Skip to main content
I've been a little side tracked this week in sunny California. I fully intended to blog on a daily basis at the start of the week but good intentions etc. Being sun-drunk and bloated from my aunt's genius culinary skills, not to mention the retail therapy (although sadly the combination of last week's blog experiment and being unemployed has made me exhibit uncharacteristic restraint), has left me like a cow out to pasture. I can barely summon the energy to flick away flies...

Now it's near the end of my holiday and I'm jumping on a plane back to London tomorrow. Feeling sad to be leaving my lovely grandpa and my aunts and uncles but very excited to be seeing Alpha and my babies again. Being away from the kids is something I've done rarely and never for more than a couple of days, so being physically parted from their raucous giggles and laughing eyes for over a week has felt a little like I'm missing a limb.

Being in Fresno is always bittersweet for me - sweet for being with the family I adore and bitter for knowing that I don't have them full time as well as missing my British life. Belonging to two places means you never fully belong to one; I've got used to being torn over the years but it's different from when I was a kid - back then I thought I had all the time in the world but since my gandma died last December I know that time runs out.

But I've had so much fun this week. Helpless laughter with my aunts, long conversations with my grandpa, being thoroughly humilated at the blackgammon board by grandpa's super-sharp 80+ year-old neighbour and dancing to a blues band at a biker bar with my aunt and uncle... good times. Now I have the rest of the summer with Alpha and the girls to look forward to before having to buckle back down to work in September.

This is my summer of freedom. I intend to savour every minute.


Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...)Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

Recommended & the Mahiki dance-off

My GFs and I went to Mahiki last night, great fun as usual but made me feel a bit old; it seems that Thursday night is the playground of the just-past-pubescent. Oh well. Good tunes though, so whatever.In between taking over the dancefloor - the youngsters may have youth on their side but frankly that shrinks to insignificance in the face of two decades of clubbing experience - one of my GFs and I got into a conversation about why so many people are full of bull.It appears that many people we come across are content to live their lives in a superficial way, skimming the surface of what life has to offer and equating the ownership of stuff (cars, houses, boats, jewelry, designer clothes) with happiness. They converse in terms of status, strut their possessions as a measure of their own self-worth, take themselves far too seriously, are quick to judge others, easily annoyed, complain a lot about very little and their worries seem to far outweigh their joys. Personally, I think all that…


Following on from the realisation that my lungs are filthy and if I don't give up the smokes soon I face a life of wheezing at best, off I trotted to see the charming Dr T.

Dr T, who's charming by virtue of the fact that he's less jaded than the other doctors in the surgery (in other words, he treats patients as if they're human beings with a right to NHS services rather than annoying fraudsters trying to gain sympathy for imaginary illnesses) promptly put me on potentially habit-forming drugs to get me off the evil weed. Something doesn't feel quite right about this but since I'm so pathetically grateful to have a doctor who's willing to give me more than two seconds of his precious time, I have acquiesced to his demands.

Anyway, this wonder drug is called Champix and promises to have me merrily chucking my smokes in the bin in no time. Or it will if I can get past the possible side effects, the highlights being abnormal dreams, nausea, flatulence, snoring, …