It was a bright cold day in April and the clocks were striking thirteen

I've mentioned it here before in passing (a prize will be awarded to the person, without looking who can tell me where. Hang on, that won't work will it? I won't know whether you have looked or not. OK, no prizes will be awarded but you may feel a warm glow of pride* if you can guess where it was mentioned.) This event happened, according to my twitter account, on 28th November 2008, but I have been meaning to write about it for a while, as it seemed to signal a change in thinking for me.

My twitters stated thus, like a telegram sent in troubled times (my life is melodrama, just indulge me):

I live in a place where police powers are exercised to interrupt my film with tannoyed threats about the non return of a stolen Magimix, but at least the perfection façade has finally ended, although I wish it hadn't all got quite so dystopian STOP Fully expect dawn raid to follow STOP

Now the full (read, long) account:

If my memory serves me correctly, it was a perfect warm / chilly / dry / wet Friday evening at around 8.30pm, the day after Thanksgiving, and our insides were at ease with the world. We had settled in to watch a film (probably a deeply intelligent, art house, life changing production, and not Elf) when we were interrupted by a series of coughs, high-pitched ear-splitting feedback, some giggles and long bouts of white noise from the tannoy system connected to the fire alarm (we don't just get an alarm, it is assumed we are more hard of thinking and require a voice telling us that this is a fire alarm and we have to leave the building, followed by more disconnected voices outside in the corridor encouraging us not to use the lifts and take the stairs, just in case we panic outside the confines of our abodes - I digress...) We weren't sure whether to evacuate or not, but put our shoes on and kind of hung around the front door waiting to see what our neighbours might do. They hung around their doors and waited to see what we would do.

Finally the suspense was over. A few more squeals from the tannoy (making sure that the last small child who had been asleep was now very much awake) and then a message along the lines of 'This is the police department. A Magimix placed in one of the charity collection boxes has been stolen. There is CCTV in the building, so we will find out who you are. However, if you have picked it up by mistake, you can return it where you found it' (the sub text in my head was, 'or one of your loved ones will mysteriously disappear'). Then followed more laughter, then wonderful silence.

Now, what would be worse, to find out that this invasion of privacy, intrusion of our soon to be a classic film, was a joke played by some 'crazy' college students, or to find out that is was actually the police?

Yep. It was the police.

Mike, with steaming ears, immediately wrote a stern email to the housing authorities and the police (whose contact address bounced; nice touch) questioning the meaning of this inappropriate communication. He was responded to by the housing people the following Monday to say that the matter would be investigated. A few days later, a letter from the police department was stuck unceremoniously to our door apologising for the incident and stating that there would be a meeting for residents to discuss their concerns, and that we would be contacted with a date.

Lip service paid. Holiday festivities commenced and finished. New Year well and truly under way. To date, we have not been contacted about a resident meeting and surely even the most volcanic of tempers will merely smoulder by now, so that can safely be swept under the carpet.

I probably shouldn't write any more. My twitters did it justice really in 280 characters.

Oh, and the Magimix was returned that night - the letter said that there had been some kind of 'misunderstanding' so there will be someone out there using a food mixer, oblivious to it's troubled history. I hope their smoothies, pesto, cakes, sauces, and that's all I can think of's taste all the sweeter.


* Warm glow not guaranteed. No refunds allowed.

Vestandpants

For someone who doesn't like sport, I am certainly doing a lot of sport watching these days.

Last weekend, we were invited to watch the Superbowl, a kind offer which we most certainly accepted, and then tried to find out what it was. Nothing to do with superheroes bowling anyway, not even Super Gran playing Boules. Drat. We were very patiently and gratefully explained to the rules of American football and our endless questions were tolerated even though they must have been very irritating.

The sport bit got mildly exciting when the underdogs almost won, but otherwise it was nothing special for me. It was fun just to watch those crazy US ads, wide eyed as usual. They were plentiful and largely a waste of money for all advertisers involved, but I imagine that I am not the target audience. That's just a shot in the dark though.

The best part of the day, apart from the delicious food, was before the match when we were talking about PE Kits (it had something to do with picking the team to support based on the colour strip they were wearing, which then led on as conversations do to what colours our sport 'uniform' used to be.) Somehow it was revealed that when Mike and I were in primary school, we used to do PE in our underwear. Such was the norm of the day, hey it was the 80s. We literally would take off our outer clothes and be left in our vest and pants, as I am sure you may be able to relate to if you are reading this from the UK. As we were explaining and Mike was translating the words 'vest' and 'knickers' we were met with 3 utterly bemused and truth be told, slightly horrified faces.

Apparently we can add 'a bit savage' to the list of what a Brit is perceived to be. I'm still laughing a week later. I can think of worse things to define me, but only just!

Road Trip

We were lucky enough to take a trip south of Santa Cruz to the Big Sur on Saturday and it was simply splendid. An early start, a train and a bus, and a cup of coffee from Bad Ass Coffee, we were ready to set off along the coast. It was absolutely beautiful. We kept having to stop in conveniently placed lay-bys, just to gawp at the scenery and try to capture it's image forever on camera. I think we took more photos in one day than we have for all of the rest of the time we have been here. It was an unrelenting stream of ooohh, ahh, would you look at that, take a picture quick and sorry, missed it's.

We stopped for lunch at Pffeiffer Beach (yes, as in Michelle - what fun!) which we never would have found were it not for one of Dan's colleagues recommendations. It wasn't sign posted and entailed a 2 mile drive down a single track, which with SUV's all around is no mean feat. It was gorgeous and well worth the trip, with craggy rocks with holes that the sea has cut out for a better view of the beach, which was more or less deserted and had inexplicable stretches of purple sand. It felt like we have been let in on a very special secret. Lucky us.

Back to Santa Cruz, and dinner in a futuristic Jetson's themed veggie cafe, we were ready for the train home again. Will some one pinch me? It was one of those days I could have dreamt.

Visit America: look at how much fun you could have

This is Dan, with a corn dog. I firmly believe that all dubious food should be laughed at heartily before consuming. A hot dog wrapped in sweet batter, served with ketchup, and sold on a stick for easy eating should be laughed at most of all, then photographed, especially when a flag, SUV and post box background offer that all important location clue. I'm thinking of selling this image to the US Tourist industry - surely it just captures it all?

Chicken on the Freeway

I honestly don't how how this stuff happens to me sometimes. I had one task for the morning, to go to Chinatown and get some chicken for a weekend picnic from a shop which makes me salivate just thinking about it.

It is a simple journey, but often fraught, and involves one bus which is usually packed to the rafters regardless of the time of day. Today was no exception. I get on at the first stop so am normally guaranteed a seat at least. Today the bus-stop was so packed, I was lucky to get the second to last seat left on the back row, meaning that I was squashed in and unable to get out unless the whole row moved. Nice. Luckily, I know that everyone gets off at the same stop as I was getting off at so all would be well (I am a seasoned bus rider). In that close proximity, I made friends instantly.

One of my new bus friends was positively delighted by someone talking hands free on a mobile and laughed away when I explained to her what she was doing. She had previously thought she was insane. Now she had all the facts at her disposal, she decided that mobile-lady must be very rich. Did I mention how cute she was? She then launched into the whole subject of phones, and how she usually makes up excuses to get off the phone (let alone talk to people in public! On a bus!), saying things like she has water boiling (a (bizarre) trick learnt from her mother in law!) Her world seemed frankly lovely; deliciously naive and full of child-like wonder. I was privileged to have been shown a brief glimpse. As we neared our destination, she urged me not to go home after dark, to avoid the tunnel especially and gave me top tips on where to get the bus home and still be able to get on. Bless her heart.

I got what I had come for easily, and skipped out of the shop laden with chicken and with a spring in my step. There was a bus right there at the bus stop which was full but not too bad by the usual standards so feeling very smug indeed I jumped on it. I didn't even look to see which number it was as I thought all buses from there went the same way. I know better now. One minute I am passing Union Square and finally have a seat, then Whole Foods, so far so good; the next I am on the Freeway heading south at speed, hopelessly and ridiculously far away from anywhere I know.

The minute the next bus stop loomed I got off and casually crossed the road to get the bus back again, as if that was what I had intended all along, but this time planning where I would get off, and expecting a long walk ahead of me. 'Luckily' for me, the next bus that came along didn't go back on the freeway so I had no clue where I would end up. It is a beautifully sunny day today so I just sat back and enjoyed the ride; I had a map in my bag and I knew I would recognise something soon. Besides, I wouldn't go hungry.

Soon I recognised a street, jumped off and headed for the General Hospital, where I knew I could get a free shuttle the whole way home, walk avoided. It was better than I could ever have hoped for really. All in all, it was a nice ride, good to see a previously unexplored part of town, I shared a laugh with a genuinely lovely person, the whole trip only cost $1.50 (about £1) and most importantly, the chicken clearly enjoyed itself.

And then, they gave out free pizza!?!

Last night, we went to an ice hockey game. For those of you who don't know me, I don't really do sport. I don't mind playing the occasional game of strictly non-team based activities in a safe and loving environment, but watching other people sweat just doesn't do it for me (with caveats to include snooker, athletics, and the London Marathon the morning after the night before). Until now that is. I have discovered a whole world previously unexplored.

The tickets were a Christmas present (thanks Dan!) and the match was the San Jose Sharks versus Tampa Bay Lightening. The result was 7-1 to the Sharks but never mind about that...

We had to get the train to San Jose where we met Dan with an hour to spare before the game started. So, like any other self respecting sports fans (I imagine,) we grabbed a beer and a San Jose special hotdog which turned out to be as big as my face (and my face isn't small) and contain chilli, onions, cheese and sour cream. Then we had to negotiate our way to our seats with full hands and steep steps. Trouble was asked for, and for once, didn't deliver. Hooray. It was clear that we were not ice hockey fans (and not just because everyone else was dressed from head to toe in Sharks gear) as we were unable to walk at a sensible pace laden with lard as well as finding our seats. Luckily a lovely steward took pity on us and braved my armpit without even flinching to retrieve the tickets, and thus seat numbers, in order to direct us.

After hotdogs had been consumed but not spilt (you can tell I am 30 now, oh yes, it has finally happened, I am a grown up), and we had got up several times to let people into their seats, the hours between 7.30 pm and 10pm were filled with different theme tunes, violence, ad breaks, prize winners, chants, the irritating but fascinating commentary of a group behind who seemed unable to keep their thoughts inside their heads, and were obsessed with the referees 'sack', oh and some sport.

At no point did I have any idea what was happening. I felt like Freud the first time that he went to a Catholic Church with his devout nurse*, only to watch people sitting down and standing up in the right places, and speaking in unity. Have I made a comparison with sport and religion there? How did that happen?

We clapped along and stood up when everyone else did but refrained from chanting as I for one had no clue what they were saying. Dan tried to give a stranger a hi five when the first goal was scored but half-missed embarrassingly, but who cared? No one.

Then, about three quarters of the way through and in one of the endless stoppages for some reason we could never fathom, one of the sponsors gave out free pizzas! Three boxes to three lucky people.

An audience member caught a puck and looked like his wife had just given birth to their first child after five fruitless years of trying for a baby.

The replays, which now had commentary, bore little resemblance to what we had just watched and helped only very dimly with my understanding of the game.

The only time there was absolute silence was when the national anthem was sung at the beginning of the proceedings and although the words didn't seem to be very well known for the beginning verse, 'the land of the free' bit was belted out. I felt like I was in a film, or an episode of the Simpson's at the very least.

A 'kiss cam' was employed which homed in on couples in the audience and stayed on them until they kissed which was frankly just weird, but the crowd went wild.

That is the very best that I can do to describe the situation and having read it back, I don't think it even comes close. It was madness itself, surprisingly infectious, fascinating, awe inspiring and constantly surprising. I don't think I will ever go again. I had an absolute ball.


*I did a sociology degree, it would amaze you to know what is in my brain but I do remember reading that somewhere. For all you literals, I don't really know what Freud felt so I am imagining. Anyway, stop reading this and get back to the ice hockey. I'm going to talk about pizza in a minute. Exciting!

Meat, Meat, Meat

We decided we would embrace US Christmas traditions this year and as Thanksgiving was so great, after a quick Google based research session, we threw caution to the wind and ordered a Turducken breast. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this festive meat, it is a turkey breast, which has a duck breast inside, and inside the duck breast is a chicken breast. In the harsh light of the day, it sounds disgusting. NOW it does, but there is something about the run up to Christmas; the gift inspiration fretting, the impending poverty, scarves in the cold, the brainwashing songs, the (bigger) obsession with food, the colour red, the general campery; it makes you do crazy things.

No excuses, the fact remains, we ordered a trio of meat and placed in it our trust and high hopes.

Firstly, it was immense, even by the standard US portions sizes we have grown accustomed to. We thought it would last for 2 dinners and 3 lunches and represent good value. The reality was it was seemingly endless and taunted me for days whenever I opened the fridge.

We thought it would be delicious. We were so very very wrong. The chicken breast (and excuse me while I gag in memory) was minced and piped in to the duck. The duck was tiny and disappointing, and the turkey was turkey. Dull with a tendency to be dry. Oh well, we never have to have one of those again. Next year, it's deep fryed turkey all the way.