Regrets: number 2

Travel. We didn't travel enough when we lived in the US. It wasn't that we didn't want to. Our restrictions were money, time and distance.

Money
We arrived in the US just after the crest of the Easyjet wave had broken in the UK, when you could fly to European cities for literally £10 a ticket, or occasionally even less. Not that we had done any flying to European cities, me not being a huge fan of city-breaks with toddlers/babies, but our youngest was nearly 3 when we went to the US, and I thought we'd be in a phase where that kind of travel would be more enjoyable. I envisaged us flying to interesting destinations: New York, Washington, San Francisco... Seattle... It was a shock to discover that the budget airline idea hadn't reached the US, and that to take a family of five anywhere by plane would cost several hundred dollars. I also hadn't realised that our little city, in the middle of the country, not being a hub, had a very limited choice of destinations, so that to get to New York, Washington, San Francisco or Seattle would involve two flight. That always ends up being the best part of a day, which makes the idea of a weekend jaunt a lot less feasible.

Time
The first aspect of time being a limiting factor was the way the school year is arranged. The UK school year is full of breaks: Christmas and Easter, and then half-terms here, there and everywhere (well, I suppose they're half-way through each of three terms, so not exactly "here, there and everywhere" but if you've lived the routine of the US school year, that's what it feels like when you compare the British system). We had three days off at Thanksgiving, a couple of weeks at Christmas, a week in March, and that was it. Yes, there's scope in there for trips, but if you want to be at home for Christmas and Thanksgiving, it didn't seem like much. Of course there is the hugely long three-month summer vacation, but of the six years were there, for three summers we came back to the UK, one was taken up with surgery and chemotherapy, and one involved our final move back. Only in our first summer did we really have the opportunity to explore the US. I guess the expat family will always be juggling their resources between making the most of their new adventure and keeping in touch with their roots.

Distance
I'm sure it would have been different if we'd lived in another location. If we were on the East coast or West coast, there would have been places of interest to drive to. But we were right in the middle of the country. It's hard to get a feel for the scale of journeys involved in the US until you live there. We all know it's big, but to experience what exactly that means is a different thing. In UK terms, it was a day's drive before you reached somewhere that looked or felt different. Yes, driving is easier and we had a big comfortable minivan (people carrier), but even so, it did mean that trips were for holidays rather than week-ends. In terms of places that we could visit within a day, or even an overnight stay, we pretty much exhausted those in our first year. I know you'll find that hard to believe, but there are vast tracts of the Midwest where there is nothing but wheat field upon wheat field, for tens, if not hundreds, of miles. If you do stop, the choice is this McDonalds or the next one. When you reach another big city, it feels exactly like your home one, all on a grid system, and you end up eating in a chain restaurant, because it's hard to find anything else in a city you don't know (I expect Google and TripAdvisor has made this rather easier now, but five to ten years ago, it was hard to get beyond the main street in a strange place).

This all sounds rather more negative than I meant it to. I suppose I have in my mind an anonymous reader taking me to task: "Seriously? There wasn't anywhere interesting you could go for a week-end? You lived in another country for all those years and you hardly took your children anywhere!". I want to explain to that voice what it was like, and I guess that is one of the frustrations of the returning expat, that you can put something into words, but as your audience hasn't experienced the context, it's hard to make it understandable. You'll just have to take my word for it.

I like to think, as well, that it's a sign of how we assimilated to where we were. After our first summer, I started conversations at the school gate as I would do in Britain. "Did you have a good summer? Did you go anywhere nice?" I was amazed at how few people had been on vacation at all. People had perhaps visited family for a week-end, but very few had had what we would call a holiday. I stopped asking those questions, because they weren't the right questions to ask. I started asking "Did you have a good summer? What sports teams and camps did your kids enrol in?" Perhaps, over time, my travel aspirations dwindled.

Having said all of the above, we did manage some travel. I went off on some cheeky week-ends on my own: to Chicago for the week-end of the Expat Brits Blogging Six, to New York to visit an old friend and meet up with my brother's family on holiday there, to Chicago again to stay with the hugely hospitable Expat Mum who also put up my brother while he was on a conference. They were real high points. We did also craft some trips with our kids. We went to San Diego in our first year, when we were flush with cash from our initial move when the pound had been particularly strong against the dollar. We went to Colorado too, a 12-hour drive from home, four times in all - or was it five? The place we went to in Colorado became special to us, and we loved returning there. We may not have taken the children to a great number of different places, but we do all share strong and happy memories of that one place. There is something nice about returning to the same location over three or four years, and that thought goes some way towards dissipating any regrets I have, if ever I look at a map of the big, big continent of North America, and think "New York... Washington... San Francisco... Seattle...".

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Planes, Trains and Automobiles

Spare a thought for some American friends of ours. They are people we knew when we lived in the Midwest, really special friends (don't want to be too gushy here). They made it over to see us, and tour round Scotland a little last year. This year, they are going to Spain, but stopping off in Scotland again for a few days en route. Or so they thought...

Their story really is like that film. You know the one. Steve Martin trying to get home for Thanksgiving, and the journey being full of just about every twist and turn imaginable.

Our friends (parents, travelling with a 9 year old and a 7 year old) were going to arrive at Edinburgh airport at 8.00am yesterday. I was going to meet them, spend the morning with them, help them turn round, hire a car, and see them on their way. They were going off to Girvan on the west coast for 4 nights, coming back on Sunday, to spend 5 nights in Edinburgh, seeing us, before heading off to Spain. Just to recap, they were due to arrive at Edinburgh airport at 8.00am yesterday. They are currently in the departure lounge at Atlanta airport.

1. Their flight schedule (via Chicago) was randomly changed, pushing it 12 hours later, which they were notified about by electronic voice message over the phone. Frustrating, but not too bad, as it was actually a better flight schedule (via Dallas). 
2. Storms over the Midwest meant that their new schedule was badly disrupted. They were re-booked (via Chicago).
3. Randomly, the one connecting flight to take them from their city to Chicago was cancelled. Not a weather issue (the storms were over), no explanation given. It was the only flight cancelled that day. Just random. They were rebooked (via Atlanta).
4. They contacted me from Atlanta airport. The plane pushed back from the stand, but encountered some problem in one engine. They sat for 3 hours while mechanics worked on it. They then disembarked, and are now sleeping on the floor of the departure lounge. 

With luck, they'll make it to Heathrow this evening, in time to get a flight to Edinburgh. But they may well have to spend the night at Heathrow and come up tomorrow instead. That will represent a delay of 48 hours. Yes, you read that right: 48 hours. Instead of spending 4 nights in a cottage in Girvan, it will be 2. Though luckily, this whole sorry saga won't have eaten into the time that we will be spending with them, which would have been much more tragic.

Not so much Planes, Trains and Automobiles, as Planes, Planes, Planes. Spare them a thought.
 

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Blogging, 1883 style: Part lV

The final installment. Bessie arrives in Barbados in good spirits. She and George are married.

March 2^nd

Cast anchor at six o’clock this morning. I sat at the port in my cabin, watching for the little boat that would bring my darling. I stayed there, as I did not care to be up on deck, & have all the eyes of the passengers upon me. At last a tremendous knock at my door, & I was once more face to face with my darling. Soon after we came on deck, & George introduced me to a friend of his, a Mr. Meade, to whose house I was taken. His wife is such a gem, only 23 years of age & Scotch. They have one baby, like a little doll. I am perfectly spoiled & every body is so kind to me. George lives at Mrs. Masson’s (an English family). This is Friday & I am to be married on Monday in the Barbados Cathedral at 11.30a.m. I have been confined to the couch ever since I came with rheumatic inflammation in the ankle joint. I was so terrified, for my feet were all swollen. It came on two days before I left the steamer – I could scarcely put my foot to the ground.

March 3^rd

Still on the couch, & every body very busy preparing for Monday. I am to be married in my white satin, veil & wreath. People have got to hear about it & intend to see the ceremony.  Mr. Meade is to be father giver, Miss Masson bridesmaid, & Mr. Shields groomsman.

March 4^th (Sunday)

Still have to keep to my couch – indeed no one will allow me to do a thing for myself. I am afraid I shall be spoiled – every body is extremely good & kind to me. Mrs. Meade is only 23 years of age (I have just noticed that I mentioned this before).

March 5^th

My wedding morning. Lovely flowers have been sent from all parts – baskets full – & an exquisite bridal bouquet. Such a stillness in the house – every one more excited than another. I am to be married in the Barbados Cathedral. The bridesmaid has covered a stool with white satin & put a lovely wreath of flowers all round the edge for me to kneel on in church.

At last the hour came & I went off with Mr. Meade in a carriage & pair to church. A great many people were there who had heard of me. After the ceremony we walked down the aisle & showers of flowers were thrown from the gallery & all parts. We got home through crowds of people. We had invited a few friends to a splendid lunch when the cake was cut & toasts given.

I have been staying at Hastings Hotel, a most beautiful part of the country, about four miles from Barbados. We have been driving about every day seeing all there is to see. I should have been perfectly happy if only all those dear ones at home had been here to share all the pleasures. However, that is not possible, & I must be content. I shall have to close this diary as the mail will leave soon.

We sail for Antigua on Sunday, March 11, as George is forced to get back to his practice again. He is the same dear old boy he always was. I have had a job to get all this written as George is such a dreadful tease – I cannot get anything done for him. We have had our photos taken – mine in my bridal dress, & both together. I shall write after we arrive at our own home at ‘Longlane’ & tell you all what every thing is like there.

The sugar-cane crop has just commenced, - it is very funny to see the people going about with great sticks, sucking away at it.

I must now close as I am going out shopping. I hope you will excuse all mistakes in this hasty scribble, written under great disadvantages. My only reason in sending you this is to endeavour to please you all, & to show how much I have thought of those I have left behind.

God bless you all. Good-bye.

Blogging, 1883 style: Part lll

Bessie continues her journey. The initial excitement has worn off, and this is a week of mixed emotions. I have left unedited some politically incorrect terminology.

Feb. 25^th (Sunday)

Had a run of 270 miles – temperature 73 degrees. Saw the drill of all the sailors on deck, & afterwards retired to the Saloon where Divine Service was read by the Captain, followed by a discourse by a dissenting Minister on board. In the evening a tropical storm got up, accompanied by thunder & lightning, the latter being extremely brilliant & appalling.

Had a few hymns – “Eternal Father, strong to save”, & some others which I enjoyed exceedingly.

Feb. 26^th

Run today 283 miles. Tremendous storm on – sea washing the decks – everybody sick & miserable. The captain imagines that the storm is the tail end of one raging in more northern latitudes. Strong sun & almost cloudless sky. I spent the whole day in my cabin, I did feel so ill again. Indeed it takes me all my time to write, the ship rolls so fearfully that it makes it a great effort. Any amount of flying fish to be seen. Last night one flew on deck & was captured. It is quite a treat to hear the poor sailors calling out, after eight o’clock when all is dark, “All’s well”, at every half hour & hour. Looking over into the water there is quite a flame of phosphorescence.

Feb. 27^th

Run 296 miles. Nothing very special today – lounging about, talking, & eating is about all one can find to do. Temperature 76 degrees. It is so pretty to see every one in their light costumes – I wear my pink, it does look pretty. Fancy in February – I wonder how England & Scotland are looking.

Feb 28^th

Run 291 miles. Weather nice & warm – such a splendid breeze. I like it immensely & the passengers seem all sorry that our voyage will soon be at an end. The “nigger entertainment” came off tonight & was great fun. Miss Usher, Mrs. Davis and myself have been very busy all day stitching up the most remarkable costumes & sewing on paper cuffs & collars. Every one seemed to enjoy it immensely & we had a proper laugh. A few of the officers took part.

March 1^st

Run 297 miles. Every body is very busy this morning packing up &c., as we expect to arrive at Barbados tomorrow morning. I do feel so strange when I think I shall see my darling so soon. We are to have our photos taken today by one of the passengers. A dance was got up this evening & the deck was all hung round with lamps. The ship was gliding along so beautifully & the sea was like a sheet of glass.


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Blogging, 1883 style: Part ll

Continuing my great-great-aunt Bessie's diary of her voyage from Southampton to Barbados, February 1883. Bessie is settling into life on board ship, and finds there is much to enjoy.

Feb. 22^nd

Had a run of 316 miles. We passed the Western Islands about 12 o’clock last night. There was great excitement today watching a vessel, five miles off, ‘homeward bound’. We have seen only two vessels since the time we left England & even then ‘twas only a glimpse. The weather is simply charming – only once have we had a slight shower of rain. Had plenty of music this eve. The gentlemen are getting up a concert for Saturday eve, & have put my name down on the programme for a song. The officers on board are getting up a ‘Christy Minstrels’ for next week, so that will be a nice change. We are getting into the Tropics now – it is really beautiful on deck. The awning has just been put up.

Feb. 23^rd

Had a run of 320 miles. Nothing very special to speak of today, except that a lady got a dreadful fright about one o’clock in the morning. The sea swept up with such a force against her port, that it broke the glass & swamped her cabin. She was sound asleep at the time but awoke with the fearful noise of the crash. She was literally drenched, poor thing, & has most of her clothes destroyed – she naturally thought we were all going to the bottom of the sea.

I am agreeably surprised to find how extremely social people on board ship can be; they seem to lose all the stiff formalities of society & are glad to converse on the most friendly terms. It is amusing & interesting to find out the destinations and occupations of the different passengers on such a voyage as this. Here, you have a British Consul from the Orinoco, & there a commercial traveler bound for Santa-Fe-de-Bogota. Again, this old man is, I am told, the wealthiest planter in Barbados & that stout-set middle aged man comes from the centre of Mexico. Two of our passengers are from the S. Kensington Museum, & are going out to the Caroline Islands, a small uninhabited group in the S. Pacific, to view the transit of the Moon across the face of the Sun. They expect to meet the American Expedition at Colon, from whence both parties steam across to their destination.

Feb. 24^th

Had a run of 290 miles. The weather is lovely – everything seems like dreamland & every one is as happy as the day is long.

This morning the fire bell was rung (for practice) & in a moment all the sailors were on deck with blankets, pails, & anything else they could lay their hands upon, & the hose was set to work at once. Then they ran a bell & a boat was lowered into the water in a few seconds.

Our concert came off tonight & was a great success. The place was all decorated with flags & draped at each side of the open doors of the cabins – it just looked like the boxes in a theater. We all swelled ourselves up so that the effect was really splendid. When I went into my cabin to dress there was a lovely button-hole for me, sent with the chief officer’s compliments. He had cut the beautiful geranium from the plant in his room & I have been teased ever since. It is greatly surprising to find what an immense amount of musical talent there is on board, & how indefatigable all are in their efforts to amuse. We had an interval for refreshments, during which time a collection was made on behalf of the widows and orphans of the seamen in connection with the company. We subscribed 11 pounds, which was splendid.

The passengers have already changed their clothing & it looks so nice to see them in their sun hats & white trousers. The evenings are lovely,- the stars are so beautiful & clear, & the moonlight shining on the water. It all makes us very happy. No one seems to have a thought of care. The sea is covered with the Gulf Stream weed – we have been fishing it up. It is so pretty, - with green berries hanging from it.


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Blogging, 1883 style

When I was at my mother's house last summer, she showed me a diary that was kept by my grandmother's aunt (is that my great-great-aunt?). It dates from 1883. One of my cousin's had typed it up, though my mother has the original.


I think you'll enjoy it. Bessie and her sister Rachel (my great-grandmother) had been brought up in Edinburgh. Bessie got to know a young medical student, George, who lived in Antigua, and had come to Edinburgh for his medical training. They became engaged, and he returned to Antigua. The diary tells the story of her journey to join him, to be married.


I first read it last summer, soon before returning back here. It gave me pause for thought of course, how different it was in 1883, when leaving was truly leaving. No email, no phone, no Skype. Now I've read it again, and I find it strangely circular that Bessie and Rachel grew up in Edinburgh, because that's where I'm headed next (I've been coy about telling you specifically where I'm moving to, but I think you might as well know). I love the language - old and quaint. Some of the things she says are the kind of thing an old-fashioned me might have said - or am I just imagining that, because I want to feel a connection to her? 


I'll edit a little as I go, but I find it hard to take anything out - it's all pretty interesting. The italics in parentheses are my comments, but I've kept them to a minimum. 


Oh, and one last thing. I'm going to let you in on a fact that Bessie didn't know about her future. You'll pick up from her letter how hard she found it to leave her sister Rachel. Well, she needn't have worried. Rachel found herself her own student from Antigua, Ralph, who came to Edinburgh to train as a lawyer. She married him, and joined Bessie and George in Antigua. It almost feels like cheating, to know that while reading the journal, but I thought you'd like to know.


Here's the first instalment.

S.S. Medway

Lat. 38.47 N – Long 22.W

Feb 21^st. 1883

My Voyage to the West Indies

Sat. 17^th inst.

Left Uncle Ralph’s at 6.30 in the morning for Waterloo Sta:. Janet Harrison [Bessie’s cousin] & Rachel [Bessie's older sister] accompanying me. Uncle Harry was waiting patiently for us – he brought with him a beautiful Bible for me, which I prize very much. Mr. Bain & Mr. Muir had just left the station, thinking I would leave by an earlier train, as I had intended. They had to be in time for business so were compelled to leave without seeing me. I was very sorry I did not see them to wish them Good-bye. The train left for Southampton at 8.5 a.m. It was a very tiresome journey, as neither Rachel nor I felt very bright. On arriving at Southampton, Mr. Reith was waiting for us. I don’t know what we should have done without him; he was extremely kind & saw my luggage and everything right; for which I was very thankful. We went out in a tender to the ‘Medway’ & lunched there, Mr. Reith, Rachel & all those who were seeing their friends off joining us in the repast.

As the time of our departure drew near I could scarcely express my feelings. I only knew I was leaving dear old England perhaps for ever, & all those who had been so dear to me, for a foreign clime. I felt as though my heart would break but I dare not encourage it. We ‘lifted’ our anchor at 3.30 p.m. & as dear Rachel & Mr. Reith got on board the little tender, the ‘Medway’ moved quietly away – I started my first trip across the Atlantic. Wind rather fresh & my feelings far from so. [I love that sentence.] We reached the ‘Needles’ at 5.30 where our pilot left us. By this time dinner was ready. I had no sooner seated myself at the table, than I had to rise & go to my cabin. I was so ill. (I had the cabin all to myself). I lay there prostrate, more dead than alive, not caring for anything. I tried to get up on Monday but was only too thankful to tumble in again. However, I succeeded on Tuesday & went in to dinner for the first time. I soon began to get my strength back again.

Among the passengers, numbering about 80 in the Saloon and 14 or 15 children, there are some 16 ladies, two brides & bridegrooms, two twice chosen wives & ‘half a bride’ as I am described. The ‘Swells’ on board include Lord Combermere & his son, Major-Gen. McNeil, K.C.B., Col. Nugent, the Governor of Grenada & Dr. Freeland (the gentleman whom George has been acting for while on his visit to England), his wife & little girl. They are taking out an assistant, Dr. Davis & his wife, just two weeks married. She is a very nice person & we have become great friends. They always wait for me every where they go & will live about ¾ of an hour’s drive from ‘Longlane’ (my home to be). Then there is a Dr. Boyd and his wife, also newly married, who are going to St Vincent; Mr. Musson & his nephew have just been on a visit to England & are going back to Barbados. Mr. Goodhard, a very nice gentleman (on a pleasure trip for two months) always takes me in to dinner. We have a very nice company at our table. Mr Bicknell is retired & travels about for pleasure. He is also an astronomer & very clever, & has with him a great number of splendid instruments.

We have had marvellous weather, the passage being the driest on record for the time of year though the ship rolls greatly.

We have splendid living on board – a cup of tea in bed at 6 o’clock in the morning; then breakfast at 9 o’clock with three or four courses, & always potatoes; then dinner at 5 o’clock with eight or nine courses & tea at half past seven. Nothing but sleeping, eating & lounging about. There are very few people on board writing a ‘diary’, strange to say you can scarcely settle your mind to write on board ship, & besides it rolls so, the pen always seems inclined to slide right down the paper.

I wonder how all the dear ones at home are – if they could only see me in my little cabin. My port is open & I can hear the water splashing up against the ship. My thoughts are far away – cannot write more today.

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More train of thought

First, I’ll answer a couple of questions left in the comments of the last post. One reader was puzzled by how I wrote a blog post without a laptop or computer. I use the mind-write gadget. You’ll find it under ‘settings’. It’s one of the reasons I like Blogger. Takes a bit of getting used to, but once you have, it’s very liberating. You simply think about the post you’d like to write, run the sentences through your head, and it appears in draft format for you to fine-tune, next time you log in. Before I discovered mind-write, if I wanted to blog on a train journey, I’d write it down with good old pen and paper, and then type it up later. But that’s sooooo 20th century.

Then the question of what you do with your clicky key fob if you have to visit the immigration section of the US embassy in London. Before my own visit, I’d have said “you have to leave it at home, which means that if you have a car which only has clicky key fobs, then you have to get your mother-in-law to give you a lift to the station, as Husband had to do on his last trip”. But during my visit last week, I discovered that there’s a chemist five minutes’ walk from the embassy which runs an enterprising holding service. For 3 quid, you can leave your clicky key fobs, your memory sticks, your mobile phones, your bomb detonators, any other electrical item, or even an entire suitcase with them. They give you a numbered ticket, and you can reclaim your items after your embassy visit. This is brilliant. It’s just a shame the embassy doesn’t tell you about it in the instructions you receive when you book your appointment. What the instructions say is “Consider checking [these items] at a transport station or leaving them behind.” Yeah. Because “transport stations” in London have plenty of left luggage facilities these days. I suppose it wouldn’t sound very official to say “there’s an entrepreneurial chemist on North Audley Street…”.

I’ll also just tell you that I couldn’t put down The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I don’t think it’s a brilliant book, but it’s very gripping, and clever, and once you’re embroiled in it, it’s hard not to keep on reading. So yes, I’m in the “couldn’t put it down” camp.

Now then, Bloggy Friends. Bloggy Peeps. When I left you, I was all chipper and happy and looking forward to my day out in London. But it didn’t work out very well. I wrote about it on the way home. This is what I wrote.

Oh alas. Tail between legs. I’d been looking forward to my day. Two long train trips, the slight nuisance of the trip to the embassy, but lunch and an afternoon to myself in London. What a treat.

Oh alas. I did my dodgy hip in, running for the train in Malton in unsuitable flat pumps this morning. I made it worse by pounding the London streets. Aren’t I too young to have a dodgy hip that can’t cope with pavements?

I’m not going to recount the tedium and anxiety that accompany anything to do with a visa-related embassy visit. To sum up, I was there from 10.15 to 1.45, and it was horrible, and I failed to accomplish the task. Won’t go into details (it wasn’t the bad hair or the lack of a shower), and you’ll just have to believe me when I say that we have had more than our fair share of hurdles to jump over (and pay for) on visa stuff. We truly have. I’m not a great believer in complaining about the system. I get that it’s about a country protecting the interests of its own citizens. I get that it’s not designed with customer service at its heart (unlike pretty much everything else in the US). I get that I’m a supplicant, and hold no cards. I’m sure it’s no easier, and probably harder, to go through the equivalent British system. So I’m not complaining. But I will confess that, when the embassy finally spewed me out, unsuccessful and therefore facing two weeks of hassle and anxiety if we are to be able to use our flights a fortnight hence, with failure a very real option, I took my over-priced sandwich into Grosvenor Square Gardens, and I sat on a bench, and I shed a tear or two of sheer frustration. I felt like a performing dog, who one day, takes a look at the out-held hoop, and says to itself “One too many. This one is one too many. To heck with the jumping, even if I starve as a result.”

It’s not the first time I’ve shed tears in a London square garden. If you’ve got tears to shed in London, then I’ve found squares are a pretty good place to do it. Squares or parks. That’s the Iota hot tip for tear-shedding in London. Location, location, location.

So I had a curtailed afternoon, with no heart to do very much. I ate a scone in Selfridge’s. And then I suddenly remembered The Wallace Collection, and went and looked at the Laughing Cavalier.


Isn’t it wonderful that museums and galleries are free? I didn’t have time for a full visit, and certainly wouldn’t have been in the mood to pay for a quick drop-in. The information pointed out that he isn’t laughing and he isn’t a cavalier. I love that. Quite an achievement to be famous down the centuries for two things you are not. I guess the Smirking Man doesn’t have the same ring to it. I wonder if I would like to be preserved for generations in a smirking pose. It felt appropriate for the afternoon. Smirking at the US immigration process, though at its crushing mercy, seemed a small triumph. Better than total defeat, at any rate. The Dunsmirk spirit.

It was truly an awful afternoon, and – insult to injury – even the train ride back is horrid. There’s no air-conditioning, and it's very hot. They’ve come round with free bottles of water and apologies, but it’s vey unpleasant really. Especially for the unshowered amongst us.

That is what I wrote, on the 16.50 from London to York. Things have worked out (with, as I anticipated, much hassle and anxiety). Our way is cleared back into the US. The passports and necessary permissions arrived this morning. We fly on Friday.

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Train of thought

7.35am, and I’m sitting in the Pumpkin Café, York station, with cup of tea and bacon roll. On my way to the US Embassy to renew my visa. Mine and the children’s. Probably want to take them back with me when I go. Be a shame if I had a visa and they didn’t.

Bit of an adventure getting here. Had planned to leave house by 6.10, to get 6.53 train from Malton to York. Woke up at 6.28. Don’t know how this happened. My alarm clock was set. Husband’s alarm clock was set. Did we both mis-set them? Did they both fail to go off? Freakish. Or did we both sleep through them? Perhaps we need a holiday. Oh. We’re on holiday. Does the part of me that doesn’t want to renew my visa have more say when I’m asleep? So anyway, 6.28. That left me 25 minutes exactly to get up, dressed, drive 8 miles to Malton, find somewhere to park (no station car park at Malton and I don’t know the town, only ever been to the station to pick up or drop off), and buy a ticket.

I made it. Still now quite sure how, though remember finding a miraculously free car park (didn’t know those existed any more), and running to the station, wiping tears out of my eyes as the chill morning wind whipped by my face (wind, because I was running like the, not because it was a windy morning - just to clarify). Even had time for little chat with booking office clerk, who said he’d been a bit late for work himself and it must be one of those days. Hope the Embassy staff don’t mind my hair, or my unshowered aroma.

8.05am, and I’m on the train to London King’s Cross. I love train travel. Love it with a passion that makes me wonder if I was born in the wrong era. Thank goodness I had sons, because they’re nothing if not a good excuse for the occasional steam train ride.

Got a seat with a table, and have The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, which I’m told (by many, though not all) I won’t be able to put down, but I know that for most of the journey, I won’t write or read. I’ll look out of the window. Why ever not? Flashing through probably the most beautiful county in probably the most beautiful country on earth.

Might have to move. There’s a woman with a mobile phone, a written report, and a very loud voice.

“Well, Jason, I think I’m just going to put 2.5 as regards that figure, because that’s what all the other sites have done, and so I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”

I don’t see why she shouldn’t either, but I don’t want to listen all the way to King’s Cross. Train is remarkably empty (why?), so plenty of choice.

Power stations – one on my left, one on my right. Countryside very flat now. That’ll teach me to write “probably the most beautiful county…”.

Haven’t got a laptop. Just in case you were picturing me, all high tech and wired up. Or wire free. No, not allowed electrical things in the US Embassy. Not even allowed a clicky key fob. Lucky I had an old-fashioned turn-in-the-lock one, though intriguingly it only worked in the passenger side door. That required about 3 precious seconds in the car park. The remembering and the sprinting round to the other side.

Now, Bloggy Peeps. Should that be Peops? Trouble is, that looks like Pee-ops. But Peeps is a bit Thomas the Tank Engine. Oh, I don’t know. I’ll call you Bloggy Friends.

Now, Bloggy Friends. I know I’m on a blogging break, but I thought you might like to know about my summer so far. Just a few highlights.

Cyber Mummy
Oh my goodness, I loved Cyber Mummy (except for the name, sorry, I just can’t love that name). There was something very fulfilling, in the genuine sense of that word, about meeting women who I’d got to know so well online over the past three years. I mean, three years is hardly a whirlwind romance, so these are people who have had a window into a measurable percentage of my adult life, and I into theirs. Yours.

There were some excellent moments. One of my faves was when I won a month’s supply of Garofalo pasta in the prize draw. I and the friend I was sitting next to thought it was Gruffalo pasta, because she’d just been telling me about interviewing Julia Donaldson. Gruffalo pasta. Why the heck not?

More summer highlights:

over-riding my vertigo to go up the Eiffel Tower – to the top, mind you – and finding I thoroughly enjoyed it;

sitting in the front garden, sharing a bottle of evening wine with my husband and brother, the temperature somewhere around the high 80s, the air scented with jasmine, still, and heavy, the conversation punctuated by Parisians nodding Bonsoir to my brother as they walked past;

watching my temperature-resistant children swim in the sea with cousins in both Brighton and St Andrews (different cousins – we don’t carry a set round with us on our travels);

the mundane familiarity of small English things, like being called ‘Love’ by shop assistants;

visiting ruined abbeys and having picnics;

staying with my mum, who is quite definitely one of Britain’s National Treasures;

old friends, with their children 2 years older than last time I saw them;

going to a museum, or two or three, including the Natural History Museum in London, where 9-yo decided he wants to become a geologist;

bumping into some friends at Abington services on the M74. We were driving north from Yorkshire to the Scottish Highlands. They were driving south from Edinburgh to the Lake District. What were the chances? We last saw them in October 2006, just before we went to America. We gave them lamps that we couldn’t take with us (different voltage in the US). I’d forgotten. They now have a 2 year old.

Oh so many more, but this is a blog, not a novel, so I must stop. One low point to report: 9-yo breaking his collar bone when he fell off a bike. Hurrah for the NHS, I must say. In and out of A&E within an hour and a quarter - friendly nurses, friendly doctor, x-rays, pain-killers, and a sling - no forms to fill in, and not a penny to pay. Horrid to see him in pain and shrunk into himself, though. He's doing fine now - thanks for asking - and having an arm in a sling doesn't stop him doing much. Cricket, football, swimming, building sandcastles, DS, monopoly, sibling squabbling... all these summer activities are possible one-armed. Just as well he's not a blogger. Blogging one-handed would be frustrating.

More anon.

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Finest hours

Iceland. What the heck are you playing at? I'd have thought you'd be trying to curry a little favour with your European colleagues, after that financial debacle last year. But no. You've sprouted a volcano, and now you're using it. Not just an ordinary volcano. Oh no. One with a very long and frankly rather unrealistic name. Like someone just typed a capital E, and then let their fingers tap randomly for 2 or 3 seconds on the keyboard. Like this: Easdofihweonasdlf;oahiewt;lan. But without the semi-colons.

You won't win the Eurovision Song Contest now. Not a hope. Not for decades.

Still, you should know the Brits. We go all Dunkirky at times like this, and start talking about "bringing our people home". Is Gordon Brown saying "oh for heaven's sake, I'm busy trying to win an election here"? No, he's not. He's saying "Get me my Spanish counterpart on the phone. Let's turn Spain into a British hub." Shouldn't be too hard. We've managed to turn plenty of Spain into Britain already. In fact, you might say it was a cunning slow-burning strategy, put in place over many years, one plate of egg and chips at a time, for just such a national emergency as this.

Fear not, oh Brits stranded abroad. I saw some of you interviewed today, and you said you were a bit worried about getting back from your exotic holiday for "some tests called SATS, which are quite important". But if you can get to Spain, which we'll rename Brit-hub for the time being, a flotilla of Royal Navy and requisitioned merchant navy vessels will brave the Bay of Biscay to come and get you. A flotilla, or perhaps we'd call it an armada, just for old time's sake. We wouldn't want you to miss your SATS.

Interestingly insular of you, though, Gordon, because you haven't thought about people who might be wanting to LEAVE Britain. You're assuming everyone is wanting to get IN. There may be some, believe it or not, who are wanting to get OUT. Like my husband for example. Can he hitch a ride with the Royal Navy, and then get a transatlantic flight out from Brit-hub? Just wondering.

In fourteen hundred and ninety-two,

Columbus sailed the ocean blue,

When we got as far as two thousand and ten,

We could have done with the Santa Maria* again.

I, on the other hand, did not have one of my finest hours when he phoned this morning to tell me that Delta have cancelled all flights till next week-end. It was early, and I hadn't had tea. Never a good time. I also had five children in the house (they were out of bed, I wasn't), since having failed to find a babysitter, I did the honourable thing and hosted a sleepover for the two children of a friend who was planning to leave hers on their own, and not stay out very late, and probably not enjoy the evening very much for wondering about them (hers are at that age, but only just).

Did I commend his valiant efforts - valiant but unnecessary, as it turns out - to retrieve his passport from the depot in Northants where the courier company's "express service" has left it to languish, en route from the US embassy to my mother's address? Did I sympathise with the frustration of scrambled travel plans? Did I call forth bravery in the face of the huge hassle that will surely ensue? Did I delicately weave together the two contrasting impressions that a wife needs to give a delayed absent husband, that the family is doing fine without him, but also not too absolutely fine. Or did I grunt monosyllabically, and mutter "fine, thanks" in reply to every question?

Wonder what Mrs Columbus would have been like if Christopher had had the use of an international phone line. "Bring back a bag of potatoes and we'll have chips for dinner. Oh, and pick up a packet of Marlboro Lights while you're at it." Hang on. Maybe that was Mrs Raleigh. Doh... I wish I was better at history.

* The Santa Maria was Columbus' ship - a historical detail which all US first graders know. It's like knowing Harold was hit by an arrow in the eye.

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