Boa Noite!

I'm so sorry I've been away so long - especially since there has been so much chatter about the spaghettios! I do have a very good excuse for being away - I was actually away. And by that I mean out of the country, not just away from the keyboard.

I spent most of last week in Portugal on a field trip for the Making & Managing Places module of my planning course. It's one of the more urban design-y classes, so I enjoyed it a lot. (It turns out that planning is sort of boring. Urban design, though, is cool!) Anyway, we left on Saturday and got back on Thursday and spent pretty much every moment between walking around, taking photos, sketching, drinking very strong sweet coffee, and eating lots of seafood and pastries. The Portugese, people after my own heart, like a lot of flavour in everything. Lots of sugar, lots of salt, lots of garlic - whatever it is, there's a lot! The two most typically Lisbon dishes we had were bacalhau and pasteis de nata. Bacalhau is dried, salted cod which is re-hydrated and served in a variety of ways. I had it grilled, shredded and cooked with potatoes and cream, with spinach and cream, and in fishcakes (not all in the same meal, of course). The pasteis de nata are custard cream tarts - but so much more. They are unbelievably good; incredibly sweet but not cloying and perfect with a double espresso, called a bica and the default drink in Lisbon. I tried lots of other desserts, and they are all pretty good. Many are egg-based and, against all odds, I found one that was actually too sweet to eat. I couldn't believe it, but my sweet tooth had met its match.

Having done a couple of years of high school Spanish, I find that I can sort of read most Romance languages, usually enough of navigate a menu or public transport system, and I can sometimes understand what's being said if I concentrate, but I can't pronounce any except Spanish. I figure I could probably get along as well as any mute, half-deaf, semi-literate Portugese person, though, so I'm pretty proud of that...

Like the food, the trip was quite intense. We left the hotel every day at 9am and got back around 5pm. The entire time between was spent walking (Lisbon is very hilly) and looking at interesting buildings or neighbourhoods or streets. (One day we divided into two groups and my group got a short lunch break and no coffee/pastry stops - it was inhumane.) We sketched almost non-stop, too, which was really challenging but good. I will definitely consider taking a sketchbook on holiday in the future; it forces you to look at things much more actively and really imprints them in your mind. Of course, I also took over 250 photos, so those will probably help me remember, too.

I took lots of photos of grafitti - this is one of my favourites:

I was in Lisbon for the election but because of the schedule I didn't stay up to watch the results. I did, however, burst into tears of joy when I jumped out of bed and turned on the news first thing Wednesday morning. Everyone in our group kept congratulating me, which was funny. I mean, I voted, but I can't take full credit (unlike Sean Combs). Regardless of your politics, though, I think it will be a little bit easier to be an American abroad now. At the moment, the whole world (except Russia and Iran, that is) is just so happy and want to tell me all about it. I read one article that said it was as if the entire world had won the World Cup. Since it will likely be a very long time before the US or the UK do that, let's enjoy this now, shall we?

Kids Today

This is a thank you card I recently received from my 4-year-old friend Bo. (We'd sent her some little presents for her birthday.) This reminded me that I also got a thank you card from my niece Mattie after we sent her birthday presents. Say what you will about gangs and street crime - in my experience, the kids today are extremely polite.

Is This How Everyone Dresses in Helsinki?

I look at several street fashion blogs semi-regularly, but I sometimes find them frustrating. A lot of them seem to be shot guerilla-style – very little posing and bad lighting so that you can’t even really see what the person is wearing, much less be impressed by it – and with little if no commentary. And I know that many, many people love the Sartorialist, but I am not all that interested in what he thinks about the people he photographs. Also, his taste is sooo conservative and he only seems interested in thin, good-looking people who are wearing, you know, designer clothes. That’s why I like Hel-Looks so much. It has pictures of interestingly dressed Finnish people (mostly young but sometimes older people and children) and, believe me, they are never conservative or boring. Each photo is accompanied by a paragraph of the subject talking about the outfit and his or her philosophy of dressing. Some of them are pretty much what you’d expect – the clothes came from such-and-such shop and my style inspiration is a famous person with “good style” – but sometimes they are wonderfully off the wall. Lots of people wear second hand or homemade clothes, often as a response to obsessive consumerism. Lots of items are borrowed or handed down from parents or grandparents. One guy says he only wears denim. People seem to have strong views on colour and use it to respond to seasonal changes. Some of my favourite “inspirations”:

Swedish Elle and the city of Vaasa inspire me.

I want to make people smile with my style. Ten year old skate boys and fake tattoos from chewing gum packages inspire me.

Gipsy men have a great style. Personality is always stylish, too.

I adore my parents' style at the time when I was born. I wear their clothes from that time. (This person is 25.)

My moustache is my favorite accessory as it gives a certain je ne sais quoi to my outfit, regardless of what I'm wearing. I admire people with humour and something thorny in their style.

Wikipedia inspires me.

My obsession of the summer has been Ultra Sonar Bat Calls bat detector. Actually bats have inspired my style for years.

My inspiration & my style: quiet resistance.

Naturality, randomness and sky inspire me.

This jacket was so shockingly ugly that I just had to buy it. (Who hasn’t been in that position? What, just me?)

Semiotics, Finnish folklore, Beverly Hills and crazy thrifted things inspire me.

Ugliness inspires me. I get more self-respect when I dare to wear ugly clothes. Like these tights.

Some Interesting Things I've Seen Lately

Morris dancers at the Regent Street Festival. Almost all English people consider Morris dancing unbelievably naff i.e. ridiculous, lame, silly-looking, uncool in the worst way. It was pretty impressive, though. Essentially, it was a group of older gentlemen (in their 50s and 60s), heavily be-jingle belled and jumping around waving handkerchiefs and hitting big sticks together. Their flyers invited people to join, saying Morris dancing "is healthful. It's social. It's English." Matthew is not interested. I predict that in the next 10 or 15 years we will see punk rock Morris dancing, as a certain generation ages and looks for ways to enjoy more traditional pursuits but with the punk attitude they seem so determined to preserve. It will be ironic, see?

A burning motorbike! We were on a walk last night around dusk and noticed a fire and huge plume of oily, black smoke in the distance. It's not Bonfire Night (5th of November, Guy Fawkes Day), so we went to check it out. It turned out to be a motorbike burning very robustly on the edge of a football pitch in the park. Neither of us had a phone, so we couldn't call it in, but after a few minutes a fire engine showed up, along with a gaggle of kids on bikes, the two 14-year-old girls who did call it in, and a woman and her daughter who were just walking by and, like us, were attracted by the spectacle. The firemen hosed it down, which sent up a massive cloud of smoke and steam (very bad smelling). The police man who came along shoo-ed the kids away, then summed up the situation by saying, "Moped. Kids." We continued our walk, then went home and ate pork chops. Exciting stuff all around.

A peregrine falcon at the art museum. Apparently, they also hang around the BT Tower, which is very close to my work (I can see it from the windows in the upstairs ladies room), though I have yet to see one there.

The Lady Vanishes. I think this is supposed to be suspenseful and intriguing, but I've never laughed so hard at a Hitchcock movie. It features very funny depictions of English people abroad, which say a lot about how they see themselves and their relationship with the rest of the world. From what I see every day, not much that has changed.

Saturday Morning (and Early Afternoon)

Well, the stay-cation is over but it was fun while it lasted. We went to two dinner parties on the weekend, took long naps every day, ordered pizza and ate out, and watched movies every night. We went to Ikea, which was good but not awesome. The last time we got some nice bowls for 25p each (!), which we're both still really stoked about, and some great, cheap shelves for the conservatory, but this time we found that they don't have any smaller bowls at similar prices, or the ideal wicker laundry hamper, or very interesting shower curtains. However, I did get a set of two very adorable bowls for my morning cereal and some cookies, so it wasn't a total wash.

On Tuesday, we went Tate Modern to see the Cy Twombly exhibit. Matthew was not impressed. I had only seen the four paintings in the Tate permanent collection, which I kinda like, but I must say I was not impressed either. We agreed that it's a cliche, but his work looked like it was done by a 3 year old. Or a chimpanzee, as there were several with suspiciously "scatological" looking smears.

The next day we went to the London Transport Museum, which was completely awesome. It was pretty loud, but that's to be expected with so much going on in a 3 level open plan building. There were lots of old Tube carriages and buses that you could get into and try to imagine what it was like to be on the Underground in 1905 or whenever. (There are still a few Routemaster buses on "Heritage" routes that run along the Strand; when we lived in the West End and I worked in the City I took then whenever I could and I always ended up humming "A Day in the Life" because of the part in the middle where he says "grabbed my coat and found my hat, made the bus in seconds flat...") They have a great shop, but I only got a couple of presents for my friends Brandy and Jason who used to live in London but are now in Edmonton, where I'm sure they don't see as much TfL tat. Though, come to think of it, I bought my Tube map tea cozy in Lawrence, Kansas...

I also went to the V&A (not bad, but I enjoyed the shop more than the exhibits) and trekked up Camden High Street visiting about 6 different charity shops (all rubbish) and got a haircut. Actually, I got two haircuts, because the first one was frankly untenable and I had to go back and get it fixed. On Wednesday, I went to a new place, not too far from our flat and had a nice chat to the girl about what I wanted. I even showed her a picture of Michelle Williams. But then I had to take my glasses off while she was cutting my hair, and when I put them back on, the damage was done. It wasn't what I wanted - all choppy and too short - but I thought I'd try it. However, it just didn't work. In fact, the bad hair might have been what ruined my V&A visit and thrift-shopping. On Friday I went back and got her to fix it. Unfortunately, she'd chopped it so much that there was nowhere to go but up, so my hair is now really, really short.

It's actually not that bad, but it's been a while since I had short hair and I felt suddenly exposed as looking quite old and pudgy. However, I've been getting really enthusiastic positive reactions. People at work say they love it and think it really suits me and when my yoga instructor saw me, she gasped and said, "Your hair is beautiful!" The evil, self-defeating part of my brain interprets this to mean that I must have already looked old and pudgy, even with longer hair. The sassier part of my brain says, old and pudgy, whatever - I've obviously got a very cute haircut, so yay for me!

Last weekend we dressed up and went to see a Club Whoopee performance at the Thames Festival with our friends Sean and Michelle. It was really crowded, so we got some dinner from the foods stalls (Caribbean fried fish and a crepe for me, curry for Matthew) and hung out behind the amphitheatre. At the end of the performance, they invited everyone down to the performance area for a waltz and then played some more music so it was like a disco by Tower Bridge. Sean was in 1930s-ish tweeds and bow-tie and Michelle looked like Marlena Dietrich in a black suit and red satin shirt. I wore a little black dress with red, white and purple hearts all over it, which I think of as slightly Minnie Mouse-ish. Matthew got the most attention, though - he was in full cowboy regalia: black cowboy boots, jeans, Western shirt embroidered with guitars on the front and a Cadillac on the back, and white cowboy hat. A hipster in skinny jeans and a trilby hat literally stared open-mouthed at him on the Tube. It was great. The next night we went to see Snake Bone, a retro rockabilly band fronted by the guy who plays guitar in our friend Paul's band Number 9. They had two guest vocalists, a girl in western gear and braids and Lady Kamikazi, a Japanese girl who also DJ's rockabilly and swing music. They were both, er, not very good. The girl in the braids actually caused us both to wince involuntarily. When Lady Kamikazi sang "Summertime," I said to Matthew, "I actually know the words to this song, not to mention the melody, and I've got no idea what's going on." Later we ran into Sean and Michelle, who were out with their heavily pregnant friend Liz and her husband. We skipped the fireworks and went to dinner with them, then caught the last Tube home.

Then next morning I got up and rejoined the world of work, but only for a short while longer. Next week is my last week at the company where I've been all summer and then I'll be back in student mode. I've got two of my numerous textbooks already - and haven't made it past the 2nd page of the introduction in either one. Yay for graduate school!

Oh, and if you really must have some political content, Garrison Keillor is giving me the feeling that he probably won't vote Republican over at Salon.

Crazed Political Rant!

It’s an election year and this is a blog, after all, so I thought I’d better post some ill-informed political opinions post haste!

I don’t like Sarah Palin. This isn’t because she is a powerful woman or a former beauty queen (okay, maybe a little bit). I don’t like her as a prospective vice president because she is a Republican. To me, an intelligent woman being an enthusiastic member of the Republican party just seems contrary to nature. I view female Republicans with only slightly less scepticism than I do Log Cabin Republicans. Have you not read the brief, people? This party is not for you, it’s against you.

Everything I’ve read about Sarah Palin’s record and beliefs (and, yes, all my research was done on the internet, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s wrong) suggests that she is pretty much the opposite of what I’m looking for in a VP. The idea that McCain may have picked her to appeal to Hillary supporters who haven’t yet warmed to Obama reveals the contempt in which the Republicans hold the American public, how very stupid they must think we are. (Unfortunately, the last couple of elections haven’t done much to disprove that notion, but I won’t get into that. I can’t – I still actually cannot believe the outcome of the 2000 election.)

I know that living in the UK, I don’t get to see the situation “on the ground.” But I do see what the past few years have done to the way the rest of the world sees America and Americans, and I’ve got to say, it ain’t good. It’s no fun to be lectured about the evils of imperialism by citizens of the British Commonwealth (formerly the British Empire) or about the US government’s genocidal treatment of Native Americans by a German. But Europeans love Obama – let’s have him, okay?

My one and only comment on Bristol Palin: Matthew informs me that “Bristol” is cockney rhyming slang. Bristol City (football club) – city – titty. Example: “Phwoar, look at the pair of Bristols on her.” That’s all I’m saying.

Michelle Williams

As part of my ongoing campaign of sassiness, I am trying to inject a bit more "oomph" in my appearance. Overall, this isn't that hard. Although I've never worn much makeup or had very elaborate hairstyles, I've always had strong ideas about my hair and clothes, to the point of often having stated theories and philosophies about them. I like to think about clothes in terms of "outfits", which you would wear out to school/work/dinner/the grocery store, as opposed to "just clothes" that you'd wear around the house - though I see no reason why those shouldn't be cute and colour-coordinated, too.

However, for the last year or so, I've been working in architecture practices, and it may be a cliche and by no means universal, but architects do generally wear a lot of black and have very serious black-framed glasses. I wear black-framed glasses but they aren't heavy enough to be very serious. Anyway, being around architects has meant that I've somehow ended up with a very dark wardrobe. I say somehow; last autumn I went out shopping with a list that read: trousers, blouses, jumpers - black, navy, grey only. I think that had something to do with it.

So I'm currently re-injecting colour into my routine. The first big success has been red. Boy, do I like red. In fact, last week I had to acknowledge that it is my official favourite colour, edging out pink/green, a combo that has been number one for probably 8 years now. This acknowledgement came after we'd gone out for our friend Sean's birthday and I wore a red skirt, a red t-shirt and a red flower in my hair. It was kind of hard to miss - like a red flag, if you will.

So that's the wardrobe component sorted. I've not made any real changes to my make-up routine, since I don't like to wear too much, though I am now wearing mascara every day. Well, on days when I leave the house. But today, I'm focusing on getting a new haircut. This is such a fraught subject. In March, I went to a very fancy salon and got what turned out to be the most expensive haircut of my life. The cut itself was pretty pricey, but it was the colour (which I didn't love) and tipping the stylist, the colourist, the guy who washed my hair and the girl who gave me the aromatherapy mini-massage that put the expense over the top. But I loved my hair! It was sort of messy on purpose, so it never looked like it was messed up. Does that make sense? Matthew said he thought it was the best haircut I've ever had (though he might have been trying to help me feel better about spending £187 at the salon). And, yes, it really did cost that much. Check the exchange rate - are you choking on whatever you were eating/drinking? After a while, I went back, but the second time around, it just wasn't as good. It was a good haircut, but not magical and maybe not worth £85 (no colour that time). Since then, I've had a trim at a cheapy little place in Covent Garden, but it's getting to the point where I have to do something. I don't want a drab, yucky haircut. I want something cute. Something sassy. Something a little bit like Michelle Williams is sporting these days.

I consulted Matthew for his thoughts, but he had never heard of Michelle Williams, so I had to give him the following primer:

Michelle Williams is the tragic ex of Heath Ledger and tragic mother of his tragic little girl Matilda. (Does that seem like a funny name for a half-Austrialian child to anyone else? Isn't it like Matthew and me naming our kid Britannia or Yankee Doodle Dandy?) They met when she played his tragic wife in the tragic Broke Back Mountain. She has recently been spotted having dinner with Spike Jonze - I don't know if it was tragic or not. I also read that she is rumoured to keep a diary. Undoubtedly contains lots of tragedy. Oh, and she used to be on Dawson's Creek. Is that tragic? Her ex-boyfriend died, Katie Holmes became a zombie (or not - not looking for a lawsuit here!) and James van der Beek and Joshua Jackson turned out to be much less attractive as grown men than as teenage boys. Could the show be cursed?!? More evidence: the WB network no longer exists and Paula Cole's career hasn't exactly been red-hot lately. Ooh - spooky!

But curses aside, Michelle's hair is pretty cute. I'm going print out the picture, draw on a side part because I can't wear a fringe/bangs, and see if I can get a stylist to make something pretty happen. Exciting, huh? And once he'd seen her picture, Matthew did say that it looked like a haircut that might well suit me, so that's a ringing endorsement from him.

On the subject of eyewear, I feel like if I'm going to wear glasses, I don't want to try to hide the fact by wearing invisible wire framed ones. I'm not ashamed! Just very near-sighted. My friend Krystal and I had a conversation in Scotland that illustrates my feelings on the subject:

Drunk man (thinking he's flirting): Can I see you without your glasses?

Us: Er, whatever. (raising glasses but not actually taking them off)
Drunk man: Wow, you're really pretty. Why do you wear glasses?
Us: So we can see better.
Drunk man: Yeah, but why don't you wear contacts?
Us: To prevent us being attractive to people like you.

This happened some years ago and I can't remember which of us he was trying to flirt with, as we are both really pretty, with or without glasses. But the same thing happened again, almost verbatim, in Austin once when I was out '80s-retro-dancing with my friend Julie. But, for all my fist-in-air, "we're near-sighted, we're here, get used to it!" rhetoric, I am starting to entertain the idea of getting my eyes lasered. I've always been against it, out of a combination of fear of new medical procedures, squeamishness at the thought of someone messing with my eyes, and glasses-wearing pride. But I would really like to be able to wear non-prescription sunglasses.

Italy, part 2

Argh. I don't know what the problem is, but obviously I'm having trouble posting images so that you can open them at a larger size. You know, so that you can actually see the images as opposed to just a small, colourful blob breaking up my text. I will keep working on it, but here are my Italian pictures in a bigger format for your viewing pleasure.

This is Isola Comicina, the island where we saw the attractive (and not quite so attractive) Italian people. We were all so hot by that point that Zach, one of the sons/groomsmen, actually stripped down to his underwear and jumped in the water. It looked so cool and inviting, but all the other guests just looked on with longing, as none of the rest of us were 19 or quite so, um, athletically built, shall we say.

This is the menu from the reception. As you can see, the cover features a lovely painting of Villa D'Este in 1847, which if anything, is even fancier now.

Un Fine Settimana Rapido

A couple of weekends ago, we went to Italy for a quick visit – we flew on Friday, arriving around 7pm, spent all day Saturday attending the wedding of Matthew’s cousin and related festivities, then came home on Sunday. We had a great time, but it was exhausting. And I got sun-burned on my scalp, where I part my hair. Who would think to put sunscreen there? How would you even do that?

The people getting married were Matthew’s cousin Tone and her partner Deen. They have been together for 25 years and have two grown sons, but two years ago, Deen whisked Tone off to a chateau in the south of France and proposed in front of a room full of assembled friends and loved ones. That sounds pretty impressive in itself, but for the wedding itself, they really pulled out all the stops. Thus I attended my very first Norwegian-Nigerian wedding. In Italy. With the adult children of the couple serving as groomsmen. It was awesome.

The wedding was in Como, in the north of Italy. There is no family connection with Italy; as far as we know they picked it because it is absolutely beautiful. We had an unremarkable flight to Milan, then took a train into Como, through very picturesque countryside and little towns. From my admittedly limited observations, I'd say Italians like to have some green outdoor space; almost every place had a little garden or patio or even just a balcony with potted plants and a chair where one presumably sits in the morning and enjoys the first espresso of the day. Although Como itself is fairly flat, it is surrounded by extremely tall, steep hills, which makes for very dramatic scenery. We stayed in the old part of town, which is utterly charming, with the slightly run-down, romantic look of Cinema Paradiso or Il Postino. (We took a taxi back from the reception and saw that the newer part of town is much less charming. It has a lot of concrete buildings that seem to be crumbling in the humidity, rather unromantically.) It was a short, pleasant walk through a couple of piazzas from the station to our hotel, which was itself on a piazza. After a quick freshening up, we went to yet another piazza to meet everyone for dinner. This was quite relaxed - we sat around with some cousins and ate pizza while a street artist recreated "The School of Athens" on the pavement in front of the café and swallows (or swifts or possibly bats - there was much conjecture) swooped down from the cathedral bell tower eating bugs. Then we wandered through a few more piazzas, stumbling upon a Mexican/Cuban band playing an outdoor concert as part of Como's cultural festival, and ate gelato before heading off to bed.

The next day we took a boat cruise from Como to another town down the coast, to a hotel on a hill, where the ceremony itself took place. I don't know the name of the town, only that it was very, very hilly and that the hotel was not really very close to where the boat docked. I think the trek was worth it, though, as the hotel was very pretty and had a fantastic view over the lake. Matthew's young cousin Jake (age 12) kept saying, "Can you believe this is just a 3 star hotel?" like the seasoned world traveller he is. The ceremony itself was lovely, very personal and emotional. A close friend of the couple said a few words, there were two readings, and we all sang the Carpenters' song “On Top of the World”. The mayor of the town came, wearing a very impressive and official-looking tricolor sash, and read long passages from the Italian civil code, making the whole thing legal. These passages were then translated (more or less) into English (more or less) for the benefit of the entire roomful of people there who didn't speak Italian. Tone's sister Anne made a very sweet speech. I got a little misty-eyed, as I often do at weddings, from thinking about love and stuff. I get a bit overwhelmed at times, thinking about Matthew and how utterly surprising and unlikely it was that we ever met. I find weddings the perfect venue for indulging in such sentimental thoughts. It's nice, though, because when I start to get a little freaked out about how easily we could have not met, I always realise that, however improbable it was, we did meet and we are together and I am confident that we always will be because, among other factors, we have fun together, we like so many of the same TV shows, and we have an enormous mortgage together. Oh, the ties that bind... Anyway, after the ceremony, we adjourned to the terrace, where we had a light luncheon. I call it light because it was made up mainly of finger foods, but I realised on this trip that I could eat nibbles, especially crispy, deep-fried ones, for hours and hours without stopping. So not that light. And as we were waiting for the loo afterwards, Matthew and I saw a scorpion. My mother, sister and grandmother have all been stung by scorpions; I never have but I used to be deathly afraid of them, literally screaming and running away like a crazy person whenever I saw one. I guess I'm over that, since I was much calmer with this one. We took some photos, but the camera was still on the black and white setting that Matthew used for the wedding, so instead of scary, the scorpion looks timeless and romantic.

We spent most of the rest of the afternoon on the boat, with breaks in another town for gelato and on Isola Comacina, an island where people dock their boats (not yachts, just regular sized ones). This was entirely populated by young, thin, very attractive brown-skinned people and older, overweight, not-so-attractive sun-damaged people. It was like a “before” and “after” for the Italian lifestyle. Along the way, we saw houses belonging to Richard Branson (rather ostentatious, with weirdly sculptured trees), George Clooney (nice, big, traditional-looking) and Donatella Versace (big but not very impressive - a bit boring). Eventually, we arrived at Villa D'Este, the venue for the reception and the fanciest building I've ever been in that doesn't belong to the National Trust. We had more nibbles, posed for more photos, and I was blown away by the beautiful ladies’ room, so much that I went back later and took photos. I will post those pictures later, but let me just say pink marble, real linen handtowels, and, the best part, bidets in the cubicles, which were, of course, lovely little rooms far larger than our bathroom at home. In fact, the whole restroom “complex,” of foyer, hand-washing area and cubicles, was larger than our old flat.

When we sat down to our five course meal, I realised why even if I can eat nibbles for hours, maybe I shouldn’t. I felt very unsettled and could only pick at my salad and risotto. Jake was in even worse shape. Being a 12 year old boy, he has even less self-restraint than I do when it comes to small fried foods and I don’t think he felt good at all. He eventually bucked up, though, and he and our other young cousin Amy (age 10) had a good enough time sticking the heart-shaped confetti all over their faces. I recovered, too, enough to enjoy the main course, which was beef and veal with a big blob of fois gras on top. I know that geese are treated very cruelly in the making of fois gras – so why, oh why must it taste so good?

There were about a dozen speeches, which could have been torturous, but they were all quite short and either funny or sweet or touching. Then there was cake and dancing and then we got a taxi back to Como, where we fell into bed too exhausted to even be very annoyed with our barely air conditioned room.

On Sunday, we had another uneventful flight back home, then got up the next day and went back to normal life. Except for the sun-burned scalp, of course.

A note: Tone's name is Norwegian. When properly pronounced, it is quite musical, with the "o" stretched out and a lift at the end. However, when I (and most other non-Scandinavians) try to say it, it sounds like "tuna." So I just call her "Toni." Deen is short for the rather majestic sounding Moyadeen (unsure of the spelling), but has the benefit of sounding exactly like "Dean" so I can just about manage it.

Goody Two (New) Shoes

Yesterday I got a new pair of Bass Weejuns sent all the way from Connecticut, courtesy of my grandma and mom. Now I'm all set for school to start. Just seven weeks to go. I'll probably buy some books and a notebook or something, too, but this was the most important element of my school supply shopping.

More Amazing News!

I have actually packed up and posted my sister's birthday presents! Only 5 1/2 weeks late!

Once she receives them, I'll post the photos I took before they went in the box. Unfortunately, I forgot to take pictures of them post-wrapping, so you'll just have to trust me that they were ridiculously cute. But then, my presents always are...

Attitude Adjustment

Two Fridays ago, Matthew worked a day shift, which means that he left around 6:30 and I got up at my regular time of 7:00. I sort of woke up while he was getting ready for work - I do that a lot now that he’s gone deaf in one ear and our new routine is that his alarm wakes me up and I shake/nudge/poke him until he turns it off – and he came to say goodbye on his way out. In a bit, I got up, went about my daily ablutions and went to work.

We had plans to meet after work for dinner and a movie that night, but during the morning, I remembered Matthew saying specifically that he would be using his work e-mail that day. I just couldn’t remember why I was supposed to e-mail him. I thought I could just e-mail and ask, but then I realized that I didn’t have his work e-mail address saved anywhere in my work e-mail. So when I had a minute, I browsed through all the e-mails from Matthew that I’ve saved in my Hotmail account to see if he’d ever sent me one from work. Now, Matthew and I met five years ago and since at that time he lived in London and I lived in Lawrence, Kansas, we spent the first 16 months of our relationship communicating primarily via e-mail. Often, we wrote several times a day, so we're talking about a lot of e-mail. Being a sentimental person, I seem to have saved almost every single one of those messages. I did lose a bunch of the very oldest ones in a Yahoo-related mishap, but there are still plenty. Some might say, more than enough.

I spent most of the afternoon reading dozens of old messages, which I found extremely entertaining. We were obviously trying to impress each other, but who wouldn’t have been impressed with a couple as witty, romantic, quirky, sweet and really, genuinely funny as we were. Matthew’s messages were great, of course, but I was especially struck with the picture of myself that emerged – funny, confident and sassy. This, even though I clearly remember actively pining for Matthew during my last few months in Lawrence. Of course he’d fall in love with that girl, I thought. She’s awesome!

Then I compared that girl to the way I’ve been for the past little while – instead of funny, confident and sassy, I’ve been feeling snarky, insecure and irritable. Still funny, of course, but in a cranky sort of way. I could imagine someone who’d fallen in love with the e-mail girl might feel slightly annoyed at the current state of things. And, to be honest, it was a lot more fun to be that girl than to mope around and be grumpy most of the time.

So I decided to do something about it. The next day I got a haircut and it’s been blue skies ever since! It hasn’t really, but I’ve actually maintained a positive attitude fairly consistently for almost two entire weeks. I feel like I’m remembering how to be myself. I’m having more fun with my clothes, thinking in terms of “outfits” and concepts and getting excited about dressing up for a birthday party or a leaving do or…a Tuesday. I made curtains for our kitchen window from a sweet little vintage print that my mom gave me. There’s enough left over that I might make an apron - or a skirt – or maybe a kerchief (as skirts can be tough to get just right). In addition, I have planned out several sewing projects that I think I might actually get around to doing. My plants are doing great and I’m starting to think about food crops for next year. I’ve become a weekday vegetarian (trying to only eat meat on weekends – but then it’s sausage, bacon and hot dogs for two days straight!). I’ve started using the phrase “funny, confident, sassy” as a sort of mantra which I repeat to myself when I’m feeling tired or deflated or lumpy; I think it actually improves my posture. I am considering getting my eyes lasered – but I’m also considering getting big, old-fashioned cat-eye glasses. Honestly, this is so much more fun that wearing very baggy grey clothes and complaining about English people all the time!

Oh, and I eventually just called Matthew at work to see why I was supposed to e-mail him. Apparently, I had asked him if he would be available on e-mail during the day and he said yes, on his work address. I was too asleep to remember asking (or why I did) later.

Happy Fifth of July!

We finally found the camera (it was in the shed, for some reason) so I can post this with photos of our Fourth of July cookout. Or Fifth of July barbecue, if you will, because it was held on the 5th (because it was a Saturday) and because I had to amend my invitations to call it a "barbecue" rather than a "cookout" because that's what English people call it when you cook and eat outdoors. I found this a little silly because, to me "barbecue" suggests that you will be eating barbecue, with sticky sauce, ribs, etc, but whatever. (Also, I was annoyed that no one could work out the very simple etymology that "cookout" means cooking outside, but again, whatever.)

After a couple of weeks of warmth and light, the weather has been pretty unpredictable lately and it was actually raining when we woke up on Saturday. I remained optimistic (or pig-headed), though, and just kept thinking, it will clear up, it will clear up. My sister had sent some gorgeous pictures of my niece in their neighbourhood parade (riding in her Radio Flyer wagon festooned with bunting and a balloon) so that kept me positive. And, eventually, it did clear up! Which was good, because even though only a fraction of the invitees made it, we had over 30 people and I don't think they would have all fit in the house. And it wouldn't have worked to put the grill in the conservatory... We kept it simple with the food. I asked people to bring salad, buns, sausages and drinks and we provided burgers and desserts, as well as some drinks, condiments, and desserts.

For decoration, I made a garland by cutting stars out of red, white and blue paper and sewing them together on my machine. The cutting was a bit tedious (thank you, Matthew, for helping me!) but the sewing was a breeze. I draped it over and around the conservatory door and around our Jamie Reid print. Matthew said, "See, the Queen loves the 4th of July, too!" Our friend Colleen, who just came back from Texas, brought little flags, which graced the mantle. You can just see them in the photo.

The other big thing I did was make cupcakes and a cake. I know - I'm awesome!

For the cupcakes I used the same Hershey's recipe as for Matthew's birthday cake, with a cream cheese frosting. I used low fat cream cheese and low fat margarine from a tub because I can't find stick margarine around here. That affected the consistency of the frosting; it was a lot runnier than I'd anticipated. This was fine for the cupcakes, as it "flowed" nicely. I baked them in silver liners and sprinkled with red and blue sugar sprinkles - on the early ones I was a bit heavy-handed, but I got the hang of it eventually. Then I stuck a tiny American flag in every other one (to avoid flag fatigue). Too cute! Matthew's friend Kim brought beautiful, Sex in the City style cupcakes from a fancy shop. They were genuinely gorgeous (and I've just realised, really expensive), but I thought the cake on mine was better. And mine were definitely more patriotic.

The cake was more of a challenge, and not one that I met with total triumph. I made two butter cakes (from Martha Stewart's recipe) and put them together to make roughly the right size and shape. From my experience making Easter bunny cakes, I figured the seam would be hidden under frosting. However, the runny cream cheese frosting had other ideas. It hid the seam okay, but it was not prepared to stick to the sides, so I just poured it on and let it dribble. Fortunately, English people are used to that look; they regularly spoon runny custard over cake (and other desserts) and just thought it was supposed to look like that. The real problem was that the bottom line of strawberries kept sliding off the cake! In the end, I had to cut toothpicks in half and use them to spear the strawberries to the cake. Fortunately, I cut the first slices, so I was able to remove the picks and thus avoid any injury to guests. The blueberries were much less problematic. They stuck just fine.

Other than the frosting drama, things went really well. We aren't big barbecuers and the first batch of sausages were pretty severely burnt because Matthew kept going off and talking to people. Fortunately, his cousins Kathy and Tone took over, resulting in much more edible food. Also, we put the grill on the wrong side of the patio and initially a lot of smoke went into the living room, but no one seemed to notice except me. Most people left around 9pm, but a handful stayed until midnight, hanging around and (sort of) helping clean up. As after our housewarming party, I was struck by the realisation that we must really be grown-up now - people had put all their dirty dishes in the kitchen, our recycling bin was full to overflowing, and nothing was broken. In all, it was lots of fun...and we've been eating sausages and cupcakes non-stop for the past 5 days now!

Summer Time Greenery

It seems that summer was finally really arrived. It’s been sunny and warm not just for a couple of days, followed by cold, grey rain, but for almost two weeks now! It was almost too warm last night for our duvet, but I’m reticent to do anything about it just yet. When it’s really warm, we take the comforter out of the cover and use the cover alone as a light bedspread. Several weeks ago, I mistook a warm spell for actual summertime and took the duvet off the bed. Of course, we froze for a couple of nights before I broke down and admitted to myself that maybe night time temperatures in late May do warrant a big fluffy duvet, even with the additional warmth of a wool blanket, my beloved brown blanket, Matthew and one or two cats.

Anyway, now it’s lovely and hot (not two words that normally go together in Texas, but work well in England) and the garden is lush and green. Our next door neighbour/gardener Rocco is working on the garden to a plan that exists only in his mind – and seems to change week to week, so my gardening has been confined to the conservatory. I don’t want to get in his way. I must say, it’s going pretty well. I have two out-of-control basil plants that I’m trying to pinch and trim into bushier, less awkwardly tall shapes, a bushy basil with mites, the convalescing orchid, three agapanthus plants that were originally a single plant given by our friend Jane as a housewarming present, another plant from Jane (I can’t remember what it’s called but it’s sort of twiggy) and some tomato seedlings. Oh, and a hot pink plastic watering can.

The bushy, mite-y basil is sequestered on top of the CD shelf, with the orchid, which doesn’t have much to lose at this point, and an agapanthus and at a (hopefully) safe distance from the tomato plants. Since this photo, I have divided the tomatoes into three pots – none have died yet! – and the basil has moved to the table.

The orchid isn’t up to much at the moment. I did some research and apparently dark green leaves mean that the plant could use more sunlight. This one couldn’t get more light unless it were under a spotlight, but it still doesn’t look too happy. I think I’m not giving it enough water. Or too much. Hard to say.

This is our new plant table, which provides space for more plants and hides the cat box! We were having a problem with the cat box getting a bit smelly in the warm conservatory. Since the conservatory doubles as our dining room, this meant we were mostly eating at the coffee table. However, covering the box with the table and table cloth has made a huge difference – as has a can of industrial strength air sanitizer. I’ve been looking for a table for some time and even considered getting my dad to build something, then break it down and ship it, but Matthew found a little flat pack table at Argos for about £12.99, we bought and assembled it together, and our lives were significantly improved, all in the space of a single Sunday afternoon.

Keeping Busy

So what have I been doing with the time that I should have been posting over the last week and a half? Let’s see…

We got our new washing machine last Friday and have been blissfully laundering since. Matthew had several days off so he has done more than I have, but I’m trying to catch up.

Last Saturday we went over to my friend Virginia’s for lunch and got back at 2am. Hampstead Heath, hippies and Spanish people figured in our adventures, more on which later. My niece's birthday party was on Saturday, too. Judging from the photos, there were 4 grandparents and at least one federal judge present, so it had to be fun!

This was supposed to be my last week at work, but they like me so much they want me to come back! I was originally contracted to work for four weeks at an architectural practice in Central London to cover one receptionist being in the Czech Republic for a week and the other receptionist being in South Africa for three weeks. Near the end of the fourth week, we heard from the second girl that she’d developed a blood clot in her leg on the way back from South Africa and so couldn’t come back to work just yet. However, she’d been hospitalized in France and her doctor’s note was in French, so there was a bit of confusion about what exactly was going on. She’s coming back on Monday so I was prepared for this to be my last week, but on Tuesday, they asked me if I’d like to come back to do another role, which involves entering all their project contacts into a data base for use on the intranet they are setting up. Should be pretty boring, but not difficult. I really like the people there, the location is great and the office is very laid back and friendly. Also, this project should last for several weeks, which will take me almost right up to the beginning of the school term. So yay for me! To celebrate, we had a slap-up meal of George Foreman-grilled steaks, broccoli and thick-cut pan-fried potatoes. So tasty it made me wish I got a new job every day…

Also on Tuesday, I found a book club I’m going to try out. I was aimlessly googling and found a group that meets in Central London and is accepting new members. The list of books they’ve read in the past sounded good – I’ve at least heard of most of them – so I am going to their next meeting this coming Tuesday. To that end, I’ve been reading John Fowles’s 600 page novel The Magus, desperately trying to finish by Tuesday. I know I can do it, but I’m just so busy these days, ya know? Also, I’m not finding myself really engaged in the book in a way that would force me to sit down and read for 4 hours at a stretch. So, we’ll see.

On Wednesday, I took homemade kiwi bread to work and received general adulation. There are no photos of the kiwi bread because it mysteriously disappears every time I make it. In fact, all that’s left of the loaf I kept at home is a very small sliver that I’ve saved for Matthew. It’s not a very generous serving, but should be enough to keep him from accusing me of eating it all while he was at work. Anyway, I got one request for the recipe and many, many requests for more bread. I will have do it again in a couple of weeks, if only because the kiwis are “liberated” from the fruit bowl at work so I feel I owe it to the company to give them back, value-added. Some of them, anyway; lots of them end up in my cereal in the mornings.

Also on Wednesday, I went to my new yoga class. It’s my third week and I still feel the next day as if I’ve been beaten up.

On Thursday evening, we joined Virginia and some friends of hers for a picnic on Hampstead Heath. We sat on blankets in the long grass and ate cold sausages, potato salad, olives, pate on crusty bread, and lots of other yummy things while dogs came over to say hello, families rambled by and a boot camp style exercise class kept running past being shouted at, I mean, encouraged by their instructor. It was windy and got very cold but we had a good time and plan to do it again next week. We took the overground train home, which I’d never done before, so that was interesting too. It’s like the underground, except you can actually see things out the windows.

Friday was extremely busy at work. The practice hosted an awards ceremony for architectural students doing sustainable building projects and I had about 30 minutes in the afternoon to set up the “drinks and nibbles” area for about 50 people. It was hard work, but the most annoying thing was that I kept setting out trays of beers, only to have people keep drinking them! Actually what annoyed me was that they kept leaving the bottle caps all over the tables, making them appear very messy, even though I’d set out a little cup for the caps and even “seeded” it with one so they’d see what it was for. Honestly… Anyway, I fell asleep on the sofa as soon as I got home. When I woke up I whined a little bit about making dinner and we eventually ordered Chinese food and watched several episodes of the American Office. Pretty much a perfect Friday night…

Yesterday I did some shopping (to celebrate the Summer Solstice, perhaps?) and today I went to a crafts fair. It was fun and I bought lots of things, but I will have to wait to write about it, since I mainly bought presents for my sister’s birthday (next weekend) and don’t want ruin her surprises!

Happy Birthday, Mattie!

Today is my niece Mattie's first birthday. She is sweet, pretty, utterly charming and now a whole, entire year old! We won't get to attend her party this weekend, but I've sent a little package and, if the past year is any indication, I'm sure there will be LOTS of photos.

On this festive day, we tried to go to a taping of QI, one of our favourite TV shows, but they were overbooked. We actually made it through two cuts (were literally the last two people in line after the second), but in the end there was no room at the inn. Instead, we were guaranteed seats at a taping of Never Mind the Buzzcocks in August. Instead we had a nice walk, over the Thames toward Fleet Street, then came home and had an excellent meal of stuffed mushrooms, mashed potatoes, broccoli and salmon croquettes. So we've had a lovely Mattie's birthday even without Mattie herself.

Happy birthday, sweet girl.

Oh, and...

We're getting a new washing machine. Yesterday, I had a load of towels going when I heard a loud bang followed by loud thudding. When I got downstairs, I saw water streaming out of the machine. The drum had come off one of the springs that hold it in place. The machine is old and a bit rusty, so we decided to get a newer, better, more energy efficient one. We'd done some research on new washing machines last year before we moved in, so we ordered this year's model of our favorite from John Lewis today and it arrives on Friday. I am absurdly excited about this.

Weirdly, the new machine, with delivery and disposal of the old washer, costs £308. This is exactly how much I earned last week. Huh.

Baby Velvet

Two weekends ago, I went to a baby shower for our friend Mia. (Matthew went to Nashville last year with her husband Paul to co-produce his album. He described it as the best holiday of his life and returned with a Western shirt, a cowboy hat and a mustache. He'd obviously had a good time.) Anyway, for Mia's tea party shower, I made scones and customised a set of onesies (or baby-grows, as they are called here).

I made one batch of strawberry scones and one strawberry and kiwi. They were well received and two people asked me for the recipe – just the sort of reaction I like.

Strawberry Yogurt Scones

2 C flour
3 T sugar
2 tsp baking powder
¼ tsp salt
¼ tsp baking soda
4 T butter, cold, cut into ½ cubes
¾ C chopped strawberries
¾ C plain yogurt

Preheat oven to 425F/220C. Stir together dry ingredients. With a pastry cutter or two knives (or, if you can’t quite coordinate two knives, a potato masher) cut in butter until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Stir in strawberries. Stir in enough yogurt to form dough into a ball (up to ¾ C, but I used less). Turn dough onto a floured surface and with floured hands knead a few times. Press into a 9 inch round, cut into 8 triangles. Place onto cookie sheet lined with parchment. Bake until golden, about 12 - 15 minutes. Remove to rack to cool.

Note: For the strawberry-kiwi scones, I used just under a half cup of each fruit and added an additional tablespoon of sugar. The dough is very sticky and was hard to deal with when I used all the yogurt; it was much easier when drier.

The onesies elicited oohs and ahhs, especially the one with Paul’s album cover. That one was Matthew’s idea and it was genuinely adorable. The images on the shirts were straighter than it looks in the photos, by the way.

Mia looked like she was ready to pop the day of the shower, but she didn’t actually have the baby until last week. She is a very pretty little girl named…Velvet Giselle. Well, they are rock-n-rollers.

Plant Hospital

Yesterday I rescued a bloomless orchid from the office where I've been working. It had been on the desk for about 4 months and finally lost its final, withered flower that morning. We got a new one at Marks and Spencer and to keep it from going in the bin (and having heard that they will eventually bloom again), I took the old one home. Lots of people seemed interested in this and offered advice. One girl said she has one that is finally starting to bloom after a year. She keeps it in the bathroom because they like the humidity. Another girl said that if you give an orchid a contraceptive pill, it will bloom continually. I said, "Do you crush the pill and put it in the water?" She said she just sticks it in the soil. Then someone else asked if she has lots of extra contraceptive pills laying around. She said it only takes one. I don't know what her boyfriend thinks about this, but I didn't think it was my place to ask.

When I left in the evening, I got several comments:

Comment 1: Is it your last day? Are you taking your little plant?

Comment 2: Are you stealing that? (When I explained I was taking it home as it'd lost its flowers) Oh, are you good with orchids?

Comment 3: What is that? (I explained) Hmmm. (This was from the founding partner of the firm, when I ran into him on the tube platform. I couldn’t really read his “Hmmm.” It didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic.)

I don't have a picture of the plant in question. I'll try to take one tomorrow, even though right now the orchid is just five droopy leaves and some creepy-looking roots snaking out of the holes in the bottom of the pot. I'm not sure it was worth the effort of getting it home (in the cold and rain), but if it does bloom next year, I'll be thrilled that I got a £14.99 plant for free. Woo, and indeed, hoo.

Battle of the Bins

We live in a terrace house divided into three flats. We own and live in Flat A, which is the ground floor, the basement and back garden. Flat B, on the first floor (2nd floor to readers in the US), is vacant. Flat C, on the 2nd and 3rd floors, is rented by three girls. We have never formally met them, but in the past few months they have become an increasing part of our lives. Some of the reasons include:

- We have been awakened several nights by loud noises. Specifically, the noises of several people staggering up the front walk, banging the front door open and closed, then slowly making their way up the stairs while shouting drunkenly at each other. This normally happens between 3 and 5 in the morning. It's been a total of 5 times over the past few months and each time I vow that the next time I will get up and yell at them. And next time I very well might.

- Also, they never shut the front gate, which I think makes the front of the house look sloppy.

- Someone keeps throwing cigarette butts from their terrace into our garden. This doesn't happen that often, so I think it must be visitors rather than the girls themselves, but if their friends behave this way, it certainly speaks ill of them.

- They do not recycle. The house has four large recycling bins out front provided by the Council, but we are the only people who use them. This would be a bit of eco-self righteousness except that we find that recycling drastically reduces the amount we throw away, whereas...

- They fill up all the bins so we don't have room for our garbage! The Council provides recycling bins, but not rubbish bins, so residents have to supply their own. When we moved in, there were two bins out front. We thought, two occupied flats, two bins; should be fine. Lately, though, we take our rubbish out to find that both bins are completely full. And not only do they not recycle, they don't even crush their cardboard boxes to take up less space - and I know this because they don't even tie their rubbish bags closed! Honestly, I'm surprised they even bother with bags and don't just toss garbage out the window whenever they empty a milk carton or finish a roll of toilet paper.

To date, I have written them a note, spoken to one when we met on the front walk, and confronted one (with her mother!) as she was actually shoving rubbish indiscriminately in the first bin she could find. I've only raised the bin issue; I decided to concentrate on the biggest problem so they wouldn't think I am a cranky old lady griping all the time. However, now that I keep griping at them everytime I see them, they probably think that anyway. I don't care!

And now, as a cranky old lady, I am going to drink some hot milk and go to bed. (Actually, I'm going to have a 7-Up and watch Dr Who, but it's the same thing, really.)

Last Saturday was my grandmother’s birthday. If you have ever spent any time with me, you have probably heard about my grandmother because she features in some pretty good anecdotes – like the time she shot a deer out the back window (possibly out of season) and had it field dressed by the time my grandpa got home from work, or the time she and Aunt Pat got jobs at the chicken processing plant and only made it to the morning coffee break on their first day before deciding to quit.

My grandma hasn’t always had smooth sailing in her life. She grew up during the Great Depression, in a tiny East Texas town where life was probably pretty difficult even without a worldwide economic downturn. She’s lost plenty of loved ones – though, by the time you get to 87, that must be par for the course. She didn’t graduate from high school and never got a driver’s licence – so why is she so unstoppable? She can do anything. She’s made me dresses and costumes and play clothes and taught me to sew. She can cook catfish, chicken livers and pork chops (she’s even fed me squirrel – and yes, it tastes like chicken) and bakes a cheesecake so rich and dense that it will stop your heart dead in its tracks. She is very good at Forty-Two and Scattergories (among other games), but won’t quit until she’s ahead. She can reupholster furniture. She made one of my favourite “toys” when I was little by nailing 1x4 boards between two trees to form a ladder that I climbed up and down, over and over and over again. She made most of the curtains for every apartment I’ve ever had. She hates snakes and at ever opportunity chops them to bits with a garden hoe. She once made a couch.

This is my favourite photo of my grandma, taken in the early 1920s. She is the little girl on the right, standing in a creek and grinning. The expression on her sister’s face (can I actually call such a small girl “Aunt Sis”?) suggests that the water is plenty cold, but I can almost see the little person who would one day be my grandmother wiggling with delight.

I’ve actually been working on this post since last week, but haven’t been able to work on it during the workday. Normally, if I have a few free minutes, I’ll type a bit and e-mail it to myself at home for later posting, but every time I tried to think about my grandma, how I really feel about her and what she means to me, I got very emotional and teary-eyed. Not a good look at work. Grandma would probably say not to cry, just concentrate on our happy memories together, but all those warm, fuzzy, happy and loving thoughts are exactly what keep getting me so emotional! But I’m sure I’ll manage…

My grandma’s philosophy is that, in life, if the door is locked, she’ll go through the window. I’m sure that at some point in her life, she has literally done just that.

She is my hero.

Hot Town, Summer in the City

As anyone who knows me can attest, I do like to complain, and the weather in England is one of my favourite subjects. It's probably my 2nd favourite, right behind the behaviour of other people (particularly on public transport). But as much as I gripe about how grey and cold and rainy it can be during the winter (and, to honest, the spring, autumn and sometimes summer, too), even I have to admit that when it gets going, the English summer is glorious. I think I am beginning to understand what Matthew means when he describes a day as “lovely and hot.” Growing up in Texas, I am more used to days being “oppressive and hot” or “blistering and hot” or even “deadly and hot.” I’ve been working in an office near a little urban park and have spent the last couple of lunch breaks quite happily sitting in the sun, watching the pigeons, eating a sandwich and listening to comedy podcasts. It’s so nice to be outside after months of seeking shelter.

My only real gripe – there has to be one! – is that while the weather outside is quite mild by Texas standards, most buildings are not air-conditioned and those that are, are in a rather ineffective, English sort of way. So it’s nice outside but when you go in, it’s clammy and close and sort of sticky. That’s one thing at home, where you can eat ice cream and lie on the floor with the windows open, but it is murder at work, when you are expected to sit at a desk and behave in a professional manner while sweating through your bra! Also, I get sweaty hands, which is disgusting when typing! Using a mouse is even worse! And photocopying – yuck! I’ve been drinking lots of water to stay cool; yesterday I went to the restroom so many times that someone asked me if I was okay. I just muttered something about hydration...

Our Glamorous Life

Last week’s mention of Pete Burns reminded me that I promised to write something about our (sort of) encounter with the Rolling Stones. So here it is:

A couple of weeks ago, Matthew got a package in the post containing tickets for Martin Scorsese’s Rolling Stones concert film “Shine a Light” and booking info for a hotel in Soho. It seems that he’d entered a competition online and won. The premiere was the next night, when he was scheduled to work, so there was a bit of worry that he might not be able to get off and we’d have to give the tickets to someone else, but his boss got very excited and let him off (on the condition that if possible, we give Charlie Watts a hug). So we went to the premiere along with loads of other celebrities – ha!

Actually, there were lots of celebrities there. We had pleb tickets and so got ushered in pretty quickly, but they were showing the red carpet on the big screen in the cinema so we got to watch as each mildly famous person stood blinking under the barrage of flashbulbs. The woman “hosting” the red carpet portion of the evening asked all the celebs which was their favourite Rolling Stone – most said they love them all and couldn’t possibly choose, except for Liam Gallagher, who staggered up looking very drunk and unkempt and said he liked Brian Jones best. Which was pretty funny. Considering the quantity of celebrity, the quality wasn’t very high. They were mostly British television and music personalities; Matthew was impressed (and not completely in a good way) that I was able to identify a girl who is famous for a) being the daughter of an actor, b) dating the brother of a singer, who is himself a television actor (and the singer has a TV talk show, too), c) wearing very “edgy” clothes at fashionable places and thus getting her picture in the papers, and d) being in a futuristic kung-fu show in which she had purple hair and a pair of magic gym shorts once owned by the Buddha (but I don’t think that’s gone anywhere).

We got several looks at the Rolling Stones, both on the red carpet and because, while the celebs were upstairs in the balcony so they wouldn’t have to mix with the regular folk, the band walked right past us as they went up to the front to introduce the film. Actually, if our seats had been slightly worse (a couple of rows back and farther to the side), they would have walked right past us. As they went past, Mick said, “Not too much making out in the back, please” and the superfans around us thought that was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. If I think about it, though, it was probably the funniest thing ever said directly to them by a member of an iconic rock band, so fair enough. Up to this point, we were quite entertained. However, then we had to sit through the film.

To be fair, it was pretty entertaining as well. However, I think this was mostly down to being in a really big cinema with a really good sound system, surrounded by people who were really excited to be watching, so that it felt at times like we were actually at the concert. Several times I found myself almost clapping at the end of a song. But I don’t think I would watch it on TV at home. The most interesting parts were the archival and behind-the-scenes footage and there wasn’t much of it. And although I was impressed by the band’s physical stamina at their age, it did drag on a bit.

Some other impressions:

They are all really tiny! They aren’t very tall and most of them are wraith-thin – Keith Richards is the only one with even a hint of an old man potbelly. Mick Jagger was wearing shiny patent leather platform sneakers. I wondered if they might be orthopedic to deal with the havoc all that jumping around and twisting might have done to his back, but I now think they might be because his girlfriend is about 6 inches taller than he is.

Speaking of Mick Jagger’s girlfriend - she is a professional stylist, yet all his stage outfits looked like they came from the ladies’ resort section at Kohl’s department store. He wore black satin trousers (very slimming) and a burgundy shirt with pintucks down the front, which he took off to reveal a black t-shirt with subtle sequin details, which added just a touch of sparkle.

I thought Keith Richards looked a little bit like a grandpa - if your grandpa were actually a Berber tribeswoman. He had so many things tied in his hair or dangling from his belt, I thought I could hear him jingle when he moved, though I guess that could have been his old bones and dried-up, leathery internal organs.

Charlie Watts could be a vampire. He certainly looks like one and have you ever seen him in the daytime?

Anyway, we had a good enough time at the film and then spent the night at a nice hotel and had a big breakfast (included with the room) the next morning. We definitely like staying in hotels in town – it’s like traveling without all the hassle of actually going anywhere.

On Sunday I bit the bullet and went to Oxford Street for a bit of shopping. It was insanely crowded, as I knew it would be on a Sunday afternoon, but I had a fresh podcast to listen to during the 40 minutes I was in the queue for the changing room at Primark, so I was okay. I mean, my arm got very tired and I jettisoned several items before I even tried them on, but I was entertained. I ended up with a dress and some birthday presents for my lovely niece Mattie. I got some other bargains – even though I had to go to all three Uniqlo locations on Oxford Street. Their flagship store is almost completely given over to a range of artsy t-shirts they’ve done in collaboration with international artists and very large photos of Chloe Sevigny wearing said t-shirts, so that there is very little room left for anything else. I finally found some actual clothes at the third, oldest and by far least fashionable location – a couple of tops for £2.99 each and a trench styled jacket marked down from £39.99 to £19.99.

I also saw Pete Burns (of Dead or Alive and horror plastic surgery fame) in American Apparel. In a very ick-making move, they were playing “You Spin Me Right Round, Baby” when I walked in and about 30 seconds later I bumped into him. He was relatively small, only about my height, which surprised me because I always thought he was more statuesque. However, he did look a little bit like a monster in a fairy tale. I was telling this to a woman at work and she said, “You know, they’re people, just like us,” but I had to say, “No, actually, he’s not.”

Good News...and More Good News

The main good news is that it’s now official that I will be going back to school! In September I’ll start on an MA in Town and Regional Planning at the University of Westminster. It’s a full time course, just one year, and then I will finally have a degree that actually allows me to get a job. So far I’ve had the kind of liberal arts degrees that make one a more well-rounded person, very good at chatting to strangers at parties about the “arts” but prone to analyzing movies far beyond the point where other people are interested. With this new degree, and after jumping through a few more hoops (mostly racking up enough hours of work experience), I’ll be a town planner and (hopefully) a member of the Royal Town Planning Institute. Membership in anything Royal is pretty exciting. Also, the campus where I’ll be taking classes is across the street from Madame Tussaud’s!

For those unfamiliar with it, town planning in the UK is like zoning on steroids. There are national, regional and local levels of regulations or “guidance” as it is euphemistically called, some of which can conflict, and which take into account everything from the aesthetics of a design, safety, impact on local traffic, accessibility for the disabled, environmental impact, archeological sensitivity of proposed building sites, to even whether new buildings will block too much sunlight to existing ones or “overlook” them and thus infringe on current occupants’ privacy. These things have to be considered in pretty much every construction situation - whether someone wants to build an extension on their house or a huge shopping centre. In some historical buildings, permission has to be given before changes are made to the internal layout.

Obviously, there is a lot to it and while planning has a reputation for being really boring, I find it fascinating. Last year I read what is considered the seminal text in the field The Death and Life of American Cities by Jane Jacobs and got really hooked. (I borrowed it from a friend and now have it on my Amazon wishlist - hint hint.) I’m now working my way through an anthology on urban design and have been scavenging magazines from the architects’ office where I’m temping. Last night I said to Matthew, “You know, this course only lasts one year. I don’t know if I’ll have time to learn everything I need to know!” His response was something along the lines of, “In that case, stop watching TV and get to reading your book.” I ignored this, as we were watching a Dylan Moran stand-up special which I was finding very funny.

More good news – Thursday we got cable! For free! Matthew works for a TV network which has recently decided that all their UK employees should be able to watch at home so they’re paying for us to get cable. I expect this will substantially improve our quality of life, or at least allow us to watch cricket on TV.* As Matthew says, woo and, indeed, hoo!

*Actually, we won't be able to watch the cricket, as it is on a different cable network. I am pretty disappointed because I actually do enjoy watching cricket. It is so English - they break for lunch and tea - and the game is so famously complicated that even a rudimentary understanding of it makes me feel that I might finally be cracking this "English" thing. (They have a phrase, "that's not cricket," which means something isn't right. It can be used about something really horrendous, like the Zimbabwean elections, but means that's just not the way we play the game. It came to a head last year when a Pakistani player was accused of ball-tampering, a racism row erupted, and all everyone could say was that it was just so not at all cricket!) Anyway, Matthew suggests that I start watching Formula 1 racing with him, but that's obviously ridiculous. However, we do have a "pick of the week" on-demand feature, which means that last night we watched Dr Who six days after broadcast without taping or downloading it or anything. So that's cool.