As I have been tired, busy, and promising someone a chance to be a published blog author for almost a year now, I am very happy to finally offer the chance for a guest writer (as opposed to a GHOST writer, and I am glad for that, let me tell you, as I would never sleep well again after being so well-haunted...) to take over for a bit. Kelley and I have been friends since we were small, and my sister Kelli introduced us. She is here on a visit, and I am happy to put our family blog in her so-very capable hands. (Or so she says, though we haven't actually experienced that massage magic as of yet. hint hint.)
Hi there! Kelley here. Amy thought it might be nice for a small change, so you are to temporarily to be exposed to my version of a little thing we like to call "return to the motherland." Just teasing, I have never actually called it that before, but since this is my second visit to Amy and Ashley in England, and Amy promised a blog from us last time (she lied, naughty girl) I promised that I would write this time. (She just thinks it will be once. I intend to milk her for every word.)
After a long flight from Dallas/Fort Worth airport to London Heathrow (9 hours) and then a trip on the tube to the train station (1 hour) and then a train trip down to Canterbury (1.5 hours) I arrived here on Friday the 2nd. Note that if you should visit from America, these sleep Nazis will NOT allow you to escape your exhaustion and jet lag until what they consider an appropriate evening hour. It gets dark here at four. Tor-ture. (In the infamous words of Sir Stephen: no pain, no gain, so deal with it. Or something like that.)
On Saturday, the 3rd, we visited some friends of Amy and Stephen's for dinner. Here are Stephen and the Transplants (that's actually the name of their band):
By the way, he doesn't always smile like a serial killer in photos. Andy and b00 (the friends) made us a lovely meal, (involving eating anglerfish for the first time, and blood, gore, and medical-grade superglue, but not on any of us) and we played a few rounds of a new game called Bausack. It is a really challenging game where you make a tower of these odd-shaped wooden blocks. The catch is that other players choose your pieces for you. The last tower standing is the winner. The rookie (that's me) won the first round with this creation:
Ashley had a lovely 2nd place masterpiece with this one:
We stayed quite late past dinner, and walked home in the dark (very dark) and cold (really, really cold) and snuggled into beds with hot water bottles and many blankets.
Today, Amy and I went down to the High Street (yes I said down, then high), which is a short, quite scenic walk from their flat. (She says short and quite scenic NOW, but when we were actually walking it she sang quite a different song involving lots of 'Are we there yet'esque statements.) This is a school field nearby.
See the little black hills of dirt? Mole holes. Stephen says to call them mole hills, but I will let you decide. (Kelley and I both called them mole-holes until Stephen corrected us. I suppose I know that they should be called mole hills, and I don't know why my instinct is to call them mole-holes, but it is.) As you stroll down the path alongside the river, the Canterbury cathedral pops up in between the trees and over rooftops like a creepy stalking historical monument.
(Just look at those creepy stalker-building spires. You can't miss those, it's how you differentiate between a regular historic monument and a creepy-stalking one.) I kid. It is really quite stunning, but for some reason never fails to surprise me when I'm walking down the road surrounded by buildings and all of a sudden, Bam! No, it doesn't mow you down. It's more like, Boo! Here I am! Again! This is the creepy wooded path that Amy will not go down in the dark unaccompanied. Can't say I blame her:
(That picture may well be the favourite one that Kelley took today. I love the muted colours and it actually looks just like a creepy pathway should. Well done, Kel.) Here are a couple of buildings within town. This is a synagogue on one of the side streets (Story: This building used to be a synagogue, and it has since been bought out by The King's School, a swanky private institution that charges more in tuition for the boarding children than my tuition does. It is now a recital space used for music performances.):
This is an official Canterbury Historical Building (according to the sign)--there are quite a few of these in town. (In the midst of a variety of small shops, this house is actually residential. I almost feel sorry for the people who live there, as every tourist in the area has to stop and take a picture of this house. One time I actually saw someone taking a picture of the residents as they went in.)
Not sure if this sign is old, but it was on a historical building and I just liked it.
And this lovely old building houses...the Gap.
Here is a shot of the high street (also called the Parade) (Or at least 1/3rd is. There is St. Peters, The Parade, and then the High street all as names on this one straight, 1/2 mile stretch of pedestrianised road.):
And just around the corner, this sign wishes you a Happy Christmas. (On January 4):
And here is the cathedral again. I think it's following me.
Before we left town to head home, we made a couple of stops, one of them at Tesco, which is one of the groceries.
Now, the grocery stores amuse me, because one of the first things my mother said to me when I told her I was visiting England was "Yuck. You'll hate the food." (She doesn't yet hate the food, because no one here eats English food. We all eat Thai and Indian and American food, and French and Chinese and Spanish food. England is all about World food, anymore.) And it's not that it's just different, but they have odd names for things. For a complete mental perv like me, it is a joyous place.
For instance, there is an entire aisle dedicated to biscuits. Don't care that they are covered in chocolate or cinnamon flavored, they call them biscuits. Check out my picture of the cookie aisle. (I love biscuits. And cakes. Darn them. And this picture looks as bright and colourful and makes me want to bring them all to a much better home: namely mine.)
And this is the pickled portion of the store. Never seen so many pickled things in my life. And guess what wasn't in this section. Pickles. (Though there are pickled eggs, and onions and beets and garlic and sauerkraut, and lemons and shallots. English people like their pickled foods.)
And here is mince. Supposed to be ground lamb or beef or pork or whichever, but tell me truly. Doesn't this look like the bits in 'Kibbles n Bits'?
(If you don't think that looks like kibble, go HERE and look. I have thought that it does ever since I saw it for the first time, and I was so glad when Kelley said she thought so too.) For those of you curious about the edible porn, there are cans of things like this:
The can says things like "Everyone loves a pair of bangers!" and "Size isn't everything!" and "Hide the sausage!" These will henceforth be referred to as "Porn and Beans." And this:
Now, I saw the movie "The Full Monty", and I think that its funny that this is a can of sausage and beans. I'll let you run with that one. For those of you that haven't seen the film, and this joke is doing a complete flyby at the moment, go HERE. You'll see what I mean. (The Full Monty, in this case,refers to the full English breakfast, which the English have held onto tooth and nail despite being a culture of world foods. The full English breakfast consists of as many of the following items as possible: Eggs, bacon, sausage, beans, toast, mushrooms, black pudding, hashbrowns, fried bread, and tomatoes. The Full Monty=coronary heart disease. In a can.)
And after the Tesco, we stopped by the candy shoppe, called the The Sugar Boy, where you can see these:
Ahhh...Uncle Joe's Mint Balls. They keep you all aglow. You say immature, I say nevertheless amusing. Our last stop was to get kebabs, which are lovely pitas stuffed with meat shaved off these huge roasters, like this lamb one:
They are really yummy, I totally recommend them (mom's advice be darned). Afterwards we headed home and had dinner, including a yummy custard desert, which is like pudding, but a bit thinner, and served hot. We are now all huddled in Amy and Stephen's bed as Amy reads aloud, and I will shortly have to haul myself from the warmth to my own bed and hot water bottle (Best. Invention. Ever.) Thanks for letting me hijack your favorite blog, and I hope you will let me share again. Cheers.
No, Kelley, thank YOU. We all hope that you will hijack this blog again in the near future. Even Stephen is happy. Ill and delirious with fever (no Dearest, I am not a reindeer and I don't need to eat another carrot...) but happy nonetheless.
I was dressed as a pregnant rabbit. Not that inspiring, but to be honest I wasn't really feeling the Halloween costume love. Nothing fits, nothing is comfortable. This was the best I was willing to do. You can, however, see the baby bump rather clearly.
Rayanne (dressed as Madame Dragonfly) and I were doing a booth at the party. We were happily sticking children's hands into gooey pumpkin guts and making them guess what they were feeling. For their bravery, they got candy. There was much silliness.
Baby squirmed all night. Lately, the tiny kicks and punches that we used to feel have become massive twisting, squirming, rolling monster movements. It looks very much like my belly is a curtain, and we are all standing on the outside watching someone behind the curtain rolling and kicking at it. I wonder who that person is and what they are like ALL the time.
I think we are coming to the point that all of us are ready to be done with this pregnancy and move on to the having a baby bit. I feel like a house. I am /so slow/ and bending over for anything is difficult. Sleeping... heh, who sleeps?
