Dear Red States...

My friend Johann sent me this. Fortunately it won't be necessary for the next four years...but maybe it's not a bad idea anyway?


If you manage to steal this election too we've decided we're leaving. We intend to form our own country, and we're taking the other Blue States with us. In case you aren't aware, that includes California, Hawaii, Oregon, Washington, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Michigan, Illinois and all the Northeast. We believe this split will be beneficial to the nation, and especially to the people of the new country of New California.

To sum up briefly: You get Texas, Oklahoma and all the slave states. We get stem cell research and the best beaches. We get the Statue of Liberty. You get Dollywood.

We get Intel and Microsoft. You get WorldCom.

We get Harvard. You get Ole' Miss.

We get 85% of America's venture capital and entrepreneurs. You get Alabama.

We get two-thirds of the tax revenue, you get to make the red states pay their fair share.

Since our aggregate divorce rate is 22% lower than the Christian Coalition's, we get a bunch of happy families. You get a bunch of single moms.


Please be aware that Nuevo California will be pro-choice and anti-war, and we're going to want all our citizens back from Iraq at once. If you need people to fight, ask your evangelicals. They have kids they're apparently willing to send to their deaths for no purpose, and they don't care if you don't show pictures of their children's caskets coming home. We do wish you success in Iraq , and hope that the WMDs turn up, but we're not willing to spend our resources in Bush's Quagmire.

With the Blue States in hand, we will have firm control of 80% of the country's fresh water, more than 90% of the pineapple and lettuce, 92% of the nation's fresh fruit, 95% of America's quality wines, 90% of all cheese, 90% of the high tech industry, 95% of the corn and soybeans (thanks Iowa!), most of the U.S. low-sulfur coal,all living redwoods, sequoias and condors, all the Ivy and Seven Sister schools plus Stanford, Cal Tech and MIT.

With the Red States, on the other hand, you will have to cope with 88% of all obese Americans (and their projected health care costs), 92% of all U.S. mosquitoes, nearly 100% of the tornadoes, 90% of the hurricanes, 99% of all Southern Baptists, virtually 100% of all televangelists, Rush Limbaugh, Bob Jones University, Clemson and the University of Georgia.

We get Hollywood and Yosemite, thank you.

Additionally, 38% of those in the Red states believe Jonah was actually swallowed by a whale, 62% believe life is sacred unless we're discussing the war, the death penalty or gun laws, 44% say that evolution is only a theory, 53% that Saddam was involved in 9/11 and 61% of you crazy bastards believe you are people with
higher morals then we lefties.

Finally, we're taking the good pot, too. You can have that dirt weed they grow in Mexico.

Peace out,

Blue States

Yes he can!

Words escape me. I've had plenty of emails from you all since Tuesday. If you thought the election of Barack Obama felt special in England and Australia you should have been here.

With Justine in the Castro on Tuesday night.

They come from a land down-under

It’s almost impossible to believe that two weeks can go so quickly, but indeed they have and I begin this Saturday with a chunk of chores necessary for school on Monday. So much for sorting out files, clearing notes, making sense of the teetering mass of revision notes: they sit as they were left precisely 15 days ago. It’s been a good holiday even though it did start with two days of work for my old job in London (by ‘start’ I mean I left my final exam at 2.15pm and returned home to immediately sit at the laptop for 8 hours writing a grant contract).

It improved enormously once I headed north in the hired car (what fun!) to spend the weekend with Chris on the other side of the bridge. His ‘Grizzly Adams’ tendencies definitely took a turn for the worse when he started living in a shack in the middle of nowheresville, Marin. Powered only by kerosene in a 5 gallon tank, his living is frugal to say the least. A middle of the night trip to the bathroom involves risking life and limb, navigating in the pitch black to a restroom that has no running water (kerosene off) and a poisonous spider trapped in a glass on the side of the basin. Who knows what lurks in the space in the roof (it still ‘belongs to the cabin’ apparently)? So we picnicked, ate, went to a band, ate, sat on the beach, ate and ate and drank some more.

Wednesday saw the arrival of the uncle and aunty from the antipodes; or more correctly from Nova Scotia and week 6 of their round the world ‘visit-relie fest’. Even the imminent arrival of my Uncle Jim saw my propensity for near disaster spring like a phoenix from the flames. Oh my! How apt! You see, knowing that I was picking them up later in the day, I pottered around the house doing house-pottering type stuff: cleaning my room, changing sheets, preparing for guests, leaving my ablutions and dressing until closer to departure time. So mid afternoon I took a well earned break from the chores as all was spruce and perfect for their arrival. I plonk myself on the steps outside, call Arron in Los Angeles, we are chatting away and I lit a cigarette (yes, I know I shouldn’t). Unfortunately I also dropped the match and my turquoise blue, snuggly monkey pyjamas set on fire. I watched, as in slow motion the flames, at first confined to the merest edge of my pyjama bottoms, licked up my legs to my groin and I tried to whip off my pants with my feet whilst continuing the conversation with Arron. She thought it very ‘English’ of me as I asked her, “Can you excuse me for just a moment. My trousers are on fire and I need to just put them out.”So Arron, I am sorry that we had to finish our conversation with you knowing I was sitting in a thong on the steps. I know it’s not a pretty thought.

Poor Jim was in a bad way with three bulging discs but he was stoic about the whole thing (you decide: true or false?!). We had a car so still managed to get around and do loads of really great stuff, he just wasn’t able to walk very far and especially not up any hills. San Francisco? Hills? Tricky. Having the car has completely opened my eyes to just how beautiful Northern California is and I have decided I unreservedly LOVE it. The scenery in Marin, the coast lines and redwoods, and the hills and vineyards over into Napa and Sonoma were breathtaking. In many ways it did remind us all of South Australia and the wine country of the Barossa. It was a thoroughly enjoyable week with Jim and Rose as I also got to really discover my city. It was the first time I have really explored Chinatown and rummaged through antique shops, farmers’ markets. My Aunty Rose is a fantastic shopper and we had a ball in Chinatown. There were so many things to buy. But you can’t have everything. Where would you put it?

We even did the compulsory tourist trip to Alcatraz which was actually rather eerie, cells no more than 8’ by 5’, wind whistling round The Rock. Alcatraz was the only thing Jim had specifically requested to do during his trip and his disappointment was palpable when we realised that once off the ferry there was a viciously steep climb equivalent to 13 flights of stairs to reach the prison building. Of course, it was a maximum security jail for the worst of the very worse. They weren’t going to make it a gently meandering, undulating stroll off the island, were they? Fortunately, ‘higher power of some kind’ bless America, there was a disabled bus to take him all the way to the top which we had to walk beside as they told us about the daring (or frankly stupid) escape attempts. As a long-term sports lover, this perhaps wasn’t quite the holiday snap he had in mind.

Indecision may or may not be my problem.

I’ve been so tardy. I have so much to say. I don’t know where to start. Let’s do it chronologically and briefly. You might still need to get a cup of tea and some survival rations before you start…

I took exams (second quarter). I got straight A’s. I work too hard. I don’t need A’s. I’m too old for that – been there, done it. I need a better social life. I’m not going to work so hard any more. You heard it here first.

I went to my brother Russell’s wedding. After an enormous quantity of years, perhaps 15, he and Holly got married. Josh, my nephew, gave her away and he was very funny. When they asked if anyone knew of any just reason why the two should not be joined in matrimony, he shouted, “Me, Josh Brady!” “You say that at the next bit, Josh,” replied Russ.

The wedding was really quite surreal. I got to meet my biological father for the first time since I was one year old. Most relatives at the wedding didn’t know I existed. There was quite a buzz, I don’t mind telling you. There were some very entertaining ‘double-take’ moments when, being introduced as Russ and Craig’s sister, newly met cousins came back over minutes later saying, “I’m sorry. Did you say sister?!” To cut a potentially very long story short, it went very well and without drama, and I am very happy that my father and I have met (and his wife of 22 years, Debbie).


David and Debbie



Avis looking very classy mother of the groom!




I came back to England for three weeks and saw an enormous number of friends and family, but unfortunately not all. For those I saw, it was wonderful and I have been a little sad since I got back, missing you all.

Sally and I spent days (and Andrew and I spent one) at Wimbledon. Sal and I were at THE final. Go Rafa, you darling, sweet, pant-hoiking, full of tics, lovely! Firstly, let me say that this is a real admission of aging: he completely brings out my maternal instincts. When exactly does that happen? A drop-dead gorgeous, delicious, fit, charming, young Spaniard – Maternal?! Seriously, Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer (if Carling made tennis players…) are those most magnificent sportsmen. They are professional and competitive, whilst being fair and respectful. They are a credit to tennis and make it all the more wonderful at this point in history. We sat through an epic men’s final: through hours and hours of play and rain and delays. John McEnroe said it was the best game of tennis ever played. Who am I to disagree with Johnny Mac?


Mogens
Centre Court, July 7th, 2008
The Best Final EVER

Rafael Nadal


Sal was supporting Roger. She told me that after the match she watched the interviews and he just looked crushed, saying it was his hardest loss ever and he couldn’t appreciate whether it was a good match or not, and there was no point in talking about the light because it was all over now. He sounded completely distraught and close to tears. Poor Roger, with only Mirka (his girlfriend) and her Gwen Stefani records (they are mates, she was at the game) and gum supply (Mirka is never to be seen without a moving jaw) to console him.

I returned to my Oak Street ‘pied a terre’ to be greeted by the dogs. Emma licked me for about 15 minutes. My skin was raw. I love her. Good to see the flatmates but still serioulsy considering a move back down to L.A. Anyway, we had a brilliant evening out at the Eddie Izzard gig: Stripped. Mr.I on superb form again.

My first weekend back turned into a bit of a nightmare. Jill, Max and I got some free tickets to the San Francisco symphony orchestra’s summer season. Fantastic! The Dvorak Slavonic Dance No.9, a furiant, a dance full of fire and shifting accents, and Symphony No.9, a rambunctious movement, at once glowingly lyrical, and in finale, as if it hadn’t enough inspired tunes of its own, larded with recollections of earlier movements (according to the magnificently ‘up its own’ accompanying brochure). However, on Friday night, Jill and I returned to the car to find her dog Hannah missing. We pounded those streets. Jill came back into San Francisco on Saturday morning with her sister-in-law, and her boyfriend, and we fly posted the city. Hannah was found on Sunday morning – thank whoever!

But I have to tell you about some of the experiences we had looking for her. Firstly we were accused of ‘deserving her to be missing’ on account of leaving her in a car outside a house where there were children. Children who were laughing, as Jill was screaming and crying, and shouting that they had shot at the dog. As Jill and her sister-in-law were going round with posters asking if anyone had seen Hannah, a woman shouted out of the window to them to ‘go away’ as they were obviously pedophiles. Hannah was actually spotted inside a community centre on Friday night, less than an hour after disappearing, when we were probably a block away. They ushered her out of the building and THEN called Animal Control. Needless to say we didn’t find her that night: nor the next night. We had some choice things to say about some of these people. However, I suppose we have to conclude that if we don’t believe in freedom of expression for those we despise, we don’t believe in it at all (as Noam Chomsky tells us). But there were some lovely people who helped enormously and were really sweet and concerned.

Things continue at school: exams, lots of studying. Some joyous things on the horizon for this quarter: an imminently pending visit from Dave, an August visit from John S after his California Board Exams (we summon the entire exam passing Qi in the universe for the Glorious 12th) to get celebratorially bo!!ocksed, and my wonderful and completely adored Aunty Rose and Uncle Jim coming over from Australia in September. Jim and I share the Barnacle, ‘it could only happen to you’ gene. Watch this space!

But some are more equal than others…

“Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal."
From the Declaration of Independence.

A TV interviewer was interviewing a random sample of people about what they knew of Samuel Adams. Samuel Adams, if you don’t know, was one of the founding fathers of the USA who signed the Declaration of Independence, 4th Governor of Massachusetts and a very famous brewer of exceptionally good beer (the Boston Beer Company – still excellent). Most people he questioned said they knew him as a beer maker: nothing else. Shocking. Then he decided to push a little and after the same response from his next interviewee, asked if they knew any other reason why Samuel Adams was famous. The man thought for a while and then said, “Doesn’t he now make a light beer?”

I will be very busy for the next two weeks, finals for this quarter, but then three lovely weeks in England with three lovely, lovely days at Wimbledon. Hoorah! I hope to get to see you all.

Here's a selection of pictures from the ballgame at the SF Giants stadium (AT&T park).

Every major food group: Dibs seller.


Justine eating a 'delicious' hotdog.













The best seat in the house?!




AT&T Park

The "Eh" Team

Canadians don't deal with the same kind of health care problems and traumas we face. They have a health care system based on treating hockey injuries and curing sinus infections that come from trying to pronounce French vowels.
P. J. O'Rourke

I arrived at Vancouver airport last Friday. Laura, her niece, Arja, and Arja's 9 month-old baby, Danica (an absolute poppet...you'll know why I say that later), were there to greet me. Full of chatter we headed to the car for the 2 hour drive to her house in Harrison; a picturesque small town quite close to the US border, built on hot springs, nestled in mountains on the edge of the Vancouver river, bursting with wildlife, seals, sturgeon, bears. It was a beautiful summer’s day. They got a little lost when they picked me up, even though they had a TomTom, and ended up at the aquaplane airport a short distance from Vancouver International. Naturally there was some playful banter and ‘ribbing’ in the car, especially as on the way back we were looking for a turnoff to a place called ‘Hope’; “Ignore Arja. She got us lost last time. Ignore the TomTom. It’s still on English time. We’ll just point the car and ‘HOPE’ we get there.” Etc, etc, chuckling to ourselves thinking how amusing we were.

Precisely one and a half hours after landing in Canada, most of which had been taken up going through Immigration in Vancouver airport, I was sitting in the car looking at a sign which said ‘Welcome to the United States’. The US Immigration officer came up to the car, “Welcome to the United States ladies, may I see your passports, please…”. As I was the only person in the car who was theoretically visiting another country, you can take an educated guess as to how many passports there were in the car. I think two hours through border control under those circumstances was fairly reasonable. Had a great weekend once I got there: lovely weather, fantastic spa day, great food, too many cocktails...


Harrison, British Columbia.

We have a new addition to the ‘725’ menagerie: L'il Jack (the 10 pound dog), sitting on sofa with Emma, Miss Goody Four Paws.












Finally, I had a lovely birthday. Joanna and Justine took me out for dinner and bought me a great stash of pressies. Thanks to all of you for my cards and gifts. My dresser was bursting with monkey cards!

I have a terrible confession…

Rock – as you know – always my thing. There’s barely anything else in my music collection. From Bowie I progressed to Led Zep, loved Ozzy, went to see Rush at 16 (Tom, Kathryn…2112!!!!!), discovered the eternal joys of Metallica: even my mellow stuff is Nirvana, Foo Fighters. At a club obviously I’ll shake my booty to, well, pretty much anything after a few beers as witnessed at Brian’s wedding; Sally and I could hardly walk the next morning. Most definitely I am straight on that dance floor to a bit of Aretha or Freda Payne (Band of Gold – one of my top ten songs of all time). Lucy and I painted Peru a definite shade of red in 2006 with our non-stop Abba/disco inferno showing those bright young things how the old girls do it. San Francisco Holly and I have discovered the joys of the BeeGees breakfast on occasions when I’ve slept over; and I do like cleaning to Take That. Oh the joys of the boys!

Here’s the confession…I seem to have developed a nostalgic love of Hall and Oates. It’s one thing to strut your stuff to, “…Whoo, ooh, here she comes, watch out boy she’ll chew you up…”, but “…When I feel cold you warm me, When I feel I can’t go on you come and hold me (Daryl hits that high note and I feel the tears welling in my eyes)…It’s you... and me… forever...”. It started as a joke between Justine and I when they seemed to be playing, “…I said your kiss, your kiss, is on my list…” every time we were in Safeway. But last week I found myself saying to her, “But Justine, they invented a fusion of rock and roll and rhythm and blues, a style which they dubbed ‘rock and soul’. They are brilliant." She simply said, “Milly they are not,” and she looked at me with such disappointment I realized I had gone too far; that my 80’s nostalgia had taken control of my senses. I put on some Sepultura and Rage against the Machine. I’m feeling much better now. Whoo,ooh (damn). That’s weight off my mind.

We have mid-terms next week and the week after. I’ve got a horrible physiology exam on my birthday. My birthday! I don’t even usually go to work, let alone sit an exam. I usually spend the whole day with Sally and a champagne picnic watching the Rome Masters. I’m feeling just a little grumpy. However, once exams are over I’m straight on a plane for a long weekend in Vancouver; my first time to Canada, and I’m looking forward to it very much.

This week's pictures: The Marina,Emma, with ball on the beach and a dogmate,shopfront:the Castro, the coast road.

"Presidents don't have power; their job is to draw attention away from it." Ford Prefect

The primaries are dominating the news here in the US. I’m not taking the ultra-left position (for a change), that elections are totally irrelevant and we should not vote as a matter of principal: although with alarming regularity I say to myself that we should refuse to collude in what ultimately becomes an organisation supporting multi-national business interest and generally failing in its responsibilties to vast swathes of its population. Obviously I wouldn't truly condone not voting: at certain times and in certain circumstances even a small difference between two parties or leaders may be a matter of life and death - people died for this right. But in this case, there are some candidates who are somewhat better than others, but is it really going to make any real difference? All sense of proportion seems to be lost in an election madness-frenzy.

Would I support one candidate against another in this election race? Of course - I always do - but only for the two seconds it would take to make my cross. What I really wish is that we had some real democracy - you know - the kind that demands direct action by people who take to the streets because of things they believe in (or perhaps City Hall - can you be a revolutionary pacifist?). If any of you are interested in the Presidential race here, I was sent this link to a quiz which assesses which candidate's views most represent your own: I thought it was interesting. click here

And for your perusal, a couple of snaps of SF: the view from Buena Vista, the grounds of the Palace of the Legion of Honor, sea lions at Fisherman's Wharf and the compulsory photo of Emma the lurcher.

Fat Lurcher

Further to last week's post, someone commented, and yes indeed, Emma is quite ‘large’ for a lurcher. In fact she is affectionately referred to as the ‘Fat Lurcher’ ( sometimes, in case she's feeling a bit weight sensitive, we call her the skinny lab)and we have written and dedicated a song which is sung to her on an alarmingly regular basis (Kate D-B you really started something with your song challenge last year). Obviously there's a few house jokes in there, but you'll get the drift and Emma loves it when we sing it to her. For my British friends, to the tune of the ‘Blackadder’ theme, after three…

Emma on the sofa with the TV remote

The sound of paws across the park.
Good folk, watch out she’s very nippy.
Beware the sloppy kiss and bark,
Unless you want to end up drippy.
Fat lurcher, Fat lurcher. A kiss is what she needs.
Fat lurcher, Fat lurcher. She's very good indeed.
Black. Her coat of silky hair.
Rough. Her tongue is long and scratchy.
Sweet. Her nature good and fair.
Shame. Her bowels are rather patchy.
Fat lurcher, Fat lurcher. Her gas fills us with fear.
Fat lurcher, Fat lurcher. Good job Laurie’s not here!

I'm having amnesia and deja-vu at the same time...

Blimey! That two week school holiday existed in a weird time/space continuum. Sorry I haven't posted for a while but I've had a few technical account difficulties: Milly/technology/problems...now there's a familiar story. It's frightening to think I have an MSc in Computing! I spent what felt like an eternity of this break, but was actually mere days, hanging out in the Castro trying to set up a new bank account. But, I discovered some decent cafes, one of which never closes and is therefore stored away in the 'potentially useful in the future' recess of my brain for the next sleepless night. I was racking my brain for something to write about and drew a blank as I didn't seem to do especially much apart from study last quarter: writing the blog was so much easier when I was travelling through Central and South America and every day was filled with a wonderous new place or snippet of culture. However, sitting in one of these many cafes in the Castro, I read an interesting piece of San Francisco history which may, of course, not be new to you, but was at least in detail somewhat new to me.

In 1977, gay activist Harvey Milk was elected to the Board of Supervisors. A fellow supervisor, Dan White, a former police officer, had been relieved of his position due to mental ill-health but on improvement of his condition had asked for reinstatement. Milk held the deciding vote and voted against his reinstatement. White promptly went to City Hall and assassinated Milk and Mayor Mascone. His defence was notorious and became known as the 'Twinkie Defense'; the eponymous confectionary and his generally toxic e-number-riddled diet having led to his diminshed mental state. This defence, as successful as the infamous 'South Park Chewbacca Defence' ("No! Ladies and gentlemen of this supposed jury, it does not make sense! If Chewbacca lives on Endor, you must acquit! The defense rests." Didn't you love South Park?!), led to a verdict of voluntary manslaughter thereby enraging the population of SF.

After the verdict was announced, one journalist wrote that they were surprised that Milk had not been posthumously charged with 'unlawful interference with a bullet fired by a former police officer.' City Hall was stormed, riots ensued: it became known as the White Night Riot. After serving his very short sentence, White was released and promptly committed suicide. Sean Penn is currently here in SF filming the story so that's one to look out for: myself, I tend to like a Sean Penn film. Also a reminder to me that this Friday was the 40th anniversary of the assassination of Martin Luther King.

I have done some very fun stuff: it's not been all studying. Joanna and I hired a car and took a day-trip with Emma the dog over the bridge heading north into the Marin Headlands (Stinson Beach, Point Reyes). It is really beautiful and exhibits the strangest manifestation of the already somewhat unusual SF weather system. In case you don't know, SF itself has a rolling fog, even in the summer, which apparently will usually burn off by lunchtime. I was standing on Stinson beach, waves crashing, looking out to a beatiful baby-blue sky. See below:


I turned around to talk to Joanna and this was the view directly behind her:



Justine and I went to a magnificent ballet performed by the National Company of Monte Carlo. In fact, there were so many dancers on stage I think only Prince Albert was still in situ. The costumes were designed by Jean-Paul Gaultier and there were some exquisite routines aided by beautiful lighting and music with some glorious gender-bending dance roles. All the way home we were babbling, "and that was brilliant", "and that was perfect". I love it when you go to see something live or a really good film and you can't stop talking about how wonderful it is!

I went down to LA for a few days to catch up with Dave, Arron and Jill. As usual I persevere with the CA shuttle service: at $45 each way, and almost door to door it generally seems like the best option involving no demands on people to pick me up from an airport. But this time...oh dear. It was bad enough that what is usually a 6/7 hour journey took 9 on the way down. Often I have also been blessed with a charming travelling companion in the adjacent seat. This time the person in the next seat spent most of the journey on the phone to every friend she had telling them in great depth, actually word-for-word, how she had 'like-dumped' her 'like-annoying' boyfriend and 'like-why' whilst eating excruciatingly pongy McDonalds. For the return journey they simply forgot to pick me up. 16 hours and one Greyhound trip later I collapse exhausted and, I don't mind telling you, fairly rank, into bed aiming to be bright and enthusiastic to start new classes in 5 hours time. I was greeted at 3am by the loving kisses of Emma the lurcher. Mark says I'm to post as many pictures of her as possible, so here's one of her on her bed guarding her treat stash.


And so to the title of this post...another quarter begins with Medical Terminolgy, the Fundamentals of TCM (at last!) and Physiology. The lecturer was talking about epithelium and cells and things I feel sure I learnt for an exam three weeks ago...I think I've forgotten all of this stuff before.

Lá Fhéile Pádraig Sona Duit

Happy St.Pat's. Back to that later...

I'm afraid that I do not have much to report from the Bay Area. I’ve just had finals so I didn’t really do much for weeks except sit hunched at a desk pouring over anatomy, psychology and chemistry books. I did really well (I got straight A’s), but seriously, I cannot continue to work that hard. I must get a life! I still have a lot of pre-requisite courses to complete (physiology, physics and biology) but I actually begin the history and fundamentals of Chinese medicine next quarter so I'm really excited about that. Not quite so excited about the prospect of learning medical Chinese. It will still be a while before I do any points and even longer before I'm let loose on the general public with needles: still knowing my tendency towards 'near-disaster' perhaps that's for the best.

David came up from LA for three days at the end of February and we had a lovely time wandering and NOT thinking about school at all! He thought San Francisco was 'the bridge' and that would pretty much about be it: so he was very pleasantly surprised. It's a very small city, 49 square miles, somewhat akin to the size of a park for us 'Larnderners' used to a whopping 650 square miles of city to explore, but it's very accessible, quite diverse and very pretty. I think he's a bit fed up with LA and the fast-paced sprawl. How does the song go? "LA is a great big freeway?”
David basking in the warm February sunshine on Chrissy Fields.
Someone kindly left a comfortable chair, pouffe and drinks table.

It was very strange waking up yesterday realizing that I had nothing to do. Well, nothing pressing at least. I still have to sort out a bank account which is pretty shameful considering I wrote that over 3 months ago. So care-free and without a thought of bones, muscles or cell mitosis in my head (which is unfortunately exactly where those thoughts have been for most of the term), I wandered into town for the St. Patrick’s Day parade. I think you only have to have been there on holiday to count as a paddy here. So having an Irish-American father and some great-grandparents makes me as good as born there.


One of the wonderful things about being abroad is that one loses one’s shame, among other things. So here you are…a picture from yesterday’s parade (me and the mayor of San Francisco, Gavin Newsome).

Unlucky Mil

As much as I love movies, I usually bypass the award season: The Globes, the BAFTAS,the Oscars. I have friends, close friends, who love the whole thing, take the Monday after the Oscars off work, dress up, drink champagne, sit through the whole 'nail-biting' ceremony, frocks, tearful acceptance speeches, thanking of God and so on. I seem to be congenitally unable to control my desire to spend the whole evening berating a celebrity obsessed society, how much actors earn, how important they think they are, blah de blah de blah...

However, this year I made an exception, reason being, needless to say, that one Mr. Viggo P. Mortensen, Esq. was up for Actor in a Leading Role for "Eastern Promises" (probably my favourite film of last year, although "No Country for Old Men" was a very close second). Having a bit of a soft spot for our favourite Dane, I decided to go the whole requisite amount of yards (whatever that number is). So the housemates and I set the video (we couldn't stand having to sit through adverts). I made sure there were no calls to give the game away, and we settled oursleves in about an hour after start with lovely food, drinks. I donned a delicious cleavage-bearing aqua silk frock with a diaphaneous pastel purpley/greeny bolero, put the hair up and squeezed into killer Kurt Geiger aqua heels.

A few hours in we all remember why we never watch it: but the champagne was helping. Great to see Tilda Swinton and Javier Bardem win and a lovely trawl for "No Country" to that point. Eventually there are just the two categories to go: Actor in a Leading Role and Best Film. They start the run up to the Best Actor and preview some previous winners.

Guess what happened next?

Follow your dreams...except for that one where you're naked at work.

I've been here for ten weeks now and beginning to feel much more settled. Obviously y'all are asking me if I am enjoying it and if I'm happy, what I'm missing, etc. It goes without saying that I miss you all, enormously...and I stand by my belief that London is the best city in the world. However, for what ever reason, there is something about living somewhere smaller and by the sea which is what I need right now. Whatever I decide to do in four years time, I think I made a good choice about studying here and I am following that dream (whatever number it was in my long history of new plans), really enjoying meeting new people and expriencing a different culture, even if it is in many ways similar to our own. Therefore, there is by definition, much that remains a complete mystery to me.

Perhaps 'a complete mystery' is not quite the right phrase. Had my life been more 'traditional' my surname would, as you know, have been Brady not Raynor. So I ask you, where else but in America would you have a random stranger walk past you in the street, spit on you, and shout in your face, "F@ck the Brady Bunch!"

I am still finding it amusing that people don’t always understand me and find my accent ‘cute’ and ‘charming’. It’s perhaps not quite so amusing that I am often asked, “So what would a British person say about this?" Just so you all know, I am taking it upon myself to speak on behalf of the whole nation with alarming regularity and some might say reckless abandon. Certainly on most occasions my opinions have no element of fact or knowledge involved whatsoever… as you know.

I was reading the other day that on being asked what he missed about England now that he spends so much time in LA filming ‘House’, Hugh Laurie said he missed the buildings and the cruelty. The British, he said, are very harsh people: hard to impress, very tough on each other. It's not that the British are more honest - you're just under no illusions with us. L.A. runs on optimism, enthusiasm and flattery. Apparently people say there's a limit to the number of years you can stay in LALA without going slightly mad. It's just too damn sunny in every dimension: the weather, socially and professionally.

I found that simultaneously both amusing and perhaps portentous! But then again I did come to the foggy city instead. However he also said that as a scientific type he’s a bit miffed with our current love affair with all things Eastern. Apparently when he sneezes on the set, 40 people run to hand him Echinacea. So he’s taken up boxing as a response to men in white pyjamas feeling each other's chi. And on that point, with darling Hugh I must diverge.

And this post's picture is really for Susan, Bernie and Staffs Jules. It serves two purposes: firstly, it's my desk, so it proves that I am studying, and secondly to introduce you to the house cat, Miss Lulu Bunny. When I'm fingers to the grindstone it's her spot of choice.

Kung Hei Fat Choi! 恭喜發財!

... which loosely translates to "Congratulations and be prosperous” rather than "Happy New Year", but I’ll go for that. You see those characters at the top? I’ve got to learn that. Now you know I struggled with Spanish wherein, for example, “todos los ingredientes son naturales’ really does mean ‘all the ingredients are natural.” So what do you think my chances are with 恭喜發財? I will be calling on your Chinese translation services, Kate!

Justine’s mum, Patty, took me to the San Francisco ballet: a beautiful building and a very good dance company. We’re planning to have a Patty/House trip to the Annie Liebowitz exhibition coming at the end of this month. Patty’s a member of the museums so we’re going to see them all on Wednesday afternoon outings while I still have a light school schedule (pronounced ‘shed – yule’ obviously).

Susan and Bernie just sent me a great parcel full of monkey things (pyjamas, slippers, pants), hilarious London postcards, chocolate (my favourite dark chocolate gingers...mmm) and a 70’s music CD. You have no idea how happy that Jackie CD has made two 43-year old women! I was dancing to ‘Love is the Drug’ in my monkey pants!


I was going to put this picture of the dogs, Emma and Lucky, on the blog last week. I took it just after New Year when we went for a walk on Alamo Square overlooking the painted ladies (the old Victorian houses – it’s a San Franciscan landmark which people come to photograph because you can see old and new SF). On Sunday little Lucky Dawg was run over by a car so you can imagine we are a very sad household indeed. He was a real little character and if there is a doggy heaven we hope it’s full of the pigs ears and broccoli which he loved.

Taxi!

Firstly, it's true about the taxi driver. I had a few "Really?" emails. Here's his website: click here

I have a new tennis buddy: Justine's mum, Patty. She gets very loud and enthusiastic, is impressively knowledgeable, has all the old completed draws for the Grand Slams easily accessible by her chair, finds Rafa's nervous tic (continually pulling his pants out of his bum, for those of you who don't know) thoroughly entertaining, and has the long-running hots for Lord Carlos of Moya. El Carlissimo. Who in their right minds wouldn't? Ahhh! And she finds Andrew Murray Mint annoying and arrogant. Score! As they appear to say here.

North Beach looking towards Alcatraz Island

"It's an odd thing, but anyone who disappears is said to be seen in San Francisco."

That's what Oscar Wilde said anyway.

However, rather than finding the disappeared here, it seems that we have had a previous resident disappearance. So we get very loud knocking at our door and a beardy scruffy man (usually my type, I know) begging for, well, let's call her...Marissa. Most insistant he was. Looking quite...needy, shall we say? Eventually he asks, "So have you replaced Marissa?" At which point the never-knowningly-bashful Joanna shouts, "P!ss off! We're lesbians." So we're hoping that approach will get rid of most of 'Marissa's' ex-clients. And there was a shooting on the corner. It's like being back in Peckham.

View of SF from Sausalito
So what's new? I go to school and try to study but it's tough: brain neurons seized some years ago and the mid-terms are looming ominously. Last week I had a lovely day in Sausalito eating Sushi with my co-student Nicole followed by drinks with Chris. I was approached in the bar by an old guy who wanted to take me to a very posh dance at the Presidio. You know my penchant for a 'slightly' younger man. But doesn't it always seem to be that it's the old ones who love me? How unfortunate is this tiresome and very long-running discrepancy? I had almost extricated myself already, having been dealing with this type of situation for many, many years, but fortunately Chris turned up in the nick of time from the rest room(that's the loo...I'm soooooo US now) looking, well, 6 foot 2 (maybe more), marathon-buff and rather young and dashing. That put an end to it. He would have been so very handy in South America.

It was pouring with rain as I got the ferry back across to San Francisco, so I hopped in a cab to go and see Holly in North Beach. As we stopped at the traffic lights, the cab driver reached under his seat and pulled out...a clarinet. Yes indeed...an E flat clarinet which he proceeded to play as he drove into North Beach and straight past Holly's house. He turned back as soon as he realised he'd shot past. That was by no means instantaneous, I can tell you, but it meant I could get in the last few bars of Strangers on the Shore...which was nice.