The Most Fun You Can Have Without Taking Hostages

I am full of bright ideas. And always, and I mean ALWAYS, while still in the thinking-rather-than-acting bit, these ideas just reek of profound brilliance. The latest in a string of ideas has been the one where I don’t buy any books until Christmas. I’ll say it slow for those of you who think I may have stuttered. No. Books. Until. Christmas.*

We’ve all seen Titanic, yeah? You know the bit at the end where Jack and Rose are holding hands in the freezing cold of the North Atlantic and Jack has essentially carked it so Rose lets him go but in an arms stretched, longing for his return kind of way? Right, well that’s the exact motion I made whilst (I’ve been in the UK, can you tell?) driving past a giant book megastore just the other day.

Well, so long Jack, I’ve got a new love and his name is Library! Faithful Readers, I have breathed in the world of free books and I might never purchase a book again (Wow! Insert bold-faced lie here.). My mom used to take us to the library when we were kids and I guess the bit about the books being FREE totally escaped my memory once the words “disposable income” entered my vocabulary. I spent a few solid hours at the library computer catalogue yesterday making lists and taking names. Dewey Decimal lives on! I had a giant pile that I carefully whittled down to a small selection of 10 or so. I showed my shiny new card and walked out with books! And a documentary DVD! For free!** Also, people who regularly rent films from rental places where you have to pay: Not only are DVD rentals FREE at the library you also have 7 days to watch them. New release or not. And did I mention you just show your card, and walk the hells out of there?

Confession time. I am (or sure hope I can say, used to be) one of those library patrons who had a hard time sticking to due dates. I’ve paid some crazy overdue library fines in my life, and sometimes, if the fine got high enough, I just stopped going to library altogether. Several of the books in my collection have a conspicuous My Town Public Library stamped in them somewhere. In fact, when I hesitated for a few days before going the library route because I feared they would still have a black and white photo of me behind the check-out counter. Maybe they flagged my account. Maybe the fact that my sister never return Many Waters has somehow further tainted my own murky record. Remarkably, to me at least, I am no longer on file, and sailed through the Get Library Card step. Obviously, these women have no idea that by next month, they’ll be leaving some kind of a message on my answering machine.

Uh, hello, this is The Library. Your DVD copy of Around the World in 80 Days with Michael Palin, Guerrilla Gardening, and The Happy Hooker are seriously over due. Ms. Landon? Hello? I can hear you breathing… Have you had an account here before..?

*If someone GIVES me a book *coughamazonwishlistcough* or I get a gift certificate for a book selling establishment, having a new book is okay. Also, if I have to give a gift between now and then, I want it to be a book (sisters who are 9 and 14 REALLY appreciate this), I could buy a book. I live for provisos!

**I know, I know, essentially somewhere along the line, someone is paying for library books. My taxpayer dollars buy books, as do large donations and user fines. I get it, not EXACTLY free, but you catch my drift. Stop being so damned literal already…

Wherein I Imagine Requiring a Whole Farm to Sustain my Ridiculous Hobbies

We are in St. Ives and having a lovely time. We’ve drank the Penultimate Beer in this our last stop on the rail ale trail. As soon as my time here runs out you can find me at The Western chugging the last pint of ale and calling a moratorium on all beverages made from barley and hops. I’ve got my free t-shirt and can now say that sometimes things like rail ale trails seem more brilliant in theory. Imagine a pub crawl but with 14 pubs and several hundred feet of eleveation between train stations and drinking stations. Then imagine how full your stomach gets after 2 pints of crappy Labbats Blue. Good, are you with me? If you have ever had beer at Le Bop in Hull then you’re way ahead of me. Now try to imagine how full it might get if you were drinking a beer that felt more like a blended up meal than a thirst-quenching liquid. Yeah, that about sums up the Rail Ale Trail. Pus, I’ve decided I don’t like a brochure telling me where I can drink my ale.

Call me a tourist who goes in for stereotypical claptrap but now that we’ve fully arrived in Cornwall, I cannot get enough of the cream tea! Clotted cream, people! Despite having a not-so-pleasant sounding name clotted cream is divine and I am devising means to ship whole cases home to myself. It can be made and while DM says I don’t need a cow, the recipe I saw called for VERY fresh milk. Obviously, this means I should get a cow. And while we’re at it a sheep and several goats. Maybe a llama. And a chicken. That’s still well within the realm of hobby farm.

If prodded, one might point out here that I’d probably feel a whole lot less bloated on the ale trail if I didn’t wash down several pints with clotted cream and scones. Fortunately, I didn’t prod.

Wherein I am Cured of the Palsy in the Restorative Waters

Alright, we’re in Bath, once the social scene of Georgian England. Thanks to the madness of King George it was no longer enough to see and be scene in Bath, rather one was better off in the healing salt waters off the coast in Brighton. So much for the Romans.

We hit the actual Roman baths last night after the crowd had died down. Please note, if you plan to visit the baths in the future you cannot go dressed as a Roman. Seriously. We didn’t try, but suggested to the ticket agent that it would have been a clever idea whereupon we were told that had we stolen the bedsheets from the university residence and worn them as clothing we would not be allowed into the bath proper. And not because we’d stolen university linens. The audioguide (of which there were three to choose from: regular, children’s version and According to Bill Bryson-style) was long and dare I say a smidge boring? I dare! Boring. Bill Bryson’s version wasn’t all that much better. He didn’t even have the good sense to be funny. I was cautioned by signage to not touch the water, but this only provoked in me a great curiosity to do just that. Untreated water! Gasp. I grew up in Thorold… South!

We also ate a Sally Lunn bun (which should, in my clever opinion, be spelled with a double ‘n’ also). Our server just squeaked in some actual service after a bear 20 minute wait for some acknowledgement of our existence. Hey everyone, Sally Lunn’s bunns? Brioche! Go to France, or your local bakery for that matter. Man, she had everyone fooled.

This is not my first visit to Bath. I was here for Model United Nations debating when I was in highschool.  What’s killing me is that I don’t remember a damn thing. I didn’t think I’d be all forgetting stuff. That happens when you’re old. I can recall shandies. And it being very hilly. That’s it.  What else have I forgotten? Good grief.

Tomorrow we move on to Bristol. It will no doubt rain again, as it has everyday that we have been here. Everyone knows Britain is soggy – how is it I seem to have forgetten? It’s also been chilly and having only brought along a single pair of pants sucked it up (and in) to purchase a second pair this morning. At £6 it was a steal. So Mom, my legs are still pasty, thank you very much…

A Soggy Day in London Town

Okay, so only 10 minutes left on the Internet cafe. (Note: Returned to cafe post-dinner for corrections and additions. Read it fast for a more whirlwind feel.) Here’s the whirlwind wrap up of the past few days, numbered for your reading pleasure:

1. Back at home, our cat escaped. She was in heat. She has returned, thank goodness, but no longer seems to be in heat. Would anyone like a kitten?

2. Hampton Court, home of Henry VIII. Things that are considered fish include beavers and swans. Chow down, eh? I also quite enjoyed the maze. I loves me a good maze, rain or shine, and frankly, more people should have mazes in their backyards.

3. Eye of London and Southbank = pretty cool despite being filled with tourists (like me!). We’re going to head back to check out The Hayward’s exhibition on Pyschobuildings and maybe we’ll catch a performance of King Lear from standing room at The Globe. Right now the London Literature Festival is happening at Southbank Centre. An author whose blog I read is having a tea/book launch on Thursday afternoon. Unfortunately, I’ll be on a train to Bath and will miss the event. At least I’ll be able to obtain a copy of the book well before it is released in the New World.

4. Today is British Museum. We got there a bit late, after having laid in this morning to make up for the sleepless night we’d spent worrying about what happens to kittens in heat when released into a neighbourhood of wild tomcats. Nonetheless it was busy as hell. Of note, the Rosetta Stone and the somewhat controversial Parthenon friezes and sculptures.

5. Also caught a game of cricket. I am just grasping an understanding of how it’s played. They wear white. The ball is hard and instead of shooting t-shirts and hotdogs out of potato guns, they have tea time at the half. How civilized.

6. DM, the astute vegetarian, is getting his fill of meat flavoured things. It strikes me as hilarious and also a tad endearing that he so loves meat flavoured chips. We dined this evening at an amazing vegetarian restaurant called Food for Thought. It’s in Covent Garden and if you’re ever in London you should go, whether you’re a veggie or not.

7. It’s a bit chilly here, but certainly nothing that warrants a winter coat or scarf, though the Britons (King of the who?) have taken this opportunity to preview or haul out cool weather fashions. I’ve seen women in obviously winter coats and young girls in scarves (and for warmth not fashion). Admittedly, DM and I both purchased a sweatshirt today in an effort to increase our range of cool weather clothing. I am however not in need of the incessant heaters turned on everywhere. I feel like I am slowly being broasted to death. What’s broasting? Well thank gawd for Wikipedia (and ranch dressing).

Ack, time is running out and must check gestation period of cats (Approximately 63 days. See you in September, the queue for kittens starts now…) Ta!

An Open Letter to the UK After being Awake for 24 hours

Dear United Kingdom,

Can I call you Britain? Maybe you’d prefer England? You say that’s for close friends only? I see. Well I can be that way as well.

It must be said up front that you ought to be a whole nicer to red eye travellers when they touch down in your ancient nation. Heathrow is a bit of a nightmare and frankly, if y’all are going to be welcoming the world in 2012 might I suggest making it easier to get out of the airport? I can admit that plane food, gin and very little sleep do not make for a top o’ the morning (I know, I know… Irish) kinda experience but still. Might you also tell your commuters the following: Hooray for publuic transit patronage but if you’re going to be running everywhere and acting all late and huffy why not leave a smidge earlier?

Author’s note: The second half of this letter was composed after a lengthy nap and filling up on pints and Morris dancing…

Oh, England! How I love thee! Let me count the ways:

1. You’re not garish and huge and from my view from Brighton and Hayward’s Heath you don’t appear to be in love with Big Boxes. I love that your citizens drive little cars and that every sink in which I have washed my hands has been a quaint, space saving gem. It’s the little things, of this I am aware…

2. You love sandwiches and pasties and pie and stopping in the day to have a cuppa (or a pint of real cider) and maybe a little slice of something.

3. Morris dancing! I have videos that will speak volumes but for now let us just say, “Oy”!

4. DM is happy and full of crisps (potato chips, you wankers!) that taste like Canadian ham. Honest. I don’t care for ham but I sure do loves me some ham flavoured chips.

5. People say “jolly good”, in all seriousness. I think. I have a theory they might put it on for the tourist pig dogs but as when I was in Australia, I am constantly amused by what comes out of the mouths of Britons.

Who are the Britons? Why we all are! And I am your King.

So UK, after a rough start, we’re friends again. North Americans sure are fickle.

Love,

Kim