Welshing

Thankfully Hannah made me a nice spreadsheet so I can check where I am, which has come in useful in a first 72 hours that's included...well, lots.  The man at the car rental place took down the mileage before we left but I told him not to bother - I don't want to give him a heart attack when we return.

Anyway, the spreadsheet tells me we're in Wales now, which seems about right as I look out over the lush fields and valleys and notice how much better at football everyone is.  We got here via a Goddaughter in Somerset, in-laws in Dorset, church in Frome followed by lunch in Herefordshire, and then a trip back to Carmarthen and some ten pin bowling.  Manchester tomorrow.

My sister caught a ride with us, sponging off her elder brother at usual, but has been very useful as Pete prefers Aunty Emily at bath/bedtime.  To be honest, he's met so many people already that he's just assuming we're related to everyone in Britain and therefore (like Grandma) they'll do anything he asks.  Mostly it's true, although he met his match trying to keep up with his three older cousins here in Haverfordwest.  Running around like mad, shooting guns at imaginary monsters, seems to be an excellent remedy for jet-lag.  If I don't get a decent sleep tonight I'm going to try it myself.

Goddaughter Charity, beginning to pay back the 10,000+ hours she owes me in babysitting.

As a Godfather I advocate a healthy and varied diet.

Granny entertains with bubbles.

Lunch at the Huckles.  What's one more added to this crowd?

Expending some energy.

Me and Miles (father of most of the children above).  The years have been kinder to one of us than the other.

Two of the highlights of Wales: Aunty Liz and Russ.

Pete and Godson Freddie, leading each other astray.

How old to be legally employed on a farm?

Back to Carmarthen for lunch.

Play.

And more play.

We met my cousin Vicky and her kids at the Carmarthen bowling alley for a family competition.  Vic won the first game, Pete the second.  Honour was maintained.

An American pastime in Wales.

Cousins.

Cousins sitting on cousins.

Rev Neil Evans, who wed me and Hannah a few short years ago.  Then he converted to Roman Catholicism, which I think means our marriage is now voided.  I'll have to check that.

Three minutes after leaving the bowling.

Back at the farm, Pete convinces Great-Uncle Bill to watch Peppa Pig.  Shouldn't a farmer want to learn about animals?

Brentrance

It's been a while since I returned to the bosom of the mother country.  Maybe I'm just getting more comfortable in the USA, especially now that nice Mr Trump is going to make it great again (Britain, as everyone knows, has always been Great.)

Talking of which, Hannah has had to stay behind for the moment as she's supporting Chevron's sponsorship of both Republican and Democratic conventions.  There's nothing like hedging your bets!  So Pete and I headed to the airport with our bags full of exotic gifts, such as Key Lime Oreos.

All our past flights back have been from the West Coast with the ten-plus hours that location requires, so I wondered how the short trans-Atlantic hop would be different.  The captain announced that, as it was an overnight flight, he wouldn't disturb us with announcements, but then we had to wait 40 minutes before the gin and tonics were served - outrageous!  A further 40 minutes passed before food arrived (chicken or pasta) and by the time they turned out the lights there was a three hour window before they came back on again.  The joy of travel.

Pete demonstrated an amazing ability not to sleep, which Hannah blames my side of the family for, but apart from an obsession with the more mechanical aspects of flight like the tray table and moveable arm rest he was an exemplary travel companion.  Peppa Pig was on the in-flight entertainment system, so that helped.

For the first time ever we were met at the airport, by wonderful Ellen and Meg who drove us back to their house for multiple coffees and brioche.  I slipped Meg a few quid and she entertained Pete like a pro until Grandma and Aunty Emily arrived and we had lunch at The Cricketers pub (of course) and a trip through a very green and pleasant land to Frome.  Finally sleep happened in the car before much playing in Grandpa's new shed.

Today the grand tour begins!  I'm picking up a rental car in Trowbridge, which should be amusing when I try to use a US driving licence and credit card out here in the rural West Country.  "Are you local?" I expect to be asked, before being chased out of Wiltshire with torches and pitchforks.  As long as I remember which side of the road I'm meant to drive on as I make my getaway...

Apple juice, Peppa...all set.

And Daddy too.

Welcome to London.  The weather's just as you left it.

Pete with favourite British lady #1.

Pete with favourite British lady #2.

Pete with favourite British lady #3 (and her new car).

Grandpa puts him straight to work on the potatoes.

Amerexit

It's that time of year again when, for some reason, Americans celebrate leaving Britain.  Err...no.  We're Britain - we're the ones that do the leaving.

Anyway, celebrations of when a handful of illegal combatants held an unsanctioned uprising against king and country began early at Pete's daycare, where a red, white and blue parade took the children around the playground several times while patriotic songs played.  I heard that man on the telly say that 23rd June is now British independence day - I'll write a letter to the school principal about celebrating next year.

Then it was time for barbecues.  The Muckers, as ever, tried to cheer us up by being even more American than usual.  But one thing they couldn't control was the weather, as a proper Bank Holiday downpour rolled in and we were blamed for yet another barbecue in the rain.  See?  All these years after 1776 and still we're unfairly the bad guys...

Star-spangled children.

And then the parachute came out!

Which was the highlight.

Ah - a British summer barbecue.  Note how Vince, grillmaster that he is, is using his daughter's umbrella to protect the meat rather than himself.

I was going to conscientiously boycott the partisan cake...but it was too delicious.

Oh, and...

Open house

We spent a lovely weekend down in Norfolk, VA with the Murnanes, where we discovered that Jack owns a house from his pre-married days!  He claims the neighbours only complained about the non-stop party a handful of times, and then he met Amanda, and she went to Berkeley...and the rest is history.

The house is almost history too, as they're getting ready to sell it, hence the trip.  Amanda warned us that the place was empty and she wasn't joking.  It was also somewhat in pieces as contractors were in getting it fixed up to sell.  We took our camping stuff - a night under a roof is still better than a night under canvas.

The drive down almost broke my golden rule of staying longer in a place than it takes to travel there.  Norfolk (and next-door Virginia Beach) is a bit of a tourist trap, and Saturday is changeover day when one holidaying population leaves and another arrives, at the same time.  The road system doesn't really support this so we enjoyed plenty of Pete's story CDs.

The afternoon was spent on the beach, but an early exit was made the next day to avoid the traffic back.  We reconvened in Washington DC for a barbecue, and as the four children ran screaming around me I wondered if I couldn't convince Jack to keep the house as a holiday home, somewhere we could escape to for a lads' weekend of crazy fun.  Crazy fun like sitting quietly, having a conversation, reading a book uninterrupted, etc.

Off to the beach.

Amanda decides it's fine to sit under my personal sunshade.  I don't much like sunshine.  Or salt water.  Or sand.

Pete escapes the Atlantic waves.

Isabella is a girl after my own heart and insists on being carried everywhere and placed on blankets while on a beach.  She'll go far.

Oscar is introduced to the sea by his naval father.

Sandcastle building (note: Izzie sensibly on a blanket).

The boys disappear into the dunes.

Peas in a trailer.

Families photo.

The trouble with the beach is there are no computer games on it.  Luckily a local restaurant was able to oblige.

Back in DC, and the party continues in the pool.

Ah Jack - remember when you were young and carefree?  So do your neighbours, so well done for selling up.

Letting the train take the strain

"When is school starting again?" asked Pete on the second morning of his holidays, "I miss my friends."  Even though I've allowed him to play computer games and eat crisps non-stop, it seems spending time with Daddy is officially boring.  I needed a plan.

Trains!  How could any 3-yr-old resist, and up the road we're blessed with the B&O Railroad Museum.  The place is a treasure trove of retired engines and coaches, many of which are housed in the impressive roundhouse and many more in sheds outside or sitting in sidings.  They have hundreds of the things, from early steam engines to hand-me-downs from the local MARC commuter system.  They also offer a ride on the first mile of commercial track ever laid in the USA - a ride, I have to say, somewhat smoother than taking the Metro into DC and almost as slow.

You can climb into the cab of many of the steam engines and enter a metal-scented world of levers, dials and switches, all pleasingly grimy and heavy.  We spent hours pretending to be engineers and firemen, choo-chooing here and there, avoiding crashes with other trains.  Sometimes I even let Pete have a go.

I asked him on the way home if he had fun, desperate to know if I'd reclaimed a modicum of parenting coolness.  "Yes," Pete told me.  "When is school starting again?"  Ah well.  I bought us a membership so that we can come back as much as we like, and if Pete's happens to be at school when I return I guess I just won't have to share the train cab with anyone...

All aboard!

Better than computer games.  Maybe.



The lovely, and huge, roundhouse, with a working turntable in the middle.

Pete quickly found the cinema car that had Thomas on repeat.  But (scandal!) with an American narrator rather than our own Ringo Starr.  That's just not right.

Burn oil!

Pete in control of the C&O No. 1604 "Allegheny" - the most powerful steam locomotive ever made.  It was also going to be the largest, until they realised they didn't have any turntables on the East Coast that could turn it around.

Safety first.

Pete eventually found a train I wasn't allowed on.  So unfair.