Northern southerners

Once again the dominant theme of our trip to England reveals itself: trying to drive on every single road of this island while spending short, precious hours with as many people as possible.

Before we began our mammoth car-based circuit (sponsored by Chevron) we had a very wonderful day in London; thank you grandparents and aunt for providing childcare.  In the city we met ex-Walnut-Creeker Lois then had lunch with Hanno and Ellen at Marcus Wareing's rather plush restaurant.  We met Hanno when he was three, which makes it very difficult to watch him conduct orchestras and stuff.  We met Ellen at the same time, and she and Hannah have birthdays very close together.  It's rude to discuss ages, but it's nice having all known each other for twenty years...

Then it was northward!  We stopped in to see Miles and Rachel in Herefordshire before rolling up on Hannah's youngest sister Rachel's doorstep.  She and Chris make their home in Manchester, a city that terrifies me almost as much as London, but under their expert guidance we had a wonderful day there that included a proper British pub lunch, complete with beer.  North Americans are very reticent about drinking at lunch time - I'm going to have to become more evangelical about it, leading by example.

Then we went to Durham via Castle Douglas in Scotland.  Castle Douglas is nowhere near Durham, so it was like doing two sides of a triangle, and then another two sides.  But it was worth it to see (Great) Aunt Sarah and Uncle Colin.  Hannah's family all share the gift of being chefs, and Sarah served up a stupendous pear and lemon curd tart.  It's a Mary Berry recipe, of course; try it, you won't regret it, but it may not turn out as good as Aunt Sarah's.

It's very comforting to return to Durham and see that little has changed, certainly little since we were students in the 90s, and not much since 995AD when it was founded.  We caught up with Alana (and her dirty martinis), the Wilczeks with new baby Julia, Mat, and the entire Weeks clan.  Another one of our original children, Harry is now in a band that plays 'beatdown' (I feel very very old), Goddaughter Charity is fencing every moment and is currently 5th best in Britain (she'll always be #1 in her Godparents' eyes) and David continues his development as a genius - good or evil, it could go either way.

And now we're in Stevenage.  I think.  I remember a long drive down the A1.  Anyway, thank you to everyone who hosted us at breakneck speed, and apologies to everyone we didn't manage to see.  We'll stay for longer next time, and then even more people can have the opportunity to get sick of the sight of us...

Catching up on Californian gossip with Lois, on a surprisingly warm London day.

I was going to do a selfie with every course but I think you get thrown out of nice restaurants if you do that.  But I couldn't resist a pic of the chocolate ganache cake that Marcus Wareing himself (maybe) sent to Hannah and Ellen.

Back in Frome, where Pete eyes the choppy waters of Cheap Street.  You're not a genuine Fromer until you've taken the plunge!

Why is Britain Great?  Because it's understood that gin is a basic commodity of life.

Then in Manchester, where Hannah and Pete ventured up the wheel.

Taking in the view.

Pete is not convinced about the mechanical integrity.

Rachel gets the beers in - good girl.



Checking out Manchester Museum of Science and Industry.

Not entirely convinced about this either.

Colour Mummy Beautiful.

New favourite UK service station: Tebay.

Sarah and Colin in Castle Douglas.

Up in Durham, where Frances does her excellent housewife baking routine.

Our new baby, Julia.

Pete: worried.

More worry when seated next to Charity.

Happier with Godfather Mat.

There's a Krispy Kreme in Durham?!  Had this been here when I was a student, much malnutrition could have been avoided.

In Durham cathedral they're building a scale replica out of Lego.  £1 to add a brick of your own - I'll pass the idea onto Vancouver cathedral...which would have a much simpler set of instructions.

Adding a stone to the grey/beige towers.

The real thing.

The wee small hours of the morning

I've never been very good at getting over jet-lag, but it’s so much more fun with a jet-lag buddy! No sooner have I dropped off to sleep at 3am, my body confidently telling me that it’s lunchtime, than Pete wakes up, wanting to know why it’s dark after his afternoon nap and anyway, when’s breakfast?

Thankfully things have settled down in the tranquil environment of Grandma’s house, after a hectic few days driving around Wales and the West Country. We caught up with our old college chaplain Neil in Aberaeron before making a nighttime dash back to Frome and then spending the next day in Dorset with Hannah’s parents.

We even got to enjoy bonfire night, the holiday that’s hardest to explain to our non-British friends; celebrate the burning of a Roman Catholic by burning other, modern-day figures in effigy!  Everyone brings their kids, it’s great. Anyway, we had the traditional back garden firework display, except now I’m old enough to light them. We remained accident free.

Tomorrow Pete is spending the whole day with Grandma and Aunty Em, and we don’t even have to pay them! Suddenly I see an advantage to moving back to Britain. Hannah and I are certainly taking advantage tomorrow, with an adults only trip to London, including slap-up meal at a fancy restaurant. Maybe next trip we could leave Pete alone with relatives for the first few nights – that would cure jetlag much quicker! For one of us, at least.

The farmers assess the stock.

A foot trimming demonstration from my cousin Mark.  Significantly quicker than cutting Pete's nails, I can tell you.

Theological discussions with Father Neil Evans.

A very questionable firm.



Down in sunny Blandford with the other grandparents...

...who prove just as useful at entertaining grandchildren!  I like this arrangement.

Bonfire night!  Ooooh, aaaaah, etc.

Century

In the current low quality instant gratification culture it's rare to find a genuine antique, but today was the exception as my Grandma turned one-hundred-years old!  Born in 1914, she's enjoyed both World Wars, Elvis, Kennedy, Thatcher, Obama, and plenty more besides, produced four children, ten grandchildren, and eight great-grandchildren (with two more arriving in the next few months).  She remains in amazing health, hewn as she is from solid Welsh slate.

Today she received her telegram from the Queen as well as a steady stream of visitors, and we finished off with a big family get together and a firework display.  While Grandma wasn't 100% clear what was going on, and refused to believe that she was actually one hundred, she was 100% happy to be handed gifts, cards, cake and glasses of Champagne all day.  Here's to the next century!

The cards begin to pile up.

But here's the big one, hand-delivered by the postman.

"She doesn't look as good as me in that colour," comments Grandma.

If undelivered, please return to Buckingham Palace, it says on the back.

It was someone else's birthday on the same day!  But Hannah didn't get quite as much fuss made about her (although a Bake Off recipe book helped).

A small selection of Grandma's descendants, across four generations.

My nephews enjoy sparklers, and amazingly manage not to set each other on fire.

I co-opt Freddie for some arty waving.

The two birthday girls jointly blow out the candles on the cake.  The number on there does not accurately represent anyone's age.

Anarchy in the UK

It's our annual trip from the West Coast to the Far East, or Britain as it's more usually known.  Our move to Vancouver has shaved an hour off the flight time but we've never done it with a 22-month-old before.  It also turns out that Air Canada charges for hard liquor, removing my planned coping mechanism.

Pete actually did ok, sleeping for around six of the nine hours.  The only really hairy moment was when he realised that we expected him to sleep when he had violent and exciting plans for the touchscreen entertainment system, tray table, safety card, etc.  His screams were the loudest I've ever heard and I saw the lady behind put her fingers in her ears.  I also realised that I was telepathic, as I heard all those seated around us thinking "I hope to God this doesn't carry on for the next nine hours..."

But it didn't, and Pete was soon asleep.  I constructed a fabulous cocoon out of the complimentary blankets, wedged under the window blind and supported by the adjustable headrest, to cut out the light.  As the feeling in my legs slowly numbed away and a twitching toddler woke me every fifteen minutes I pitied those who had paid so much more to be in their first class sleeping pods when I'd achieved near-identical comfort back in economy.

Then we got to Somerset, and all responsibility was handed over to Godmother/Aunt Em.

And then we went to Wales - this is my youngest Godson Freddie.  We're in disguise.

Replication of results

Annual memberships are the be-all-and-end-all of my parenting technique.  Instead of paying an extortionate fee to visit a tourist trap you can pay even more, but come back as many times are you want!  Living in a city like Vancouver means we're surrounded by such opportunities, which nicely fills up my weekly timetable.  "I'm at the aquarium, so it must be a Tuesday," Pete thinks, so he's also learning about the days of the week and Nietzsche's concept of eternal recurrence.

It's true that going to the aquarium 52 times this year has become a little repetitive, as several fish now greet us by name, but a new weapon in my arsenal has been provided by Science World, where we took out membership having been with the Hammonds.  It's so fabulous that we went there yesterday, and again today!  This is because Hannah's never been and also due to a brand new exhibition about light that was too crowded to go around.  We arrived as soon as they opened this morning, to avoid the masses and also because they only allow two theologians in per day, to try to keep the average scientific IQ a bit higher.

Pete is now a veteran, running around pressing all the buttons and pulling all the levers.  This pleased Hannah, as she thought it made it look like he immediately figured out how everything worked, rather than truth: that he's a product of parental neglect and Pavlovian conditioning.  Still, the new light stuff was great, and I got to see a purple laser, which doesn't happen every day.

As Pete descended into manic flitting, the classic sign that our time there was coming to an end, Hannah and I stared into the hypnotic depths of a cloud chamber, watching feathery trails left by something hitting something, or whatever.  "The trouble is," she mused, "I don't even understand what the explanation on the wall is trying to tell me about this."  If only Science World could aim its signs at our level rather than, you know, a one-year-old's.

Science says all colours are made up of green, blue and red light.  So how do you make yellow?  Exactly.

Tripping the light fantastic, with Halo by Alex Beim.  You control what it does, and it's amazing.

"Look into my eyes," says Hannah, "and repeat: oil is good...oil is good..."

A water lens, that does strange things to whatever you're looking at.

AaaARrRRGGghh!!!  This is why science should be banned.  How am I going to sleep tonight/ever again?

Suddenly, everything can be seen in three dimensions.

DNA is actually made from red liquorice laces, cocktail sticks and mini marshmallows, so that's something that I've learned today.

"Come on, Mummy, I'll show you how it works."

They say science needs independent thinkers who don't conform to the expectations of those around them or offer straightforward answers.  Well...

Dress rehearsal

Hallowe'en is a few more e'ens away but we won't be here on the day itself so we took the opportunity to dress Pete up today.  Not that we need a reason to dress our baby in a ridiculous outfit and photograph him, but it makes us feel better.

This year we've descended the evolutionary ladder somewhat, from monkey down to skunk.  The costume is actually a loan from Evie in California, who's still too small to wear it and, knowing her mother, will be in something far more custom and grand.  We're thankful for that because, up here in Canada, dressing in warm animal skins is de rigueur, whether it's Halloween or not.

"Mother, I'm resigned to the indignity.  Just get it over with quickly."

"I cannot wait until I'm 18 and in control of my own destiny/outfits."

Off to rustle up some sweeties from around the building.

I really should contact building management about our rodent problem.

Back, filled with refined sugar, happy.

Hop-off

What better way to celebrate being back in Vancouver than doing one of the hop-on-hop-off bus tours?  Several of our visitors have greatly enjoyed them, and when Hannah spotted a half price voucher it seemed like the perfect way to nourish our inner tourist.  Pete is also going through the transport-obsessed toddler stage.  "Would you like to go on a bus?" we asked.  "Bus!  Bus!  Bus!" he replied.

Except that there are two bus tour companies in Vancouver, and only one needs to offer half-price tickets to attract customers.

To be fair, the first part of the trip was rather nice.  The bus had a recorded commentary, complete with sound effects and passable British accents for the historical sailors and soldiers who decided that this was a good place for a city.  The driver added his own comments, mostly about shops and the best hospital to go to, and we hopped-off for a coffee and a wander at Granville Island.

"Bus!  Bus!  Bus!" said Pete throughout.

The second bus, an hour later, was not quite as successful.  The driver forgot/didn't know how to work the recorded commentary, and it was replaced with luminary facts like "that's the oldest hotel in Vancouver" and "that's a nice fish restaurant", as well as a fair amount about his marriage.  The bus was vaguely open-topped, in that there was a plastic covering over half, but unfortunately it was also open-backed which meant that much of the exhaust fumes blew inside, lulling passengers into a soporific petrochemical haze.  I think it ran on biodiesel - there was the vague smell of chip fat.

"Bus!  Bus!  Bus!" said Pete, then fell asleep.

He didn't miss much, and we hopped-off where we'd first hopped-on, and would have been hopping-mad had we paid full price.  Back to Shanks's pony for us, although that might be harder for Pete to say.

Hopping-on at the Westin.

Popular at this time of year.

A PSL (pumpkin spice latte) at Agro Cafe on Granville Island.

Trade picked up once we'd reboarded.



Asphyxiation, or a judgement on the commentary?  Luckily, the latter.