Hiking Around Hampstead

Explore Hampstead Heath


75 and sunny this past Thursday! Clear blue skies, warm breeze....it was a dream.
Honest - when I woke up and felt the sun shining through my window, I had to make sure I was not dreaming.

After a fabulous 7am class at Barrecore, I got to work and received a big fat check that put a big fat smile on my face, since it tipped my total sales for my first year of work to over double the goal that was given to me! July marks 1 year that I've been a working woman. I plan on celebrating my $$$$$$ victory with a big, fat cupcake! Sadly, I don't get commission but I do get rewarded with sugar.
My boss knows the way to my heart.

Given that it was a rare day of amazing weather  - we closed up shop at 5 on the dot, I changed into some Luon and I headed up to Hampstead Heath. I kept hearing how gorgeous it was from everyone, and felt that a rare sunny day was the perfect opportunity to finally see for myself.

I was expecting a park of sorts, but what I found instead was vast woodlands, meadows, strings of ponds, valleys, tall ferns growing out of unkept grass, huge shady trees, small dirt trails, flowers, leaves, shubbery - need I go on! It is a magical, huge, chunk of glorious nature in the middle of the city!

I roamed around enjoying how absolutely lovely everything was and taking in huge breathes of fresh, non city air. I laid in the grass, I hiked the trails, I watched some english lads fish, and eventually I got all the way to the Pergola and Hill Top Gardens where I stayed until the last bit of sun disappeared and then I popped on the double decker towards home.

The Pergola at Hampstead Heath

As I was nearing my flat, I noticed my two flatmates sitting outside the corner pub, pints and cigarette cartons on the table. I stopped to say hello, and Suze asked,"Where have you bean?" 
She prounounces "been" very englishly and it sounds like she is saying bean. At least to me.

I explained I was just hiking around hampstead heath and laying in the sunshine, exploring trails and admiring the Pergola.

"Gosh, you look just like the picture of health," said Jacqueline, as she took a drag from her cigarette!
And you look just like the picture lung cancer, I thought. But I didn't say that because I love her.

They both  agreed that I have seen more of England than they have after living here their whole lives.

I'm about to see more as I've planned an Island Getaway for this weekend with my friend Christina and her adorable yorkie, Herbie. We are having a girls + dog weekend, on the Isle of Wight. Apparently, it has nice, English beaches - if such a thing actually exists. When we booked this getaway the forecast for the weekend was sun! But sadly since then it has changed to rain, rain, and more rain. So here's to looking on the brightside and hoping the sun prevails afterall.

My flatmates helped me pick this location the other night as we watched re-run after re-run of Sex and the City until we finally gave into our growing sleepiness at 2am. I could recite each word of the episodes we watched I've seen them all so many times. But who can turn off the finale of SATC when its on tv?
No one can, that's who.
No female can tear their eyes away from Mr. Big flying to Paris to rescue Carrie. That grand gesture moment is something we all dream of.

My flatmates they ask if life in New York is really like that, if people are really dressed like that, do that, say that, eat out in places like that....

"Yes" - I answer. It's everything you see and more!
The clothes, the restaurants, the lights, the trannys, the crazies, the cosmos.

The only thing I never experienced in my life in New York was the uncanny amount of good looking men Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Samantha seem to come across. And the gorgeous apartments they all live in. In real life, there are no Mr. Big's parked outside the stoop of your brownstone.
I lived in New York for 3 years without so much as meeting a soul I would maybe want to date before Josh walked through the door of Quality Meats and into my life.

When the last episode was over I was slightly tempted to pop in my DVD of the movie, but having to be up at 7 for Barrecore stopped me. I pulled the case out of my drawer, but promptly stuffed it back in between Music & Lyrics and The Little Mermaid.

I own a very small and strange assortment of DVDs, which also includes High School Musical 1, 2, and 3. And I'm proud of it.

So instead of putting on a bad girl movie, I packed up my suitcase so I was ready to depart for the island the next evening, fell into my 500 thread count sheets, and said a selfish prayer for sunshine.  Lots and lots of sunshine....

Young at Heart

Remember Recess?

That glorious 30 minute break in the middle of the school day.

The chance to get outside, run around like a loon, play tag with your friends, wait for you turn at the teatherball court, watch whatever boy you liked that week play soccer while you whispered about him with your friends.... recess was the best!

I have such fond memories of recess. My middle school was conveniently located next to a Super KMart and the bad kids would sneak across the field, into the door and shoplift soda-flavored Lipsmackers during recess.
The good kinds (i.e. me) would often huddle up in the tire hut and belt Spice Girls songs and or have a competition of who could jump off the swing from the highest point.
Oh, those were the days.

The other week I discovered a little park right next to my office that has one of the coolest playgrounds attached to it that I've ever seen. Swings, tons of slides, a climbing wall, a giant choo choo train, monkey bars, seesaws, and best of all this giant swinging disc that perfectly fits my entire body.

So naturally, I began taking recess.

I get a one hour lunch break to do with what I please. In New York, I usually used it to go shopping in Soho, take a nap on a bench in the sun, or meet Josh at Sushi Samba for El Topo rolls. But here in London my office is not conveniently located to any good shopping, sushi, or sunny benches. So instead, I buy a popsicle at the mini food store, and walk myself over the playground for some good old fashioned fun!

The best thing is, I usually have the place to myself. I don't know if it's the location, or the time, or the fact that the weather is always crap and no one wants to take their kid to a park, but I typically have the run of the place.

This makes the playground even more awesome because:
a) I don't have to take turns
b) I don't get weird looks from parents

I've always planned that if it was crowded I could just prop myself on a swing and pretend like I was a nanny watching over one of the kids there. I'd shout an occasional "be careful" or "don't run sweetheart ,you'll fall" at no one in particular and no one would suspect a thing. But it has never come to that.

However, yesterday was uncommonly warm and sunny - so as I skipped to playground with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich packed wrapped in aluminum foil in my purse for lunch, I was not surprised to find a few kids running about, but most of them were real tiny tots being pushed in the baby swings.

Thankfully, my favorite giant, disc shaped swing was free, so I pulled it far back, jumped on, and stretched my body out over the sides of the disc so that my head rested on one edge, my espadrilles hung over the other, and my arms flopped over the sides.  Rocking back and forth, I felt complete joy to have sunshine on my face and a cool breeze blowing through my hair as I continued to power the swinging motion with my legs.

I'm not sure how long it took, but at some point in between swinging and thinking how wonderful this idea of mine was  - I totally passed out.

I woke up as my phone went off in my bag. I was 45 minutes into my lunch break!
As I started to slowly raise my head to get out of the disc I saw the world's cutest little boy standing a few feet in front of me, shoulder's slumped and a look of distress of his face.

I popped up immediately, saying "Oh cutie are you waiting for a turn?"
The little boy, shy as you can imagine, nodded with a small frown.

I have no idea how long he was waiting there, but whether it was 2 minutes or 20, I felt like the world's worst human as I quickly moved aside apologizing to this 3 year boy relentlessly.
His nanny, standing a few steps away began to approach as he tried to pull himself into the disc and I stretched my sincere apology to her as well explaining that I fell asleep, but she just laughed and said "I can't believe I never thought of doing that! I'm going in when he's done!"


Relieved, I smiled back and said, "we all need a little recess," and then went to eat my PB&J on a picnic bench.


If you're wondering when I am going to "grow up" the answer is: Never, if I can help it.
I made my mind up after seeing Peter Pan.

So I take recess.
And eat popsicles.
And pack myself peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch every once in a while, and I'll continue doing so for the rest of my life because like Sinatra says,

"Fairy tales can come true, it can happen to you 

If you're young at heart. 

For it's hard, you will find, to be narrow of mind 

If you're young at heart. 

You can go to extremes with impossible schemes. 

You can laugh when your dreams fall apart at the seams. 

And life gets more exciting with each passing day. 

And love is either in your heart, or on it's way. 

Don't you know that it's worth every treasure on earth 

To be young at heart. 

For as rich as you are, it's much better by far 

To be young at heart. 

And if you should survive to 105, 

Look at all you'll derive out of being alive! 

And here is the best part, you have a head start 

If you are among the very young at heart."

Check, please.

See A Film at the Coronet
Stroll Around Brighton
Visit the Tower of London

I'm a blonde on a mission. As a result my London list is getting shorter and shorter. I had a really nice weekend, and though it was a lonely one due to all my (3 total) girlfriends being out of town, it gave me a chance to do exactly what I wanted to do.

Friday night was rainy and cold, and so I sought refuge from the weather in the famous Coronet Cinema in Notting Hill. The gorgeous little theatre originally opened in 1898 and after a rich history of important english theatre, it now functions as a picturehouse. It is well worn in a fantastic sort of way, with carpets frayed from footsteps of enthusiastic theatregoers and celebrities, and thick velvet curtains and seat covers faded from ruby to scarlet.

Popcorn in hand, I cozied into a plush velvet seat, and enjoyed every moment of the new Wes Anderson film, Moonrise Kingdom. I admit I am an unlikely fan of Wes Anderson's dry humor and flawed characters, but I found myself grinning from start to finish at this cute plot of a little orphaned boy and troubled girl who decide they are deeply in love and plan to run away together.

The Coronet Cinema

Truly a must see

Saturday morning the sky had the promise of sunshine, so I boarded a train out to Brighton in hopes of laying out on a beach. Fully clothed of course, since there is no place or time in England where one can actually wear a bathing suit. But to no surprise, I found the skies grey and winds fierce when I arrived seaside. Before I headed out on this journey, I picked up of a copy of "The Great Gatsby" to amuse myself on the train. I hadn't read it since high school and with the upcoming Baz Luhrmnan adaptation I wanted to jog my memory.

Brighton reminded me of a creepy, English version of Cedar Point.
Vintage carnival rides were piled on top of each other on the long pier, stuffed between stands selling Fish n' Chips, ice cream, and fresh sugared donuts. Both the sky and sea were grey instead of blue, and rocky pebbles lined the shore where sand should have been. As I wandered around, spending £5 to ride the Turbo and another £5 on a milkshake,  I found myself so sad for England that this is as close as they get to both a beach, and an amusement park. No wonder Disney World vacations are so popular!

Despite the fact that it was a bit creepy, it had a certain charm. I spent the rest of the day exploring the little town, and was shocked to find Vegan restaurants and shops full of funky art and screen-printed clothing. Delighted, I popped into the top rated cafe in town for a pumpkin and quinoa bake that I ate while browsing around assorted ceramic items in the flea market. It seems Brighton is the hipster hangout of England, and I appreciated the vibe that is world's away from the pomp and circumstance of London. When I was about ready to leave, the skies cleared up. So rather than head back to the train station as planned, I sat on a picnic bench on the "beach" and transported myself to West Egg for awhile.

Sunday I decided to stick around town and finally pay a visit to the Tower of London.
I was pleased to find it was not a tourist trap at all, but rather a fascinating old fortress complete with a jolly good tour guide - The London Beefeater!

Or more formally known as the Yeomen Warders of Her Majesty’s Royal Palace and Fortress and Members of the Sovereign's Body Guard of the Yeoman Guard Extraordinary.

They are the official guardians of the Tower of London and are responsible for looking after any prisoners at the Tower and safeguarding the British crown jewels. 

However, since there are currently no prisoners or attempted crown jewel thieves, they give free hour-long tours of the tower. I can't speak for all the guards of the tower, but my guide was quite funny and made the tour rather amusing. 

I learned that being a Beefeater is an enormous privilege. Application is only possible after servingin  Her Majesty's army for a minimum of 22 years and achieving certain distinctions within that time.

But for the lucky few who get in, they actually live in lovely little flats within the tower compound, pay for nothing, and have their own doctor, chapel, and of course - pub. 

The Beefeater's are not to be confused with the normal guards, who pace about guarding who knows what with rifles in those enormous furry hats. Sadly the Beefeater outfit is actually much goofier and feminine looking - but it's a small price to pay for flat in central London.

I got to see the Crown Jewels, the many suits of Armor from various former Kings of England, and the site where the private Scaffold was constructed for the be-heading of former head's of state. I.E. Anne Boleyn. Poor Anne was beheaded just a few steps from the Chapel she was married in 3 years before. 

Also of note, apparently, are the Loos of the Tower of London. They seemed quite ordinary to me, but I couldn't help but notice the awards plastered every few feet on the walls. 

I have to wonder, who is charged with the horrible task of judging the Loo of the Year Awards?

It turned out to be a genuinely gorgeous and sunny day, which must be taken advantage of on the rare occasion that it happens! So after spending several hours at the tower, I crossed Tower Bridge and explored St. Katherine's dock and the Butcher's Wharf. Realizing I was absolutely starving, I sat down at All Bar One and pretended to belong to an Italian family of 8 dining next to me so I won't be lonley. They could barely speak English, which I found charming as I overheard the littlest girl ask the waiter if it was called a "fork" or a "korf".

I've gotten over the fear of eating in restaurants alone, because one becomes sick of absolutely everything at Pret a Manger and EAT fairly quickly and longs to eat in a place where the cutlery is not plastic. I also cannot resist an outdoor table on a summer day. So I finished the last Chapter of Gatsby as I admired the view of Tower Bridge before me and soaked up sunshine for the first time since I returned from America.

I only find dining alone strange once my plate is cleared and I'm ready for the check.

When I first sit down, the prospect of the menu is distracting me too much to realize I'm alone.
"What will I order? Can I get that on the side? I wonder if they have good fries??" These thoughts are all running through my mind. When I've decided, ordered, changed my mind, and then re-ordered, I usually make a phone call if it's not rude given the setting, or pull a book from purse - like in today's case.

Once my food arrives my book is cast asside and my focus drawn to whatever is about to be savored. The smell, the plating, the texture. This period of joy last until the final crumb is consumed, and then the fun is over.

I have no one to chat to while I attempt to flag down the waitor and find myself drumming my fingertips on the table while I anxiously try to spot him and shout from afar, "check, please!"
Then instead of planting a kiss on Josh with an accompanying thank you, or concurring with a friend how delicious the whatever we ate was - I talk to myself, like an old loony person.

After indulging in far too much rosemary and sea salt bread that was warm from the oven, I took a 3 mile walk from the Wharf to Westminster Abbey before surrendering to the pains of my toes and hopping on the bus home to my flat. I like having time to take in the city by foot, In Rainbows serving as a soundtrack as I explore new streets and stop to window shop at positively every bakery I pass. I really need to start wearing proper walking shoes in lieu of my patent leather brogues, but I can't say I've ever been big on tennis shoes - unless they are pink.

 

As the weeks continue to pass here, I find I am not, as I feared - growing melancholy, but rather anxious. I want June to turn to July and July to August until it finally has become October and I am at Heathrow Airport for the last time, having a "goodbye London" tea in the fancy pub in the terminal  - alone, of course. But when I do, I can assure you that when I've finished my scones and am anxiously searching for the waitor to shout "check, please," it will be among the most enthusiastic of my life.

A Comedy of Errors

See The Royal Shakespeare Company Perform A Play

Scratched it off the list! I went to see the RSC the other night with my co-worker. I got lucky that she had an extra ticket to the festival going on in London and invited me to come along as her date. Then I got extra lucky that it was a nice, sunny, evening and so we went to the pub beforehand for dinner and pints, and sat outside on picnic benches soaking up a bit of rare english sun while we munched.

The Royal Shakespeare company performs completely original script, but with modern sets and costumes. So, since Shakespearian English can be a bit difficult to understand, we decided to read a summary of the show we were seeing beforehand so we could try to follow.

Jo told me we were seeing "As You Like It," which the great love story of Rosalind and Orlando. One of my favorites, but quite a confusing and detailed plot which we read over together to jog our memories, and felt prepared to go watch the show after our studies were over.

Imagine our surprise when the lights dimmed, and there was no Rosalind or Orlando in sight. Jo had the show wrong - we were seeing "The Comedy of Errors."

Cue the irony.

I had no idea what "The Comedy of Errors" was about, and all our research had been for naught! As I sat there, utterly confused trying to understand where this plot was going, I felt like declaring, "I am fortune's fool!" Romeo & Juliet is, of course, my favorite. I'm a sucker for star-crossed lovers.

Before the first act was over, I surprisingly had a pretty good gist of what was happening; and after a quick Google search, everything became clear. "The Comedy of Errors" is one of his earliest plays, it's about mistaken identities and it's very pun heavy, which I love. 

After the show, I found this guide to speaking Shakespeare online and decided to speak as much Shakespearian as I could for the following day. Methinks the guide tis quite instructive.

Instead of you, say thou or thee (and instead of you all, say ye).

Rhymed couplets are all the rage

Men are "Sirrah," ladies are "Mistress," and your friends are all called "Cousin."

Instead of cursing, try calling your tormenters jackanapes or canker-blossoms or poisonous bunch-back’d toads.

Don’t waste time saying "it," just use the letter "t" (’tis, t’will, I’ll do’t).

Verse for lovers, prose for ruffians, songs for clowns.

When in doubt, add the letters "eth" to the end of verbs (he runneth, he trippeth, he falleth).

To add weight to your opinions, try starting them with methinks, mayhaps, in sooth or wherefore.

When wooing ladies: try comparing her to a summer’s day. When wooing lads: try dressing up like a man. 


Cross-dressing is quite a common theme in Shakespeare, and it is actually still quite popular among English lads today. Just give them an excuse to dress up as Maggie Thatcher and they'll do it. Wig and all. Quite pervy really.

I was glad to scratch this important thing off the list. I've got this weekend in England, hopefully heading out to Brighton tomorrow if it's not raining. And then the madness begins.

By madness, I truly mean madness. You see, summer in England is not summer at all. It is cold, and rainy and depressing. So, I have decided I am not spending my summer in England. I got an email from Easy Jet advertising £30 return flights to just about everywhere last week - and I took action. I am going to have a permanent suitcase packed because holy jam roly poly - the adventures begin as I make the most of my last 4 months here! I am going to be in a different country almost every weekend from July-September. My passport is going to implode before this is over....

June 30-July 1 - I'm exploring the glorious country of Wales! Which is attached to England, but is actually a different country.
July 6-8 Josh arrives in London! We're trotting off to Cambridge to go punting, in between attending some 4th of July parties here in London where I plan to dress in head to toe American flag print.
July 13-15 I am resuming my life as a Magic WAG in the lovely town of Blackpool with Josh at the world's largest magic convention. Bring on the tigers.
July 16-24 You will find me baking my biscuit golden brown and filling myself with feta in the Greek Isles. Josh will be reading in the shade next to me and will refuse to participate in poolside chit-chat, but we will hold hands from across our lounge chairs.
July 27-29 Popping off to Prague! My mom has a  Czechoslovakian heritage on her side, so I've got to pay hommage.

August 3-5 Joining my parents in Munich where I will be able to EAT ANOTHER DAMPFNUDEL!!! This is surely going to be the highlight of my adventures.
August 10-12 Strolling around Bruges indulging in Belgium waffles and chocolates and Belgium beer.
August 17-19 Trying my luck at the casino in Monte Carlo and doing a little bit of brunir on the beach in Nice with my English friends!
August 24-29 Flying home to NYC over the bank holiday to spend the weekend Stateside with my magician, and to work from our New York office for a few days, and replenish my peanut butter stock.
August 31 - Sept 5 - I will be in a sea of pasta, pizza, and wine on a Roman and Tuscan holiday with my sister!

September 7-9 Saying my final goodbye to Paris, Didier, Valerie, and of course - the tour!
Sept 14-16 Zipping off to Zurich for a weekend of Swiss cheese.
Sept 21-23 My job requires me to be in Monaco for a Yacht Show and cocktailing with clientele. What a drag.
Sept 28-30 packing up my life and shipping it to New York - because as of October you will find me once again permanently in the United States of America!!!!!

And I think I will have no problem sleeping that entire flight home, because I will be EXHAUSTED!
I know the summer madness tour of Europe is slightly mental, and that I will probably pass out in a pool of airplane tickets and cheap souvenirs at some point in the middle of it. But I am young - and I need to live! When I'm a mere two hour flight or train from everywhere in Europe I can't just sit in my flat in rainy England hoping for sun. So yes - it's an ambitious 3 months ahead, but this is why I came here. This is why I left everything and everyone and a rent stabilized apartment in Chelsea and moved to England. To travel, to experience, to learn.

And so I do...

The Many Meanings of Bollocks

With a mere 4 months to go in the UK - I've made it a priority to start accomplishing the remaining things on my on "Fun To Do" list on the weekends. Mainly, the things that are located in England since once I leave, I imagine it will be a long time - if ever - before I return again. So, I have put my English adventures at the top of the list and I had a jolly good weekend!

I spent Friday drinking Pimm's at my friend's birthday party before heading out with her and group of Brit friends for some "dantsing," which is how they pronounce dancing. I got my weekly British-English lesson, learning the meaning(s) and appropriate uses for "knackered," "bollocks," and a new phrase "jog off."

I had always wondered what exactly "bollocks" meant, and after having the various uses explained to me, I find myself almost less informed. Here are some of the correct meanings and uses I found in an urban dictionary....

In general, bollocks is a term of exasperation, often said at having made a mistake.
i.e. If you've sent a saucy text message to your boss instead of your boyfriend... you would relaize it and shout "Bollocks!" 

As a plural noun, the bollocks are the testicles of a human or animal.
i.e. - you might overhear a man here say, "I couldn't be arsed to go home, so I just stood there, scratching me bollocks." Really.

Bollocks can be used in response to what you feel is exaggerated truth or blatant lies....

i.e. "he's talking bollocks"

Or poor or bad effort .
i.e. "He was playing bullocks football"

Bollocks also frequently is used to describe something that was bad, lame, crap. For example,
"the stag-do was bollocks." However - if something is "the dog's bollocks," then it is amazing. So when the bollocks belong to a canine, the inverse meaning comes into play. I do not understand why.

Once can 'drop a bollock,' which is committing a social faux-pas, leading to grave embarrassment and or banishment. (I added the banishment bit.)

A 'bollocking' is a telling off, often by one's boss for an inadequate work or inappropriate behaviour.

To lack bollocks is to be gutless, spineless and generally lack courage.

If a piece of machinery is bollocksed, it is broken or rendered unusable.

 To be 'bollock-naked' it to be completely without clothing, save for a few relatively unimportant items such as socks, watch, rings, necklaces, bracelets, earrings or other body jewellery.

To be 'bollocksed' also means to have imbibed an amount of alcohol which has eliminated a dangerously high number of brain cells causing a lack of social and spatial awareness, incoherent speech and the inability to believe that you're not as drunk as you are.

Finally, as a verb, to 'bollocks' or to be 'bollocksed' is to flummox or be flummoxed; confuse or be confused.  Which I think is the best use for this word, which I have decided is completely bollocksing to me.

After a lovely Friday night - I decided to pop on the train out of London on Saturday and head to one of the sites on the top of my list England List - Hampton Court Palace, home of Henry VIII, for a little culture and history.

I went through a phase about this time last year of being obsessed to an unhealthy degree with HBO's "The Tudors," which dramatizes the fascinating history of King Henry, his 6 wives, children, and the lives of people at court.
During this time I began demanding Josh refer to me as "my lady," we take up jousting, and that we drink only out of goblets. Sadly, The Tudors is only 4 seasons long, so my obsession could not be fed for very long....until I got here!

Hampton Court Palace was Henry's main residence for several years, and the tudor portion of the palace is still in great tact. I got to visit his privy apartments, privy gardens, wine cellar, kitchens, and chapel where he wept over the untimely death of his favorite wife, Jane.

It is also home to acres of privy gardens, a rose garden, and an enormous shubbery maze, which I entered thinking it would be fun and found myself properly lost for a good 30 minutes. Bollocks!

King Henry expanded the kitchen to accommodate feeding his large court.

privy gardens

Possibly the coolest thing about visiting Hampton Court Palace is that there are tudor-style capes in all sizes that you can loan and wear whilst you visit. There are also re-inactments of important events in history by characters in full dress throughout various parts of the palace. While I missed all of these because I was lost in the maze, I got lucky enough to see King Henry wandering around the courtyard...

Clearly, they decided to portray Henry nearer to the end of his life when he got tubby...

He started out as a very handsome, fit, young king and by the end of his life could not get out of bed without assistance because he had grown so obese and suffered from serious injury after a jousting accident. He died at a young 55, and was buried next to Jane.

Sunday I decided to stick around London and attend the Summer Fayre in Marylebone.
After a lovely brunch at my favorite local cafe, Megan's, my friend and I headed up North.

Turns out, it was our lucky day because the Monocle Fair was going on as well. So, we started off there, and could not resist the free face painting station.

I was keen on the idea of having my face painted like Spiderman after seeing a little boy walking around with it, but we decided some lovely flowers on our cheek would be more age appropriate. Unfortunately, because they were pink and round, from far away our flowers looked more like serious acne. Later at church, everyone kept saying, "oh golly, I thought you had huge spots!"

Bollocks. Should have gone with Spiderman....

In addition to free facepainting, there was also this basket of the classic English party favor, leeks. 

As if we didn't look strange enough with our giant "spots" for the rest of the day,  we also had leeks popping out of our handbags.

My second favorite bit of Fayre was the petting zoo - which had baby bunnies, chickens, and goats!

But these cute and cuddly animals came in second to this amazing tween who was going solo on the dancefloor in the street. We stood watching her for a solid 20 minutes. It was too great to peel our eyes away. If you ask me, she was the dog's bollocks.

OH. MY. GOD. indeed

We worked up an appetite watching her, so as the sun went into hiding we sought solace in a cute cafe  nearby and some pre-church drinks, which is a custom in this country. As is post-church drinks. I have to come to realize why so many Brits are actively choosing to convert to Christainity. While there is a lot of drinking going in pre and post, no one ever gets bollocksed. 

But right after church, everyone heads over to the pub - so I ended my night and weekend the same way I started it - drinking Pimms with friends in jolly old England. 

I'll cheers to that!

Back to the Barre

Last Wednesday I was at home. I started off my day with a red velvet cake donut piled high with a mound of frosting and rainbow sprinkles, I laid out in the sunshine on my porch all day with my Moe and my best friend Meg, then had Chipotle for dinner and went VIP to a Radiohead concert.

Yesterday, I was in England. I started my day off with a banana, went into the office and worked all day. Oh what a difference a week makes...

I arrived at 8am yesterday in an attempt to make up for the hours I lost by sleeping Tuesday morning. I am in the middle of working on a the new $17million townhouse of a celebrity who must rename nameless, so I figured I could use the un-interrupted work hours to concentrate. And to sing and dance.

Whenever I am in the office alone after hours, I cannot resist the urge to take a break, blast the music, and use various office supplies as microphones while dancing around for a bit. There's something very appealing to me about doing something in an area where that sort of behavior is not typically acceptable. Singing and dancing is not nearly as fun in my bedroom, for example, as it is in my office. I once found myself alone on a 1 Train subway car traveling uptown in NYC and used the opportunity to re-in-act the musical number "Santa Fe" from Rent.

I lost track of time, and so as I was belting the chorus of my new favorite Maroon 5 song "Payphone," my coworker walked in. After working with me everyday for the past 7 months, she is well aware that I am a bit outside of what most people consider to be normal, and so she has to come to expect these sort of things. She says she realized it after Valentine's Day when she saw the heart-shaped bullet points on my to-do list.

Thankfully, she likes Maroon 5 too and joined in for the reprise. Had she found me listening to Lotus Flower and dancing like Thom Yorke, I fear the damage done to her opinion on my sanity would have been irreparable.

Last night, I spent two hours at the barre.

Yes, I am doing another unlimited month of Barrecore because I can't resist. And because the countdown to Greece has officially begun, and all I plan on doing in Greece is eating Feta cheese, so I have to slim down in advance.

My Barrefriends were really excited to see me, and it hurt so good to be back! I got to try the new cardio class they added and then I stayed for regular barre class afterwards because I was on an endorphin high.

As a result I found myself nearly immobile this morning, but the best way to fight fatigue is to keep working out. So at 7am I was heading up King's Rd - singing aloud again to Payphone because the streets were relatively empty.

I love my morning walks up King's Rd because it is usually just me and the road.
The shops aren't open yet, and because it's 7am most people are still asleep in bed recovering from their night at the pub.

But there is always the occasional early-morning commuter...

horseback beats the subway

Seriously?

Quite a sight for first thing in the morning.
While I was gapping at this and taking photos, the other people on the street were just going about their business, like it was not unusual to see a fully dressed English dandy trotting down King's Road on horseback.

I had to check the century on The Evening Standard when I got to class. I wanted to make sure I wasn't a victim of a slip in the time continuum.

I assume this gentleman was preparing for the Royal Ascot coming up - but I'm not quite sure.

Royal Ascot is Britain's most popular horse race. Apparently it's the place to see and be seen for high society. It's all about fancy horses and fancy hats, and like all things in England, it is steeped in tradition, heritage and pageantry. The event dates back 300 years and is actually attended by the Royal Family, including  - Her Majesty the Queen.

Therefore, dress code is of utmost importance.
Below is the dress code for those seated in the Royal Enclosure, taken straight from the Royal Ascot website.


Ladies


Ladies are kindly reminded that formal day wear is a requirement in the Royal Enclosure, defined as follows:

• Dresses and skirts should be of modest length defined as falling just above the knee or longer
• Dresses and tops should have straps of one inch or greater
•  Jackets and pashminas may be worn but dresses and tops underneath should still comply with the Royal Enclosure dress code
• Trouser suits are welcome. They should be of full length and of matching material and colour
• Hats should be worn; a headpiece which has a base of 4 inches (10cm) or more in diameter is acceptable as an alternative to a hat.

Ladies are kindly asked to note the following: 

• Strapless, off the shoulder, halter neck, spaghetti straps and dresses with a strap of less than one inch (2.5cm) are not permitted
• Midriffs must be covered
•  Fascinators are no longer permitted in the Royal Enclosure; neither are headpieces which do not have a base covering a sufficient area of the head (4 inches / 10cm).

Gentlemen


Gentlemen are kindly reminded that it is a requirement to wear either black or grey morning dress which must include:

• A waistcoat and tie (no cravats)
• A black or grey top hat
•  Black shoes

A gentleman may remove his top hat within a restaurant, a private box, a private club or that facility’s terrace, balcony or garden.  Hats may also be removed within any enclosed external seating area within the Royal Enclosure Garden.
The customisation of top hats (with, for example, coloured ribbons or bands) is not permitted in the Royal Enclosure.

This year, a style guide of photos can also be found on the website, which "brings to life some examples of the kind of outfits that are expected at Royal Ascot."

You almost have to love England for how completely absurd it is that there are still occasions in 2012 where gentlemen are required to wear top hats and waistcoats.

I can't wait to see what Kate Middleton turns up in. I'm happy to say that I think her style is slowly getting better. Her first couple months of style as a princess were not impressive in my opinion, but she pulled out some fabulous McQueen frocks for the Jubilee festivities. I do so wish she'd vary her shoes up a bit more though. I think we're all getting bored of those nude LK Bennett pumps.

LEFT: Alexander McQueen dress,  Sylvia Fletcher for James Lock and Co. hat, and McQueen clutch, Strathearn tartan scarf, a pin gifted from the Royal Navy and L.K. Bennett "Sledge" pumps.
RIGHT: Long-sleeved nude lace McQueen sheath.  Jane Taylor fascinator, matching clutch and L.K. Bennett heels. 

Sarah Burton for Alexander McQueen

I understand she is somewhat restricted in her fashion choices. I can only imagine what the Royal Dress Code for the future Queen is, given how tight the rules are for the Royal Ascot. But that does not excuse this....

Pink is my favorite color, and this dress is a disgrace to the color

I will sadly not be attending the Ascot or any other Royal event, which is too bad because I would love an excuse to purchase something at Phillip Treacy. I also would love to attend an event with a man dressed in top hat.... but I think the English wedding Josh and I attended 2 years ago is the closest I will ever get.

Josh was in the wedding, hence his waistcoat with tails, vest, and pink silk scarf. I was the only woman there who was both not wearing a hat or fascinator - and was the color of a latte as a result of coming from 2 weeks in Greece. We both look back on our appearance at that wedding in shame....
Josh's hair in this photo was actually my fault. I insisted he grow it out and I take full responsibility.

So my debut into English society was a complete fail. But now that I know the Royal dress code, I will make sure I am properly dressed for my next English social event - whatever that may be. And if I can arrive to it on horseback, all the better.

Let the Games Begin

This morning, or should I say afternoon, I woke up at 1pm.

Mind you, I set 3 alarms that went off, and my boss had called me twice - yet none of the noises coming from my phone that was sitting on my pillow 2 inches from my face, awoke me.

Thankfully, when I called my boss to begin a horrified apology, she answered the phone laughing instead of screaming. Also thankfully, I live 3 minutes from my office, so although I desperately needed a hair washing, I popped up, pulled my hair back, threw on a dress and was out the door.

I usually am not effected by jet lag, I don't know what happened. Clearly my body is still trying to be in America. My mind is a bit too, as I have not unpacked a thing yet aside from the dark chocolate hershey kisses and graham crackers that I brought back from the states. I had to pull them out last night because I had nothing for dinner and couldn't be bothered to go to a grocery store. The only other option would have been pizza and having just had Kraus double crust at home, I knew the taste of Dominos would repulse me.

Kraus. My absolute favorite pizza outside New York

I don't feel bad because I had a proper dinner tonight. My english friends had a few people over to their lovely home in Putney for a small dinner party. They made jacket potatoes, which is what the English call baked potatoes. They also say it really accentuated so it's even more hilarious to an American than simply the visual image of a potato in a little waistcoat. Why are the English always putting waistcoats on things that they don't belong on? Potatoes, eggs, rabbits...

The other difference is while a baked potato is simply a side addition to a meal in America, a jacket potato is the main course. It is also stuffed with hearty and usually awful things, like baked beans or smoked haddock in lieu or butter and sour cream. 

Thankfully, the hosts made chilli con carne and cheese for the filling and so I was able to truthfully tell them that it was "really nice." For dessert, strawberries, meringue nests, and cream. Not whipped cream, but just cream - that's how they do it here. It's heavy cream but rather than going to trouble of whipping it like we do, it is just poured on top of things out of the carton. I imagine the whipping process is too much physical activity for anyone British.

As I was admiring their lovely, newlyweds flat, I was alarmed at the front headline of today's The Evening Standard on their coffee table, which read:

"London 2012 Olympics: Sheep, farmyards and even fake RAIN as stadium becomes home to rural idyll for spectacular opening show"

Pardon?

Yes, that's right. The Olympic stadium will be turned into "an idyllic scene of the British countryside for the Games opening ceremony complete with meadows, fields and rivers, and featuring families taking picnics, a cricket match being played on the village green and farmers tilling the soil whilst real farmyard animals graze."

Real farmyard animals will indeed apparently be grazing, for example 70 sheep, 12 horses, 10 chickens, and 9 geese.  I guess a £27 million budget can only buy you 9 geese, not the whole gaggle.

To really show the spirit of England, this brilliant idea from artistic director Danny Boyle will be complete with a burst of rainfall from artificial clouds!

This the model that was constructed to show how lovely and idyllic the whole thing is going to be. In my opinion, it looks like it is suited not for Olympic athletes but rather Tinky Winky, LaLa, Dipsey, and Po. 

Over the hills and far away....teletubbies come to play

Sadly, this is not the only Olympic thing the British have made a disaster of. 

"The Olympic Tower being constructed as Britain's lasting monument to the nation's role in hosting the 2012 games, looks more like a catastrophic collision between two cranes on the Olympic site than a piece of public art," says the Mail.  

Thankfully, it only costs £19million.

The Daily Mail also reported that London's own Mayor has enthusiastically compared it to a giant 'hubble-bubble' shisha pipe (or what American's refer to as a Hookah). 

I definitely see the resemblance. 

Other critical descriptions of the tower refer to it's appearance as  'a rollercoaster that costs £19million a go', 'twisted spaghetti', 'horrific squiggles' and 'Meccano on crack'. Meccano is the English version of Tinker Toys. 

In an article in the Daily Mail, I read that at its unveiling Anish Kapoor, the architect, said it that was 'thrilling' to be offered the chance to create for the capital something on a par with what Gustave Eiffel made in Paris."

HAHAHA. On par with the Eiffel Tower? Who do you think you're kidding, England?

Anish later continued "it would be terribly arrogant to compete with Eiffel who spent his entire life making that thing. What we’re trying to make is the best thing we can do."

Architect Anish Kapoor with the scale model of the tower

This hilarious statement earned this soon to be completed, hideous hunk of metal the lasting nickname from the Daily Mail, the "Eyeful Tower." It is certainly an eye full, but I prefer "Hubble Bubble Sisha Pipe" because Anish must have been smoking something when he came up with that design. 

Poor England. They are paying a collective £46 million for the execution of what the rest of the world surely sees as the two worst ideas ever. Maybe they can sell the livestock from the opening ceremony as Olympic memorabilia and turn a profit?

As if the tower and the meadow scene aren't bad enough, then you've got the Olympic mascots, Mandeville and Wenlock, who are surely the most hideously strange looking mascots of all time. 

I can't decide if their animated or life-size plush versions are worse.

While searching for an explanation for the design of these cycloptic blobs, I discovered they are supposed to appear to be "created from the last two drops of British steel used for the London 2012 Olympic Stadium. 

Which begs the question: they built the stadium out of steel drops? 

So for this years Olympics London has come up with two hideous Mascots, a "hubble bubble" Tower, and an Opening Ceremony with live sheep and a fake downpour of rain. 

One, two, three strikes - you're out Britian. I predict the only medal you will win will be the Gold for disaster.  I will, of course, be routing for my mother countries of The USA and France. So let the games begin! 

America, the Beautiful

It is still odd to me that I started the day in America the beautiful, laying on my dock in my bikini soaking up sunshine - and a long, uncomfortable plane ride later I am in my flat in London the dreadful, cuddling with my hot water bottle.

I was surprisingly composed at the airport, only sobbing until I got through security - which I have found makes the TSA agents a tad more lenient with the lipglosses that I always forget to stick into a plastic bag with my other travel-sized liquids and gels.

My trip home was everything I dreamed it would be and more, and I am already sad that last week this time I was making dinner and then heading to meet my best friend for ice cream.

When I finally got to Cleveland airport at 3am Saturday morning, I got to live my longtime airport fantasy of coming out of the terminal and running into the arms of my boyfriend who was wearing a 3 piece tailored suit and a grin. And when I got home, salted carmel ice cream was waiting for me. Talk about heaven.

My trip kicked off the next morning with a wedding - and a Jewish wedding at that.

I am as Christian as they come, but when I get married one day no one and no thing will stop me from having a gorgeous chuppah, stomping on a glass and yelling mazel tov, and doing that fun dance with the chairs. I love weddings, and in particular Jewish weddings. I even managed to drag Mr. Jay onto the dance floor to spin me around for awhile to my favorite oldies by bribing him with my piece of cake.

Sunday afternoon I celebrated the Jubilee with a English Garden Party at my parents house. I brought home some silly Jubilee decorations, the highlight of which was the Queen masks that look positively hiliarious on everyone.

me and mum

Josh

mum

I made homely british food like sausage rolls and Eton Mess, and my mum made Shepherd's Pie and talked in an English accent all night, despite my begging.

The rest of the week was spent suntanning in anarondeck chairs on my porch, catching up with my best friend from high school, and nightly trips to my favorite ice cream place in the world to indulge in scoops of Banana Cream Pie and Chocolate Peanut Butter Brownie. I bopped around all week in my mom's new, white Jeep Wrangler - the car I wanted ever since I saw Clueless in the 3rd grade, because I wanted to be like Cher Horowitz.

To finally live this dream was beyond thrilling. I always forget how much I love to drive - although it is probably best for everyone that I don't, because I am not much better at driving then Cher was.

I tried to convince my parents to take the doors off along with the roof, but that was deemed too dangerous.

To that I replied, "Whatever"

"Did I show you the loqued-out Jeep daddy got me? It's got four wheel drive, dual side airbags and monster sound system. I don't have my license yet, but I need something to learn on."

Doing my best imitation

I also got back in touch with my former Betty-Crocker self and made my mom a 64th birthday cake in the form of an enormous cupcake that matched the decor of our house (and her entire wardrobe). White, blue, silver, and sparkles. 

I hadn't baked in 7 months and it was wonderful. I get a high whipping up a batch of buttercream.

It tasted as magical as it looks.

I did a lot of other American things, like grilling hotdogs and burgers and corn on the cob, sipping an Arnold Palmer on the dock with my pink painted toes dipping in the lake, squeezing lemons in my hair for ultimate blondeness and tanning oil on my body for ultimate browness depsite the dangers of both, having a dance party to Beach Boy's music after dinner with my mom. I was so happy to be back in America - and so happy to be in my home! It was so nice to be surrounded by Americans, speaking American English, flying American flags! I nearly bought Forth of July decorations to bring back and decorate my bedroom with.

Just when I thought I was starting to genuinely like London, I came home and realized how crap it really is....bullocks.



A (possibly very wise) friend that I was talking to about my eagerness to get home, said to me something interesting to the tune of "I think there's only so much you can spend over there, because it's not how you grew up" - and I couldn't help but wonder if that is the problem.

I've always thought of myself as quite adaptive. I went from small town Ohio to the center of Manhattan and was adjusted overnight. When I swapped New York for Paris, it took a matter of hours until I was parle-ing francais with the locals and mange-ing on crepes while I cruised the ville on my velib.

So why has it been so hard for me to adjust in London? The conclusion I've found is I that New York and Paris were apart (sort of) how I grew up. I knew New York in and out before I got there and Paris was apart of me since I started taking French lessons at age 10 and become a full fledged francophile.
But London was uncharted territory. And because I am a romantic - I had visions of falling in love with the red telephone booths and cornish pastys at first sight. But it just isn't so.

I found instead that possibly what I love most about London is how easy it is to leave it for somewhere better. Like Paris, or Edinburgh, or Munich. A short and typically pretty cheap flight from Heathrow can take you to places far more interesting for a "wee - kend," as they say. And so one of the things I've enjoyed most about London is escaping it frequently. And this most recent escape back to Ohio was especially hard to return from.

But, I am looking forward to an end of weekly jet setting, because I have truly come to hate flying and everything associated with it.. Now that I am a seasoned flyer, I find a have developed certain neurosis when on board and fear I am becoming quite the weirdo.

The largest being my complete disdain for pre-take off announcements and unexplainable need to scoff at them . I don't want to hear the pilot mumbling about our estimated flight time, probability of hitting turblance, or what to do in the unlikely event of an accident, and I am not quiet about it. These annoucnements drone on and on, repeatedly disrupting whichever movie I have already started watching - which in today's case I'm not ashamed to say was "Mirror, Mirror."

I go to the trouble of ordering a vegan meal, even though I never touch plane food. This is mainly precautionary in case I were, for some reason, absolutely starving and happened to have had my packed lunch confiscated by a TSA agent - I would have an in flight last resort option. I do this because I would never eat airmeat, and I have a theory that the "special diet meals" get more attention in the preparation phase and are less likely to be poisonous. So I order a vegan meal, and then usually pull a turkey and swiss sandwich out of my bag which rightfully alarms whoever is sitting next to me.

I also get inexplicably annoyed with the stewardess's check for baggage stored under the chair, upright seats and tray tables, and electronics turned off and find a need to spite them. I know it is their job, but I think they are overcautious and I cannot possibly fathom how my traytable could disrupt the entire flight. If my a thread of my handbag is sticking out from underneath the seat they will see it and obnoxiously say "mam, I'm gonna need you to push your bag all the way under the seat, okay?" And what's worse is that they stand there watching until I do it like I am not trustworthy (which actually I am not because if they left I wouldn't do it).

So out of pure spite, once the stewardess has left to bother someone else, I push my bag an inch back out and unbuckle my seatbelt. I also keep my laptop in my lap covered with the pillow they give you. This technique surprisingly always works, and I get weird pleasure out of being passed with an approving nod while others around me and told, "you need to power off your Ipad sir and store it in the seatback pocket. I am aware that I am becoming a lunatic - I'm just not sure how to make it stop.

This particular trip, as I settled into 33E and went to store my copy of Budget Travel in the seatback pocket, I discovered a child's diaper already inhabiting the space. Thankfully unused. As I pulled it out, I also realized my personal tv screen was playing The Wiggles and I didn't know how to make it stop. The friendly English bloke in 33D laughed along with me and said "it's like your seat is programmed for someone aged 2".

This made me laugh, but the sound of an English accent pained me. Oh how horrible it is to be back in England, back to work, back to dreadful weather. This is the first summer that I do not have to do what I want with. To travel and spend time at home, to go to drive in movies and late night boat rides on warm summer nights. To dress my dog Lucie up in her bikini despite her protests and force her to go for a swim. It is really, really sad when adulthood sinks in, and I am ever so yearning to be the 18-year old, carefree version of myself again.

When I was young and living at home, I had such big city dreams. I wanted to live in the middle of it all in a polly-pocket sized apartment, and travel, and be independent and explore. I'm glad I wanted that, because at 23 I've lived in New York, Paris, and London and while I haven't traveled nearly as much as I'd like - my passport is already almost out of areas to stamp. I've seen a lot, and learned a lot and done things I always dreamed of doing. I love what I have done with my life so far, but I also love that after living in 3 of the top cities in the world, and traveling to many more of them,  that I still find my home to be one of the most wonderful places I've been. There is a comfort and a feeling I have when I am there that I don't get anywhere else, but maybe it is because, as my friend said, that's how I grew up - and I when I think back on those first 18 years of my life in Ohio they were nothing short of wonderful.