First things first....

So I’ve been in the UK for a week now, and I’ve finally gotten some time to sit down and write the first of many updates that I will be posting through the course of my adventures in Britland.

To be covered today: Wal-mart, Don Imus, romance novels, and various other things.

So, from the beginning…

Got up sinfully early last Friday in order to begin my travels. Had my last cig ever on the way to the airport, and got onto the plane to PHX, no problem (remember, I’m flying space available the whole way…). Plane pushes from the gate, begins to taxi toward the runway, and the captain gets an error message about his flaps. Wonderful. Return to the gate, where the fine MX crew at SNA fixed the problem, and we were off. I think I slept, not sure.

I really dislike the PHX airport. Of all the airports I’ve been in, PHX is the only one that reminds me of Wal-Mart. People are so casual when flying these days. I saw more people in pajamas and sweatpants than I did in slacks and a nice shirt. I’m not saying that everyone should wear their Sunday best, but goodness gracious, how about a little effort? I felt completely out of place in my dress, even though it is a simple cotton affair. And my cute heels just compounded the problem (especially when I had to run to the other end of the airport for a flight that I ended up not getting a seat on). Got a seat on the second flight, however, and fell asleep before we pushed back from the gate. The captain gets an error message about the cargo door hydraulics while we’re waiting to taxi to the runway (some idiot ramper probably forgot to close the door all the way). Wait for MX, who has to re-cycle the system. Everything checked out, so on we went.

PHL is an interesting airport. Some of their cops ride Segues. I had a private gigglefest after I saw that. Once again, I had to walk from one end to the other, and I didn’t have time to stop at the airport’s cheesesteak stand, but I did get some cold medicine and more water. After lots of calls back and forth with Mummy, I got on the plane. And, because I have the bestest, most prettiest Mother in the whole wide world, I got to sit up in first class (although on US Airways it’s more like business class). Heaven. And I didn’t feel out of place because I was wearing a dress. Ate filet mignon, drank champagne, watched Pan’s Labyrinth, fell asleep watching The Lion King. Woke up, ate breakfast, then began our final descent into London Gatwick Airport. My first impression once we broke through the clouds was “Damn, it’s green!”

Got harassed by customs, struggled to get all of my luggage on the train, but managed somehow and took a seat. Picked the wrong damn car. Bunch of obnoxious old people from Newport Beach were seated just ahead of me. What are the odds? I travel halfway around the world to get away from OC snobbery, and then manage to sit in the same train car with it. Bonkers. Meet Julian (the dad) and Conrad (my charge) at London Victoria Station (which is huge), go outside to the car, and, force of habit, try to get in on the right. Der. That’s the driver’s side. Feel like an idiot, blame jet lag and lack of sleep, and go on my merry way.

So now I live in Balham. I haven’t gotten a chance to take pictures around town (my camera isn’t working at the moment), but the few I was able to take are posted on facebook. Leave a comment with your email address and I'll let you know how to get to them. Below is a picture of the street I now live on...
The house is adorable. Enough books I haven’t read and movies I haven’t seen to keep my busy for several months. My room is perfect, and it’s fantastic to be sleeping in a bed again. I haven’t really watched much TV yet, although I was a bit taken aback when I heard someone drop the f-bomb several times during a reality show about British binge drinking. No censoring, no beeps, just the f-word in all of its shocking auditory glory.

They have 4 cats, all of whom are prone to curling up on your lap if you sit down on the couch, although they don’t seem to be too keen on sleeping at the foot of one’s bed.

My weekday routine is as follows:
Wake Conrad up at 7, 7:30, eat breakfast, get him ready for school, leave the house by 8:05. Walk him to school. After I get back, I usually fix myself a cup of tea, then sit down for a bit and either read or watch a movie. After that, I do dishes and tidy up the house. This past week, there have been two friends of Sonja’s over to paint the hallway, and I’ve had a good time chatting it up with them. I then walk to pick up Conrad, then, depending on the day, get him ready for swim club or tutoring, or get him started on his homework. We have dinner around 7, after which he empties the dishwasher, and I do dishes. We watch a bit of a movie, then, at 9, he gets ready for bed, and I read to him until 9:30, when it’s lights out (I’m reading him The Hobbit, we’re only on chapter two). After that I might do some ironing, or just go straight to bed, as I’m usually pretty tuckered out by 10. I have weekends off (usually).

Conrad’s school was built in the Victorian Era, and I think I would’ve gladly given up at least a pinkie finger to go to school in a place like that. Here he is in front of it:

They’ve offset the 1800s feel of the place by putting a rock-climbing wall along the back, along with a cricket batting cage. When I pick him up in the afternoons, he has to let his teacher know he’s seen me, after which they shake hands, and Conrad is free to go. I’ve decided that all little children should speak with British accents (toddlers and such). Too cute.

Julian was telling me that Conrad’s school is located in an area affectionately termed “Nappy Valley”. Not the Don Imus variety, mind you, but the British variety (“nappy” is diaper). Apparently, this area had the distinction of having the densest population of people under 5 years old in the entire EU. My walks to and from school are a lesson in avoiding harried women with babies in strollers. Sometimes they’ve got more than one. And although I haven’t gone to check it out yet, there’s a road nearby that’s got all the OC mainstays (Starbucks, etc), where all the yuppie moms go to hang out while their kids are in school. Sounds like a haven for some of the dirty old men I know…..

I’m convinced that the authors of all those romance novels I’ve read that are set in Victorian England have never actually been here. They never mention rain, clouds, or the general gloom that has pervaded the place since I got here. Yesterday was the first day that the sun broke free of the clouds for an extended period of time, and today I’m sitting in the garden, enjoying a perfect 70 degrees with some of the most gorgeous fluffy white clouds that I’ve seen (as a general rule, the clouds have been amazingly pretty, even when it was hailing on Wednesday). The sun is making up for last week, it seems, and I think I may get a bit of color while I’m out here. I get to watch planes flying into Heathrow, and the cats come curl around my ankles every now and again. KEarth 101 has an internet broadcast, so I’m bopping to their late-night DJ (it’s something like 4 in the morning in the US while I’m writing this). Every once and a while the breeze winds its way back here, and if I close my eyes, it’s almost like being back home. There’s a lot of humidity in the air, so it always feels like I’m at the beach.

I need to go fix lunch soon, so I’ll end this with a picture (being worth a thousand words...although this one, I think, is worth one thousand and two....)