Never give up on your stupid, stupid dreams

Astute readers of this blog will notice that the frequency of posts has gone down recently. This is not only because the life of the Belgian househusband is less glamorous than that of the young, incredibly handsome, clear-eyed youth who moved to California all those years ago. It's also because I've been writing for profit.

To my complete bafflement, a US publisher has decided to release a collection of my poems. I've been writing poetry since I was at school - and this is a public apology to my friends who had to sit and listen to my impromptu recitations in the sixth form centre. I've had a few things printed in niche, unread magazines over the years, but this is first time I've managed anything...you know...legit.

The book's called "Sir David and the Green Card", and is all about going through the US immigration system. So basically a rehash of this blog, but I've heard you're meant to write what you know. The publisher actually has a "marketing department", so I'm hoping to sell more than ten copies, and appear on some talk shows, maybe Wogan or Parkinson.

So thank you to everyone who has ever been nice to me about this blog, which gave me the motivation to keep going. And now I'm available in all good bookstores! And also on Amazon. Or drop me an email for your free print-at-home copy :)

Wow - a bargain!

The age of majority

"Age is just a number," said somebody who hadn't been to the wedding of a child they used to babysit.

When young Hanno, who we'd babysat in Durham since he was 4-years-old, invited us to his wedding with Julie in Quebec, I was very touched, but naturally assumed we couldn't make it, given the logistics of getting there. What do I know? There are direct, cheap flights from Brussels to Montreal, so for the final week of the summer hols Pete and I jetted off to join the festivities.

Going from one French-speaking region to another didn't exactly feel like getting away from it all, but we've been missing Canada since moving from Vancouver, and it was wonderful to be back. Montreal is mainly an island in the St Lawrence river, and we could catch a boat to our B&B while not feeling bad about speaking French with a terrible accent, because that's what everyone here does.

Renting cars in North America has been somewhat messed up since the Covid pandemic, which meant that the cheapest deal I could find was for a truck. Pete was over the moon, fulfilling a fantasy since we moved to Texas, and we picked up a 3/4 ton monstrosity that would be illegal on European roads then headed north into the mountains.

The ceremony took place at a beautiful hotel overlooking wooded valleys. Julie is an opera singer, so the reception was stacked with world-class musicians entertaining everyone with their singing and playing. I briefly considered the alcohol-fueled idea of banging out some Billy Joel numbers on the piano, but thought better of it.

Hanno wasn't the only child I caught up with; his younger brother Nathan was there. Nathan was the first baby whose nappy I ever changed. He's now an investment banker in Munich. The existential tailspin this threw me into is difficult to describe. Later, I asked Pete if he wanted me to rock him to sleep or sing him a lullaby (he shrugged, and turned back to his iPad). But seeing kids whose life you've been involved in, however minorly, grow up and do crazy things like get married is a source of much pride. And if I can lean on some of them for free financial advice in the future, well.

After the partying was over, Pete and I continued north to spend a few days in Lac Taureau regional park, where we paddle-boarded and even swam. After a very urban summer, it was fab to get some time in nature ... until we got annoyed at how slow the wi-fi was. Then it was back on a plane to Belgium, where I'd missed the "+1 day" note on the arrival information, so poor Pete started school a single jet-lagged sleep later. Still, these are the things that make a man of you, and if he turns out half as well as Hanno and Nathan I will consider my parenting to be successfully concluded.

How it started.

How it's going. No real change, for me or Nathan.

Back in a civilised country, where the Queen's still on the bank notes.

We went to the Montreal Science Museum, where (of course!) it's all about hockey.

And kittens.

Julie introduced us to Mr Puffs, invented in Montreal and the most disgusting/delicious thing ever.

I tried to enroll Pete at the local university. Despite his genius, he was rejected for being "only ten years old". Hmph.

Our transport.

The reason we're here! Hanno and Julie's wedding.

The kids' table.

The great white north was surprisingly warm and green.

So warm that someone braver than me went all in!

A final bowl of poutine before home.

Punch it, Chewie!

While the stated reason for going to Florida was to scuba dive, the real reason is obvious: to meet Disney princesses.

Sadly, the court order banning me from coming within 50 feet of a Disney princess is in place until 2028, but it doesn't say anything about meeting other characters! And so I fulfilled a lifetime's ambition by shaking hands with someone I've always modelled my character, career, and body hair on: Chewbacca.

But this wasn't only about wookies. We drove up to Orlando and spent two days in Uncle Walt's theme park, first in the "traditional" Magic Kingdom, where American values like family and merchandise are celebrated, then in Hollywood Studios, mostly in their Galaxy's Edge Star Wars bit.

It was hot, it was humid, it was wonderful. It's just all so easy. Every member of staff greets you with a smile, and a "hello, friend", and while I know it's all fake, and I'm basically paying them to be nice to me, after another northern European winter I really don't care. This made me feel quite guilty, but when a big hairy wookie wraps his arms around you, nothing else matters.

From left to right: Walt, me, Mickey, Pete.

Off for adventure!

It's A Small World. This is as exciting as I like my Disney rides to be.

Taken with zoom lens, so technically more than 50ft away.

Magic carpet ride.

In the Hall Of Presidents. Some of the animatronics were more energetic than the real things.

I was always told that theology was a Mickey Mouse degree.

Oooh! Aaaah!

Planning our next run at the Death Star.

The family that flies together, stays together.

I find your lack of faith disturbing.

Open the pod bay doors, Hal (maybe that's something else).

There were other bits of the park but ... whatever.

Belly rubs for BB-8.

A quick drink in the cantina. They accept American dollars.

In the droid factory.

The man, the myth, the legend! And a wookie.

So we lived beneath the waves

What does scuba stand for? Self contained underwater breathing apparatus. What does tuba stand for? Terrible underwater breathing apparatus.

Long ago, when Covid stalked the earth and all schooling was done from home, Pete's teacher tended to absolve himself of responsibility by giving the kids open access to the National Geographic channel every afternoon. There, Pete saw a mini-documentary about an underwater hotel that you had to dive to, and where another diver would deliver you pizza. Unsurprisingly, the food element stuck in his head, and ever since diving has been his activity of choice.

You need to be 10 years' old to dive anywhere other than a pool and achieve your "open water" certificate, but through Cub Scouts we found Gigglin' Marlin in Houston that ran pool-based "Seal Team" sessions for the younger diver. Well, Pete is now 10, and we hopped from Texas to the slightly cooler beachfront of Florida where Horizon Divers was ready to give him the full, ocean-going, fish-encountering experience.

Personally I'm not a fan of the sea. Or sand. Or the sun. But I'd read a book that says you have to support your children in whatever is their passion or - I don't know - they might grow up tough and strong like their Generation X parents!! So Hannah and I pulled on ridiculously heavy tanks, learned safety acronyms, slathered ourselves with waterproof sun cream, and spent a whole day in a Key Largo pool trying to keep up with our son. This included treading water for ten minutes without stopping, which maybe I had to do once to get a swimming badge. I'm not as young as I was.

After that it was away onto the ocean. I'd picked up a sinus infection, probably from swimming around a pool that filthy Floridians pee in, so I was only allowed to splash around with a snorkel while Pete and Hannah sank 30ft under the waves. The dive sites were all on the beautiful coral reefs that surround the Keys but, like everything else, they're getting devastated by pollution and warming oceans. One of the boat crew was an ecologist who's working to transplant new coral and try to get things back to 20% coverage. At the moment it's 1-2% of what it was in the 1970s.

Thankfully there's a huge amount of sea life, although an algae bloom (another effect of ocean warming) left us swimming through a green soup. Still, we saw barracuda, turtles, blue parrotfish, damselfish, spiny lobsters...someone in another group spotted a hammerhead shark but it didn't paddle over to where we were.

After two days and four dives, Pete was a fully-trained PADI open water certificated diver! The undersea lodge is a little on the pricey side, so for now something that allows shallower dives into both the ocean and our pockets is more likely our next watery adventure. Like maybe...snorkeling in the bath.

The family that drowns together...

Hannah, floating like an angel(fish).

Good students.

All suited up and ready to go!

One giant leap.

And he's under!

Turtle!

Some pretty damselfish.

And a pretty Hannah fish.

A big "OK" from trainer Christina for Pete's amazing achievement.

Home is where the heat is

Although, thanks to a green card, we're now allowed to stay in the USA as long as we want - and are therefore no longer technically nonimmigrant - we can't stay away as long as we want. If we're judged to have "abandoned" the place, they'll eject us. Just like cricket, if you take too long to arrive at the crease when it's your turn to bat, you're out! This means we have to return every so often, to remind America how pleased it is to see us.

Personally, we're very pleased to see all our friends back in Houston, and Pete wasted no time in racing to meet Levi, Lexi, Kimo, Elena...Tilman the dog, Fifo the cat... We had a nosy at our house, and the renters are keeping the garden much tidier than we did, so they can stay. We also visited some old haunts (that is, thrift shops) and ate a lot of very-bad-for-you, very processed food.

All this happened in some of the worst weather Houston has ever had. You may have read about the "heat dome" covering much of the southern US, and while Arizona is ground zero it is plenty hot enough here in Texas too. Incredibly the power grid hasn't fried, thanks to lots of additional solar and wind, but I'm not sure how long air conditioning can keep things habitable if this is the coolest summer for the next 100 years.

But we lapped it up, recharging our solar batteries for the next northern European winter. The USA often looks bad from the outside, but when you're there it's pretty lovely, especially enjoying time again with far-off friends. Or maybe that's just the Twinkies talking.

Back in H-town.

A better way to keep cool.

The newest addition: next door's puppy.

Pete and Elena, still psychically linked by independently choosing the same clothes.

When in Houston...

Texas wildlife.

Hannah enjoys the "tower of power" at Gyu Kaku, where we traditionally celebrate the first day of school with the Lefevres by drinking astonishing amounts.

Down at Voodoo Donuts...

... LOTS of Voodoo Donuts.

And Philio the cat, who owns the neighborhood, because some things never change.