Ah, Engrish...

Today's is pretty awesome too: www.engrish.com

That's Alright, Baby...

Hey there, fancy pants

With the advent of Halloween upon us, consumer dialogue has turned to cardboard decoration and plastic costuming. The U.K. does not, or I should say has not, given this holiday the same attention as the U.S., but they seem to be catching up. Pumpkin displays at roadside stands, Jack-o-Lantern carving community activities, aisles of costumes and decorations at the grocery store, and BBC reports on fines for pranksters are all indications that England is getting into the spirit of All Hallows Eve.

As I've perused advertisements for different folk, church, and community events, I've made a charming discovery: the British call "costumes" "fancy dress." I love it. "Discounts for children in fancy dress!" "Fancy dress encouraged!" "Prizes given for the best fancy dress!"

So I ask you: What will be your fancy dress this Halloween?

We've discussed what Jonah's first Halloween costume will be. James wants him to be a greaser--complete with the cigarette box rolled into his white T-shirt sleeve. Last night as we bathed him (Jonah), we experimented with different hair-do's and came to the realization that in order to do a respectable pompadour one must have a more-than-respectable amount of hair. Poor kid. I suppose greaser is still on the short list, but we're also entertaining other options.

Photo Caption Contest!

Leave your entry by clicking the comments link below. The author of the winning caption receives the title of Grand Solipseismologist--at least until we hold another competetive event.

Come out of the cupboard, you boys and girls...

This Columbus Day weekend we escaped to the great metropolis of Londinium. What follows is a rough sketch of events, thoughts, and places we visited.

FRIDAY
Afternoon: We set up camp in the back of the bus (where the cool kids sit) to London. With our multiplicity of bags spread over the five seats of the back row and the excited squeals emanating from the car seat, we presented quite a deterrant to other cool kids who were considering any vacant seats nearby. We were just too cool for them.

The ride was approximately three hours, and over that stretch of time I came to re-realize that there is just too wide a variety of ring tones in this world. I fully understand the risks involved with too few--familiar I am with watching a movie wherein a character's phone goes off and I check my own purse. However, the opportunity for the retarded masses to each subject the rest of us to their retarded "individuality" makes me want to bludgeon their retarded phones with a cricket bat. Repeatedly.

Evening: We arrived at Victoria Coach Station and found our way to the underground where we found the rest of London vying for the ticket machines. We eventually sorted ourselves out (after two trips to said ticket machines amongst said crowd maneuvering unsaid luggage and child). We then discovered, though not unexpectedly, that England is like the rest of Europe in being quite health-conscious and wishing all underground passengers to cope with many many stairs. Handicap access? P-shaw.

Our bumbling juggling adventures notwithstanding, we finally made it to the Georgian apartment building in Kensington that would be our accommodations for the weekend. We got our keys, and hoisted luggage plus kid up to the third floor where a beautifully renovated apartment breathlessly awaited us--or maybe we were the breathless ones. We passed a pleasant evening acquainting ourselves with the secret nooks and beauty 50" HD the apartment had to offer, then settled in for sleep.

SATURDAY
Morning: After rustling up the young'un and all associated paraphernalia, we headed out in search of Notting Hill and, more specifically, the Portobello Road flea market. We tried to do this early, in hopes of heading off the not-recently-washed masses who were sure to turn up. Unfortunately, the London Council transportation authority had other ideas, and closed the Circle and District lines--the ones we needed, of course--for the whole weekend. With the wistful ambition only a man willing to say, "It doesn't look all that far on the map," possesses, we headed out on foot. By putting the ram in pram, we quickly made our way through the crowded sidewalks of Kensington and into the serene, leafy trails of London's embassy district just west of Hyde park.

As we neared Portobello Rd, we followed the crowds to the market. It stretched on for miles, offering a wide variety of merchandise from antique sporting equipment and food jars to hip bohemian fashion to rummage goods to "second-hand" bicycles (Hey, that's my bike! I thought it had been stolen. Wait a minute...). We heard so much Italian amongst the crowds that I truly forgot we were in England. I came close to addressing a stall owner/operator in Italian on a few occasions.

Afternoon: After eating our packed lunch, we discovered the food section of the market and greatly regretted our planning ahead. Ah well, onward and upward. We finished strolling the length of the market and decided to head into the heart of London. We eventually located the nearest tube stop, navigated the unrelenting stairs, and caught the next train to Westminster.

Here I will have to move to listing so as to avoid too much tedious detail. We walked to: Downing St., Whitehall, Trafalgar Sq., the Savoy Hotel (where Mom and I stayed a few years ago for a conference), and down a little alley of restaurants near the hotel to eat at a little Italian joint.

Evening: As we emerged from the restaurant, day was winding down and nightlife was winding up. The city lights danced and sparkled their invitation to join the fun in pubs, nightclubs, and theaters. We took to our feet once again to explore a few of the hopping parts of town: Leicester Sq., Covent Gardens, and all that lay in between. We jostled along with the masses for a bit, then sought the quiet that lay along the river. Our stroll brought us back to the Westminster underground stop and we hoisted Jonah plus stroller once again down the stairs into the hot belly of the city.


SUNDAY
This weekend was our church's semi-annual General Conference, which means that services were being broadcast from Salt Lake City. Unfortunately for us, we did not have an internet signal at our flat to receive said conference via the www, and we had not looked up church addresses in London where we could go to view it via satellite with the other members. So we sought other methods of worship for our sabbath.

First we went to the Tate Modern to view the beauty that man can create. Unfortunately, we didn't see much that really inspired us. So we headed out towards Westminster Abbey where we knew a three o'clock evensong would shortly be in session. We didn't relish the thought of hoisting the stroller down and up and down and up a load of stairs in the underground, so we decided to walk--quickly. The street vendors and performers along the Thames became a whirl of delicious aromas and vibrant colors as we darted through the strolling Sunday crowd.

We arrived breathless and slightly glowing just in time for the opening hymn. We were seated with the small crowd of other just-on-timers, and thanked our lucky stars that the walk had lulled Jonah to sleep. The abbey was beautiful, and the voices of the choir floated upward like lingering, sweet-smelling wisps of incense. Jonah woke up part way through the service and decided to add his own sweet, joyous voice to the choir's.

Having had our fill of the angelic, and having once again changed Jonah's diaper in a far-too-awe-inspiring setting for that particular transaction, we were off to run the city ragged once more. We headed over to Bond Street via the Tube (more stairs). We grabbed some dinner in a great Lebanese joint, during which I surreptitiously fed Jonah, unsure of how this proceeding would be viewed by our very kind hosts.

Evening: Although we had skirted through some of the Soho neighborhoods the night before, we hadn't realized where we were (which takes some of the cool out of it), and wanted to take in the full experience. So off we trotted to discover Bohemia. We immediately found the gay street--gay pubs and night clubs and transvestites mincing down the street. It was quite festive. We wound our way around the rest of Soho, drinking in the lights and the energy. Eventually a street with bobbing red paper lanterns strung back and forth above our heads told us we'd found Chinatown. Restaurants and grocery stores alike glowed from within. One restaurant proudly proclaimed the year of the pig with a large window decoration of Miss Piggy that lit up. Eventually we had our fill of the nightlife and headed home.

MONDAY
Monday was to be our last day in London. We headed back to Chinatown for lunch in a little dumpling shop we'd passed the night before. It was absolutely perfect and put us in marvelous spirits. We then hit Green Park, Buckingham Palace, Hyde Park (Jonah loved feeding the ducks), Herrod's (if you want to view paradise...), and the Victoria and Albert Museum. Back to the apartment, sorted out the keys, spent a few hours trying to locate the coach station, and back on the bus to wisk us off to dear Cheltenham once again.


Over the course of these three days we completely exhausted ourselves, but we found London to be quite a wonderful place--despite, or perhaps because of, the ubiquitous stairs, our black boogers at the end of the day, every language but English being spoken at any given point in the city, the amazing architecture, the bustling nightlife, the colorful street performers, the serene parklife, and the friendliness of the people. It's definitely on the shortlist of places we'd like to live.

A few more pictures can be found here.

Just a note

We've a new addition on our sidebar: Lately on our tube. Here we have listed some of the entertainments we've been snacking on lately--TV, DVD, etc.. Some of the items listed are links to video or pictures, so please check them out.

Also, some of you may have noticed, and some have not, but occasionally we throw links within our posts. They appear as text of a different color from the rest of the post. Please do check it out.

Cheers!

Our baby can beat up your baby...

How many sit-ups can your baby do? Bring it on.

English Breakfasting

Crumpet. The word just sounds delicious. Like treacle, as in treacle tart and treacle golden syrup. Yum! But I digress. Now crumpet (not to be confused with strumpet) is "a thick, flat, savory cake with a soft, porous texture, made from a yeast mixture cooked on a griddle then toasted and buttered" (according to our dictionary widgit). Because of its porous nature, it soaks up the butter and whatever remotely viscous sweet gooey substance you decide to spread upon it whilst it is still warm from the toaster. For example, honey upon a buttered crumpet is divine. However, we have discovered a confectionary delight which rivals honey on the crumpet. Enter lemon curd.

Lemon curd is quite possibly the ambrosia of the Greek gods. It is basically the filling of a lemon meringue pie, though a little more spreadable, and infinitely more accessible, since you can purchase lemon curd in a jar at virtually any grocer around town. It is tasty in it's own right, and I'm not entirely sure how the English eat it, but seeped into the nooks and craters of a crumpet it is the very reason for which I hop out of bed each morning.

Unfortunately, as far as we've discovered, the crumpet is not a part of a traditional "full English breakfast". Said breakfast incorporates sausage, poached egg on toast, baked beans, a rasher of bacon (similar in appearance to a nice serving of a spiral-cut ham), and a broiled tomato. We've enjoyed full English breakfasts at each of the charming bed and breakfasts we've frequented in our travels--James even ordered a full Scottish breakfast when we visited Edinburgh (pronounced "e-din-BUR-a", of course), which is basically the same deal as the English. (Which begs the question: who is the true author of the Full Breakfast? Indeed.) Never at any of these opportunities for morning dining have we been proffered our beloved crumpets a la lemon curd. So it is not an official part of a traditional English breakfast, but it is a part of my English breakfast.

-m

Don't drive angry.

Do not drive angry...

Demons Out

Sometimes you just gotta dance.

(Director's note: all footage is in real-time--video was not sped-up, slowed-down, or altered in any way)

Bella Italia

A few weeks ago we decided to escape flooded England and head for the sunny clime of Italy.

DAY 1
Arrived in Milan and after much hand-wringing and confusion, found our way to our hotel in Genova.

Stepping out into the Ligurian night, with no plans, schedules, or deadlines, we headed into the depths of downtown to find some vittels. Genova, it turns out, is filled with sprawling alleyways just wide enough for us to walk side-by-side, pushing a stroller, and not have to physically bump into the prostitutes standing in the adjacent doorways--lots of fun to wander through, not so much fun to find a restaurant or, for that matter, find our way back out. Finally, we found an Italian butcher shop that advertised a tasty-looking menu. The hostess led us through the doorway, down a dimly-lit hallway, and into what looked like a antediluvian catacomb. The whole room was brick with buttressed ceilings and black iron fixtures. Mejkin's Gnocchi was delicious.

After dinner, we wandered down to the port and saw the city's central fountain, bought some gelato, and headed back to the hotel.


















DAY 2
Our hotel had advertised a Continental Breakfast. Having spent many-a-night in U.S. hotels with "continental breakfasts", we went downstairs fully expecting something along the lines of a couple of cheap, packaged pastries, some watered-down O.J., and single-serving boxes of off-brand corn flakes. Much to our surprise, we walked into one serious breakfast spread. Fresh breads and pastries, assorted fresh fruits and juices, meats, eggs, etc. We were so excited that we stuffed ourselves and didn't need to eat again until dinner.

Having spent two months in cold, rainy England, the first thing we wanted to do was hit the beach. Genova, being a port town, doesn't offer much in the way of beaches, so we headed west to Varazze. We rented a beach umbrella, settled in, and spent the whole day luxuriating in the Mediterranean sunshine. We didn't know how Jonah would take to the water, so we edged cautiously down to the surf and let him drag his toes in it. Turns out the boy is half-dolphin. He laughed and splashed, and even when we took him into deeper water and held him in mid-chest, he loved it. Having forgotten his sun-hat back at the hotel, we rigged a head covering out of his onesie; the locals thought it was hilarious, we should have sold tickets.

Feeling nicely toasted and recharged, we set into town and found a beautiful little pizzaria so that James could discover the joy of real, Italian pizza.



















DAY 3
Cinque Terre

Friday morning, after another overly-satisfying breakfast, we jumped the train to Monterosso al Mare, the first city of Cinque Terre. The plan was to walk the 12 km (63 mi.) along the coast which hits each of the 5 villages. After approximately 4 km (213 miles), and 73,271 steps up a mountain and through the terraced vineyards, we ran into a pack of German ladies heading the opposite direction. These ladies were very concerned that it would be too much work and too much heat for Jonah to make it the rest of the way (apparently being strapped to the front of Dad is a lot of work, poor guy). They insisted we turn around and go back to Monterosso. Being both ignorant, and American, we told them to take a hike (hah!), and kept on going to Vernazza. It turned out that we were right, Vernazza was only about 2 km (27,365mi.) farther, and most of that downhill.

Covered in sweat, and smelling distinctly European, we crested the final summit and watched as the city of Vernazza stretched out before us--quaint, colorful buildings perched on the edge of a tiny peninsula jutting out into the Mediterranean Sea. We sat down, exhausted and filthy, on the pier and spent a few hours watching tan children frolic and even tanner adults sunbathe (seriously, everyone over 15 looked like they were wearing full-body naugahyde suits).

We started Here:



















Several sweat-drenched hours later, we ended up here:



















DAY 4
Tearfully, we ate what we knew to be our last Continental Breakfast on the Continent and hurried back to the room to pack and rush to the station for the early train to Milan. Jonah, however, had other plans. Just as we had packed everything up, returned the key, and were turning to head out the door, the little magician conjured up a volume of vomit at least 11 times more than could possibly fit in his little tummy. It was everywhere. Jonah, and everything within 10 feet (including Mejkin) looked like someone pulled the pin, and threw a cottage cheese grenade right in his lap. We had to unpack pretty much everything, hose as much as we could off in the shower, and take a somewhat later train.

Because we were flying back to Bristol early the next day, we had made reservations at the airport hotel, which was 50 miles away from downtown Milan. We didn't want to have to make the trip from Milan to the hotel 3 times, so we decided to just have James pack Jonah in our carrier, then put our baggage in the stroller. This worked surprisingly well, but the gypsies, thinking we were one of them, kept trying to tell us jokes in their crazy gypsy tongue.

We went to the Duomo, entry to which, due to new security measures, requires a full inspection of all bags. The poor security guard who got stuck with us opened our bags, looked in a bit, checked to make sure his boss wasn't looking, then quietly hushed us inside. Interestingly, entry to the Duomo also requires modest dress--that means no short-shorts or tank tops. The piazza outside was filled with enterprising immigrants selling shawls for women to wear inside.

We spent the rest of the day wandering the city. Eventually, after loading all of our accouterments up and down 1,328 flights of subway steps and onto a tram car, we ended up in one of Mejkin's old mission areas, Zara. Looking for a place to eat, we finally found a nice looking little pizzaria. We went inside and found a Chinese family that had been running the restaurant for 10 years. James spoke to them in Chinese, Mejkin in Italian. The owner was so surprised he asked us if we wanted Chinese or Italian food, we decided to try Chinese-made Italian; it was fantastic.

We made it to our hotel about midnight, woke up at 4:30, scrambled to the airport and caught the early flight back to England.

Not a brother, not a mother...

Jonah, now 4 months old, has no interest in crawling, but can't get enough of standing and walking.

Caveat Emptor:

Press play at your own risk; you'll be humming this for weeks to come.

The old man is snoring

After five weeks of cloudy, the last two days were actually sunny--consistently sunny--to the point where after spending a few hours reading in the park I had rosy sunkisses on my arms and the pleasant sting of the red on my legs rubbing against denim when I changed into pants later that evening when things had cooled down.

This morning, however, we woke up to rain, rain, rain that hasn't stopped all day. TORRENTIAL has been the word of the day. James passed cars up to their bumpers in water and a dude bailing out his basement apartment on his way home from the bus stop. When he got home, umbrella dripping, his jeans were soaked to the thigh. "40 ml an hour" is what the interview-ee on TV is now saying about the rain we received today. I don't know what the figures for July are, but this past June was the rainiest in recorded history--and since this is ye olde country, I'm counting that as pretty significant.

So tonight we stayed in and watched umbrellas bustle by and the newly-formed lakes in the park across the street gradually eat up more ground. As I was putting some clean laundry away, James urgently called me to come see: "There's a duck swimming in the puddle across the street!"

Indeed so there was, a female mallard was checking out the new pond and what it had to offer. We had never seen ducks in the area, as there is no body of water nearby that we've come across, but this little lady was making herself right at home.

I'm a big boy now

So James' birthday was a couple of weeks ago--the big 3-0. That Saturday we celebrated by sleeping in a bit, then heading out to some fine breakfast dining:


Then we headed out for adventures in Wales (cited below). It was a lovely day. On our way back, we stopped for James' birthday dinner, bangers and mash (a.k.a. sausages and mashed potatoes) at a sweet little pub. James is quite excited to share the world of foody delights with Jonah, but so far the boy has declined most offers.


Finally, back home to open presents:

Happy b-day, Dad!

Pub-walks

The pub-walk, an old cotswold tradition, is to meet at a public house (bar), order some food, walk for a good long way, then return to the pub for the food. This past week, we went on two different walks, both about 5 miles and through some of the prettiest scenery in all of Brittania--here's a taste:

Naunton




5 Mile Inn




This is the pub we ate at--apparently it's somewhere in the neighborhood of 300 years old. The doorways are approximately 5' 7".

Circus Monkey

Let the training begin...

Jonah in the Wales

We went to Southern Wales yesterday and spent the day wandering around Chepstow castle. Here are some photos:


Yes, Daddy dressed Jonah for the day--and yes that's a sleeper under the overalls.





Afterwards, we went here for Fish and Chips, and Bangers and Mash:

English Riviera?

For Independence Day this year, we drove down to Exeter, then on to Tor Bay (it's been called the English Riviera). Exeter is a nice town with an enormous 11th century cathedral and a nice river front area. We spent the morning wandering around the cathedral, then got in the car, and headed to Tor Bay...or so we thought. After driving in the wrong direction on then turning around twice, we finally ended up on the southwest coast of Brittania. We slowly wound our way through the various towns and hamlets lining the coast until we ended up in Torquay where we had dinner.

Here are some photos:








This is Tor Bay:

Guy Smiley

Jonah and the Wail

Jonah occasionally shares with us what one nurse described as "a piglet squeal"...not sure how to take that, but here is a little taste.

JLC

Jonah Leland Core was born March 31, 2007. He weighed 7lbs, 13oz and had a surprising amount of body hair for someone so small. Since then, Jonah has put on a couple of pounds, grown a few inches, and has almost mastered rolling from his front to his back, big-time progress.

Despite 25 hours of labor, Mejkin is recovering quickly and is relieved to be getting out of the house.