New Photos!

Okay, I've been bad. New photos are finally posted. Click here. Scroll to the bottom.

Anna is seriously addicted to sparkly barrettes. We were told they are called 'hair grips' here. Apparently we misheard and they are actually 'hair clips.' So, as a family, we've got it wrong. Quality foreigners.

And, of course, no ordinary, flowered hair clip will do. Only the sparkly ones. But they're called, "barky hair grips." Tonight, at bed time, the only thing that would settle for sleep was "barky hair grips... BARKY hair grips... BARKY HAIR GRIPS, PLEASE!"

"Okay, Okay!" I thought. "I'll get your barky hair grips, and then we'll sing songs and go to sleep." I repeated back to her. It's slow learning for both of us.

Anna and Gran pick apples near Toronto:

Too Long

It is simply too long between postings on this blog. I think about it all the time. I want to post. I'm just so damn busy. Why, you ask? Well, we went to Toronto for 10 days. I was struck by the fact that Canadians aren't as nice, friendly and courteous as we make ourselves out to be. The customer service was certainly no better than Britain. I can hear the collective gasp. Wait... yep, there is the indignation. Now? Yes, denial. With denial comes? Blame. I know, we were in Toronto. Phew. We can blame it on Toronto.

Teasing aside, it was great to see little Isabelle, only five days old! Congrats to Care and Jeff. They are very calm and collected new parents. On Jeff's part, it may have had to do with how much scotch we drank that week. He explained to Isabelle at one point that I was, "Uncle Ben. Daddy's scotch drinking partner." I've never been that before. I felt good about it. Except for one morning, where I felt less good about it. I also got a quick blitz on Jeff's motorbike. It was a new bike. Addictive things them. They start first time. They accelarate so wonderfully. They handle. They don't stall indiscriminately. The clutch works. They look good. Damn it for making me want a bike over here.

Anna's favourite part of the trip was our trip to an apple orchard. There was the full family set-up. Pony rides, petting zoo, you-pick apples. It was full on. Anna was in heaven. For days after arriving back, she has reminded us that she went on a pony. "Anna ride pony." (Amusingly, she still refers to herself in the 3rd person in all instances). When you ask her what the pony's name was, she is quick to recall: "Shayan." She also fondly remembers the tractor ride (a tractor pulled a large trailer covered in hay). "Anna ride tractor." She also fed goats, a calf, pigs and lambs. She also ate an apple that was nearly the size of her head. I still can't believe she got through it all. Quality entertainment.

Since getting back, we've moved into HG (hosting guests) mode. It is super exciting to have Pauline here with us. We took her to the amazing Dover Castle and then attended the most lovely even-song at Cantebury Cathedral. I've now been to Dover 6 times and it is gold on every visit. In Cantebury, we capped off the day with a wonderful Sunday roast in a 600 year old pub on the canal. That sort of food is critical for Pauline: she's a self-identified "foody." The result for Ange, Anna and I is the most amazing assortment of cheese, paté and other goodies has piled through our door since Pauline's arrival. One of the carrots to get her here was the #1 restaurant in the world, The Fat Duck. Incredibly, it is only about 15 miles from us, in the cute little town of Bray. I made enquiries 2 months ago, managing to get a lunch reservation. Goodness. What an amazing 4 hour lunch. It did break the bank, but I can honestly say that is was worth it as a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I never imagined food could taste like that.

This weekend? We've got Bath on the itinerary and then the epic, one day return trip to France on Monday to check out Calais and (hopefully) Vimy Ridge. We're also going to pick up Lisa B in France, who is coming to stay with us for a week after a couple of days in Paris! Lisa Q arrives next week from Nepal, meaning even more adventures for the coming weeks.

You can tell we've been adventuring when I pull out the camera at Dover Castle to take a photo and not only is the battery dead, but the backup battery is dead AND the video camera battery is dead. No worries, we've re-charged.

Tragic

Last Friday was a momentous event for Ange and I. It was only a day off our one year anniversary of arriving back in UK. It was also our first time out in London, just the two of us. First you ask, how does this happen?

Well, one word for that: Shivani. Shiv offered us tickets to see a gig at the famous Astoria concert venue in London and babysat Anna so we could go out. So, what wonderfully British event did we partake in to celebrate a year in the UK? Drum roll please... we went and saw the Tragically Hip.

They were hip. The crowd, however, was the tragic part. For any Canadian who grew up in the 1990s, the Hip were the event to go to. Less frequent than the Watchmen or Spirit of the West and far cooler than the Barenaked Ladies or Great Big Sea, a Hip concert was something to look forward to and relish with a degree of disregard for one's liver and personal safety (i.e. the mosh pits).

However, the 1990s have long since passed. The crowd was painfully Canadian. As Ange and I arrived, we were greeted by a crowd that was 99% Canadian and 1% Australian friends or flatmates of Canadians. A rather painful and embarrassing Canadian national anthem broke out between the warm-up band and the Hip. Hockey jerseys were worn by every 10th person. One idiot was wearing an "I 'maple leaf' Toronto" shirt. In the middle of central London, where fashion comes alive, the Astoria was a dead zone of jeans, t-shirts, hockey jerseys and suspiciously too many plaid lumberjack button-up shirts.

When the Hip came on though, there is nothing like a soulful version of Grace Too to throw you back 10 years. The guy beside us was too much, though. He was a stocky build. Probably mid-to-late-30s. I would wager money he spent a good deal of time in some rural prairie town. His proudest sporting achievement was almost certainly either playing back up guard in a high school football quarter final or a 5th place finish in a major street hockey tournament sponsored by a deodorant company.

He stood proudly in his Darcy Tucker Maples Leafs jersey. He held a lager in each hand (it was Carlsberg, though I imagine that he imagined it was Molson or Labatt). He swayed and sang every word. He punched the air emphatically at all the right moments in every song. When he was bumped, he apologised. He, in a very distressing sense, summed up the crowd. There was no moshing. It was all very civilized. So much so, that the event ended to a raucous applause at 10:30pm. And yet, we had such a good time. It was really enjoyable to see the Hip. They were excellent. And, on hearing that we were going, my sister joined us for the night. It was great to head out with her too.

The next day, there was no hang-over. No inexplicable bruises to your shoulders and face. Just an entirely pleasant evening with a slight sense of, "gosh, I'm getting older." But, just like the old days, my ears rang for days.