Is this the real life or is this just fantasy?

Today is Berit's 16th birthday. There's pizza. And cake. C'mon over.

It's our first day home from England. Hard to believe it's over. A whirlwind of English adventures that I hope we'll all remember fondly as we negotiate everyday life, which while most excellent, can also be mundane. I guess the trick is to view the every days as adventures in themselves. Except it's easier to do that when you're in a foreign land and around every corner is something new to smack you upside the head.

Monday night we went to see We Will Rock You, the long-running Queen musical at the Dominion Theater in Soho. The story is set in a dystopic future in which rock is dead, replaced by repetitive electronic constructs controlled by the government. The only chance to revive and save music on the iPlanet is for a pre-ordained hero to pull a sacred axe from a stone. The axe was left there by none other than Freddy Mercury. The protagonist is Galileo Figaro. Need I say more? Awesome. 

On the same day, the new heir to the throne was born - George Alexander - and so after the show we walked down to Leicester Square. Yes, people were partying in the street, but it didn't seem to be any more than usual. We'd expected more, actually, not just because of the royal birth but also because Johnny Depp was reported to have been in Leicester Square that night promoting a new movie. The kids went into M&M World before we left for Snog, the groovy, all-natural frozen yogurt shop.

Oh, and on Monday night it rained. It was our last night and the first rain we saw in England. The first rain anyone had seen in London for a while, and cheers in the streets went up with each thunderclap. Unideal for sleeping.

Did I happen to mention that while we were in England, Rowan spent every spare moment of down time reading? It's true. In the car, reading. In line at castles, reading. On the underground, reading. During the 20 days that we spent in England, Rowan read nine books - the entire Harry Potter series (the British versions) plus two others.

Tuesday we packed, we shopped, and we left. Our flight was at 4:05, though I misremembered it as being 4:30, depriving us of an essential 25 minutes as we tried to milk the last moments from London. It was probable 1:15 pm by the time we got to Piccadilly Circus to catch the tube to Heathrow, and it wasn't looking good for getting there two hours prior to departure. So at the last minute, we bit the bullet and caught a cab. At Heathrow just after 2:00 p.m. to check our bags, negotiate the airport, write some postcards, and fly.

Some sort of clerical error at the home office found us in business class rather than coach. We didn't complain. And we slept like babies when we got home.

It's Berit's birthday, but it's mellow. We're all wicked tired. And tomorrow I have to go to work. A different sort of adventure, altogether ("A different sort of adventure!")

Japanese Restaurant

"Someday, when I have a Japanese restaurant, I'm going to call it 'Japanese Restaurant.'" - Rowan

East London Markets

It is 6:30 am on the last full day of our trip, and I am standing in the kitchen of our London apartment typing this while the rest of the family sleeps. Sounds of hustle and also of bustle can be heard in the streets below. I can't believe it's almost over - our travels in England - and soon we will return to real life. Three weeks (almost) and each day a different adventure.

Yesterday, we left our Soho apartment at around 9ish. We wanted to be at the Spitalfields market early and be able to explore. Surprisingly, it was Pam who suggested that the 10 minute walk to Oxford Circus and the tube might be too long, that we should save our feet. She was right, but I wouldn't realize that until much later in the day.

Spitalfields was not the droids we were looking for. What we wanted was the market at Brick Lane, but we wouldn't have known that had we not tubed to Liverpool Station and put in the hours and pounds at Spitalfields, which was mostly a lot of t-shirts and fashion. I asked the slap watch guy about another nearby market and he sent us in the direction of Brick Lane for something decidedly more gritty. And more happening.

We show up on a side street that at first is a little disappointing - decidedly down-market, resembling nothing so much as a very large garage sale, though you couldn't ask for more when it comes to international people-watching. Buyers and sellers of all ethnicities milled and handled, bought and sold, pressed against each other within the vacant lot of tables. Further down, however, on Brick Lane itself, was the prize - a long venue filled with vendors - art and craft, books, old, broken musical instruments and turntables spinning £2 records, jewelry, and food. Lots of food stalls. We ate fruit cups and Eritrean sambosas and I continued to drink tea, tea - more tea!

On a side alley to the left we entered the something something art and tea garden shops, where Pam bought a card from an artist who looks like Malcolm Gladwell but paints like Ralph Steadman. I spoke with him, got his card, know his name - and he apprised me of the Ralph Steadman retrospective at the Cartoon Museum near the British Museum. 5£50 and I want to go there today or tomorrow. 

It is in this place that my shaggy son finally got his hair cut. Pam paid a barber who had a stall amidst all of the art stalls and Griffin was chopped into a respectable-looking do of a keen British lad. Berit too got her hair trimmed there.

From Brick Lane we walked toward the Shoreditch tube stop, a mistake on my part that wasn't made evident until too much walking was done. So we turned around and did more walking back to Liverpool. We took the tube to St. Paul's where we gave short shrift to the Museum of London. We were tired, our feet hurt, and walking around a museum was just not taking. We wanted to lie around, but we didn't want to go back to the flat. We sought advice. We went to Camden Town.

Hippy and trippy and full of punks and souvenir shops, what we enjoyed most about Camden were the crepes the kids bought and the mixed curry dish (after 6 pm, reduced to £3!) that I picked up along the canal. Dropping out of the street scene into the canal to sit next to the gently moving water and watch the boats bob up and down while the kids ate ice cream was a perfect end to the evening, and we headed back to the Camden Town Station where we caught the Northern Line back down to Kings Cross where we would switch to the Picadilly Line and then back to the flat.

Or so we thought. Because after leaving the Camden tube stop, on the train for Kings Cross, we discovered that Griffin had left a bag of gifts and souvenirs in the station, items Pam had purchased, the evidence of a day at the markets. So with little hope that  we'd see the bag on the seats we had previously occupied, we dashed through Kings Cross to the train returning to Camden, where we confirmed that the bag was indeed nowhere to be seen.  Most likely taken home by a lucky treasure-hunter, but Griffin and I nevertheless ran up the escalators to inquire of the station masters if anyone had turned the bag in. Questioning ensued, and Griffin was able enough to describe the contents so that after some signature-taking, we were able to return to the girls - Pam incredulous that we could recover the bag and a happy ending to the incident, especially for Griffin who had been distraught that he'd left the bag.

Today, we'll go to the Tower of London and, likely, Hamley's, a world famous seven floor toy store in Piccadilly  Circus. 

Down in a tube station at midnight.

Days have passed. Wednesday and Thursday, we spent walking through our nearby wood to tea, at the beach, and at an historic home in Parham. We even got to a fairly large car boot market outside of Climping.

Worlds away from all of that now, as we arrived in London late on Friday - earlier than originally planned due to a spontaneous trip to Oxfordshire for the Art in Action festival - which was in fact one of the coolest experiences here, an art festival with demonstrations, markets and practical classes - HUGE- with attendees from all over.

I (gratefully) dropped the car back at Heathrow Saturday morning and we spent the day walking around London - Leicester Square, Trafalgar Square. We took in the Portabello Market at Notting Hill Gate in the morning, and in the afternoon we took the Thames Clipper up to Greenwich for the Greenwich Market where there were lots of friendly people to talk to. I spoke with a Tibetan man who sold me Sushi, a t-shirt designer who was bringing West Africa to the West, and an older man named Keith, who smoked and sat on a bench next to the Thames and who explained to me the tidal patterns of the River as it went out - East to the North Sea - and the opportunities for mud-larking at low tide.

We went to the Tate - it was late - and the kids joked with me about the minimalist art.

And a walk back to the North side of the Thames, across the Millenium Bridge (best known for the scene in Harry Potter 7 when the dementors cause the bridge to spin and collapse) to St. Paul's Cathedral, to the Tube, and back to our 8 8 Old Compton Street apartment in the heart of Soho, where the streets are thronged with partygoers.

I want to tell you more, but I can't. There's a whole lotta London out there today. And Spitalfields Market opens at nine.

Harry Potter, Bath and Stonehenge Crows

Today is Wednesday, and so far this has been the chillest day yet. Pam and I are researching our entrance strategy for getting into London on Saturday. A chance meeting with a potter here earlier in our travels has sealed the deal for Friday plans at an art festival in Oxford, and now we're scheming to try to stay up there somewhere - Oxford, London, or somewhere in between  - and thus avoid driving back down here to the South coast and up again. Too much driving = bad.

The past couple of days involved a lot of driving and were definitely a mixed bag. On Monday, we drove up to London - actually just North of London to the Warner Brothers Studio in Leavesden for the Harry Potter Studio Tour. From our arrival in the Warner Brothers parking lot to our exit through the gift shop, the Harry Potter Tour was such a blast. We were all so excited to be there, and from start to finish we went from sets to props to costuming to special effects - all displays surrounding the actual making of the movies. 

It's actually quite mind-blowing when you think about the work they did there - for ten years they filmed these movies - thousands upon thousands of props crafted, hundreds of crew; they had a whole animal team to train the animals. And we got to see a ton of this stuff while listening to Tom Felton's (Draco) audio tour about the making of the movies. Here is a great overview of the Harry Potter Tour which, if you're ever in London and happen to be a Harry Potter fan, is well worth the cost and the trip up to Leavesden.

Berit took this great photo of Pam and I along with a throng sampling of the hundreds of British school children alongside of whom we took the tour. 

We're sitting on Sirius Black's motorcycle in the outside courtyard (the Night Bus is in the background). We'd walked over and asked the kids who were all sitting on and standing around the bike at the time if they would let us in to take a picture and they all just stared at us. So instead we decided to just join them, telling them to "Smile!" while Berit took the picture. 

My favorite part of the tour was just after this where there were a bunch of architectural drawings, concept sketches, paintings and card models, all of which built up to the grand daddy model of them all - a 1:24 scale model of Hogwarts, intricately detailed and added onto throughout the years of film production as new locations (ie: the bridge) were required, used for the wide angle shots of the castle exterior.

Yesterday was our biggest driving day so far this trip - two hours to Bath and two hours back, and if I'd had it do over... well. Seeing the Roman Baths and the Pump Room was something, and the town itself is a great place to walk around. 

Have I become inured to the antiquity? Not sure. What I most enjoyed about yesterday was that we met up with June, a friend whose daughters used to babysit our daughters more than ten years ago and who has been living in England with her husband since then. What I least enjoyed was the amount of family friction. I don't know - the long time in the car? Too much togetherness? We were pretty over each other by the time we got home (Emsworth) last night. Good to have a couple of chill days around town and at the beach before we clean up here and head off to Oxford.

Oh yeah - the other saving grace from yesterday. Guess what's right off the A303 en route between here and Bath. I'll give you a hint: it's 3500 years old and composed of stones that only the gods (or aliens) could have arranged in this way at that time.

A veritable United Nations of individuals circled the stones while we were there, and as you can see the crows love it too. Oh. And I'm pretty sure I saw Jim Morrison.

Arundel Climping Diablo Bow-Drill

Saturday was Arundel Castle, what with the pirate festival there and all. It seems wholly unecessary to have pirates and sword-fighting demonstrations and "have a go" archery and fencing and even a staged skirmish (scrimmage) between the Redcoats and pirates - all of this seems rather unecessary when you have an honest-to-God castle right there, built in 1067 by William the Conqueror's right-hand-man, Roger de Somethingorother, in order to protect Sussex from attack via the Arun river. But there it is.

The kids held birds of prey - Rowan and Berit held the barn owl, Willow, and Griffin held the falcon, Amy. We toured the ancient castle which ws utterly amazing but for skirmishes of our own as Griffin took a hard stance on the no photography rule, which Rowan was merrily flaunting. 

We hiked to the keep and we walked through the library with 10,000 books and we saw massive stags' heads mounted on a wall and a lion rug on the floor and all of the accoutrements you'd expect in the home of the Duke of Norfolk / Earl of Arundel. My favorite stuff - the crossbows and rifles and the women's writing bureau of ivory veneer - was all intricately carved, and I wanted to sit and copy the designs. But I didn't.

Kim's Bookshop, a three floor, labyrinthine bookstore in the town of Arundel, yielded a used, hardcover copy of the last British version Harry Potter book the girls needed to acquire and provided some downtime space for them as well.

After Arundel, we headed for Bognor Regis, but I took a sharp left at the sign for Climping Beach and lucked into a nearly-deserted, or at least not highly-populous beach that was a wonderful venue at which to swim and play until Griffin fell while running up and down one of those wood embankment things that seem to hold the beaches up here.

A brief stop at Bognor Regis on the way home, long enough to be serenaded by a drunk bellowing a tune that I believe was called "The World's Going to End Tomorrow so Let's All Get Plastered Tonight." Cruel English teens threw a rock at him and he disappeared. We did too.

Today, Sunday, was the annual South Downs Wood Fair, and, as usual, any misgivings I had about this choice were proven pointless as it was really great hanging out with the English woodcarvers, watching demonstrations, and talking about the craft. Two highlights here:

Peter, of double-braided beard and Saxon lore and myth, helped us use the bow drill to decorate pieces of antler for pendants that we purchased from him. Not only was did this participatory craft yield great souvenirs, but the discussion with Peter sparked my interest in my Anglo Saxon heritage, which I have long given short shrift, possibly due to having come of age among peers of seemingly more interesting cultures - Jews, Italians, and Chinese. It is perhaps high time I discover what there is to learn more about my WASPy heritage, about these ancient tribes - the Angles, Saxons, and Jutes.

The second highlight:  Dan the Hat! Yesterday, at Arundel, Griffin evidently had to spend nine pounds on a diablo - it's that large double-belled thing that you roll on a string between two sticks, if you're a juggler on Boulder's Pearl Street Mall. I had no idea why he had to buy this thing at Arundel Castle, but now I do. It led us and adhered us to Dan the Hat, a juggler / busker / comedian who had these devices, along with other juggling paraphernalia, laid out for public enjoyment. He taught Griffin (and the rest of us) some of the basics of the device's operation,  was a very talented and funny juggler, and was just a super-friendly guy. 

Hayling Island for the rest of the afternoon where Rowan and I tried to ride the small waves, Berit and Pam hung out on the beach, and Griffin went back to the car, complaining that he was too cold. Back at home (Emsworth) tonight, where Pam cooked up a fantastic meal of tortellini and Scottish salmon. We're resting up for our big day tomorrow at the Warner Brothers London Studio and the Harry Potter Tour.

Wild horses not dragging me away.

It's Saturday morning, 8 am. A good night's sleep during which my dreams were infiltrated with details from my book. A good sign. Noticing that I'm steadily becoming more accustomed to my British Time sleep pattern, which does not bode well for the return to Colorado.

But for now I'll stay in the moment, and the moment is pretty good. Tea and blogging after Pam and I take a morning constitutional through the nearby wood. Griffin is watching minecraft videos and Rowan and Berit getting ready. For it is Saturday, and today we go to Arundel Castle.

On Thursday we sped East through Lavant and Singleton to climb Cocking Hill for a walk on the South Downs. I pulled the car prematurely into roadside parking that looked like the likely trailhead as it was dotted with vehicles, but it turned out to be merely a turn-off and the business location of a Scottish family's snack truck. Two middle-aged parents and a teenage daughter sat at table outside the truck, the daughter looking fairly sullen. Da gave us directions to the actual trailhead just a bit up the way and we left firmly decisive about the Scottish accent being the best in the world.

Walking on the South Downs yielded some initial complaining as we climbed a hill in full sun, but once we turned South into the West Dean forest, our conversation became enlivened with discussion that included descriptions of our dream days and of our dream rooms. We picnicked, as we are wont to do, on baguette sandwiches and apples, before heading back out of the wood and down to the Weald and Downland Open Air Museum.

I'm not a big fan of walking around old buildings and living history museums. Mom and Dad dragged us through enough of that sort of stuff in New England when we were growing up. But this was a big one for Pam, and I was happy to accompany as we walked through all of these homes that had been rescued from some other part of England and reconstructed here, each one a little older than the last until we ended up in the 13th century.

For me the best part was at the mill, where a waterwheel turned millstones that actually ground the wheat that was used to make the baked goods sold on the premises. The volunteer there that Griffin and I met explained how the grooves in the millstones were cut at angles to each other to facilitate the crushing of the hull that would release the white flour inside. This prompted an interesting discussion about the origins of white flour baked goods versus whole wheat - as that was at one time an advancement led by the French, who (though the English volunteer was loathe to admit it) - had invented millstones that would separate the hulls from the flour without having to do the usual sifting afterwards, which is why, while the peasants had to settle for the (nutritionally superior) whole wheat bread, the French aristocracy were enjoying the wonders of white bread (see what I did there). This was all very fascinating for me as, moments before that discussion, I actually had no flippin' idea what it meant for something to be whole wheat / whole grain / whole meal.

Yesterday was Friday, and though I poo-pooed the idea of biking in England, we drove westward along the coast to Brockenhurst and the New Forest where we hired five bikes and set out on a 15 mile ride among wild horses! It was a great adventure during which we had our picnic amidst several of the ponies grazing in a Rivendell-like grove. There were also Shetland ponies the size of Great Danes and steer the size Volkswagon buses wandering about. 

After the riding, we found ourselves down the road in Lyndhurst where, after a choice selection of meat pasties (bacon and cheese, chicken curry, and mince meat, potato and carrot - who says the English don't have great food?!), we settled in a hip and airy tea shop called Tea Total, where Kelly, the proprietor, and Josh, the barista, engaed us in conversation as it was Kelly and her golf pro husband's ultimate goal to make their way back to Arizona and set up a similar shop in Scottsdale. 

Brighton Beach

Yesterday, Brighton Beach taught me the following:

1. Britain has the cleanest and most well-lighted parking garages in the world.

2. You cannot put too much salt and vinegar on fish and chips.

3. Punk is not dead.

After some time lying around on Brighton's pebbles, in the shadow of amusement park and groovy and glitzy beach shops tucked beneath the boardwalk, the family abandoned me for the upper world of shopping and cafes. Pam purchased a purse that, in her words, "makes me look like the Queen Mother herself!" And Berit bought some gifts for friends. Rowan has so far saved her money - I'm betting on it emerging when we hit the Warner Brothers London Harry Potter Tour on Monday - but Griffin thought he'd died and gone to heaven with the sudden availability of seeming unlimited cheap plastic things to buy. I like his Union Jack bracelet.

I told Pam that all I wanted to do was sit on the beach, and I was given leave to do just that. Despite the cold water - you get used to it - I let the current carry me westward along the beach, and I walked back up looking for interesting rocks. Berit and Rowan both found geodes, and we found a number of rocks with holes in them - perfect holes that start with a perfect circle. Haven't figured that out yet.

My highlights included a cup full of fresh mussels with vinegar and meeting Jake, who was manning the beachside book shop - just a bunch of fold-up tables actually - where I purchased two more in the Harry Potter series. Yes, the kids are collecting the British versions of Harry Potter while we're here. We've found six so far. One left. 

Jake asked me if I was Canadian. He's the third person here who, after speaking with me, has asked if I'm Canadian. I joke that I'm Southern Canadian, and the British humor me.

On the drive home, we take a detour to stop at a Waitrose for groceries. I am lost in the tea aisle for a full 15 minutes before grabbing a package of looseleaf Lapsang Souchang and a box of Twinings Darjeeling. 

Hollybank Woods

After yesterday's big adventure on Purbeck Isle and the Jurassic Coast and a late return last night, today was a no driving day. This morning we lounged about, Pam researching various nearby options while I wrote in my journal. It was late when we finally got going, so everyone was good with walking out of here into the Hollybank Woods and heading towards Rowland's Castle.

This was a long walk to a small town where, by the way, there is no actual castle. We sat in the grass together and ate the lunch we'd carried there. All in all the walk was lovely - great to be in the woods, and I'd say it was about 75 to 80 percent non-squabbling (But when we do squabble, we really squabble. We squabble like British royalty. No quarter.).

On the walk back we saw an English deer, which are slighter in stature and of a lighter hue than their American counterparts, and we happened upon a cherry tree which, while delicious, was too tall for us to decimate its fruit in the manner we would have liked.

Thought I had escaped driving entirely when Pam coerced me, over a delicious tortellini dinner, to chauffeur her down the road to Westbourne to get milk for tomorrow's coffee. She doesn't drive in England. Mostly she rides shotgun, screaming when I come to close to the curbs and yelling "thatched roof!" when we pass one of those.

Tomorrow, Brighton Beach.

Corfe Castle sandwiched between two beaches.

A two hour journey West along the coast yesterday yielded a castle sandwiched by a couple of incredible beaches. Yes, I said castle sandwich.

Lulworth Cove is a gorgeous beach destination on Britain's Jurassic Coast with something like 200 million years of geological history embedded in the limestone and chalk of which the whole region is composed. From Lulworth, we hiked up and over the steep chalk mountain to Durdle Door, undoubtedly one of the most amazingly beautiful places I've ever been.  It's a pebble beach with a spectacular limestone arch that's been carved/drilled out by the sea. In fact, according to Jeff, a teacher from nearby Bournemouth we met on the cliffside down to the beach, "durdle" comes from the Saxon word for "drill" or "bore."

The water was the clearest I've seen, like a glass of drinking water. Or more accurately, like a glass in which ice cubes have been melted, because it was that cold. Despite this, Rowan was determined to swim the 75 yards or so out to the arch from our spot on the beach. I was unwilling at first, but she convinced me by showing me that if I just kept my head and face out of the water, the cold was perfectly bearable (refreshing!). She also convinced me just by heading out on her own; parental instincts took over from there. Griffin couldn't be stopped either, so I was fully committed.

Pam and I hiked back over Chalk Mountain to the car park at Lulworth Cove and then met the kids, who left the beach 15 minutes later, at the Durdle Door parking, and we headed for nearby Corfe Castle in Wareham. An amazing ruin of a castle built by William the Conqueror. We got there with something like 45 minutes to spare, and the five of us ran around snapping photos of the crumbling castle walls and of each other standing among its doorways, windows, arrow slits and murder holes.

Five miles away, we reached the seaside town of Swanage. With a picturesque blend of old and new buildings cascading down the hillside to the water, it's a pretty idyllic place. In fact, we've decided to move there as soon as I can worm my way into a full-time work-from-anywhere situation. 

We laid on the beach and swam in the evening light; Berit and Pam walked into the town to forage for food, and when they returned with a couple of small pizzas, we ate them in the grass above the beach road.

Humps for 300 yards.

No epic plans for the weekend since we knew that, what with this amazing weather (sunny with temperatures hovering around 80 degrees - the last time it was this warm in July was seven years ago), all of Britain would be out and about. On Saturday, we headed down to Chichester for a market that turned out to be not much more than a handful of stalls in a car park. That said, we did buy cherries and crepes, and we had a wonderful time walking the downtown area, a street mall with a jazz guitarist and an opera singer and a 500 year old cathedral.

Tea and sausage rolls for Griffin and I at the cafe and the girls had scones. Pam ordered an ice coffee, which turned out to be coffee with ice cream. The kids are all screaming for ice coffee now. 

We walked the Chichester Cathedral grounds inside and out, and the girls each lit a candle and said a prayer. Then we were off for West Wittering.

The empty beach we saw at 8:30 pm on the cold night of our arrival on Wednesday was now thronged with Brits basking in the sunshine and playing in the waves. Parking was eight pounds, and the guy must have laughed to himself when I asked if there was any parking left, as it turned out to be nothing more than a vast field packed full of cars. We found a good space right next to the entry over the dunes and hit the water.

It wasn't nearly as cold as the Solent had been in Southsea, and we swam around for a while before the girls flopped down on towels and Pam, Griffin and I took a walk down the beach; for Griffin the walk was more of a run and jump and swim. When he wasn't trying to catch fish in the water, he was sprinting from the sand onto the water in an attempt to emulate the "holy Jesus lizard."

Every day is a contest to see who can find the funniest sign. Berit took yesterday's prize:

Today we headed off for another walk. This time to Kingley Vale - a National Nature Reserve steeped in historic antiquity. A site where man has been living and dying since just after the last glaciers rolled through Britain, Kingley Vale boasts ancient barrows, burial mounds at the top of the walk where the remains of Bronze Age chieftains were interred. It's also the home of yew trees that are up to 2000 years old and some of the oldest living things in Europe.

After Kingley Vale, we rested in the cemetary of Saint Andrews, a church built in 1060, before heading off again into uncharted territory. Our finds included the Weald and Downland Open Air Museum, a very cool attraction to which we will return another day, and Petworth, a gorgeous ancient town defined largely by the wall surrounding the Petworth House Estate as well as by the tearoom that Berit said was "literally the cutest place she'd ever been." And finally, on our way back to Emsworth, a wrong turn at a roundabout landed us accidentally adjacent to the Cowdray Castle ruins which, despite Berit's initial protestations about making yet another stop, was, in fact, her high point of the day.

I'm Henry the Eighth, I am.

A bit of history today, as we headed out on a jaunt to nearby Portsmouth and her big British naval ships:

HMS Warrior:  The world's first ironclad ship and the fastest and most powerful as well when set sail (and steam) in 1860. Never saw battle, so this humongous four level behemoth with its three ton Canadian pine figurehead is as well preserved as an Irish corpse.

HMS Victory: Admiral Horatio Nelson's ship and the one he died on. I'll get this wrong, but I believe it was while battling the French at Trafalgar during the Napoleonic Wars. Nelson was shot when he was up high on something and there is a bronze plaque that marks the spot on the deck to which fell.

HMS Mary Rose:  Fascinating and brand new museum that houses the recovered remains of Henry VIII's battleship, the HMS Mary Rose, which lay for some four hundred years from its sinking in 1545 to when they recovered it from the sea floor between Portsmouth and The Isle of Wight in 1980-something. The museum houses all the recovered items from the ship and a number of cool interactive exhibits. All of this surrounds the large open area that contains the remains of the ship itself. This setup reminded me of the Mammoth Site in South Dakota, where they built a museum around an active archaeological dig of a large area containing the fossilised remains of untold numbers of mammoths.

Nothing better to wash down a few hours of British naval history than a couple of orders of fish and chips slathered in salt and vinegar. Mmm... And then I dropped Pam and Berit off on Albert Street to check out the shops, while Rowan, Griffin and I spent some quality time swimming in some of the coldest water I've ever placed my body into.

"You get used to it," Rowan tells me. Which is true. After your body numbs up a bit. Griffin bailed to the beach after a short time, and Rowan and I swim-raced to the getty. Small English children on the shore threw rocks at us while their mums sat idly by. I think they thought we were the French, attacking.

After the arrival of Pam and Berit to meet us, we moseyed over to King Henry VIII's castle fortress, right next door to where we were swimming. As we were walking in, a tall young man in a suit mumbled something to Berit and I that sounded to us like, "mnmmsnnsn champagne bar smsmnnsn nsns nnsns champagne bar mnnnm..."

We thanked him, laughing to ourselves and walked into the open courtyard where young English hipsters were enjoying alcoholic beverages against the backdrop of a DJ spinning records next to one of the interior castle walls, and it occurred to me how different my misspent youth might have been had I done my partying in the historic castles of British monarchs and also how, while studying these historic monarchs in school, I had no idea that British youths were at that very moment partying in the very castles of said monarchs.

Tea and scones and trains. Oh my.

Our first full day in England was rather unplanned. In the morning, we lounged about our house and drank tea before heading out on foot for a 45 minute walk on a wooded path to Stansted House, a classic British stately home. Once there, we joined throngs of classic British ladies in tea and scones at the tearoom before wandering around the impressive grounds of the place. At the farm market there, we met Fred who informed us of fresh fish delivery on Friday (sea bass, mackerel, and many others) and pizza on the weekend.

On the walk back, we made a stop to pet the horses at Holme Farm, and another stop when we saw a sign advertising a stop on the Chichester Art Walk. The sign proved to be out of date, but as a result we met Alison, a friendly and talented potter (great raku!) who not only had been to Boulder, but who knew someone that both Pam and I used to do pottery with at the fire station pottery lab by Chautauqua Park. Small world (though I wouldn't want to paint it)!

In the evening, we drove to the small Emsworth town center where Berit found the 3rd, 5th and 6th books of the Harry Potter series in a used book shop. Yes, we already have them. Now we're evidently getting all of the books in their British versions.

Landed in one piece. Actually, five pieces.

Berit:  Wouldn't it be cool if one of the actors from Harry Potter lives in the house next door to where we're staying?!

Griffin:  If I see Hagrid coming out to the mailbox, I'll be like "Watchoo doin' Hagrid!"

The flight to London is like a nine hour stay in a very small hotel room with your choice of movies on a four inch screen and bad miniature food. You sleep sitting up while the teenage girl acros the aisle casts a constant glow from her iPad onto your face.

Everybody's a little cranky after the plane ride and subsequent hours in the airport and then on the road South, but we get here and wrap up the night with a trip to the Tesco, a Walmart-esque grocery (promised to help Pam find the small store with green food tomorrow) for supplies and then to West Wittering Beach where we show up at 8:30 pm, just as they're closing the parking lot gate. The kids spend a few minutes crazy diving into the waves before it's time to freeze-walk back to the car.

I sleep the sleep of the dead. Dream I am living with Pete Townshend.

It starts with a yo yo.

It starts with a yo yo at the airport. Actually it starts well in advance of that. Days of preparation for a five-person journey for 3 weeks in England. As if that wasn't enough we've been preparing our house for the three English people - the retired couple and her sister - who will be staying in our house while we are staying in theirs on England's southern coast.

We've got an 8 hour plane ride in front of us. Departure at 8:45 p.m. Denver time; arrival at 12:35 p.m. tomorrow London time. After that will pick up our car and drive an hour or so south to our final destination.

With hot tea and speaking this into my phone I'm sitting in front of the jetway. I was going to say that nobody seems to mind, however I was just asked to move. The girls are making movies on their devices , and Pam went to get a nice coffee drink. Griffin is still practicing the yoyo; wish us luck. Better yet wish to the British luck.

Cat and Mouse

Moving in old iMac out of the loft gave rise to this picture . Subtitle: Bellatrix , the dark.

Assassin

Griffin is dying to play assassin.

He learned the game while staying over at his friend's house where they play it at dinner. Quite likely you know the game. A card is dealt to each person - in our family's case, five cards - and the person who gets the Ace of Spades is the assassin and must try to "kill" each of the other players by surreptitiously winking at each of them before he/she is found out. Players who are winked at will "die" without doing so immediately after be winked at, so as not to make it obvious who was looking at them at the time. 

So Griffin's been dying to play (I can't stop doing that).

The past couple of nights we managed to have four of us at the dinner table which, while fun, makes a pretty short game of assassin, because once player one accuses player 2 of being the assassin and is told they are wrong, then player 3 knows for sure that player 4 is the assassin. See what I mean? Trust me, you need more people.

So tonight when Griffin couldn't get Pam and I to drop our books and come out to the living room for a game of assassin, he got the girls to drop their iPods and come into the bedroom, where we sat on the bed with our best poker faces (some better than others - you'd know Berit was the assassin as soon as she got the card the way her face lit up) and stared at, winked at, and laughed with each other until Griffin finally got to be the assassin, killed everyone, and Pam picked her book back up putting an end to the bloodshed.

The Summer of Chess

The Summer of Chess has begun. Well, it began on Wednesday - game one. We missed game two yesterday, but Griffin and I played again this morning. In fact, before I even got out of bed at 6:35, Griffin was standing in front of me, a black pawn in one fist and white in the other, making me choose. So I dress and we slop down some cereal as I quickly school my boy in the Way of the Pawn before I have to slide off to "work," as they call it.

Last night, Berit and Rowan were going to go out at midnight to meet friends to play flashlight tag. Pam’s feeling was that this would completely alright due to the fact that Berit - who is 15 now - has been perfectly trustworthy in her behavior. I was on the fence as to whether I needed to take a more conservative stance, but as usual I was easily swayed. I don’t think they went out, but I have no idea as I was studying the inside of my eyelids at that time.

Yeah, I’m starting this blog up again. I want to continue. how could I not? My first post here was 10 years ago on March 9, 2003: "If Jesus drinks hot lava, he will die." - Rowan

You can’t make this stuff up.