Everything else that wasn't cheese rolling

So now that its been over a week since the Jubilee Weekend and no one gives a shit about it anymore, I think I shall talk about it. Your welcome. Actually, I'm not going to say much about the Jubilee itself, there isn't much to say. Queen sits on throne for 60 years, the people of Great Britain go ape shit over wearing Union Jack garb and attending crowded parades, flotillas, concerts and street parties where they serve little sandwiches with the crusts cut off. The End. What's really important is that we all got two days off of work (including me, since we dropped the kid off at his nan's those two days). That's cause for celebration right there.

Now, Andy and mine's original plan for our two wonderful days off was to head down to Stonehenge, then double back and go to Gloucester for the cheese rolling. Well, the original ORIGINAL plan was to take the entire week off and hit Cornwall and the Isle of Wight as well but our finances just didn't allow it. Obviously cheese rolling was a must and I've been wanting to see Stonehenge since we moved here so we cut it down to just that. However, on the day we left, neither of us had gotten much sleep (thanks Henry) and the drive down south was painful to say the least. I personally gave myself a panic attack by drinking caffeinated coffee to wake me up, then irritated the crap out of Andy by changing the radio stations every 10 seconds. In an effort to take my mind off of not freaking the fuck out, I started looking up the parking situation at Stonehenge on my smart phone. It was then that I ran into this very helpful article. After reading it and realizing that we had over 3 hours to go until we were able to look at some old rocks, I decided to change the plan. For clarification, I still do want to see Stonehenge one day, I just think that it's something to see if you happen to be passing through to somewhere else, that's all.

I may never see you...please open a pub near these particular stones and I may make the effort.

With the Stonehenge plans scrapped, we started looking at other places that we could go to before we went to Gloucester. And when I say 'we', but I really mean 'I'. It was when I was looking at the map that I decided that we would go to Cardiff. Being a big fan of 'Dr. Who', especially during the Eccleston/Tennant years, and consequentially 'Torchwood' to a lesser degree, I was really excited to see Cardiff.

I would be a damn liar if I told you I didn't squeal like a little girl the first time we drove past the main site in Cardiff.

Like all things television vs. reality, there was a bit of a disappointment seeing it all up close and NOT having the Doctor, Rose, Captain Jack and the like running around chasing aliens (or even impersonators, I would have accepted impersonators!) but that is sadly television vs. reality. It was still cool to see and we even found the entrance to Torchwood – both of them actually.

Television vs. Reality:

 TELEVISION

REALITY

 TELEVISION

 REALITY

 MORE REALITY

 TELEVISION

 REALITY (with Lady Boys)

What really was the highlight though was that we met Iggle Piggle. From here on end, we can torture our child and say that Andy is Iggle Piggle's best friend and here is the proof.

BFF's

After having a pint, a walk around, a chat with Iggle Piggle and lunch, we finally headed out to Gloucester. I would like to state for the record that unless you plan to go to the cheese rolling (which I have already stated that you most definitely should) or if you are a big Beatrix Potter buff (and I mean, a seriously addict for all things Peter Rabbit) there is no logical reason to ever vacation in Gloucester. After being there for two days, I honestly started to wonder why we didn't stay in Cardiff and just jot over to Gloucester for the cheese rolling. Poor planning on my part I think. Gloucester is nice, but it's no different from any other medium sized village in the rest of England. There isn't much to see there on the way of attractions (cheese rolling aside). I think for my Wisconsin peeps, it's the equivalent of deciding to stay in Waukesha for two days...just because.

Beatrix Potter Fans, I've just saved you a trip.

That said, we did happen to have the best pub food I've ever eaten in England thus far. I don't know if Gloucester in general has really great pub food or if we just got really fucking lucky, but the food was excellent. If you go to Gloucester (for the cheese rolling) make sure to stop at the Fountain Inn and Cafe Rene for food. Both are located down little cobblestone alleys but have plenty of signage out front so they aren't hard to find.

So what else did we do in Gloucester besides the cheese rolling? Why drink and make asses of ourselves of course.

 I believe that drink was called 'Sex on the Docks'

Help!  I'm stuck in a phone booth on Jubilee Weekend!

Or maybe you can go to Gloucester just to hang out here.

How I Got Twatted on Cooper's Hill

So I'm going to write about our Jubilee weekend break in full when I have more time. However, I really felt that this part needed to out there in the world as soon as humanly possible. (Please note that my laptop died this past week and I'm just in the process of rebuilding it - thus, I do not have Word installed yet to correct all my spelling mistakes - sorry!)

Before Andy and I decided to make the big jump across the pond, we had spent an evening trolling the internet for unusual festivals and events that go on in England. I have to give England credit where credit is due, they had more crazy things going on than one girl could hope to dream. The one event that had stuck out in our heads though was the Gloucester Cheese Rolling on Cooper's Hill. Once we finally moved here, it was always on our minds that we would someday go see it. Opportunity was at hand this year so we went.

The cheese rolling happens once a year in Gloucester on the late spring bank holiday. The whole premise is that they take a wheel of cheese and roll it down a very steep hill. People chase the cheese down the very steep hill and who ever gets to the bottom first (whether still on their feet or not) wins the cheese. It's typically not an "organized event", meaning that no one is paying for this to happen. People just order some wheels of cheese and show up on the hill on the day to chase it. If I had wanted to chase after the cheese, I could have. I didn't have to sign up or clear a waiver or go through training. I could have just plopped my ass on top of that hill and went for it. I had actually toyed with the idea of doing the actual cheese chasing but once I saw that hill up close and personal, no fucking way.

The hill in all it's glory.

The event started at 12 noon. If you ever decide to go, and I can't stress enough to you how much you NEED to go, head over there early. There are only 5 races and the whole thing is over in an hour. Parking is a pain (even if you go early) and you'll have to park on the side of the road and walk. Obviously since Cooper's Hill is in fact A HILL, you will have to pretend you didn't have those 3 double vodkas the night before as you hoof it up to the top. Also good to know is that since it's an unorganized event, there are no beer tents or more importantly, no toilets. It's a hill. That's it. Pee before you leave and don't drink a damn thing the entire time (unless you don't mind peeing in the woods, which to clarify, I don't, as long as I've drunk enough).

The start of the long walk up to the hill.

If you get there early (and you should), you can get a pretty good seat along the side. Mind, the hill is steep and there are brambles. Basically, it's not going to be comfortable but if you compare sitting your ass on a bramble compared to falling ass over tit down the hill after some cheese, you've actually got it made. Maybe.

Here we are 25 minutes before the start of the cheese rolling:



But come on, what you really want to see is yours truly getting twatted by a wayward cheese roller - which is exactly what happened:



Well, I think that's what happened because all I really know is that I was happily filming the very first race of the day ... and then I wasn't. What makes this event so cool is that when I finally stopped rolling down the very muddy slope of the hill (I took Andy down with me by the way) is that the cheese roller that ran into the spectators actually stopped and took the time to ask if I was alright. Once I finally got to my feet again, I happily showed the above video to everyone around me and we all had a good laugh. It was that sort of event.

There will be at least one "Ooof!" person in each of these photos.

Usually there is more than one "ooof!"

I don't know why this particular "ooof!" makes me laugh so hard, but it does.

We watched one more race from that location - in which I kept a very stern eye out for cheese rollers coming my way - then went to the bottom of the hill to access our injuries (I won!) and to stop Andy's legs from cramping. I have a pouty face in this picture but it was one of those happy war wounds - a bit like the ones I used to get playing hurling.

It seriously hurts worse than it looks, I promise.

So yes, cheese rolling. One of those things that really should be on everyone's bucket list.

More Liverpool fashion for Beth...

 

I wish my camera could have caught how *shiny* both these outfits were.    I suppose at the end of the day though, if I had the figure these girls had I wouldn't give a toss what I threw on top of it either.

Mush

So after suffering through the wet and cold weather of April and May, it has finally turned nice again. Like, I can wear shorts and hang said shorts on the wash line outside after I’ve spent the day sweating through them. I would have washed the shorts in that scenario for clarification sake. So yes! The weather has been fantastic and knowing this is England and good weather never sticks around for long in England, I’ve been trying my best to take advantage of it. It isn’t quite the weekend yet so I’m pretty much left to my own devices in regards to what I want to do (read: what I think Henry will enjoy and\or will tolerate) and in the fact that I have to use my own legs and public transport to get around.

Like many people who have lain dormant for the better part of 7 months under wooly sweaters and electric blankets (just saying ‘wooly sweaters’ is making my forehead perspire, it’s that warm right now), the minute the sun starts shining my bare “Oh my god, has she been using Colgate White Strips on her legs?” gams come out and my brain turns to mush. I don’t have much more to say about my legs save the fact that polar bears see them and think its still winter. It’s the brain thing that matters. When you are transporting around a small child to an unknown place, it’s best to know as much as you can about the place you are going to as well as how the fuck to get there. While I am fully aware of that fact, my brain is full of sunshine and looking up train schedules and bus lines and bathroom facilities at certain destinations doesn’t seem to fit in anywhere.

Yesterday I got it in my head to take Henry to a farm. There are a few urban farms in the Liverpool area but after doing some research on navigating my way to them, they seemed a bit far…like walking far, not distance to my house far. Basically, if Google tells me I’m going to be walking for more than 20 minutes in that single direction, I know that it will actually be 35 minutes (I walk slow and I have a kid who’s nose always needs wiping) not to mention that it’s hot and Henry will get crabby sitting in his stroller for that long, blah blah blah. I didn’t bother. I did however find some internet listing for this small farm down in Halewood which would only include a 9 minute (read: 15 minute) walk from where the train would drop us off. Yay.

To make a long story still a bit long, I walked all the way to our local train station only to find out that the train wouldn’t be leaving for another 45 minutes. So I decided to take the bus whose stop was on the other side of my town from where I was. I get to the bus stop, see a bus, and yell at it to stop for me only to finally realize it’s the wrong fucking bus. Being a brave sort, I go with it, as it’s heading in kind of general direction I want to go.

Once in Halewood, we start hoofing our way to the farm (which is now a 25 minute walk away (actual)). This is when the kid decides to shit his pants. “No problem,” I say, “there is a lovely pub right there that states it serves food which means its family friendly which means that they will have a big ass toilet to clean my son’s ass off in.”

Fucking pub was boarded shut. “We don’t take to no family friendly pubs down here in Halewood, boy howdy.” There was nothing else but a newsagent and a hairdresser, so we keep going.

When we did make it to the farm, it was certainly not the type of farm I had going in my mind. It was quite clearly a small working farm (fine) that decided to open itself up to visitors by having a small produce shop that also sold fancy jams. When I asked the owner lady (who I must admit was very nice and accommodating) where the toilets were and were there any animals there to see, she first gave me a bit of a pity look and apologized.

“Well, the toilet is over there under that shanty roof – you have to pull the cord at the top for the light. Um, we have a couple donkeys and goats but I think they are in the shade because it’s hot. The same with the chickens, they are probably in their house because of the heat. Sorry, we are thinking about adding on a little café sometime in the future.”

I bought some jam and the world’s most phallic cucumber because I felt bad.

*************************************

This next bit is for Beth as it’s just another little quirky thing about England that she might find funny.

While I don’t want to get into how lost I’ve made myself in the last few days trying to navigate around a city I’m still trying to get to know, the one thing that has made my life just a little more difficult are the street signs in this country.

Most of us are familiar with what American road signs look like:

I so wish that said "Hardon" instead.

We sometimes even illuminate our signs!  What a concept!

The signs are either directly above the road at a major intersection or tacked on a pole on the corner so you almost always know where to look when you want to find out where the fuck you are.

In England….OK, listen. England is old. They have things that are still standing from the barely A.D. age. Many (and I mean MANY) of their street signs are old and quaint (read: impossible to see or locate). If the street has one of these older signs, the sign will be on a small plaque – usually located on the second story of a building AT LEAST 40 feet from the corner of said street. Now wait. If the street sign has since been replaced, the sign will almost always be located ON THE GROUND, usually around the corner so you don’t know the street name until you passed it. If you see it at all. With the combination of little plaques high up on the second story of building and normal sized signs that only are as high as my waist; you tend to look like a bobble head doll trying to sort out what street you might actually be on*. I seriously believe that’s why England invaded India. They all got lost on their way to the new pub on New Quay Road and just ended up there.

Old timey signs

A newer sign.  Tell me, can YOU see the corner anywhere near this sign?

*I’m going to have to exclude London when I say this as London is full of foreigners (like me) who get lost easily so they do their signage pretty consistently. Fucking London.

Happy Sadness

Our friends back in California posted this on Facebook earlier today:

Andy's first comment was, "who drank half my beer?!"  

My first thought was, "There is no way both our fat asses would fit in that single chair."

Thanks for still thinking of us you guys.  You seriously made our day.

The Terrible Tour Guide

So my dad and my step mom came to visit us for ten days and it was awesome. Not only because of the free baby sitting they did (which was really awesome) but more of just having that little piece of home right here in the heart of Liverpool. Over the ten days I did determine that I am a really shit tour guide but thankfully they both like to drink so that made it somewhat easier.

Here is the run down of what I would apparently show you if you came to visit me. I will assume that you like drinking because there are precious few people that I associate with that don’t. Also, this list would be somewhat longer if you enjoyed museums – which my parents didn’t – and would therefore give me some more opportunities to say, “Well, here it is. I haven’t really been in here but it always looked pretty nice from the outside.”

Moe is a Shit Tour Guide for Liverpool, Item 1: Tesco’s.

This will always be the first stop because my guests will require booze. I will not know what booze they prefer so they can pick that shit out for themselves. Actually, I always have a 6 pack of something in the fridge but we all know that won’t last. Also, I get no greater thrill than cruising around a grocery store in a foreign country. I assume that everyone is the same.

Moe is a Shit Tour Guide for Liverpool, Item 2: Southport

Southport is ironically north of Liverpool. There are some shops there and a long pier with a penny arcade at the end of it. I will assume that you are as thrilled with the penny arcade as I am, and leave you to your own devices while I rack up gigantic pennies playing a 1920’s slot machine. You’re welcome. There is also a café\bar place at the start of the pier that always has some sort of karaoke\Elvis impersonator going on. We will have a drink there and you will marvel at all the English folks who will happily sit outside in shorts and a t-shirt when it is barely 50 degrees with a freezing wind from the sea blowing in.

 He's still in disbelief.

Moe is a Shit Tour Guide for Liverpool, Item 3: Albert Dock and assorted Beatles shit

A walk to Penny Lane, check. A stop at John Lennon’s old school(s): check. A pee break at the Cavern Club: check. Quick stop at the Beatles section at the Liverpool Museum (for even non-museum types): check. HERE’S THE ALBERT DOCK! Yes, it’s pretty. Yep, full of museums. Here’s a souvenir shop – buy something! Here’s the Beatles Experience but we won’t go in because they rape you at 15 pounds per person. Want a drink? Me too! There’s the Baltic Fleet!

Let us not forget the Superlambananas!

Moe is a Shit Tour Guide for Liverpool, Item 4: Chester

How many times do I have to tell you? They have a WALL.

 My dad is looking up to see if it's still raining...as he got a massive raindrop in his eye.  Ah, England.

Moe is a Shit Tour Guide for Liverpool, Item 5: The Cathedrals, Cain’s Brewery, Chinatown and the Philharmonic Pub.

Parental Feedback: The Cathedrals – “No, yeah, that’s really pretty. The other one though, is Paddy’s Wigwam the actual name?”

Parental Feedback: Cain’s Brewery – “The raisin beer is awful. Also, the men’s toilet was broken so when I took a shit it wouldn’t flush. I had to take off the lid and fix it myself.”

It's never too early to get some training in.

Parental Feedback: Chinatown – “This is really Europe’s biggest Chinatown? This is just a street. That arch thing is nice though.”

I actually love this picture.

Parental Feedback: Philharmonic Pub - *Silence in the way of happiness via an awesome pub with great beers* Also, we got in a conversation with a couple of local Liverpudlians with thick Scouse accents. My dad has a hearing problem in general and never does well with even the slightest accent. I enjoyed watching him nod and smile inappropriately while he pulled me aside and said, “You actually understand that?”

 Notice that my body is already turning towards the pub.

Moe is a Shit Tour Guide for Liverpool, Item 6: Asda

You know, because it’s like Wal-Mart, but different.

Moe is a Shit Tour Guide for Liverpool, Item 7: The Lake District

I honestly don’t know if I’d take most visitors here but my parents enjoy nature shit and they enjoy long walks so this was kind of Their Thing. My dad enjoyed asking a myriad of questions all week but its height was in the Lake District.

“How old are those stone walls?”
“What do the markings on those sheep mean?”
“How often to sheep get sheared?”
“What’s the difference in the wool in English sheep verses, let’s say Australian sheep?”
“What’s this lake called?”
“Can I use my Kindle’s wi-fi in the car and have it still connect to your computer connection at home?”
“Why do you never see English wool advertised in England?”
“Am I the only one who wants to add an ‘I’ in all those ‘To Let’ signs?”**

You know the best thing about this picture?  I didn't take it.  I was 2 miles away having a lovely cocktail with my husband.

 Best deal in town - a jug of Pimm's for 14 quid.

Even with my bad tour guiding skills, it really was a great visit and I miss them already. My step mom made chicken enchiladas one night (I made the enchilada sauce myself to help) and there were plenty of leftovers. I actually had the last one tonight. There are piles of Goldfish crackers in my cupboard, a horde of string cheese in the fridge and all the Q-tips a girl would ever need (for the next 4 months anyhow). I’m sure my Wisconsin accent is in full swing again being around them for 10 days as well. I was actually a bit jealous of them when they left as I suddenly had these beautiful thoughts of big highways and toilets that have lots of water in the bowl. Yeah, it was honestly those two things that I thought of first.

Come back soon please.

**Because we had to look most of this up, I’ll share: 1400’s to 1700’s, type of branding, once a year, we still don’t know, Windemere, we don’t have wi-fi in the car, because it would just be ‘wool’, and finally – no, if I had a Sharpie marker on me, most would be vandalized.

Vistors!

I'm basically checking in to tell you that I won't be checking in for a week or so because my parental units have finally decided to grace us with their presence. 

Two words: Free babysitters!

The Queen is into bondage?! What?!

So last week I left the house a few times and it wasn’t just to go to playgroup or the damn grocery store. I went into town! Twice!

For reference sake, “town” is downtown Liverpool. I’ve come to realize that the word ‘downtown’ is completely American. If you are to go downtown here, you’re either going to ‘town’ or to ‘city centre’. This confused me to no end at first since I always call the little shopping center\street close to our home as ‘town’ and Liverpool proper as ‘downtown’. I’ve been informed many times (thanks Andy) that what I consider ‘town’ is actually called the ‘high street’. While I’ve managed to adjust my phrasing to have ‘town’ mean downtown, I can’t get the hang of ‘high street’. I always just say I’m going to the shops at the end of the road. Confused yet? Welcome to my world.

So yes! I went to town (twice!). Strangely enough, I went into town (twice!) for the same damn reason both times. This past weekend, the Sea Odyssey came to Liverpool. I actually first heard about the gigantic puppets from reading Whoopee, who has a great post on the event (which was a different story technically, but they used the same girl puppet) and which I think you should read. I think you should read it because my efforts to see gigantic puppets ran amok and you should have the satisfaction of reading about giant puppets by someone who actually managed to see them.

The first day I tried to see the giant puppets, I took Henry with me. It was jam packed in town and our timing was off and by the time we should have been able to see giant puppets (on the move, which is the important bit), Henry started screaming for his supper. This was as close as I got to one of the giant puppets before I had to run (literally, which I don’t do normally since running sucks) 9 blocks (uphill) to find a bus to take us back:

Do you see him there?  Just - right - yeah, right there.  He's sleeping.   BOoO-ring.

The day wasn’t a complete bust though as I managed to capture a photo of this wonderful piece of British consumerism. Seriously, who knew the Queen was into bondage? You know, if you are a high profile head of state, it’s always a good idea to keep your kinks patriotic.

Well, HELLO Queeny.

The very next day we tried again. This time we dropped Henry off at his nan’s so that there was no way that his dinner plans interrupted our (mine, really) pursuits to see giant fuck off puppets. Sadly, we (I) failed to check the times when the puppets were on the move so by the time we managed to get to town, the puppets were already on a boat sailing away. Damn puppets!

Me: Is that them?  Andy: I don't know.  Me: Do you know now?  How about now?

It was as exciting as this picture makes it looks, which is, like, not at all.  Damn puppets.

But this little girl was excited...and sad.  She just waved good-bye over and over again.

Feeling quite defeated, we headed to the first pub we stumbled upon and had ourselves a pint. Quite by chance, we ended up sitting next to a table where a nice British couple was hosting an American guest. Feeling somewhat brave, I thought to myself, “right, I’ll wait until a good break in their conversation and then I’m going to introduce myself – using my first name!” Being polite and all, I sipped my pint and eavesdropped into their conversation waiting for my chance. By the time I was half way through my pint, I found that this American man was from Nebraska originally, but was now living in Texas. He also thought Barcelona was awesome and the cruise ship that he used to get there was fantastic. And lastly, he really enjoyed going hunting. I finished my pint, looked at Andy and said, “Let’s go.”

 All was not lost though.  Liverpool's finest were giving free non-helmeted motorcycle rides to all the kids.  Always entertaining!

Lingo

So, when you have a kid it is proper parent responsibility to teach that kid to say ‘thank you’.  It occurred to me while at playgroup this week that almost every single parent was teaching their kid to say, ‘ta’.   ‘Ta’, of course, is ‘thank you’ abbreviated – something the Brits just love to do.   I’ve asked Andy about this on a few occasions (most likely when someone has said ‘arvo’ instead of ‘afternoon’ or when Andy’s sister refers to him as ‘And’) and he explains it as why bothering to say the whole word if a portion of it will suffice?  Actually, I can’t remember the exact reason he gave me – probably because he was saying it in a boasting manner and I tend to tune him out when he starts puffing out the feathers (as it were) – but it was along those lines.

After a year of being in England, I think I have a fair chunk of the lingo down pat.  There are still things that throw me off and things that still make me giggle, but on the whole I’m used to it and as many of my friends back home can attest, a lot of the lingo has slipped into my own vocabulary.   But really, what fun is a blog post of someone getting used to something?  I decided last week to start taking photos of things that still make me laugh living here.  I don’t have as much as I’d like, but that’s only because I chickened out at Tesco after one photo when a Tesco employee caught me taking a shot of the hot dog selection.   I’ll try to be braver next time.

 Here's the one shitty shot I captured at Tesco before getting all 12-year old girly, "Oh, I don't think I should be doing this...oooh."

I would like to mention that I did spend a good 15 minutes (much to the disgust of Henry) reading the ingredients of these different types of hot dogs.  It appears that all of them are made with some bit of pork but more often than not, it's chicken that makes up 60% of the dog.  There wasn't a single brand that had beef in it, which is a shame since the All Beef Oscar Meyer dogs are the ones I really really like.   I did end up buying the 'Bockwurst' style ones...the ones for 99p (not pictured)... and while I didn't care for them all that much, Henry thought they were the dog's bollocks (ha!)

The next picture is something I've been looking at for a long time since it's up in Henry's playroom.   This product is made in the EU (not China) so I'm thinking that whatever country this was made in, they must have had one single English speaking person on staff who could come up with a better description for this box than 'nice'.  It's basically saying, "well, it's OK I guess...it's 'nice'...I've seen better though."

I got this next one as kind of a gag gift for my sister, Maggie.   They were selling these at Tesco and I did a sort of half laugh thinking of someone wearing the Union Jack on their head while they showered.   With the Queen's Jubilee coming up soon and the Olympics being held in London this year, there really is no shortage of Union Jack trinkets you can get right now.

It actually wasn't until I flipped it over and read the back that I had a full on laugh and decided to send one to Maggie post-haste.

Some people call them 'sprinkles', some people call them 'jimmies'.  Here, they are simply 'strands'.

If there is a word that the Brits love as much as Americans love the word 'awesome', then that word is 'gorgeous'.   There is rarely a day that passes that I don't hear 'gorgeous' uttered from someone.   My son is gorgeous.  Those sausage rolls are gorgeous.  The top that Imogen was wearing last Tuesday was gorgeous.   The Lake District is gorgeous.   That terraced house is gorgeous.   Sometimes, even the value is gorgeous.

OK, to find the humor in this next one, you have to read the signs from Right to Left.   Andy stated that it would be even better if someone added a 'life' before 'changing' in the left hand sign.  If I ever remember my marker pen when I go to the Children's Center, I just might have to do some graffiti. 

Sometime after the Quavers but before the Wotsits

So apparently, even with a supportive boost from the likes of Vegemite Wife, nobody else but myself tears up at the Sainbury’s commercial with the dad that steps up to the plate and shows his son an awesome day. Perhaps I am a Nancy (with a capital ‘N’ no less) after all. I did give this a bit of thought of WHY exactly that advert makes me tear up. Sadly, and this might actually put me in a worse light than just being a Nancy (with a capital ‘N’). I think that instead of seeing just a set of scenes with a dad that steps up to the plate and shows his son an awesome day, my mind immediately views it as a past tense sort of thing where the dad is dead from a tragic car accident and the son is reliving this awesome day that he had with his dad before his dad started drinking and hanging around hookers and kicking puppies and dying in a tragic car accident because his dad was drunk, getting a blow job from the hooker while driving and thinking about the next puppy he was going to kick. That fucking bastard! Thankfully the son can think back on that awesome day where they just cooked beer brats (the start of the dad’s drinking habit I’m sure!) and watched television (probably a porno) while their useless mom was out working at the Korean sweatshop for 56p an hour.

Seriously though, I can’t watch 'the Notebook’ without crying. Sometimes I purposefully watch 'the Notebook’ to cry. And I’m not talking a gentle tear down my cheek either; I’m talking the kind of sobs that give you a headache. I’m not proud of this, but I’m not about to hide it either. Perhaps I’m permanently on my period. I’m sure I have many ex-boyfriends who will claim that is true.

"Are you crying again?  Seriously?  You are such a NANCY."

ANYHOW, it is the last day of the Easter holiday weekend. Unlike the United States who go around claiming they are all Christian and all, the UK actually gives their peoples Good Friday and Easter Monday (it’s a real thing apparently) two proper days off where the good citizens of the United Kingdom can stay home from work and pray…or eat gigantic chocolate eggs…or panic shop on Saturday because the grocery stores will closed on Sunday…or sit around in your pajamas for 4 days drinking cheap vodka wondering if the “Crucifixion” on BBC1 is a new horror film by M. Night Shyamalan - your personal religious choice really.

Oh sure, we don’t get the 4th of July off but this year the summer bank holiday (basically Memorial Day) is joined up with the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee! And extra day off of work just because some old biddy with the Great Crown of Rule isn’t dead yet! Hurray! (This would probably be more exciting if I actually worked in an office…but still)

Not dead yet.

While we didn’t do fuck-all for the Easter holiday break beside throw Henry a birthday party (which was fun but not for mentioning on this blog), we are trying to get away for the summer bank holiday\Queen Jubilee (if I was Queen, I’d have a public holiday every time I had a lovely bowel movement)(that’s how the Queen talks)(probably). If nothing else pans out we still hope to make to the Cooper’s Hill Cheese Rolling event because really, a whole day centered around people injuring themselves for a gigantic wheel of cheese…awesome.

These men are after a wheel of cheese.  You know what?  I totally respect them for that.

I hope you all had a lovely Easter, whether you got a couple days off or not, and stuffed yourself with gigantic or tiny little chocolate eggs. I personally am working my way through all the crisps we got in the grocery delivery today and wondering if I should have a piece of leftover birthday cake…it’s my personal religious choice after all.

It's about freakin' time.

The true symbol of Easter, the Easter Badger.

 

I expect the lot of you to send me one by Sunday.  Or just you, Andy, because you know where I live.

Apparently this is about UK adverts...

So there's this commercial by Sainbury's (one of the bigger grocery chains in the UK) that's been playing this year. I love this commercial but hate it at the same time as it makes me cry EVERY SINGLE TIME (in that good way). I'm assuming this is because giving birth by proxy turns you into a complete emotional nancy.

Here, take a look and see if you can maintain stoic:



Now, if you are grabbing the tissues or have just wiped the snot on your sleeve, here's another advert that is stupid but that I've always found humorous. It might be the Scottish accent, I don't know.



Well, I wasn't planning on making a blog post about UK adverts but since that's what this is quickly coming into (as I think of more that amuse me), here's one of Andy's favorites:



This only makes the list as monkeys putting their feet in duck slippers is awesome.



For all the little Henry's out there:



You know, I like to claim that I never watch commercials since getting a DVR but it appears that isn't completely true. Anybody got any favorites out there that I've missed?

I'd like to note for the record that since I was out of the blogging loop for 2-3 weeks, it's apparently taking a while to "get back on that horse" so to speak. I'll find my voice (and hopefully my humor) again soon. I've got a box of inflatable chickens coming in next Thursday so that's bound to liven things up.