, the couple from Manchester who talk at the volume of a power drill and wear sun visors are finishing up their cans of 4X….then you get on the plane, find your seat, watch as heavily make-up clad stewardess’ do their best to model yellow safety jackets, the roar of taking off and then the soaring like a bird, followed by a few hours of watching delightfully cheesy films whilst being kept amused by an array of things in plastic packets , some of which are edible.

It’s not just planes though. Trains hold a similar fascination - from the different sorts of people that travel on them, to the ticket inspectors with their clicky clippers, the stewards in hats with the tea trolleys that always have a dodgy wheel, and the vast amounts of scenery that whizz past the window, making the eyes of those watching it flick like an erratic second hand on a mechanical watch.

This weekend I have a car journey. Although these can sometimes be tiring, especially when caught in heavy traffic, I still revel in the opportunity to spend time with whoever I am travelling with - an excuse for uninterrupted conversation, the telling of tales and adventures, the car sweets that are unbelievably chewy or make you squint at their sharpness, the chance to experience motorway service station toilets,  and then there are the car games…

It is not that I am ever disappointed when I arrive at a destination - don’t get me wrong. There is just something about going on a journey that fills me with excitement -  the anticipation of what may meet you at the other end, the moving on to another place where you haven’t been and you don’t know….

I guess it is the principle of the journey that spurs me on in life. I need to be going somewhere, doing something and working towards my next goal – I need something on the horizon to look forward to, for there to be a point to everything, for there to be a journey – physical or otherwise to embark upon…

Because you never know where you might arrive….

And that’s what makes life exciting.

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