In Which Our Heroine Takes a Wee Holiday, Part the First
Ah, the holidays. What better time to go on holiday. With those air miles in the "use em or lose em" category, I opted to use them, fly in a day before the black out period, fly out the day after it ended, and voila. Two weeks in England at next to no cost.

On arrival, I realized that it was a good thing that I hadn't paid for the flight as in fifteen years of trans-Atlantic travel, this was the worst exchange rate I had ever seen. One pound could easily be had in the local bank. Easy, that is, if you ponied up $2.08 for it. Yikes! This took my budget from "tight but comfy" straight to "austere." But never mind, I already had loads of pressies for everyone, the shopping was done, and I was there to enjoy myself.

The enjoying started immediately with Steve taking me to dinner at the local pub. Now, his local pub is about the nicest one I've ever been to in my life, so that worked for me. The food was excellent. The wine was excellent. The shot of brandy was excellent. We left the car in the lot, grabbed my backpack and went to the house, which wasn't far away. Single malt scotch ensued, as did loud music, and soon enough it was beddy bye time. (For those of you uncertain about my relationship with Steve, let me hasten to add - I sleep in the spare bedroom. Always have, always will, never want anything different.)

The next day dawned without anything like the hangover I deserved, but I soon began to wonder if indeed I was losing my mind as a foot long green parrot perched in the apple tree outside while I was making a cup of tea. Inquisitions did reveal that in fact parrots are now almost native to Thames Ditton, but it was still quite a shock to me. Apparently, Steve will get flocks of them in the tree on occasion. Thames Ditton, the new tropical paradise. I headed up to London for lunch with Neil.

Lunch with Neil is always good, and this time was no exception. He had plenty of news, but not a lot of time, so we made plans to catch up the next week. That didn't happen, and it was all my fault. I hope I shall be forgiven. Neil's a forgiving type of guy.

And then off to Cirencester. Good show, that. Greeted by the small children in an appropriate manner (the flinging of little arms around my knees so that I nearly trip and fall over), and a great dinner waiting, I handed out presents with some glee. But nothing quite like the glee of young wee James, who insisted that Auntie Anne sleep on the trundle bed in his room. I had asked his father on the way from the station if he was sure he wanted me to give the young lad what would no doubt be older woman fantasies for the rest of his life and Mark seemed to find it acceptable. (He would - he married an older woman. Not that you can tell!) I, and not for the first time, was glad to have packed my flannel jim jams. Sexy? Not.

But by the time I got to bed, I was very exhausted, and then couldn't fall asleep for ages. So the next morning I slept in. James was very considerate. It turns out that he has taken the standard interest in Harry Potter and witchcraft and informed his Mum that he was just going to check on me "as I think someone has put a curse on Auntie Anne." The curse of the deep sleep - I highly recommend it all. He was very impressed I woke up out of it. He was then also very impressed that we were going into town and I was going to teach him to knit. I have never, ever, seen a child so excited about learning to knit. I only hoped I could teach him. It seemed to work. He is incredibly patient. A scarf was created for Teddy, and when I left a scarf was being created for his sister's teddy. There will forever be warm bears in Cirencester.

Part the second to follow......
Love
Anne