Chriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssstmassssssssssss...

One of the things that concerned both Kathleen and I was spending another Christmas away from our families. We both enjoy our families so much that is was hard to think of missing out on all the fun for a second year in a row. I know for Kathleen this includes an amazing seafood dinner at her Mom’s, some complicated game usually involving cards (that I suck at) with her brothers, and Christmas morning itself at her Dad’s. For me Christmas is a chance to just laugh a lot with my family. When the three of us are together, my brothers and I always tend to behave like idiots. However when you add in some holiday cheer (aka copious amounts of alcohol), it really is pretty perfect. However Kathleen and I resolved ourselves to Christmas over here in late summer and although there was a valiant (and very very touching) attempt to get us back there last minute, we had already put plans in place.
                       
The tree was purchased and went up the first weekend in December. Although this was a bit early for me historically, it definitely got things kicked into gear quickly. That same weekend we bought Christmas Vacation and White Christmas on DVD and watched Elf for the first time. We also listened to the Elf soundtrack a good dozen or so times which insured that I had Christmas carols thoroughly stuck in my head for the next 4 weeks (who knew that I happen to run to the exact tempo of every carol every written?). Anyhow, this first weekend was when we also started to lay out the menus for our first Christmas as a family. We figured since it was just the three of us, we were free to experiment as much as we wanted with the food.

I was to be in charge of Christmas Eve dinner and Christmas breakfast. Kathleen took on the task of planning and executing the main event’s evening meal. Although it seemed like she had the tougher of the tasks, I did not know about the ace that was still up her sleeve. You see Kathleen had to travel back to the US for the entire week before Christmas. The morning of her departure (at least that is what it seemed like) she handed me a two page list of groceries to purchase while she was away. When I asked why we had to get everything so early she proceeded to tell me how chaos prevails during Christmas at the grocery store and the shelves will emptied like there was nuclear war imminent. I consoled myself by deciding that this surely meant I could add whatever things I wanted to the list including two bottles of Jameson’s Irish Whiskey, sour cream and onion Pringles, frozen mini-pizza apps, and a package of Millionaires Flapjacks that the British creepily describe as ‘naughty’ but are ridiculously good tasting and awful for you. (Oh and for the record, despite going to do the main shopping 10 days early, we returned to the grocer three more times and it was never really that crowded nor bare of food).
                        

The weekend she did get home, we received our first flurries of the year. Snow is just so stupidly exciting for me; I was automatically in an amazing mood. That Sunday we had also planned to go see the Messiah. I have seen it performed numerous times with my parents in the US, and when I lived in Japan I saw it done by a Japanese Catholic choir. Kathleen and I also saw it performed in Montreal at an old cathedral one winter and it was amazing. I also have fond memories of listening to this with my dad as he enjoys a glass of scotch and explains why everyone stands during the Hallelujah chorus. So this is a holiday must for me and we were looking forward to it in the modern Metropolitan Cathedral in Liverpool. To summarize, it was long, cold, acoustically poor, and the champagne spritzer served at Intermission was undrinkable... We made it until the end of the Hallelujah chorus and then jetted out the back door. Sure the head priest gave us a dirty look, but come on the man was wrapped in a heavy blanket like robe while the rest his flock was freezing! Ahh… the holidays!
                                            

Kathleen had to work on Christmas Eve despite her numerous attempts to change her bosses mind (as well as some direct email pleas/commands to him by yours truly). Miller and I woke up, ran, and then settled in to a three hour extended edition of Aliens while we waited for her to get home. I can say that watching this particular movie with my dog was pure bliss and relaxation. That evening I cooked a red Thai curry with shrimp. Despite our lack of religious beliefs, Kathleen wanted to stick with the seafood tradition, and we had fun drinking Irish whiskey and de-veining shrimp. The curry turned out pretty amazing. After opening one gift each, we settled in to yet another viewing of Elf.

We woke up around 9am on Christmas day which was actually the latest I think I have every gotten up. First thing was to take Miller out to Sefton Park and make sure he got some exercise. It had actually snowed a few inches the night of the 23^rd and that dog loves chasing snowballs. The night of the 24^th was super cold and the park was like a skating rink which made the whole walk even more amusing. He is just not too good on his feet (takes after his Mom I suppose). When we got back to the house we did the presents thing and we definitely made out like bandits. I guess everyone felt bad we were all alone?? After the carnage, I proceed to make Kathleen stuffed French toast. This was one of her favorite breakfasts we used to get at Blue Star in Winooksi. I did not do it justice, but stuffed hers with a ton of banana, and added fresh nutmeg and real Vermont Maple Syrup to add to the deliciousness.

Christmas dinner is where Kathleen took over, rightfully so. She had bought a pork loin from a local butcher and found an amazing recipe involving lots of spices and honey. She had it cooking in the oven most of the day and it definitely turned out delicious. In addition to the pork loin she cooked a sweet potato spinach gratin that we somehow convinced ourselves covered off the ‘vegetable’ part of the meal. To finish it all off she had baked a Waiting for Wilma pecan pie made with melted dark chocolate and dulce de leche. It was so sweet that we could only eat it slivers at a time, but was pretty amazing.

We capped off our celebration with a few beers watching the Johnny Cash Christmas Special from 1979. This was amazing in so many ways. It is too much to describe but I say watch it and get ready for the softer side of the Man in Black.

All in all it was a pretty great holiday. We definitely missed our families and spent a lot of time, calling, texting, and ‘web-camming.’ However it also pretty rad for the three of us to hide out over here and enjoy each other’s company. This whole year has just been amazing for us to be able to spend so much time together and I am not quite sure if we will ever have another opportunity to do so. I think it is a pretty good sign that we are not sick of each other yet as well.
          

Having thoroughly done the holiday, we started to pack our bags for Scotland!

Giving Thanks

Almost a year ago, my mom and I started planning a trip where she and my brothers would come to visit. Originally, we had considered the spring but were worried that schedules wouldn't work out... And so our next thought was Thanksgiving, one of the most important holidays in the Brosnahan household - one could argue that it's even more important than Christmas (but I'm still partial to the latter). That's because it is a four-day gorgefest, with my mom cooking for days in the kitchen before laying out an awesome spread for Thanksgiving. Which we dip back into that evening before bed, then again at lunch the next day, and then again and again until Sunday when we all have to head back to the real world.

It was exciting to think about having the whole family over to Liverpool for the holiday, and it also meant a lot to me, personally, since this would be the first big holiday I'd be celebrating as 'Mrs. Yates.' And not in a 'I'm going to dress up like Mark's mom' kind of way.

Mark and I started looking at recipes several months in advance. I decided I wanted to make something the day that the family arrived, so that they could wake up from their post-flight naps to something smelling delicious... After a lot of web surfing, I decided to make these cardamom cinnamon rolls, from one of my favorite websites. I liked how it would all be from scratch (my first time working with yeast!) and my brothers and I have some mad love for cinnamon rolls.

We wouldn't be celebrating Thanksgiving until that Saturday, since they would arrive on Thursday (Thanksgiving) and I'd planned a day trip to Ireland for that Friday. Wednesday evening I baked two apple pies, but wasn't sure about how they'd turned out (the grocery store didn't have Macintosh apples, or the right kind of shortening, so there was a lot of last minute substitution... the pie dough was pretty different from my mom's, and then I had no idea how much sugar and flour to add to the apples...).

Thursday, the whole family arrived and somehow managed to fit in the house. I wasn't able to convince everyone to nap until after the cinnamon rolls were out of the oven, but later that afternoon we were able to go for a walk and show them the neighborhood. Mark made a batch of his version of my mom's meatballs (everyone was impressed and there wasn't much leftover). Then Mark took Mike, Sandy and Toby to a concert downtown while Mom and I made cranberry sauce (with fresh cranberries smuggled in from America) and went to bed early.

Friday, we flew to Dublin and jumped aboard a bus tour that took us all over the city. We didn't really have much of a plan beyond stopping off at the Guinness Brewery for another tour and a perfect pint, but we managed to get off the bus a few times and see a few other Dublin sights.

It was a long day but a lot of fun - and the best part was knowing all the food we had waiting for us the following day...

Mark and I were up early and drove out of Liverpool to a small family-owned farm in Warrington. We had ordered a 12lb turkey a few weeks before, and the family had managed to get one and butcher it for us for our holiday (turkeys are traditionally eaten here for Christmas, so we weren't sure we'd be able to get one big enough for our feast). It was gorgeous, but still had quite a few feathers... Meaning a bit more prep work for me.

We came home as everyone was waking up and having coffee. Our farmer's market was back, so everyone trooped out and had some pain au chocolat and walked around a bit while I de-feathered the bird and began to get prepped. My mom came back and we had a lot of fun getting the bird seasoned and prepped for the oven, and slicing a stale loaf of bread for mom's awesome stuffing. Next came the mashed potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes (a stand-in for butternut squash) with VT maple syrup and pecans, and garlic green beans.

A pretty awesome Thanksgiving, if I do say so myself.

(the pies were the weakest part, but I'm sure I can pull 'em off better once we're home for the next Turkey day)

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A few weeks later, the night before I was supposed to return to the US for a business trip, Mark and I decided to return to Paul's Place, a tiny restaurant a few blocks away from our first Liverpool apartment. When he called to make the reservation, Paul himself answered and recognized Mark with a 'Long time no see!' Mark laughed and apologized, explaining that we'd moved but were excited to come back for another amazing meal.

We arrived in time for the early-bird special (we know, we're old) and sat down at a cozy table near the kitchen. We had just tucked into our appetizers and wine when the waitress came to Mark with a scarf in her hand. 

The last time we went to Paul's was in March, when Mark's mom and dad came for a visit. He'd left his scarf but never thought twice about it since - but Paul had held onto it and reminded the waitress when we came that it belonged to Mark.

We had an amazing meal (clean plate club, no question), had a personal good-bye from Paul, and walked out into the cold night with their Christmas lights twinkling behind us.

This first year in Liverpool has been a lot of things - in some ways, everything I expected but in others, nothing like I could have imagined. It took seeing the city and our neighborhood through my family's eyes, and a moment with one of the many amazing people we've met along our journey, for me to realize what a special gift this experience has been so far. It's easy to get bogged down in our homesickness, to notice and make light of some of the great sadness that lives in this old city, but Mark and I need to make more of an effort to appreciate what's beautiful around us as well. 

This year, I am thankful for my lovely husband, who laughs when I am cranky and walks the dog on Sunday mornings so I can sleep later. I am thankful that we have a lovely (if slightly water-damaged) home in a neighborhood where many of our neighbors know our names and say hello, and where our dog can walk off leash and meet his own friends in the park. I am thankful that my family was able to come and see us, and to share a special day that has come to mean a lot more than football and turkey. I'm grateful that we've had the chance to meet these people and make memories that Mark and I will cherish for years to come.

Old Friends and the Beatles

This past weekend we had a mini-reunion of sorts in Liverpool. In 1999-2000, I lived and taught English in Japan. It was an amazing experience to learn not only about Japan, but about the cultures of all my co-workers from Australia, England, Ireland, etc: the important things like how to ‘take the piss' out of someone, the awesome disgustingness of Vegemite/Marmite, and the healing powers of Baraka. Anyhow, two friends who I lived with in Japan trekked up to Liverpool to hang out this past weekend. Dave lives in Melbourne, Australia, but was in the UK on business and Noreen lives a few hours south of us in Northampton.

They got here on Friday and we took them to the old standby The Moon and Pea. Our last experience here was very disheartening as the waitstaff and food quality both seemed to have dropped considerably. However, we had a great meal and the downward trend seems to be swinging back. Afterwards we had a quick drink at the Albert where we were afforded a direct view of some of our more unique neighbours. Unfortunately we did not get any pictures but our seats made us privy to not only their exuberant drug use, but also their penchant for deodorizing repeatedly in public.

Kathleen and I have had many visitors come through our fair city, but not one of them have had a remote interest in the Beatles. After Dave casually mentioned it would be funny to take a Beatles bus tour, I immediately started to look into it. There are many tours of this kind in Liverpool, but due to its name I figured the most legit was the Magical Mystery Tour. Now there are also private taxi tours, that were cheaper than £15 a head, but after a quick discussion, we decided the other tourists would be half the fun. Also a private tour might prove a bit awkward considering none of us really even like the Beatles.

We made it to Albert Dock just in time to hop on the bus. Immediately, we were a bit disappointed as our bus was not the colourfully painted bus on the brochure, but a normal coach. As we settled into our seats, Beatles music blaring in our ears, Kathleen took a quick video to capture our excitement:

I must also state here that out of all of us, Kathleen was the least excited. I had to sort of beg her to come along as she not only does not like the Beatles, but she actually kind of detests them. Who knew I married a hate-monger? Anyhow, she was a champ and came along with smiles (ok, maybe not smiles).

As our tour began, we quickly realized we were in for an hour and forty five minutes of pain. Our tour guide began the tour by pointing out the Anglican Cathedral and telling us how Paul McCartney tried out for the choir when he was a kid but was rejected (a fact he would repeat at least 5 more times during the tour, occasionally varying to say that it was another Beatle being rejected from another choir). However, it was not this meaningless factoid that alarmed us, it was how he told us. There is no way to accurately describe his manner, but it was pretty much how you would read a children’s book to a group of kids. Except, it was how you would read it if you were really annunciating every word and were reading your favourite book to them and in fact you were reading it aloud more to hear yourself than for the kids.

I won’t bore you with a complete play by play, but we sawmany sites including: all of their childhood homes (Ringo’s was not the nicest), Penny Lane (which Kathleen and I pass every day), a pub where one of their mother’s worked (scary), a cemetery where there is some woman’s gravestone (apparently no relation to any of the Beatles, but they took her name and wrote a song about it) and Strawberry Fields (I have no idea what this actually is/was). Here is where Ringo grew up:

We filmed the drive up Penny Lane, but it would not upload for some reason. Anyhow, here is a video of our stop at Strawberry Field (s?). We stayed on the bus and heckled a bit. You can get a great sense of the other people on the tour here.

However, the best part of the tour was completely unexpected: the average Liverpudlian’s reaction to us. Firstly, people still live in some of the houses we were gawking at. They were not too stoked on a bus load of people taking pictures, I’m sure. Additionally it seemed like a lot of random people had a certain animosity towards us and the bus we were on. At the corner of Penny Lane, two ‘lads’ returning from soccer practice mocked hysterical behaviour over the street sign. A few others were writing all over the sign. In one neighbourhood, two kids came running up when we were stopped at a light, and stood there repeatedly giving us the finger. This was a long light and the kids just sat there flicking us off in new and imaginative ways. It was really really funny. Also, as we swung back towards the city, another kid threw a tennis ball at us and struck Dave’s window. Totally amazing!

Suffice to say, we all had a lot of laughs over this all encompassing tour of Liverpool. We also learned a few things. It seems that John Lennon was a total asshole. I mean the guy got married and had a kid, but kept it secret from pretty much everyone because it was not considered rock star enough... Surprised that didn't work out. We also found out that a lot of the new Sherlock Holmes movie was filmed in our city. The tour guide continued to educate us with his narration. He trailed off often. A favourite was when he said “Ironically…” and then never finished his thought and started to mutter under his breath about some biker in the street. However, the most enlightening comment by the tour guide was: “And on your left? ASDA: part of the Wal-mart family.” Yup, the guide was sure to point out our local Wal-mart for us. Below is a picture at the end of the tour. I think you can see who had the worst time. Despite all my sarcasm, the tour peaked my interest in the Beatles, and I'd now kind of like to go to the Beatles Museum downtown. However, Kathleen refuses to come with me, so if anyone coming over is interested...

I think my friends had an awesome time. We went out for Indian food that night and just chilled on Sunday. It was super good to see them, and again it amazed me what close friendships I developed with people on the other side of the globe. Dave and Noreen: Come back soon!

Happy Days

The past few weeks have been a flurry of activity - busy days at work for me and Mark, late dinners, and the weekends have seemed too far and few between. Nevertheless, we've managed to squeeze a lot of fun in, including the Wirral Food and Drink festival a few weeks ago.

As we've mentioned in previous posts, we're starting to pay a lot more attention to what we eat and where it comes from. The northwest of England is blessed with some great local food options, and we've sampled local ice-cream, lamb, cheese, fruit and vegetables. The food festival was a great opportunity to see more of these local vendors, ones with amazing food but a little too far to go for a weekly errand. The festival was held on the grounds of the Claremont Farm, our current source of fresh vegetables and meats, and we had a great time - sampling from the tents, horsing around and, of course, people watching.

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When I see an adult on a bicycle, I do not despair for the future of the human race. - H.G. Wells

Last week, a giant box arrived in the mail for me. Mark was good and didn't take a peek (I was away for work), but on Saturday we ripped it open. I'd ordered a bike from a little shop in East London, and we set to work trying to put it together.

In an hour or so, we'd assembled what looked like a bike, but it didn't quite work like a bike. I'd like to say that we soldiered on and made it work (ah, Tim Gunn, how I miss you), but Mark recommended that we take it to a local bike shop and have them make a few adjustments. After all, when you're talking about brakes, it's probably not the best idea to just ignore the problem.

We took it for a debut ride last Sunday, into town and then over to the farm, but it wasn't until today that we really showed her off.

Mark spent the morning skateboarding in Runcorn, and when he came back we grabbed the bikes and headed downtown to Everyman Bistro for lunch. Sated and happy, we then rode down to the docks and fooled around for a while - trying out some 'Agility Training' (sort of a private joke, though there is an Agility Training course near Liverpool where dogs can learn to jump through rings of fire... Mark really wants to enroll the dog) while thoroughly unimpressed pedestrians watched.

We rode along the promenade back to our neighborhood, then took Miller to the park. He's slowly getting used to the bikes, but I think his favorite part is the constant running and weaving between and in front of us to see our reactions.

After a little rest on the grass, we both felt refreshed. A pretty perfect Saturday afternoon.

PS. This was really all I meant to write today, but I just ran out and picked up a book at the library. Normally, this wouldn't be very exciting, but as the librarian wrote out the due date on the front page, I realized she was writing our wedding date.

WHOA. We are officially getting hitched in three weeks!

I got a little giddy (the librarian wishes us both the best) and practically skipped the whole way home...

Hilbre Island, Part II

Two weekends ago, we ventured back to the Wirral peninsula for a visit to Hilbre Island. With the sun shining, we packed towels, wellingtons, and the pup in the back of the car and headed into the tunnel in downtown Liverpool.

We emerged on the other side and headed to the coast - and had an amazing afternoon hiking across the flat sand and around the cliffs of the island. (There were also seals, but I didn't get any pics)

Afterwards, we had some truly sub par 'homemade' ice-cream and headed further into the Wirral. This time, we trekked to Claremont Farm, and stocked up on goodies. We learned about the farm from one of my birthday gifts for Mark, the book Home Grown. It profiles chefs of the Northwest and the resurgence of haute British cuisine focusing on local ingredients.

We loved the farm, and have already been back. We can stock up on tons of fresh veggies, fruit, and good-quality meats (and have yet to spend more than £10). Yum!

Maydays, Maydays, Maydays

It’s been a crazy few weeks, and I’ve owed an update to the blog for some time now. Since Mark’s last post, we’ve welcomed the other Yates brother to Liverpool, explored Manchester through the lens of 80s post-punk bands Joy Division, New Order, the Happy Mondays, and others, celebrated a birthday (Mark’s thirty-third) and I’ve visited Finland, among other marathon business trips, for work. After all that, I was left holding down the fort in Liverpool with Miller while Mark headed home for some much-deserved R&R and time with friends. I kept meaning to post while he was gone, but we got some long-awaited sunshine and warm weather, and I found myself restless in the house and every time I opened the laptop, I would shut it again to grab Miller’s leash and head outside.

First things first: besides the Factory Records tour in Manchester, we also showed Bill some of the local sights here in Liverpool, including another visit to Crosby Beach. I think we can all agree that we don’t need to take anymore people here. Plus, it just seems to get sadder and bleaker with every visit (see previous references to British litter). 

But his trip was quick, and before we knew it we had dropped Bill off at the airport. That night, I took Mark out for a great meal at 60 Hope Street, our new favourite restaurant in the city, as part of a belated birthday celebration. Then, it was off for a few nights visiting customers down south and then back to Liverpool to catch a flight to Helsinki.

I had been really excited for my Finland trip, but I can’t say that it was particularly memorable. I hadn’t mentally prepared myself to spend over nine hours a day in a trade show booth, and our hotel location (abutting the airport, a €30 taxi ride from the city) didn’t lend itself much to exploring. Nevertheless, we managed to see a bit of downtown and enjoyed the crazy daylight hours (the sun didn’t set til after 11pm each night) while walking the cobblestone streets of Senate Square. I also managed to convince my colleagues to spend our final evening having dinner in this gem of a restaurant, and I highly recommend you take some time to explore the website and the dinner menu. I had the sautéed reindeer, which was… interesting. Glad I tried it, but don’t know if I will be having it again any time soon.

My arrival home was bittersweet, as I only had two nights with Mark before he departed on his own trip. I dropped him off at the airport at 445AM, bleary-eyed and with a confused Miller in the back, and couldn’t help but feel jealous.

That weekend, to stave off depressing homesickness and loneliness, I took Miller for a long early morning walk (we’ve got some friends along the route, now) and returned home to find 20 roses on our doorstep; a seven-year anniversary gift from Mark.

I cleaned up the flowers and then headed in to the farmer’s market. There was fresh rhubarb and tiny strawberries, asparagus, lettuce, and all sort of other gems. I found myself filling my bag with all sorts of vegetables, fresh bread (though, to be honest - £2 for a loaf of bread is just stupid), and some spicy North African merguez sausage, pushed into my hands by a very vocal butcher armed with a knife the size of my thigh. I couldn’t say no.

The streets were also full of photographers, armed with digital SLRs and patrolling our little street and the Lark Lane market. I did a little sleuthing online and discovered this flickr photo set and thought I would share. The shots of the street full of plantings and flowers is our street, and the guy with the crazy hair is our kayaking neighbour. I think his name is Steve, and he literally kayaks almost every day - though I’m not sure where. All the flowers are grown and taken care of by another neighbor, Brian, who is also helping me plant some flowers in our backyard.

The rest of the weekend was spent doing errands, cleaning, long walks with the dog, cooking some more and trying desperately not to eat all the strawberry rhubarb crumble immediately. I succeeded, but only kind of. (I saved a bite for Monday morning, just so I could say it lasted three days).  

And, actually, the rest of the week was sort of more of the same.

I have to confess, another reason I haven’t posted is because I’ve been fighting a sort of, not really, but kind of can’t ignore maybe-depression. Chalk it up to homesickness, belated adjustment to a new home, or a combination of other things (and those of you we’ve been speaking to know what I’m talking about), I’ve just been finding it more and more difficult to ignore.  I am trying to stay focused on the positive, though, and am looking forward to my own trip home as a way to recharge.

So, come to think of it, I’d better head to bed. My 4AM wake-up is only five hours away...

Lark Lane Market

I arrived home on Thursday afternoon from Ireland tired and anxious for company. Mark and I had no special plans for the weekend, but it ended up being just what I needed.

Saturday morning Mark had a big run as part of his training for the Belfast marathon, and I dragged myself out of bed to do two miles. We ground some fresh Dancing Goats coffee (thanks, Kerry!) and spent an hour or two enjoying the slow-paced morning and reading before gathering up our dirty laundry and heading to the laundromat.

Our normal path was obstructed by a giant farmers market, set up at the end of Lark Lane and due to return the last Saturday of every month. We hurriedly put the laundry in and then began to explore the market... And made a few impulse purchases.

Mark went off to switch the laundry and I scurried home to put the food away. By the time I met him back at the library, he was carrying a bouquet of spring daisies - perfect for the vase he brought home last month with tulips. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent wrapped in blankets on the couch watching recorded TV and just relaxing. I had made a big batch of baked shells with ricotta and mozzarella, and it was the just the way to celebrate the end of February.

The next morning was spent attacking the overgrown clump of weeds we called the backyard. We had stocked up on gardening supplies (including his and hers wellies, pictures of us looking ridiculous to come) at the local shopping center and we wasted no time getting them dirty. We now have six large garbage bags filled with assorted rubbish, the remains of a very overgrown ivy, and lots of snail shells, weeds and twigs. The daffodils and crocuses can now bask in the sunlight, and a whole fleet of other unknown plants are on their way up - and we're looking forward to seeing what, exactly, they become.

And finally, I attempted a giant Sunday roast yesterday afternoon. Mark and I both recently finished reading Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma, and we've been making an effort to be more conscious of where and how we get our food. It was great to be able to support some local farmers at the market, and the meal yesterday afternoon was absolutely delicious (and would have been guilt-free, if not for the massive amounts of butter used for each dish). 

New Neighborhood, Old Friend

As Mark mentioned in his previous post, we're in the process of preparing to move. We're both extremely excited - not only because this is one step closer to having Miller join us in England, but also because it means that we'll be steps away from restaurants, pubs, and a park.

In fact, you can see everything that will be at our fingertips on Lark Lane. Perhaps not the least seizure-inducing website, but hey - our neighborhood is cool enough to WARRANT a website. Try that with Cressington.

Over the weekend, we played Guitar Hero until our fingers cramped in a permanent fret-claw (thanks, mom!), and we noticed our stomachs growling. We ventured out in the torrential rain and warmed ourselves in the light of three large high definition televisions airing the Arsenal-Hull City football match in the Parkfield Inn pub. A few pints later, we wandered up and down Lark Lane, looking excitedly in the windows of the many restaurants and bars lining the street.

As Mark mentioned before, Jamaican Me Hungry had a special resonance for us, and we stumbled into the small restaurant a few moments before the chef came in after us, carrying bags of groceries. Selling out of food before 8pm? Sounded like an endorsement to us, so we grabbed a table and Mark went out to buy some beer for dinner.

Let's just say that was the best jerk chicken I've ever had, and I'm planning a few more dinners at this little place.

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I spent much of the week in the south for work, and got back late Wednesday night from a long drive. But we were excited, because Ray was arriving early the next morning.

What ensued was a long comedy of errors, mostly committed by me. I got in the car at 645AM, began the drive toward Manchester, and blew by the exit for the M6. I then got stuck in stop-and-go traffic until I was able to turn around and get on the motorway, which was also stop-and-go. I then raced into the airport, parked the car, and ran into the Terminal. I wandered up and down, peering into the cafes and having Ray paged repeatedly... before realizing that he was not in Terminal 2, but Terminal 1. I ran out, paid for parking, drove completely out of the airport and back in again, parked the car (after several stalls on the steep and narrow ramps), and ran into the Terminal.

I was over 45 minutes late, but Ray gave me a big hug and we were off for home.

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Mark bought tickets for The Streets the moment we arrived in England. If you don't know them, I highly recommend you check them out, because they're a lot of fun. We had a few beers, grabbed some less-than-stellar Indian food, and ventured into the Carling Academy last night. I took some truly sub-par cellphone pictures and video, but will have to upload them later. Suffice it to say, they were awesome live, and we had a ton of fun. Mike Skinner is definitely a goof live, but he got the crowd going and his band was amazing. Here's one of the hits from last night (via YouTube).

Jack the Ripper and my best night in London

So on Monday night we got to do my most anticipated activity of this whole trip to London – the Jack the Ripper Tour! I remember back when Lenny was studying abroad in London and Spencer went for a visit. One of the most exciting things I heard about that they did (besides purchasing their lady-killing Storm watches) was this incredible tour that went all over the seedy side of London to where Jack the Ripper killed prostitutes. On top of that, the tour included a stop at many pubs where they were able to get their drink going. In my head, this tour was kind of the coolest thing in the world and consisted of 6 to 8 strangers who all got on great and spent the night learning all the gruesome details about Jack the Ripper and got drunk to boot! However, as I began to research such tours I realized that my experience might be a bit different.

After searching through a dozen or so websites, we came across one company called London Walks that had a lot of positive reviews. We learned that there was no need to book and that we just needed to show up outside the Tower Hill tube stop at 7:30pm. This made me a little wary because other sites had touted how prior booking was needed on their tours to insure that tours were capped at 30 people. However, I convinced myself that since it was Christmas Week and freezing cold outside, that there surely could not be 30 people who were interested in going on this particular tour, so we set out.

During the subway ride I worked myself up like only I can because the website had warned of fraudulent tour operators who would be lurking near the exit and would take our money and run. I reminded Kathleen a few hundred times that we needed to “suspect everyone and trust no one.” I also took a quick video to distract myself and keep Kathleen happy:

Finally we arrived at the tube stop and walked outside. What we were confronted with was kind of awful in a way. It reminded me a bit of the cattle pens that Michael Pollen describes in The Omnivore’s Dilemma. Here is another quick video. Notice how happy and excited everyone looks!

At this point we forked over our £7 and proceeded to lay out our plan for the tour. By the appointed start time there were probably about 100 people or so. They decided to split the group into two groups since there were two guides (neither of whom were the Jack the Ripper specialist who had written multiple books and is touted all over the website). After a quick analysis of speaking styles we decided to risk going with the larger group being led by the male. He had a nice loud voice (and tended to roll his R’s very theatrically) so we thought we would learn the most. Unfortunately, he decided to stay an extra five minutes to wait for any latecomers. I swear by the middle of the tour we had about a hundred people.

Our tactic was to stick to the tour guide as closely as possible throughout the two hours. We would do our best to get as close to him as possible when he spoke and would try to anticipate which direction the tour would go next. We would then at times run as quickly as we could to make sure we had a good spot at the next location. There were a few light elbows thrown in the process as well as I was not letting anyone prevent me from getting my full £7 worth. I think the guide thought we were a bit off since at every stop there were Kathleen and I front and centre with our Flip Video ready to go.

The tour itself was actually really good. Due to our offensive approach we had absolutely no problems hearing the tour guide or understanding where we were and what its significance was. The tour wrapped all through the border between East London and London proper. We saw a lot of old buildings and sections of the old Roman wall. We learned in pretty impressively gory detail all about the murders that took place and the botched investigation that followed. (Kathleen was actually surprised at some of the details provided considering there were children on the tour) We saw three of the murder sites, an old soup kitchen, and a lot of the buildings that still exist from the 1880’s. Although we did not go into the pub, we saw the Ten Bells which is where the last victim was last seen on the night of her murder. Here is one of the quick stops that we took.

After the tour finished, Kathleen and I went down one of the Jack the Ripper alleys and found a great Thai restaurant called Sri Thong: http://www.srithong.co.uk/
Kathleen had been missing Thai food since we got to the UK so we were stoked to find the place. It is certainly no Tiny Thai, but the food was excellent. All in all, we had a really fun time on this. Although it was drastically different from what I had imagined Lenny and Spencer doing 12 years ago, the guide and the structure of the tour were excellent. You definitely need to look past the blatant commercialization of the whole thing as well as the scores of other tour participants, but I highly recommend it.

Oh and I had terrible nightmares that night. I awoke from one and sat there for about an hour before I could fall back asleep. So that was pretty cool too, I guess… Do a quick google image search of ‘jack the ripper victims’ if you want to have nightmares without having to fly to London and spend the £7.