Bahhhh-th.

Total friend count: 12

That's right, 12. Today I met a new friend, Thomas.

I happened upon Thomas as I was wandering around the Royal Cresent in Bath this afternoon. In his top hat, cape, and Hessian boots, he was hard to miss.

I couldn't help but smile and say hello, and before I knew it - I was getting my own private, bespoke tour of the Royal Cresent from an English Dandy! What luck!

Thomas studied 18th Century history at university in Bath, so he was a complete expert on the subject, and he actually gives tours for a living. He was on a break between tours when I met him, and kindly offered to share some of his knowledge with me.

He knew all the history, gossip, scandals, and stories behind the original residents of what is still one of the most expensive addresses in the UK.

If you don't know, the Royal Cresent is this incredible road made up of 30 houses and is among the greatest examples of Georgian architecture in existence. It's called the cresent because of the cresent shape the houses are laid in - but I like to call it the Royal Croissant instead, since I am French.

Now I happen to know quite a bit about architecture from my days studying it in Paris, but whether you know nothing or you know loads - it is absolutely gorgeous! The homes each contain about 5 bedrooms and the interiors all have various features - from a private catholic chapel to a swimming pool. The lucky residents range from celebrities to Dukes.

No 4 is currently on sale for £4 million. How fitting.

In front of the Royal Croissant is a gorgeous, semi-private park. I say semi-private because there are two levels, one that is for the public, and one keyed-entry for the owners of the homes on the croissant. They are separated by a small wall, which Thomas told me is called "the ha-ha"

As you can imagine, there is a story behind that name.

The park used to have sheep grazing in the public section, which the residents of the croissant quite enjoyed. However, they did not enjoy when their royal toes accidentally stepped in the sheep droppings. So, they had their portion of the park raised up and a small, almost invisible wall built so the sheep couldn't get up to the private area, but could still be seen from their oversized windows. From their part of the park, you couldn't there was a separation at all.

Below is a photo for reference.

The wall, which you can't see in the photo, is just along the left side of that un-mowed strip.

This became quiet a problem from the residents who entered the park after having a tipple or two, and drunkly fell off the private part, over the wall, and into the sheep - causing everyone else to laugh "ha-ha."

So, they croissant residents made yet another demand. There was to be a patch of un-mowed grass to serve as a warning that the wall was near. Thus saving them from falling over and escaping the humiliation of the ha-ha's of their neighbors.

Absolutely brilliant.

This is the sort of thing that went on in Bath in the 18th century.

This is why Jane Austen lived, and wrote about Bath. With material like this, it's no wonder she became a famous author.

She actually lived just south of the croissant - I passed by her old address as well as the Jane Austen museum. But I am not one of those girls who is obsessed with Mr. Darcy, and I only had a few hours to see the whole city - so no, I did not go in.

While my bespoke croissant tour was definitely the highlight of my trip - I enjoyed every moment in Bath. (Pronounced bahhh-th by the way) You have to make the bahhhh sound, like a sheep, before you add the "th" on the end. This could just be due to the English accent, but I think it's also in honor of all the sheep in Bath, past and present. I didn't get to go into the actual baths, but I did pay 50p to try the water, straight from the ground - which was awful. It's full of 20+ minerals and apparently healing powers - but it tasted like ocean water and was hot. They typically make it into tea to improve the taste, but I can't imagine that would help.

Bahhh-th was not the only wonderful place I visited today. I spent the morning in the English county of Wiltshire, in complete awe of a monument built sometime around 2000 B.C. Try doing anything like that in the United States.

I'm talking about Stonehenge, who's purpose still remains totally unknown today.

It was quiet a site to see on a foggy, frigid, English morning. Although it didn't stay foggy for long.

That is the UK version of sun-soaked. I think I got a bit of a tan today.

My favorite bit of the Stongehenge tour was actually our guide telling us how he used to frequent the area in the late 60s when it was Hippie central, and you could actually walk right up to the stonges. or lay on the stones, do drugs and play guitar, as he said.

You also could rent a hammer and chisel, and actually chisel away a chunk of one of the stones as a souvenir!

The rules have gotten a bit more strict since then -there is a strict no chiseling policy, and the closest you can get to the stones is about 50 feet away.

I had no idea that Stonehenge was only a stone's throw from London! It was so lovely to leave this morning and spend the day immersed in the English countryside. England is so small that you can get to all these wonderful little places in an hour or two, and see a some beautiful landscapes on the way there. There is so much history here to see, so all day I just kept grabbing brochures so I know of other things to do and see. I want to explore every nook and cranny of England before I leave, so that I can be somewhat of an expert on England like my new friend Thomas. Then all I will need is a chemise, a corset, and a petticoat to start my own tours of Bahhh-th. And possibly a sheep.

In Bloom

I woke up today to find that in the middle of the night, something wonderful happened.

Penny had bloomed!

My little girl is growing up!

It was such a wonderful surprise, and honestly a shock since I was pretty much assured by the flower salesman that Penny had no chance in a room with no sun. I have always believed in betting against the odds. I took it as a sign that my life here is just beginning to bloom, and even if there is no sunshine in the forecast, that doesn't mean things can't grow.

It's so amazing that while I laid sleeping, dreaming about cupcakes, Penny sprouted high into the air!

I felt like throwing her a birthday party.

I think my favorite lunch spot must be reading my thoughts, because when I went to pick up my salad and stop to ooooh and ahhhh over their gorgeous display of cakes - I saw this.

I giant Victoria Sponge cupcake, clearly in Penny's honor. It was only right to get a piece.

Victoria Sponge is something I've been wanting and meaning to try since I got here, but hadn't gotten around to that treat yet. It's very traditionally English. 2 layers of vanilla sponge, with raspberry jam in between and whipped cream or a sort of frosting on top.

They call all their cake "sponge" and I have noticed that the texture of cake here is definitely different, but oddly not sponge-like at all. It's much more dense, dry, and has more of a crumb than any cake recipe I make. If I could just figure out this whole grams vs. cups madness I could get myself a proper english cookbook and start making my own sponge. The state of our kitchen is also a problem.

Living with 4 girls is definitely interesting when it comes to "tidiness."

On most days, the kitchen is a state. But since there are 5 of us, you don't know who is the cause of the problem - you just know that it is not you. It is likely small contributions from everyone that add up to the total disaster. Tea bags left here, a spoon left there, bits of crumbs - what one would expect. Luckily, once a week Abel comes and saves the day.

I love coming home to find my room cleaned and bed made by Abel. He has proved to be an excellent bed-maker, a skill that I never developed. I wish I could also bribe Abel into doing my laundry, since I finally gave that a go and it did not end well.

I hadn't yet attempted to do laundry since I moved in because I have enough clothes to just keep wearing different ones, enough towels to last a month, and always shower right before bed so my sheets stay fresh. But the time had come, and so I had my flatmate give me a tutorial on using the washing/drying duo machine. It completely boggles my mind how those two processes can happen in one machine.

Turns out, it is the smallest washer/dryer machine I have ever seen - and those two proceses can't really happen in one machine. You can fit about 2 towels and a pair of socks in at a time - if you squeeze. So since I had a mound of laundry from the past month, I ended up doing 6, yes 6, loads of laundry.

I threw my sheets in first last night so that they could dry before I went to sleep, and oh what I mistake that was, because the dryer portion of the washer/dryer in one does not actually dry things. My flatemate told me once my sheets were going, that no one ever uses the dryer because it takes almost 3 hours for the things to dry, it shrinks everything, and makes the whole house shake. Brilliant.

I had to bundle up and sleep sheetless, and I came to the realization that whoever invented these horrible machines should be put behind bars.

Come to think of it, no dual purpose product is good, just look at Shampoo + conditioner in one!

During my 6 loads I was hang drying everything on racks and every surface of my room imaginable until my room became an art exhibit on old-fashioned laundry methods.

Needless to say, I may send it out from time to time in the future, since I've realized having a washer and dryer in one is more like not actually having either.

On the brightside, my flatmates and I bonded during the several loads I did and I think they found the whole spectacle rather entertaining. I guess not everything can about transitioning into life in a new country can be a piece of sponge.

Pubbing

Friend count as of last Wednesday: 4 (1 of which is my sole co-worker)

Friend count as of this Wednesday: 11

Actually, 12 if you count Leonardo: my French, Body Combat teacher who asked me out after class on Monday. But let's not be greedy.

That's 7 new friends in one week! A friend a day! Completely brilliant!!

I knew I was off to good start when I met the other Anna!

The others came this week through the church I've been going to since I got here.

On Tuesday night, I went to a small get-together group of other "young working professionals," which is a title that I don't think I will ever be used to.

And where did this church group meet? Why, the pub o'course!

In New York, people go clubbing. In London, people go pubbing.

My parents found this quite shocking.... "your church group meets in a pub?" they asked in a concerned tone.

I thought it was a bit odd at first too to be honest, but I have pretty much realized that life in London revolves around going to the pub. There is no occasion or event that a trip to the pub before, during, or after is not included.

After church service on Sunday, everyone goes to the pub.

After work, everyone goes to the pub.

After the gym, everyone goes to the pub.

Saturday morning, everyone goes to the pub.

Saturday evening, everyone is still in the pub from the morning.

Get it?

It's all about the pub.

And at the pub, you order a pint and scream about the football game on the telly with your mates.

Tonight, I found myself at the Tea Clipper. Last night I was at the Prince Albert.

Most of the pubs are named something quintessentially English like that, and many pubs have the same name, so you must have the address otherwise you could very well end up at the wrong "Queen's Head" - since there is one on nearly every corner.

Loads of the pub names are somehow connected with royalty; the Crown, Crown and Sceptre, King's Arms, Queen's Arms (or someone's Arms), King's Head, Queen's Head (or someone's Head), The Victoria, Prince Albert, the Royal this, the Tea that. You get the idea.

But some of my favorites I've seen are a bit more creative. Such as,

"Hung Drawn and Quartered", "The Goat in Boots" and a particularly nice one, "Old Cock Tavern"

Upon further investigating the origin of pubs, I actually found that churches and monasteries have an ancient connection with pubs. So it's not that strange that my church has multiple pub-outtings during the week afterall.

According to www.pubs.com, it's "a truism that where you'll find a church there will be a pub nearby. Long sermons are known to cause dry throats, particularly for the congregation."

Ha! It also said that lodgings used by masons who were building churches were often converted into pubs when the building work was finished - so a pub name would be chosen an ecclesiastical twist. Like "The Bull," representing the papal 'Bull' insignia."

The Pope's Head was apparently quite a popular name in the old days, but as you could guess - the popularity of the Catholic inspired names plummeted post Reformation. Henry VIII would have probably been a bigger supporter of "The Queen's Head," I imagine.

If you're not in the mood for a pint or a tipple (what the rest of the world calls a cocktail), you can always get some pub fare, like fish and chips, steak and ale pie, bangers and mash, bubbles and squeak - and a variety of delicious English "puddings." My favorite, of course, being sticky toffee pudding, which I could eat all day every day and never tire of. EVER. The best thing about sticky toffee pudding is that you can't really screw it up. It is always moist and gooey because of the toffee sauce oozing all over it. STP from a traditional english pub is pure, sticky, bliss.

The pub is really the cafe of Paris, or the Starbucks of New York. The city would not be the same without it.

It's where everyone goes to sit and chat and drink. It's on every corner, and is always packed, and visited daily. It is very important that you have "your" pub - where you are a local, and the bartender knows you. So this is something that I am still working on - finding "my" pub.

But don't worry, I will find one soon, and you can bet that when I do, the bartender will become friend #11.

Cheers!

Stop and Smell the Roses

I am finding it very difficult to pick a favorite bit of London. It seems every time I go to new area, I fall head over heels and think it must certainly be the best bit. I melt over the cute cobblestone streets, wander in awe through shops that must have popped out of a time machine, and stick my face up to cafe windows to drool over the scones, croissants, and sausage rolls piled on platters. I'm convinced - until the next week, when it happens all over again.

I set out today to see the Columbia Road Flower Market, which goes on every Sunday from 8-3.

It's a tiny, quaint street in the East that is one of few in London composed entirely of independent shops. Tiny shopfronts filled with artisan perfumiers, vintage clothing boutiques, art galleries, antiques, homewares and a handful of critically-acclaimed restaurants and pubs line the street that is positively filled with colorful flowers, and even more colorful flower salesman.

Walking down the beautiful streets, you must literally stop to smell the roses and hear the heckling. All the Englishmen sporting newsboy caps and potting soil under their fingernails are shouting things like,

"Orchids! Only 3 Quid. Cheap enough for yeh Mother'n law! Who's got a mother'n law they don't like? The only people I know who do like their mother'n law - live abroad!"

"Fifty p! Fifty p per rose, got to feed my future ex-wife."

It's a busteling, beautiful, blossoming market, and no one leaves empty handed. Including me.

Since I can't have a pet - I decided to buy a plant.

I asked a particularly colorful salesmen what kind of flower I could buy to brighten my bedroom that wouldn't need sunlight, wouldn't die quickly, and wouldn't require a lot of maintenance.

"There's only 1 kind of flower like that miss," he replied.

"A plastic 'un!"

Brilliant.

So, I decided to screw logic and go for an adorable teacup-shaped pot filled with bulbs about to blossom of one of favorite flowers, daffodils. I've never been a fan of anything that made sense anyway. I am quite pleased with my purchase and have named it Penny. I intend to love her, care for her, give her water, and take her to tea.

Just behind the start of the market I saw a sign that said "Eat A Horse" with an arrow pointing towards what appeared to be a shop. My curiosity got the better of me, and I was sure glad it did. At the back of a little open-air shop selling gardening tools and woven baskets was a small counter brewing Monmouth Coffee and serving up some seriously delicious looking homemade treats! I picked up a latte and a bitesize sample of the lemon curd loaf and was in heaven. I loved this place simply for the fact that stuffed among pruning sheers are gourmet English cheddar scones. Only in London.

Eat A Horse was just the beginning of my realization that it is not just that roses that are worth smelling at the Columbia Road Market. It is a foodie paradise! From Printers and Stationer's homemade bread and fresh oyster station, to Lilli Vanilli's spread of indulgences, to old fashioned sweets at Suck & Chew, and Treacle's cupcake plants - my eyes grew bigger with every step.

I amazingly resisted all of these temptations, since I had another plan in mind for lunch.

Brick Lane is the Jewish quarter of London, and on Sundays also hosts a rather lively market - so I took Penny on a stroll in search for Brick Lane Beigel. All the guide books say “you have to try the bagels on Brick Lane when you are in the East End.” So, since I have been terribly missing multigrain oats and raisins bagel with cinnamon raisin schmear, I was very excited to go for a bagel! I was lead to believe the bagel shop would be like those in New York, which was my first mistake.

I spent the walk over contemplating what kind of bagel I wanted, and if I wanted cream cheese or egg and cheese. Imagine my utter shock when I arrived and found there was only kind of bagel. Plain! Who eats plain bagels!! It's like going to an ice cream parlor and ordering vanilla. I understand this was more of an authentic Jewish deli than an outpost of Murray's, but come on! The bagels were also babies compared to New York standard size. There were no cream cheese options, they were all pre-filled and stocked on the shelves with either cream cheese and salmon, or hot salt beef and mustard. Oy.

I didn't even want to try one, but I was now completely starving since I'd held out all day for this and there was nothing else quick-looking in sight. So, I joined the massive queue and a few minutes later pulled the imitation bagel out of the brown paper wrapping.

I was actually surprised at the fresh-baked scent that filled the air. The bagel was much better looking up close, and clearly baked and filled moments that morning. I hoped for the best, and took a big apple bite into my London town bagel.

My tastebuds, which were prepared for disappointment, met a surprisingly chewy and delightful texture, thick and tasty cream cheese, and very fresh smoked lox. All in all, not too bad for a wanna-be bagel! The smaller size was actually kind of nice since I was able to finish my lunch and not feel like I was pregnant with a dough-child.

But was it anything like a New York bagel? No.

Should London probably just forget the whole bagel thing and focus on jam roly poly production. Definitely.

Penny agrees.

My First Friend

Finally, I've returned to galavanting around London, discovering wonderful nooks and crannys!

Thanks to room remodeling, crazy days at work, and spending last weekend as a magician's assistant, I have had little time to write.

But the weekend for relaxing and relazying.

I started off my morning yesterday with a bit of body attack, which becomes more hilarious every time I go. Today my teacher was an extremely smilely Chinese man in minuscule shorts who sang into the microphone during every song. Just imagine.

I scored 2 free tickets to the David Hockney exhibit at the Royal Academy, so I headed up there this afternoon. Since I have no friends that I could have invited to be my other, I gave the spare ticket away to a nice looking woman who was all the way at the end of the enormous queue. I may be lonely, but at least I am a lonely good-deed doer.

I'm ashamed to say was unfamiliar with Hockney. But I was instantly drawn to his huge, crayola-colored landscapes that the exhibit focused on.

The whole room felt lit from the vibrancy of the paintings. The walls filled with enormous canvases splashed with turquoise trees and fuchsia fields seemed dreamlike.

The colors were like Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. I found myself craving Skittles. Or jelly beans. Or something multi-colored and sugary.

Hockney's art reminded me of two of my favorite painters: the bold, bright, brushstrokes of Matisse and the blurred, swirling movement of Van Gogh.

I love to devour museums. I treat an interesting exhibit like I treat eating a delicious piece of a cake.

I go slowly. First I simply admire: the colors, the detail, the decoration. Then I dig in, wholeheartedly, stopping after every bite to digest and appreciate. I think of other pieces this particular one reminds me of. How are they different, how are they the same. The work that went into it, the time, the inspiration. Slowly taking it in until there is nothing left. And well past the last bite, the memory of the wonderment is with me.

You can't just walk through an exhibit without really digesting it the same way you can't just shovel bites of cakes into your mouth without tasting them.

I hope the old lady who got a freebee enjoyed it as much as I did.

From there, I wandered up Old Bond Street, stopping into a few shops to hit the insane sales London is having right now, until I arrived at Marylebone High Street and continued my store wandering - finding some really funky things in the Conran Shop, a quite popular store with designer homeware.

I fell in love with this mirror. But I can't continue buying things I can't take back to New York. Like the enormous Union Jack canvas that is now hanging above my bed.


I popped into an adorable market/restaurant/shop to get dinner. I've found a lot of cute, high quality markets here also have small cafes inside - which is brilliant for people who buy groceries that look so good they instantly want to dig into them. Like me.

Perched high on a wooden barstool at the window, looking out on the city as I slurped spoonfuls of carrot and coriander soup and reading through my new "things to do in London" book, I was filled with glee. Exploring a wonderful street for the first time is one of my absolute favorite things to do.

I turned a page and came across "Visit Platform 9 3/4."

HOLY JAM ROLY POLY.

It's embarrassing, but I did not know that us muggles could get to Platform 9 3/4.

I think you all know what I did next...

Dropped my soul spoon, grabbed my bag and ran out the door to find the nearest bus to King's Cross Station, shaking with anticipation!

I arrived at a packed King's Cross station and weaved my way through standing sandwich eating strangers until I accidently bumped into a officer who worked there.

"Where you trying to go Miss, he asked?"

"Hogwarts," I replied!

"Train left at 11," he winked - and without flinching, pointed to his left, to sign towards platforms 9 -11, and for no apparent reason I began to run after I let out a most sincere, "Thank you Sir!"

A large group of children, one of them wearing a maroon and gold striped scarf, signaled I could stop. As I turned the corner - I saw the platform, complete with a silver trolley lodged halfway through the thick, brown brick.

Let me just say.... IT IS SO COOL!

I had a friendly pink-haired stranger take this photo for me because she reminded me of Tonks.

My evening made, I could have gone home happy right then and there - but I had a birthday party to attend!

I do know a very small amount of people in this city, one of whom I went to school with at AUP 2 years ago, and it just so happens she ended up in London! She is a fellow baker, and actually got a part time job at a fancy bakery here cake decorating. When her invite said "come for drinks and cake" I was in.

Within thirty minutes of sipping my Magners and mingling, I made a friend!!

My first London friend! I knew it was fate when she introduced herself and said "my name is Anna." Match made in heaven. I've always wanted to meet another Anna. There are not that many of us out there! I figured if we share a name we are likely to have other commonalities. When I saw her only eating the frosting off her piece of cake, I knew I was right.

I walked home feeling like a million Great British Pounds. Not only did I have a truly wonderful day, but I actually made a friend. And I am a firm believer that when it rains, it pours. So I am hoping to meet a lot more Anna's to continuing conquering this town with - one scone at a time.

Shit New Yorkers Say

Something interesting happened today...

I had an overwhelming feeling of missing New York.

It all spawned from this video, called "Shit New Yorkers Say" which made me laugh at loud on the bus and get concerned looks from the blokes around me.

I have literally said every single one of those things, numerous times. In one day.

Even including schmuck, which my Jewish boyfriend finds wildly offensive.

The comments on the YouTube video had a stream of very mixed sentiments - some people saying that "real" New Yorkers would never say any of that.

So what makes someone a real New Yorker?

Everyone I meet here asks me where in the States I am from, and without hesitation I reply, "New York." Then I add, well I'm from Ohio, but I lived in New York for the past five years, and it's always felt like my other home.

And it has. New York felt like home from the first day I moved. I arrived no stranger to the city, having spent the past 5 years before moving making bi-monthly trips with my parents to visit my sister who was in school, I knew Manhattan inside out before I got here. From day one I was riding the subway, dining at the local spots, and bumping into people and not apologizing about it.

But I can imagine a lot of people would argue I have no business calling myself a New Yorker since I wasn't born there, I'm not Jewish, and I only lived there 5 years.

So what qualifies someone as a New Yorker? I found this list on Guest of a Guest, and decided to use it to test myself and see.

You can call yourself a New Yorker when you've done the following:

When you can give cab drivers directions.

"73rd and Amsterdam - take 10th all the way uptown and drop me on the NW corner."

When you stop pointing out places you recognize (or even places that are just near your apartment) in movies or TV shows.

Ok, I still do this.

When, if you left for a year, and then returned, your coffee guy/dry cleaner/favorite bartender would remember you.

My bagel guy remembered me after I came back from Paris. I am sure he will remember me, and my order, come next November.

When you know which bars, streets, and even neighborhoods to avoid on the weekends.

And which subway lines are down.

When you stop subletting, or at least have a permanent or long-term sublet.

I had my own year lease, for my own studio, that was the size of a closet. It doesn't get more NY than that.

When you stop being indignant about the cost of rent.

Any place under $2000/month is a steal.

When you've lived through some sort of a disaster, whether it be blackout or blizzard or transit strike or worse...

Does the fake hurricane count?

When a random celebrity sighting isn't worth getting fazed, or even texting about.

I was only phased when I saw Professor Snape in Anthropologie.

When you stop referring to the subway lines by colors, and can name all the stops on any given line.

And what exit to take to be on the correct side of the street.

When you start screaming at cars who almost hit you while you're crossing the street.

Check plus.

When you don't cite Annie Hall or Sex and the City as your favorite New York movies.

You've Got Mail.

Your family comes to visit you in New York, instead of you flying out constantly.

Almost monthly.

When you have a bagel place.

24th and 8th, Brooklyn Bagel. Best cinnamon rasin walnut cream cheese in the city.

You don't care about walking into moving traffic because you are a master and the cars will wait for you.

Exactly.

When you can stop bragging about living in New York.

I've only done this a bit...

When you feel incredibly entitled to the city, and annoyed by all the people who have moved to it after you.

True - find your own city.

The one constant about New York is that it's constantly changing, and because of this, New Yorkers are always aware of what's changed, what's different, and what's gone. (Like how the Dallas BBQ on University is now a Chase)

And the Grey Dog on Carmine in gone! Devastating.

And, the one I think really sums it all up:

When you view New York with just as much nostalgia as you do excitement.

Some people view their college years as the most important and memorable in their life. My college years took place in New York. During five years, I think I really became a New Yorker.

So people can say what they want, but I consider myself a New Yorker - even though I'm a Londoner at the moment, and a Parisienne at heart.

And while I love living in London, I do miss my city. Despite all my jokes and eurocentrism, I love New York, probably more than any city in the world. And I do look at New York with just as much nostalgia as I do excitement.

I sort of grew up in New York.

I met my best friends in New York.

I fell in love in New York.

I went to Fashion Week in New York.

I got my first pair of Louboutins in New York.

I got to work at SNL in New York.

I got pooped on by a pigeon in New York.

The list goes on. And on. And on.

So if nostalgia is the true test, then I pass.

With flying, rainbow colors.

My Magical Weekend

I've dated a magician now for nearly 3 years and had yet to experience a magic convention before this weekend. There are none in New York, and Josh has always pointed out that a magic convention would be terribly boring for a muggle, so I've never traveled to attend one with him.

So, every time he goes, I always just envision what it would be like : tons of wizards running about with packs of cards showing each other tricks all day.

Turns out, that was pretty spot on, except since this particular convention was in England - it was tons of wizards running about with packs of cards showing each other tricks all day and drinking beer.

I finally got to attend The Session - the convention that Josh co-organzies every year with his friend Andi. We went to Andi's wedding in the Cotswald two years ago in which the entire guest list was fellow magicians, so I actually knew a few of the English magicians already and it was nice to see some familiar faces amongst the vanishing coins, changing cards, and waving wands.

Of the 250 people attending, I counted a total of 7 women, myself included.

The others were the "magic wives"

The magic wives usually hate magic. They might have liked it at one time, but over the years they've seen too many tricks to be amazed anymore, they've been the assistant one too many times, and they're simply sick of picking cards. They can usually be found sitting behind their husband's booths looking bored.

I actually enjoyed girltalk with the magic wives. Being the girlfriend of a magician you usually can't vent your grievances to your girlfriends because they don't experience the same frustrations with their boyfriends as you do.

It was nice to know there are other girls who can't ever find change to do the laundry with because all the quarters in the house have been bent my their boyfriends minds. Or often come home to find things like this on the kitchen table...

The other 243 people are magicians ranging from young boys, amateurs, magic enthusiasts, up and comers, experts, and some of the most famous names in magic. It was a mix of all ages and capabilities. I was, of course, one of the more accomplished people there - having appeared in several of Josh's videos as an amazed spectator.

Throughout the weekend, from 11am to 11pm there are a series of shows, lectures, and workshops on all different subjects featuring a range of performers. There are also booths where people are selling their magic books, decks of cards, dvds, tricks, and broomsticks.They spend the day going to events, showing each other moves, teaching each other tricks and trading tips on where to buy cauldrons.

And - like I said, because we're in the UK - drinking. The drinking begins at 10am and goes on all day, so by the end of evening you have a totally smashed group of grown men running about making things disappear. They don't sleep, they don't eat - they just drink and do magic.

But only in designated areas.

Magic humor is even worse than British humor.

Being one of 7 women and non-magicians in the whole place, you're pretty much guaranteed to be asked to come up on stage and be the spectator in someone's act. So I was not surprised when I got pulled up during a performance. But I was surprised when it was by a man dressed in a ridiculous, green dragon suit who goes by Piff the Magic Dragon, and his accomplice, Mr. Piffles - a 3lb long-haired chihuahua in the same, dog-sized outfit.

He does a comedy magic act, in which he plays a very sarcastic and dry humored, magic dragon.

He starts off by saying, "Hi. My name's Piff the Magic Dragon. You may have heard of my brother...... Steve."

I know this sounds terrible, but he does really great magic and is totally hilarious.

He took my signed 20 pound note and made it disappear, and then reappear later inside a walnut, which he cracked open before my very eyes.

He also made Mr. Piffles moonwalk.

This is the kind of company my boyfriend keeps.

Also performing was Dani DaOrtiz, a spanish magician who can barely speak English, is largely overweight, balding, and absolutely amazing. I watched his show 3 times because I just couldn't get enough. He was doing things that fooled every magician in the room! His magic appeared totally unstructured and completely impossible and the language barrier made for a hilarious routine. Every time he did something utterly amazing he just said "I don't know why!"

When he says cards it sounds like cats because of his accent. So it's quite funny, when he says "name a cat, any cat will work, you have a cat a mind, it can be any cat - I don't care, it's your life."

It really liked being absorbed into the magic world for a weekend.

It was like having free tickets to tons of magic shows - and unlike most of the magic wives, I really do love magic. All of it! Comedy magic, stage magic, close up magic, and now I know of a few new magicians I really like.

But there is only one magician that I will ever love.

The one magician that is more amazing (and more handsome) than any other in the world.

The one magician that had my heart from the first time I laid eyes on him.

Just kidding.

Love in London

Just a quick update, since I am trying to stick to my resolutions.
The "no sugar" has already gone to hell, so I might as well do my best to uphold the others!

Sir Joshua is here!


It's been brilliant having my hunky boyfriend around. Everything is more fun when you're with the one you love, so Josh being in London is like London on crack for me!

To celebrate resuming our life of fun we went for a lovely dinner at a restaurant in Pilimco called The Orange. We shared some things, the best of which being champagne braised rabbit with homemade spinach gnocchi and green olives. I felt a little bad about eating a bunny, especially with a magician, but every bite so was incredible I forgot my guilt.

We walked off dinner for a bit before heading into a little pub on the Kings Road for some classic English desserts.

People are always making fun of English food, and rightfully so in some areas (like steak and kidney pie) - but I think I give England the award for the country I've visited with the best desserts.

Now that may sound absurd, but think about it...

In France everything is delicious, but it's also quite small and prissy. They have plenty of amazing and indulgent things, but I think of crepes and macarons as more of a snack than a dessert.

Greece is pretty bad on the dessert front. All they've got is baklava and I've never considered that a real dessert.

In Quebec everything is maple syrup flavored. Which is good at first because it's unique, but quickly became a bit to breakfasty for me.

Guatemala didn't even have dessert options. There were only things like guava paste. Gross.

Hollands best "dessert" is actually a dinner - panneokeon.

Italy is the absolute worst. They're so focused on amazing pasta, they never got around to perfecting sweets. Tiramisu is terrible. Pizelles? Please. Spumoni and all those gross, anise flavored cookies you couldnt pay me to eat. The only thing they've got going for them is gelato - but all of Europe has gelato.

Then there's England.

Sticky Toffee Pudding, Banoffe Pie, Knickerbocker Glory, Victoria Sponge, Millionaire's Shortbread, Spotted Dick, Jam Roly Polys, treacle tart - and of course Mince Pies!

All of these things are sweet, dense, homey, delicious treats that fill your heart with joy and your belly with toffee. A girl is never at a loss for something amazing and sugary here! And what makes it really fun is that we don't have any of these things back in the states. We've all been creme bruled and tiramisued to death in restaurants, so having them in the country they came from isn't actually all that exciting. But have you ever seen Eton Mess on a menu in America?

No. And it's really too bad, because it rocks your trouser socks.

Josh and I got a Sticky Toffee Pud' and Eton Mess to share, even though I could have easily licked both plates clean on my own. It was a very sweet ending to our first day together in London!

Last night we went to see Ghost The Musical, which had me in tears half the time and chills the other half, due to the amazing performances and voices of the two leads.

At the interval, I dried my eye's and asked Josh - who prides himself on being a film buff - how close the storyline of the musical was to the movie, since I haven't seen it in ages.

He contemplated and replied, "Very close. They just haven't done that scene yet with the pottery, you know where that great song plays in the background - (and then he dramatically sang) Take my breath away....."

This statment took my breath away because I was laughing so hard.

You mean, "oh my love, my darling, I hunger for your touch," I sang back.

Now I must state for the court that Unchained Melody was sung in the first 10 minutes of the musical. It also is the first thing everyone in the world thinks of when they think of Ghost. Some movie buff.

Josh did not find this event nearly as funny as I did. And will probably see no humor in my public account of it - but he did say he wanted to be mentioned more in my blog. So volia.
So after our two very fun days in London, today we head out to Gloucestershire, where Josh hosts a Magic Convention every January in a little town called Newent, where his friend Andi lives.


I am actually really excited to both go to my first magic convention, and also get a taste of what a little english town is like.
I googled Newent to learn more about what fun things are there.
Turns out, the highlight of life in Newent comes every September when there is a Onion Fayre, complete with contests for both growing and eating onions.


Peaked your interest have I?
This is from the Onion Fayre website.

"At 1pm the audience will gather at the main stage for the great Onion Eating Competition. Competitors come from far and wide to attempt this feat.
The first round of the competition is the Ladies event. Each entrant is given a 5 ounce peeled raw onion to consume in the fastest possible time The second round sees the men chomp their way through an even bigger onion, a whopping 7 ouncer, like it's an apple.
Once the onion is consumed the contestant has to hold their arms outstreched and mouth wide open for the judges to declare them the winner.
Fancy a go? Just leave your name with the team at the main stage and turn up at 1pm. Happy chomping - and don't forget the mouthwash!"

Count me in for that one!
Whilst reading up on Newent and their onion obsession, I discovered that Newent is located just near the Forest of Dean, which may ring a bell if you are a Harry Potter fan.


The Forest of Dean is where Harry, Ron, and Hermione camp out in HP and Deathly Hallows while they are hunting horcruxes! It is also where Hermione once went camping with her dentist parents. I got VERY excited about this because I didn't know it was a real place! A trot through the forest is definitely on my list of things to do in Newent.

Also on my list is a visit to the sweets shoppe that Andi's parents own! I have always dreamed of literally being a kid in a candy store, filling up a bag of bon bons with a carte blanc!

I'm excited to meet some of Josh's "magic friends" and see them perform. There will be lots of shows, workshops and lectures over the weekend.
I offered up doing a performance at the convention - free of charge! I had a few great ideas for lectures for both the magicians and their spouses.


1 - "The Secret Life of Joshua Jay: Dating the Man Behind the Mystery"

2 - "No, He Doesn't Cut Me In Half": Coping with the ridiculous questions you get asked as a magicians girlfriend.

3 - "Mingling with Muggles" Tips for magicians on dating non-magic folk.

Josh was not keen however.  His loss.

I guess I'll just have to mingle with the other magician's girlfriends and try to organize a hike to the Forest of Dean.

Cheers to the magical weekend ahead!

Bits and Bobs

I got the following email from my flatmate (who is also the landlord) the other day.

The email is copy and pasted exactly, my thoughts while reading inserted in red.

Hello Hello my little beauties,

So I need to just run through a few things with you all (as your terrifying and utterly genius land lord)

first thing: HEATING: If anyone touches the heating system I will cut their head off. I have set the timer for in the morning and evening. If we want it on all day and night then I will have to put the rent up.

so PLEASE dont touch.

Bloody hell I'm going to freeze! I wonder if she is talking about me. I did turn the heat in my room from level 3 to MAX and leave it like that all day with the door shut. I came back to toaster oven!

Secondly: CLEANER: We have a new cleaner called Abel...he is a man...I know shocking!!! He is £25.00 for two hours and will come once a week to do the communial areas of the house...If you want your rooms cleaned you must leave extra money for him and let me know in advance. He is coming this Tuesday.

Thank goodness for Abel (male). The kitchen is a complete disaster! It's quite brilliant how everyone has house cleaners here. I hope he makes beds. I have always hated making the bed. Total waste of time if you ask me, you are just going to unmake it again in a couple hours. A vicious cycle.

Third (ly): SUPPER: Marta is back on the 8th (This Sunday) so I thought we should all have a nice house supper on the Monday 9th. This can be a belated welcome to Anna. Maybe we could make some Fajitas? Or something homley like sheperds pie??

I love that my flatmates call dinner supper. It reminds me of my grandparents.

Seriously hoping dinner is NOT going to be Sherperds Pie. I'm sure it is delicious but Sweeny Todd ruined all meat pies for me.

Fifth (ly): BITS AND BOBS:

Please can someone buy some black bin liners and a bulk loo-paper....and we will all split it????!!!!

all my love

x x x x x x x

HAHAHAH loo-paper.

I literally love my flatmates and its only been a week. I don't know how I got so lucky as to find this place. I realized as I was unpacking that I have never had a proper bedroom of my own before anywhere I lived since living at home.

I shared in room in the dorms freshmen year of college, then I moved into a 1 bedroom apartment that I shared, and I lived in the living room, then I moved in a one room studio which Joshua called "the hallway" because it was long and never got wider than 4ft across. This is the first apartment I've lived in where I have a bedroom, with a door. I am really getting old.

We did have a flat supper Monday night, and it was lovely! We had pasta with Bolognese sauce, salad, and of course lots and lots of wine. It was so fun to be hanging out together in our kitchen, chatting and sipping and laughing. I feel like I have girlfriends! And they are quite a hilarious bunch. I've already picked up some other Englishisms to add to the diction-ry.

Rank - disgusting or ugly. This is really English, one of my flatmates says it constantly.

I.E. That bloke is rank.

Have a..... - instead of getting or taking a (insert noun) you are having one, or had one.

I.E. I've just had a wax. I'm going to have a bath.

Whilst - this is a good one. They say whilst a lot, when we would say while.

I.E. I am reading whilst eating my lunch.

Abel (male) did come today and clean which was heavenly. I left it in a state this morning since I was late for work, and came home to find sparkly. My bed was made, my clothes hung up, the works.

So I have a tidy apartment just in time for the arrival of this guy I've been dating: Sir Josh.

!!!

I can't wait to have my first visitor! We're going to have two days of fun in London before heading out to Gloucestershire for the weekend for Josh's magic convention.

This will be my first magic convention. I am extremely excited about this because almost 2 years ago now I bought a silk skirt with a playing card motif on it, and a black silk blouse with the suits of the cards scattered about at Anthropologie. I thought they were very supportive purchases! I have long dreamed of they day I could wear them around magicians where they would be appreciated. So I know what clothes I'm packing!

Lady Anna will arrive in style.

Lady Anna

"You put your left arm in, you put your left arm out, you put your left arm in and you shake it all about. You do the Hokey Pokey and you turn yourself around that's what it's all about."

You know the song. We all know and love the Hokey Pokey. My niece is currently obsessed with this song as a matter of fact, and everytime I skype with her she spends a majority of the time singing it to me, with the dance of course. She's two. My sister, who is thirty two, and has to listen to the Hokey Pokey all day everyday - has different sentiments.

I thought of her yesterday as I was shopping in Debenhems on Oxford Street for some cute things for my room and came across this lovely wall art.

I thought it was a typo. The Hokey Cokey? Don't they mean Pokey?

Now both names are equally ridiculous but one of us is clearly saying it wrong - either the Brits or us, so naturally I had to investigate this matter further.

Turns out - it was invented in the UK and was originally called the Hokey Cokey! Who knew! I always assumed it was American because it makes no sense and is ridiculous - like Pajama Jeans, but turns out the English were hokey cokeying for ten years over here before we even knew it about!

I found the following on Wikipedia.

"The hokey cokey (United Kingdom) or hokey pokey (United States & Ireland), also known as the okey cokey, hokey tokey, or cokey cokey, is a participation dance with a distinctive accompanying tune and lyric structure. It is well known in English-speaking countries. The song and accompanying dance peaked in popularity as a music hallsong and novelty dance in the mid-1940s in Britain and Ireland.

There is a claim of authorship by the British/Irish songwriter Jimmy Kennedy, responsible for the lyrics to popular songs such as the wartime "We're Going to Hang out the Washing on the Siegfried Line."

I also learned that the lyrics are a bit different here across the pond.

You put your [right leg] in,
Your [right leg] out:
In, out, in, out.
You shake it all about.
You do the hokey cokey,
And you turn around.
That's what it's all about!

Here's where things get really nutty:

Whoa, the hokey cokey!,
Whoa, the hokey cokey!,
Whoa, the hokey cokey!,
Knees bent, arms stretched,
Rah! rah! rah!

Not quite what you learned as a kid, right?

It's the last bit that I particularly like - "knees bent arms stretched, rah! rah! rah!

I already knew London had better shopping, cuter streets, better museums, and nicer people than the States, and now it turns out that even the hokey pokey is cooler in the UK.

I passed on the Hokey Cokey sign, but did find a variety of things to spruce up my new place, as I was struggling to carry the mound of cushions I found to the till, I realized something.

This is the first time in my life that my room will not be pink. Holy jam roly poly - I must be maturing.

Instead of going right for the pink, pretty, duvet cover, the beautiful bubblegum curtains or the fuschia fluffy towels - I found myself drawn to another color.

Red.

This is a big step for me.

I think, honestly, it all stemmed from wanting a traditional Union Jack canvas in my flat, and having to match with that. But the fact that I would even consider another color for my surroundings aside from pink is groundbreaking for the girl who's fictional hero is Elle Woods.

I found so many wonderful red, white, and black London themed things that I ended up not having enough hands to carry it all with, so I decided to just order the larger items online. Like this for the wall.

Just in case I would forget where I am!

When I got online to place the order, I started to fill out the bits of required information, starting with name prefix. I clicked on the drop down menu to select "Miss" as I always do, and realized some better options available.

The drop down list read:

Mr.

Mrs.

Miss

Ms.

Doctor

Professor

Sister

Sir

Dame

Lord

Lady

Reverend

So naturally I chose Lady over Miss.

I've decided to start referring to myself as Lady Anna, and I ask you to do the same, please.

It is much more proper sounding than Miss afterall, and it has a nice ring to it, no?

It will just have to suffice until I marry Prince Harry and upgrade to the title of Princess.

Speaking of English royalty, yesterday was Kate's 30th Birthday! Can you even imagine that she got for her birthday from her new mum-in-law, The Queen?

Probably just something small, like a castle or a diamond tiara or two.

She turned up looking gorgeous at the premier of War Horse with two very important accessories to have in London: a Prince and a chic umbrella.

I've got to put some serious effort into finding both of these things.

Unfortunately, you can't order a Prince online.