What could possibly go wrong?

I'm at that awkward stage where I've had to bid farewell to the advantages of youth (quick hangover recovery, eating fatty foods without a care) but cannot yet enjoy the advantages of maturity (wisdom, wealth, an excuse for my poor personal hygiene).

Luckily our friend Jim, Christine's Dad, has wisdom and wealth (and excellent personal hygiene) while living nearby in Texas hill country. We hadn't been that way for a while, so decided to get out of the city and visit his house by beautiful Lake Travis, complete with hot tub and bocce ball court, and many friends enjoying all the advantages of retirement.

He did warn us before we arrived that he had something special planned for Saturday night: a tequila tasting party. We were required to bring along our favourite "anejo" - tequila that has been aged 1 to 3 years, usually in oak barrels, giving it a warm, creamy, vanilla taste and velvety texture, perfect for sipping. Yes, we were about to spend an evening doing tequila shots with responsibility-free retirees. What could possibly go wrong?

Jim had constructed a knock-out style competition, where tequilas were tasted in pairs and eliminated one at a time. Doing it this way allowed you to really compare the tastes and smells of the different bottles, and what's the point in enjoying only one glass of each when you can enjoy...well, I lost count at Round 4.

It would be fair to say I was less focused at the end, figuratively and literally, but the good news is that Hannah and my tequila won! Which meant everyone got another shot of that one. And then why stop there? Tequila is well known for going off within days of being opened. Best not to take the chance.

The next morning was spent imbibing large quantities of water and staring at each other in silence while Pete enjoyed the hot tub. We did go for a refreshing walk, and then Hannah and I tag-teamed the drive back to Houston in 30 minute chunks while the other slept. We made it, you'll be happy to know.

Thank you once again Jim for a very very memorable visit, and I continue to aspire to your lifestyle once I retire. If my liver survives that long.

It was all so polite and orderly at the start.

Hannah helps Jim anonymise the bottles and randomise the tasting order. I always wondered where Christine got her ultra-competitive side from, and now I know.

Pete, meanwhile, happily and sensibly watches Frozen. Did someone say frozen margarita?

Difficult choices.

Round five. Or maybe eight.

I choose...tequila!

Any more for any more?

Maturing like a fine anejo.

The aftermath

--

Before all this debauchery, we also enjoyed karaoke on Friday night, where my weak rendition of Revolution by The Beatles got more cheers than it deserved. Then we had a great day out at a local nature reserve that was having its annual fair. "Nature reserve" in Texas seems to mean "you can shoot animals here", which I find interesting...

How to put out a forest fire! (Tip: don't take a six-yr-old).

Investigating a crime scene where someone had shot pigeons without a license!  Shocking.

Jean and Jim, feeling blue.

A tractor is always going to be a big draw.

A rescued raptor.

Learn to shoot at a nature reserve! Because of course.

Pete was alarmingly good, displaying his 2nd Amendment birthright.

Three on the target! What have we started?

Waterlogged

We made a new friend called Imelda! And like many friends, she came and went quickly leaving much damage.

More than 40 inches of rain fell in various parts of Houston, a mere two years since the "1,000 year storm" that was Harvey. But climate change remains unproven, so I'm sure it won't happen again. Several bayous overflowed and streets became raging torrents, with flash flood warnings and 10,000 without power. All schools and offices were shut on Friday.

Thankfully we were mostly unaffected, with our neighbourhood sitting higher than most, but after the three days of downpour we went for a cycle ride to Buffalo Bayou to see how everything looked. Several roads remained closed - Houston highways are built below ground level to channel water away during events like this. Which is great, unless you're a motorist trying to get home.

The Bayou was still flowing well beyond its banks, and everything had a nice slick covering of mud. But at least the sun was shining and no more rain is expected. By this time Imelda had been downgraded from a tropical storm to a slow-moving depression. Arriving like a storm and leaving as a depression: the story of my life.

Urban cycle paths aren't meant to be this muddy.

 There's usually a park here.

 End of the trail.

 Glorious mud. The smell wasn't good either.

Checking the map to see where we are.

The Bayou flowing into downtown, figuratively and literally.

Before a fall

Most of my problems are due to the fact that, although I've aged physically, I haven't matured mentally. Normally this is a minor inconvenience - forgetting that if I drink a beer after 8pm I'll have to get up three times in the night to pee - but sometimes it's more severe, like if I blithely attempt something that was perfectly fine when I was 16. And today that happened, when I decided to go climbing.

To be fair, this was Hannah's idea, and she'd found a Groupon to a climbing gym here in Houston that she'd always wanted to try. So off we went, renting some climbing shoes, and entering into the world of "bouldering".

Bouldering is like climbing but more misconceived, where you climb up stuff but do it without a rope. Fine if your bones have retained any youthful springiness, ridiculous if you're like me. There are soft pads on the ground underneath, but when 90% of the welcome video was dedicated to "how to fall without causing yourself severe injury" I should have turned around and walked out.

But I didn't, instead being an extremely nervous Dad standing below Pete as he skipped like a mountain goat up the multicoloured handholds of a curving wall. By the time Hannah had mastered several double-black-diamond runs, and I'd felt shamed watching the many hardcore (younger) climbers ascend sheer overhanging faces, it was time to assert dominance.

I picked a purple route - so easy that it didn't even appear on the difficulty rankings - and began at the bottom, urging immobile fingers to grip rough ledges, seeing if it was possible to hug the wall with my knees and elbows, wondering if I could form my lips into some sort of suction cup for extra adhesion. After a few minutes, the ground was out of sight (i.e. roughly three feet away without my glasses on). The uncontrolled beating of my heart could have been physical exertion or simply fear, but with a little more ungainly scrabbling I pulled myself over the top of the wall, flapping like a landed fish as I willed my centre of gravity to move higher than my stomach. I clawed my way onto the small rest plateau palpably spent, empty, a shell of a man. Then had to climb the eight feet down again.

So I wouldn't say the visit was a complete success, but Pete and Hannah had enough fun that they're already talking about a return or even, God forbid, buying a month's pass. As for me, I'll be spending the next few days wondering why every muscle in my body aches, then suddenly remembering what I put myself through. Then forgetting, wondering, then remembering again. It's not just the physical things that go at my age.

Pete, a natural. Of course.

Like something from a hallucinogenic nightmare, because it is.

You don't have to tell me.

There goes Pete.

And here goes me!

 

Hannah, making it all look very easy.

I've always preferred the horizontal over the vertical.

Tour de school

Ever since we began the school run on our bikes, I've been dreaming of the day that I can sit back in the peloton allowing the riders in the front to take the headwind so I can conserve my energy through the difficult mountain stages, saving myself for the sprints and inevitably donning the maillot jaune before enjoying my ceremonial laps of the Champs-Elysees holding a glass of Champagne.

And today that happened! Well, some of it, when Lexi had her first day at Pete and Levi's school, meaning parents Dave and Kindra also joined us on our daily ride.

The morning's stage was hotly contested, with Levi's new bike with bigger wheels giving him something of an advantage before I could work through the gears to assert dominance. Dave took the lead navigating the treacherous crossing-the-main-road (the organisers this year forgetting to tell the crossing lady that school had restarted, making the experience of getting over a Houston pedestrian crossing truly life threatening).

Due to it being the first day of school, spectators were everywhere; I'll be having words with the race stewards/principal about their incursions onto our route. Thankfully it didn't detract too much, and all three front riders were delivered to their classrooms with school supplies and signed forms, ready for a full day of learning and return ride this afternoon. Things will only get more competitive from here. I'm off to buy some horse steroids to give me an edge, like a real professional cyclist.

Under starter's orders.

The famous time trial across West Grey St. (Houston drivers give you around 0.3 seconds to cross).

Kindra and Dave tactically slipstreaming off their 4-yr-old.

Congregating in the cafe before the first day of First Grade, Pete looking scared and timid with new classmates (and old daycare buddies) Grace and Jackie. Poor teacher.

Down the river

After a long vacation full of tiring vacations it was time to finish the vacation with a vacation, so we jumped in the car and pointed it west, towards the Pacific Ocean and (a little closer) San Antonio. Hannah had found the very definition of a Davies holiday: a cheap hotel with a big swimming pool.

On arrival, the place turned out to be even more Butlins than first suspected. There was mini golf, and bingo, and fire pits where you could toast marshmallows. Soon any thoughts of getting out and seeing the area dissolved in the lazy river and various water slides.

The highlight for me was the escape room. I'd done these before, and they'd always involved annoying stuff like solving logic puzzles and working together, but this child-focused one tasked us with performing a chicken dance. Pete even volunteered to complete the karaoke challenge, leaving me to question his parentage given I'm too embarrassed even to sing in the shower.

Sadly it was all cut short by the need to come back to Houston to do things like go to work and start First Grade. Otherwise known as "the start of Dad's real vacation..."

Remember the Alamo!

 San Antonio river walk.

A different, slightly cleaner river at the hotel.

 (Artificial) tropical paradise!

Bingo!

The room had all the equipment for frozen margaritas (we had to supply the booze).

Toasting s'mores, although it was hot enough just to leave them outside and wait a few minutes.

Stepping up for karaoke, and singing like an angel, at the Alice In Wonderland-themed escape room.

Tweedledum and Tweedle-dumber.

A little mini golf to complete the holiday camp activities.

Finally, evidence that Hannah can, now and again, leave Chevron behind and relax.

Something to declare

"Are you bringing in anything?" asked the completely humourless US Customs agent at Houston immigration. "Only chocolate," I replied guiltily. "And diamonds!" piped up Pete, referring to some shiny pebbles his grandparents had given him. Many possibilities flashed before my eyes, several involving full body cavity searches, so I opted for "No we aren't. Stop talking now."

Thankfully the guard, presumably the father of an over-talkative child himself, didn't bat an eye, stamped our passport, and we were through. A exasperated talk about when to speak and when not was had as we waited by the luggage carousel.

But the joke's on him, because we did bring something priceless back to the States with us: Ellen and Megan! We were all on the same flight, where Ellen and I tried to see how many cocktails you could order before the stewardesses refused to bring more, while the kids serenely watched movies.

Theirs was a frustratingly short visit to Texas, as they have to get back to the UK in time for their next holiday to Greece. But still we packed it in, with plenty of froyo and ice cream, art and culture (against the wishes of the children) and even some alligator spotting. There was much complaining about the heat, to which the refrain "it's Houston in August!" was all I would offer.

Pete and Meg's relationship is about as sibling as sibling can be, with him arguing that she isn't trying hard enough at the computer games they're playing together, while she's desperately trying to find privacy from a marauding 6-yr-old, with the odd tantrum and tears (from the parents), while simultaneously doing everything together. It was exhausting; Ellen and I just kept up the drinking routine we'd started on the plane.

It was hot, so we took them to the beach. Beautiful Galveston!

Meg, who used to be small and cute. Now she's big and cute!

Obligatory Ellen-and-Hannah-with-drinks photo.

Down the pier.

S'mores over the firepit.

"Helping" me make ice cream.

Catching a tractor ride at George Ranch.

Put to work at the pioneer's hut collecting the eggs.

I see you!

Sibling love. And, like all siblings, it descended into meaningless violence shortly after.

Can't come to America without enjoying a juicy burger!

Meg makes short work of hers.



They wanted to go for a walk around the Bayou, which we did...in 100F+ heat. No one was happy, apart from me helpfully chanting "told you so, told you so..."

Holiday in Houston.

Our last night meal at a noodle house, with the cat beckoning them to come back soon.