Expat/Repat Update

 Been a long time since the r... repatriation. (For those who thought I was introducing a little Led Zeppelin, my apologies. Gaze at Robert Plant for a while instead.) 

Meanwhile, I've been back in the UK for FOUR YEARS! A lots been going on since we got back, I can tell you. 

Firstly, as I mentioned in my last post, I was asked to write a column for Anglotopia, which I'm still doing. At first we called it The Repat Report, but once the repatriation shock had worn off, it morphed into A Brit Back Home. I still write about things I notice in the UK, although since I haven't been out much in the last century eighteen months, the posts haven't been quite as regular. There's only so much I can write about teeny British washing machines and toilets under the stairs! 

Pre-pandemic, we (meaning me, the Ball & Chain, and the Little Guy - who is now 6'3" and done with high school) travelled quite a lot in Europe. Not that The Continent wasn't there when I left the UK in 1990, but there certainly wasn't as much 'popping to European capitals for the weekend' going on. In our first two years we managed Madrid, Berlin, Majorca, Amsterdam, Vienna and Krakov, while the not-so-Little Guy's school trips included Lisbon, Vienna, Barcelona and The Hague. And then of course, it all came screeching to a halt, which was particularly disappointing for LG as that meant his Model United Nations activities trailed off too. 

On the writing front however, it's been as busy as ever. While keeping one eye on UK-US differences, my ever-present feminist voice got louder. No longer content with seething on the sidelines, I began writing at Medium and started work on a book.  

And it's now OUT! In collaboration with Jen and Susanna at BritMums, we've produced a book for every woman who's ever been left speechless by sexism. Called 

"How To Stand Up To Sexism; Words for when enough is enough",

it does what it says on the tin. You can read more about it here, along with the fabulous pre-launch reviews and various purchase options. 

We're very proud of it and pleased with the reception it's getting. Our thanks to fellow old-school BritMums bloggers Mari and Nickie. for their support. 

Come and Have a Butcher's

Hi there. I have a LOT going on at the moment, most of which I can't talk about until the deal is sealed!

Ooooh, I hear you say.

In the meantime, I'm writing about my repatriation back to the UK and all things US-UK, over at the Anglotopia web site, so please do pop over and have a butchers*.

*"Have a butchers" - from the Cockney rhyming slang for "look" - Butcher's hook. (Now also the name of more than a few pubs & restaurants in the UK.)

A Very Merry Un-Valentine's

At the risk of sounding bah-humbug and party pooper-ish, it's quite liberating being in the UK on Valentine's Day. Nothing required at school, no last minute card-buying for distant relatives and no themed decor. Not a word of a lie - one year in the US, I was even given Valentine's homework for my youngest child to take back in. Coz you know, parents with three kids just don't have enough to do.

Although the shops in England are decked out with Valentine's tat stuff, when I looked for a card to send to my in-laws in the US, there was ONE card available that wasn't for a spouse! No Valentine cards for sons, daughters, grandmas etc. Nothing. It's a romantic affair over here, that's for sure.

In my former life as a mother to kids in an American school, I obviously really didn't have enough to do when I look back on the Valentine's Day things I have made. (It might also have been something to do with getting the kids in bed by 7.30pm and having the whole evening to craft to my heart's content.)

When kids are little, they're often asked to take cards or little gifts into school for their classmates. Never one for store bought rubbish, one year I made 20 little red and pink net bundles, each containing a handful of Hershey kisses (red and silver) and tied with a red bow. I know. Another year I found small doilies in the shape of a heart, so we set about making handmade cards for their friends. (Note - I did rope the kids in once they got old enough.)

I think I peaked when one of the kids was asked to take in something for the whole class, and we made a less faffy version of this - 

Instead of using fresh roses (like that was ever a consideration), we ripped up small pieces of pink and red tissue paper, crunched them up and stuck them onto a cardboard heart (painted red, of course). Two holes punched at the top of the heart, red ribbon strung through, and there's your classroom decoration - which the teacher actually kept and brought out again until it literally fell apart.

Another bit of genius came when I made a mosaic heart, photographed it and used the image for everything remotely Valentine related for about the next five years. (Obviously the crafter in me was beginning to take a back seat.)

These are fiddly but easy to do. You can also do birthday cakes, Xmas trees etc. 

So yes, Valentine's Day in the UK is definitely a calmer occasion, but I did get possibly the poshest box of chocolates I've ever had! 

And look - there's only one missing!!

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Passport Panics

I was reading a thread the other day on the Two Fat Expats Facebook page, (which I highly recommend). It started with this photo, then immediately launched a flurry of "passport panic" stories, as you'd expect.

Can you just imagine?

I have to say though, (and I realise I might be jinxing things), that in almost 30 years of flying back and forth across the Pond, usually with children in tow, I only had one personal panic, but it still has the capacity to make my stomach flip. 

About three years ago, I was flying from Chicago to London with my youngest, while middle and husband were following in a few days. Being Mrs. Ever-So-Organized, I put middle's passports into a plastic bag, clearly labelled, and pinned it to the ever-so-organised cork board in the kitchen. Got to the airport for our 6pm Friday overnight flight; pulled passports out at check-in desk - to see middle's face staring up at me. 

Everything went blurry until brain kicked in. "Oh don't worry, I can just fly on my other passport", I assured myself. (Which might have caused problems, as they don't like you using your other passport in US airports.) Pulled UK passport out, middle child staring back up again. Yikes. What to do, what to do? And let me tell you, those check in people are sticklers for the correct documentation - Driving licenses? Global Entry cards? I tried everything. I was begging. 

Long story short (me berating myself, making tentative booking onto 9pm flight, texting cousin who was picking me up at Heathrow, etc. etc), miraculously got hold of middle, instructed him to get "his" passport off the notice board, jump in my car and fly like the wind to the airport. How he made it to O'Hare in Friday rush hour traffic in the time he did will remain his little secret, but that was one stressful 40 minutes! Fortunately, we made it with THREE minutes left to check in and a few families nearby actually came up and congratulated me. I must have looked more ashen than usual!

And I'll NEVER do that again. These days, those passports are thoroughly inspected about 5 times before we cross the threshold and as many again en route to the airport.

There were some other hilarious tales on the Facebook thread though -

The women who, to prevent a meltdown, let her two year old hold her own passport in the immigration queue, only to find that when she took it from her to present it, there were no pages inside. Frantic search around the immediate area to locate all the pages, which immigration miraculously allowed through. 

Or the woman who's toddler chewed through the cover. Come to think of it, my husband's passport has two dog teeth marks through the front cover - but it doesn't seem to mess things up, thank goodness.

But I know if my children were still small, I'd be following the recommendation of one mother - who keeps their passports under lock and key!

Happy New Year!

Happy New Year to everyone!

Haven't blogged here for a while and was wondering whether to leave it and move on. But I can't. It'd be like leaving one of my children by the side of the road. Come to think of it, I've been more tempted to do that on several occasions. (Mother of the Year award recipient, once again.)

I'm currently writing more at my column on the Anglotopia web site. Initially it was called The Repat Report, but since I've now been back in the UK for about 18 months (Yikes - time flies), it's called A Brit Back Home, and you can catch up with it here.

I've been chatting about things I've noticed that are different about the UK since I moved away in 1990. A lot, considering there wasn't even t'Internet then! Ye Olde Days.

But it's the little things that seem to get conversations going - like the latest post about printed duvets, and whether sheets or duvet covers are the way to go. Who knew that topic would be so polarizing? 

Green Bean Casserole or Brussels Sprouts? Pick your Poison.

Anyone who knows me will know how much I detest dislike the American Thanksgiving staple - the Green Bean Casserole. Words just can't.

So of course I decided to blog about it again for Anglotopia. Only this time there's something almost as revolting on this side of the Pond. Pop over and find out, and add your voice to the bun fight.

Joining the Bad Mothers Club

Was looking through some of my old posts for something and found this. Seems so long ago - Not even celebrating Thanksgiving this year.

-------------------------------------

Well, I've sold my soul to the devil; joined the Bad Mothers Club; become a replica of Sue Ellen Ewing (if you're old enough to remember "Dallas".)

The Little Guy was off school last week with a fairly bad cold. I pride myself not on molly-coddling my children but on keeping them home when they are clearly full of snot and germs. It bugs me when other parents send their offspring into school when they are obviously going to spread the cold far and wide. I understand that people have to go to work, but school is not day care, yada, yada, yada.

LG was off with your common-or-garden cold on Thursday, but it seemed to get worse over the course of the next few days. The Ball & Chain and I had an unusual "posh dinner" on Friday night and left the 16 year old in charge. About 9.30pm, (before the main course had arrived) came the first phone call. "Mom, he's thrown up four times, but he's gone back to bed now and is being a champ." Oh. OK, then. Given that we were less than half a mile away, we decided to stay. Then came the second call about 15 minutes later, reporting another up-chuck episode. OK, napkins folded, good-nights all round.

Poor little mite was not at all well when we got home. And what a mess too!

Saturday was not a good day for him, but yesterday he perked up a lot. "Oh good," I thought, "Freedom.  He's missed a lot of school and in 3rd grade (Year 4) it starts to make a difference. Besides, I'm running out of crafting projects. (See previous post)".

He coughed a lot last night, but was fast asleep on the two occasions I dragged my carcass in to check on him. (See, I am a good mother, really. A very tired mother at this point also.) This morning he dressed for school and I made his lunch, helped pack his school bag and generally behaved as if everything was normal. Unfortunately I made "We'll see" sort of noises to the Ball & Chain, and could possibly have muttered that if he was deemed unfit for school I would simply go and pick him up. All of a sudden I swear the Little Guy's colouring went from human to half-dead, and he began suggesting that he might not be well enough to go in. What's that saying "Give 'em an inch and they'll take a mile?"

So I bustled him out the door with his dad, saying "Oh I'm sure you'll feel better when you get there."

I hate mothers like me. Who do I think I am, deliberately sending a germ-ridden child to mingle with his peers? But it's Thanksgiving on Thursday; I have people arriving tomorrow; I haven't been across the doors since Friday night; we have no food in the house; I am going insane.

Yer Honour.

Tempted to Pee in a Bucket, and Other Moments from This Week

Been a bit of a busy time here in Repat world. 

First off - big news. I have a literary agent in the UK and we are pitching a new book! A departure from my usual US/UK stuff, but something that I'm passionate about also. Can't reveal much at the moment other than I have a lot of work to do in the immediate future. 

In other things, my dog-eared blogger blog, Take it From Us,  is going well and we have some excellent writers on board. The latest post, about not caring any more, seems to be striking a chord with a lot of people, so do have a butchers, as they say. (Butcher's hook - look.) It's amazing how many lapsed bloggers are talking about making a return to blogging. If you're someone who loves to write or has kept a diary for years. you can't just stop writing. If you're someone whose blog now doesn't allow for blogging about any old thing, come and guest blog for us. We're just in it for the writing. 

And of course, I still have workmen wandering around my house and garden at regular intervals. If it's not one thing, it's another. Today we have three young blokes chipping all the moss off the roof tiles. It was so jungle-like up there I'm sure they'll have come across forgotten species. Unfortunately for me, they turned up two hours earlier than I wrote down, (my mistake, I have no doubt), and I was still in my PJs, with a sweatshirt thing on the top. Didn't look too inappropriate but it gets worse.........

They put three ladders up the front of the house, right outside the windows of my downstairs loo and two upstairs bathrooms. Given that we've just finished bathroom work, we are of course, waiting for new blinds to be installed. (Do you see where I'm going with this?) Yes, the windows are slightly frosted, but when you're on a ladder two feet out on the other side, there'd be no mistaking someone sitting on the throne, or standing naked in the shower. And of course half way through the morning I desperately needed to go.

I was seriously considering all my options - pee in a sink? Obviously, grossness ruled it out (almost) immediately as well as the fact that the only other sink is in the kitchen and yes, that's right below an enormous double window that looks out onto the back garden. Given that they asked for access to the back of the house, there was NO WAY I'd have risked that. I also couldn't quite figure out how I'd physically manage this one, the sciatica still being an issue. Besides, just gross.

I did think about hiding myself deep in the coat cupboard in the hallway and peeing in a bucket, but.........then remembered that the landlord's agent was coming round at 11, and wanted access to every room. Imagine the scene were she to open said coat cupboard door to a bucket of fresh, steaming ........Ok, I'll stop there. 

For those concerned about my bladder or kidney welfare, like most British builders or workers, just as my panic levels were going stratospheric, they all trooped off to their van for their elevenses. (In the UK, about the only people who seem to do this on a regular basis are workmen in your house). So, whilst they were feasting on their mid-morning tea and pastries, I executed an Olympic dash to the downstairs loo (with the smallest window) and pee'd like I'd never pee'd before. I may have broken a Guinness record.

And yes, we're getting blinds next week. 

Cancer Schmancer

I'm not much one for spilling too much stuff on the blog or writing too much about members of my family. Not least because they'd all kill me.

I'm making an exception this time though - for a very special little boy named Frank. He's my cousin's son and he's two. A right little ray of sunshine and a cheeky chops at the same time.

Unfortunately back in February, what started off as a swollen eye turned out to be a devastating diagnosis of Neuroblastoma. Yup. After a few weeks of everyone telling my cousin not to worry, he'd be OK etc (as you do), her worst fears came true. And it's not just any old cancer (if there is such a thing). Nope. Only about a hundred children a year are diagnosed and they are usually under five years old.

Frank has already had 80 hours of chemo and surgery. He is now undergoing more high dose chemo, then looks forward to radio therapy, stem cell transplant surgery then immunotherapy. Sadly, almost half of neuroblastomas will return and the children need further treatment.

The good news is that there's a vaccine that can help prevent a relapse. The bad news is that it's not funded by the NHS and it's not available in the UK. The cost to take a child to the US for treatment (travel and treatment) is a staggering £200,000 ($260,000).

His parents have set up a fund-raising page, and they are trying to raise that amount in ten months, which is when Frank will need the vaccine. The fund-raising is being done through the Bradley Lowery foundation which is a registered charity in the UK. In the five days since the page has been live, the response from friends and acquaintances has been truly amazing. We need to keep the momentum going though, as we are only at 3% of the amount needed to give Frank the best chance.

So - I'm pleading. If you have a spare bit of coin, please consider donating to Frank's Fight. If not, please help spread the word for this gorgeous little boy.

Thank you my friends. 

The Right Way to Procrastinate

Did you know there's a right way to procrastinate? Me neither. I am a bit of a one for procrastination, even though I manage to give the impression that I'm a do-er. It works for me so I don't feel too guilty, but now I don't have to. 

Pop over to my new bloggy collaboration to read more about Procrasti-cleaning. 

Moving - The Mental Challenges

So, we're in. Almost settled. Well, it's a bit of a sliding scale really isn't it?

I mean, almost everything is out of boxes, and the things we dragged all the way from the States last year and left in boxes, are still in boxes. But hey - they made it here. One of these days I will rip them open and see what treasures lie there. (Obviously superfluous to needs since they haven't seen the light of day in well, 380 days.)

The first mental challenge is where to put everything. This kitchen has more cabinets than the last one, and though we don't have an awful lot of stuff now, we still managed to run out of space before half of said stuff was unboxed. Trick is not to alot one whole shelf to a salad bowl I suppose. Sigh. (Looks at Ball & Chain accusingly.)

The second mental challenge is believing you'll get to the finish line. Every time I move I forget just how knackering it really is. Walking round all day with single items in your hand, trying to find the appropriate drawer/shelf/other box. I had my I-phone in my back pocket, with its little Heart icon that counts your steps. By mid-day I had easily beaten the 10,000 step challenge and apparently had climbed the equivalent of fourteen flights of stairs. And it felt like it. After two days of putting things away, I lay on the sofa, Roman-style and waived my son and spouse off to the local pasta place. Last thing I could be bothered to do was put lippy on and sit up straight in public.

Last but definitely not least-ly, is the builders. Oh yes, not only am I trying to set up a home, but we have builders around all day, every day. The landlord (we are renting - long story involving accidental lapsing of previous lease) had promised to update our two bathrooms before we moved in. I thought it was a tough ambitious at the time,(about a month before we moved in), but I had no idea how prescient I was. One week later, the ensuite/master bath isn't complete and we still have another complete gut job of the family bathroom. I have banned them from coming near the place this weekend as my cousin and family are staying.

In case it escapes you, having four or five people in your house all day means you're stuck in the house. All our stuff is now here, and while it's not a trust question with the crew, the front door is wide open all day and they are upstairs. Making huge amounts of noise. Were someone nefarious to walk in, they could have stripped the downstairs bare before anyone noticed.

And the poor dog. While she has given up any attempt to guard the house, she is very stressed and not to be left on her own with strangers. It's not fair on her and needless to say, at the end of the day, she's a stressed dog, so.....

So yes. It's all a bit challenging, in a very first world sort of way. This too shall pass.
Sigh.

I'll Never Move Again. (Not least because I assaulted a worker.)

So we've moved. Again. Bit of a SNAFU with the lease on the old property, but we were looking to move anyway, so...........

You'd think after the massive downsizing I did last year, when I gave away or sold most of my earthly possessions, it would be a lot easier. Admittedly, although it's a relative doddle, since I didn't have to itemize every box and apply for a TOR (Transfer of Residence) number, but it's still a pain in the proverbial. 

Despite resolutions to be more organised in this house, there are still lone items being bunged into drawers, resulting in three drawers now looking like they're once again, the "Messy drawer". Three! And there's not even any order to those three - surely one should be for paperwork, one should be for, Oooh I dunno, stamps and staplers etc, and another one for bin bags? Oh no, that would be far too organised. Our three are currently for anything and everything. I keep saying I will go back and re-sort them once I come up for air, but who am I kidding? Six months from now I will still have to look in all three for a first class stamp.

I also lost my new debit card, the day after it was issued. Annoyingly, my only UK card was slapped with a fraud alert the day before we moved, even though I verified every payment and they couldn't tell me what the alert was about. Fortunately it arrived at our old place as we were pulling off for a new life, quarter of a mile down the road, so no harm done. Last night I suddenly realised I had no idea where it was. Scoured the possibilities, handbag, messy drawers and pocket of loose linens worn yesterday. (You know it's how when I break out the dreaded linens.)

Just happened to mention it to one of the workers here, this morning. (Because yes, moving isn't complicated enough, we have to be dealing with a bathroom gut and refit. Sigh.) Anyway, he immediately said there was a card on my bedroom floor and went off to retrieve. it. Now, he's been here a few days and is a lovely smiley chap, but I'm still not sure how appropriate it was that I clasped his face in both hands and planted a giant smackeroony on the side of his face!!!

Is that workplace harassment? HIs boss was standing right next to him at the time and didn't intervene. Both seemed to find it pretty funny, but I'm now slightly tormented by the fact that I'm a complete hypocrite! Were it the other way round gender-wise, (female worker, male customer), it just wouldn't be right would it? Ugh. Another thing to lose sleep over. 

Old School Blogging is Back!

There have been more than a few old school bloggers talking about getting back into it, recently. By old school bloggers I mean bloggers who still write posts, rather than post photos of things they're reviewing or photos of themselves at various events. Don't get me wrong, I'm not bashing the newer style of blogging - where you expect your blog to earn you some dosh, you have to worry about your numbers, ranking and all manner of stuff, (she says glossing over, 'cause she doesn't even know). I just could never be bothered with the technical stuff, and then before I knew it, there was so much to learn it became too monumental to even try. I moderated a Brit Mums session last September and most of it went straight over my head! 

Anyway, I was chatting on Facebook to a few other old schoolers and threw out the idea of getting the band back together. (We had collaborated on a blog called Mad, Manic Mammas and actually got a mention in one of the national papers I think.) General enthusiasm all around, so we've done it!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce (drum roll...........)

Take it From Us: Dog-Eared Bloggers, Telling it Like it Is

Like it?
The idea is to get back to the damn good writing and camaraderie we used to enjoy as bloggers. We'll be featuring as many old school bloggers as we can so if you'd like to contribute, please let me know or contact the team through the web site. 

Sadly this past week, there was occasion for the old school blogging community to get together and support each other, as a lovely member died very suddenly. We're kicking off this blog by paying tribute to Kate Sutton (author of the Wit Wit Woo blog), and two other beloved bloggers who are no longer with us. That particular post is on the home page, but do have a poke around. Our blog is in its infancy, but we have some great things lined up and the page will look more populated as time goes on.

I hope you'll become a regular. 

Complaints? Always Write That E-Mail

For years, one of my kids' entreaties to me has been "Oh mom, please don't write an e-mail." I'm not one of those complainers who sit around looking for things to ruffle her feathers, but I also believe in saying something rather than just huffing and puffing. While I'm as hands off as I can be when it comes to my kids sorting out their own messes problems, there have been times when a more assertive voice was needed, and I didn't hesitate. 

Ditto for anything I see as below par customer service. Having worked briefly in retail management, I know that negative opinions travel further and faster than anything good. We were always encouraged to address complaints rather than let them fester and find an audience, and I work on that premise with my own complaints. 

In the past, my written complaints have resulted in someone being fired (which wasn't my intent but she deserved it anyway), coupons as a way of apology, refunds, and changes in policies and procedures. A few years ago, against the odds, I managed to obtain a full refund for a family member who was scammed out of thousands through sloppy account-watching by the bank. To this day, although such scams are still happening, I haven't heard of anyone else getting their money back. 

This week saw another victory. I had booked my youngest into a residential summer camp in July, then received a flyer which promised £600 to split between myself and anyone who enrolled and mentioned us. Sent an e-mail to a few friends, one of whom is now attending the same camp. Woo hoo, three hundred quid each, thank you very much!

Except not. Son's friend gets the £300, but we get it credited to our account for the next time we book. I know. I did more work than anyone in this equation, having recruited for the company, and came out with nothing. If I'd known that, I wouldn't have bothered - and the company knows that, so they word the promise vaguely and, in my opinion, deliberately mislead the reader.

Out with the laptop, and "disappointed" e-mail wings its way to the CEO of said company. I pointed out exactly what I thought they'd done (hood-winked me), and said the whole thing had left a "bad taste in my mouth". Perhaps they Googled me and realised how gobby I can be, but hours later they responded, saying that "on this occasion" they would give me the £300 now instead of keeping it in my account for next time.

Result! Keep writing those e-mails! 

It's Coming Home? Or is it?

I mean, talk about jinxing something. Everywhere you go in England, you see or hear "It's Coming Home" - a very foolhardy reference to World Cup victory, in my opinion. We haven't won it since 1966. It might be coming home but it's been all the way round the world and back since it was last in England. 

I know we Brits are a bit glass-half-empty in general; we're usually the first to recognise and openly admit when we haven't got a snowflake's chance of winning something (2018 Wimbledon anyone), but there has to be some balance between national gloom and doom and this cart-before-the-horse malarkey. At the time of writing, England has still to win the semi-final against Croatia; we're not even in the Final yet. All this unnatural buoyancy and confidence is making me very nervous; it's just not very English.

Actually, the lyrics of the (bloody) song that everyone's singing are slightly more measured, and the composer is rather sweet when he talks about the song. 

"We know rationally that we tend to disappoint but somehow we keep on hoping that things might be different this time. And that element of the song, of defiance, of hope in the face of history, picks up energy if history suddenly looks like it might turn round. Even though the song comes from a place of vulnerability, its central refrain can be chanted at the right moment – now, for example – when fans want to throw caution to the wind." Bless. 

And throwing caution to the wind they are, as well as IKEA furniture in the case of some appalling so-called fans who invaded a London store and basically caused mayhem. Elsewhere they were displaying even more idiotic behaviour. In Dorset a small band of drunken fans scaled traffic lights, jumped on cars and - wait for it - shouted at a police dog for being German. (Bearing in mind England last beat Sweden and now faces Croatia. No Germany in sight.) Sigh. 

So anyway, I'll be watching the semi-final with what seems like the rest of the nation, and hoping that the team can go all the way. But please everyone, enough with the jinx talk! 

British Men - Whipping Their Tops Off Everywhere

So yes, it's bloody boiling where we are. I'm not saying that in the usual British "Ooh it's hot" way either. It's genuinely hot and has been for a while now. The temp round our way was 29 Celsius yesterday, so that's 84 Fahrenheit. Hot. (There are some kids wandering round wearing sweatshirts, but they tend to be the ones who've lived in Singapore for years, so - not hot for them.)

As long as I stay out of the sun, I love it. It's not humid and sticky like it gets in Chicago, and if you venture in to the shade, it cools down a bit. I stay out of the sun for obvious reasons, but additionally because, if I even tried to get my legs brown it wouldn't happen. I would still need the supplement from a bottle, so why bother in the first place? When I expose my legs to the summer elements, I get bitten so badly that any tan I might get is totally eclipsed by the red swollen welts. Not an attractive look. It's also a good job I'm not bald either. I had my hair cut this morning and my hairdresser commented that my head was covered in small scabs. "Ah yes," I replied, "they're bites". Not sure he believed me. 

What I'm slightly aghast at however, is not the ex-Singapore dwellers sporting sweat shirts, but the amount of British blokes wandering around topless. And in some cases, it's not a pretty sight. They're either burnt to a crisp or let's just say, not the sort of top we want going topless. And they're everywhere.

Window cleaners (who could very easily ask for a bucket of cold water and cool themselves down that way), van drivers (sporting one arm more tanned than the other presumably?) and just yer average male walking along the street. Carrying their tops. It looks like they've just stopped in the street, decided they can't take the heat any more, and stripped off. Well, they have obviously done just that, but I seriously doubt they had any sun screen to hand. 

Even Ex-PM Cameron's at it. 

Knickers in A Twist

It's stories like this that I really missed when not living in the UK. Did you hear about the knicker revolt a few weeks ago in Colyton, Devon? No. 

Pop over to my column at Anglotopia and read about it, then tell me what you think. Is it ever OK to hang your smalls where the general public can see them? I love a good washing line, but I doubt if I'd ever hang my stuff where people passing by could see it. 

Yet More Moving!

Well, it seems we're moving again. Less than a year after the BIG MOVE, we seem to have sold our US house and bought one in the UK. (That's what I've been busy doing, in case anyone thinks I was slacking!)

This upcoming move (probably mid-summer) isn't too stressful as we hardly have any stuff now!. I shipped about 30 boxes in all, which isn't bad for almost 27 years in the USA, and certainly isn't bad when I compare it to the amount of boxes other expats brought to the UK. One even admitted to over 300. You know who you are!

I have also decided that I'm going to pay the movers to pack our stuff this time. That won't be too difficult for them as we have half a dozen boxes in the garage that have never been unpacked  It makes me wonder if we really need it, but the real reason is that we don't have a lot of storage and I was not going to buy furniture for a house we weren't staying in. And obviously - we don't really need it! Plus, last year, when I packed the 30 boxes myself it nearly gave me another herniated disc. 

So yeah. We're moving about a third of a mile down the road, to a house with a dream back garden, and a small pool. Not really thrilled about the pool given that we no longer have small kids you can just chuck in and keep an eye on while sipping spritzers. It's more likely to be teens getting a little too playful for my comfort level. The dog will be in all the time of course, which will be a pain since she's long haired and apparently said hairs clog up the filters. And then there's the maintenance. Apparently it's at least a twice a week thing during the summer so we're bribing the teen to do that, plus the mowing. Earn his keep, he will! 

However, I'm not complaining. It will be nice to have our own house again; to be able to bang picture hooks into the walls without worrying about getting someone in to plaster and paint before we leave. I can think about a colour scheme for each bedroom instead of just making do with what we  have and hoping it doesn't clash too much. (Who knew that navy and teal looked so good together?) The utility room will be properly organised this time instead of loo rolls and dog food piled willy nilly on the two meagre shelves we have at the moment. Oh yes, there will be shelving and proper containers for everything. 

In my dreams, very probably.

Being Serious and Blogging Politics

Now that I'm back in the UK, I'm trying to learn all there is to know about British politics. Well, kind of. A vacuum of 27 years really doesn't help things here. Watching anything that covers more than Theresa, Boris, Nicola and Jacob has me as much at sea as Hello magazine, where I only know people over 70. 

One thing I am noticing though, is the inexplicable popularity of Jacob Rees-Mogg. I'm hearing that he's the bookies' favourite to win the Tory leadership, despite his relative lack of ministerial experience. Now where have I seen this before? 

So I wrote a semi-serious piece at my Huffington Post blog. I try not to get too serious and shouty on here, so here's the link if you want to see what else I can turn my hand to. 

Let me know what you think of my opinion too. 

It Seems I Can't Let Go Of Trump

In the nine months since I moved from the US to the UK I've noticed a marked improvement in my stress levels. Oh sure, the move was hard work and very stressful; selling our US home and setting up again in the UK was fraught at times, but my shoulders are no longer constantly up around my ears. Why? Because I'm not baraged with Trump mania morning, noon and night.

Being a news junkie, I have the TV on a lot, sometimes just in the background, in case I miss something. (?) In the US, most of the news channels (even the BBC) were very US-focused, which inevitably meant constant updates about the latest piece of Trump idiocy or crassness. You really couldn't get away from it, although were I to tune in to Fox News (when hell froze over) I would have heard more flattering stories and his fact-challenged statements and daily name-calling would have been carefully edited. 

When I repatriated, I resolved to rid myself of my morbid fascination with US politics, and learn more about what was going on in the UK. (Not quite as depressing, I assure you.) I'm already re-registered to vote so I feel obliged to get myself up to date with local and national matters. However, since I'm still also an American citizen, and have property in the US (as well as two adult children), I feel I should still keep on top of the US circus. 

And that's where it all falls apart. Resolving to let go of the daily Trump s**t show (excuse French) is almost impossible if you want to keep yourself apprised of US news. He is everywhere, and just when you think there's a chance of hearing about something really important - like perhaps Puerto Rico still not being back up and running after 2017's Hurricane Maria, or the water in Flint, Michigan still not being drinkable after 4 years - he comes screaming back into centre stage. 

I'm trying, I'm really trying, not to let Trump take up too much of my time and energy. After all, with the Mueller investigation getting closer and closer to the awful truth, it won't be long before Trump's world unravels. I can wait. I think. But then I go on Twitter and get sucked back in and turn all shouty and outraged. There is literally something every day that makes me shake my head in disbelief or want to punch my laptop into the dog bowl. 

What's that they say about breaking up with someone? Actually, I read about the signs to tell whether you're over an ex and thought I'd see where I was. Not that Trump is an ex, you understand. I have standards.  

1. You're apathetic towards them. (Ugh, no.)
2. You don't press your mutual friends for information about them. (Again, no. I keep going on Twitter and reading stuff.)
3. You feel more than lust or infatuation for someone else. (Eeuuwww. Moving on.)
4. You stop avoiding places they might be...or stalking them. (Nope, I'm Twitter stalking.)
5. You can engage with their social media in a normal way. (There is just rage, although I feel it is highly appropriate.)
6. You're happy for their successes. (Well, let me know when the "successes" happen and I'll get back to you.)
7. You stop keeping track of the time since you were with them. (This is my "I can't believe he's been in office for 1 year, 98 days 22 hours", so no, I'm not there.)

Please hurry up Mr. Mueller.