Trains, Dames, and Automobiles. The final day.

Off to town!

Monday morning came bright and early at Margaret’s house at around 7.30am.  Vivienne was nowhere to be found, and the smell of stinky dog had also been successfully banished from the house.  The four of us sat bleary eyed at the breakfast table and talked about plans for the day.  James and I had suggested a day out in London for the four of us and now it was time to come up with a plan to make it happen!  Due to advanced years of our travelling companions we decided that it would be a better idea to drive in to London and park, rather than subjecting Madge and Shirl to the long train ride from Ware.  We agreed that the expense of parking and petrol would probably all come out to the same as the train tickets anyway, so with plans made we all put on our finery and settled into the car for the drive to town!

I won’t bore you all with the minutia of our drive in, but suffice to say it was an entertaining trip with the four of us all piled into our trusty Vauxhall Corsa, with Madge and Shirl talking up a storm in the back.  Before long we were navigating into our chosen car park, the NCP lot at St Pancras station (NOT St. Pancreas, as James continued to pronounce it) and, with car safely parked, and girls warmly dressed for the adventure to come, we headed off into the tube station to begin the first stage of our trek, a journey to the Tate Modern!  Never having been, and eager to see whether all these years of school were going to mean that I understood more of it than before, it was to be the first of many cultural moments of the day…for all of us.  Especially Shirley.

David and Shirley

However, the first challenge was to be Shirley and the tube trains, which sounds like a great name for a pop group if you ask me.  We didn’t have to wait long for Shirley’s uncanny ability to cause chaos and mayhem to manifest itself.  Indeed the first instance came when she tried to put her train ticket into the electronic barrier the wrong way around.  Of course nothing happened and the ticket was spat back out at her.  Meanwhile, the line/queue started building up behind her.  Finally, she turned the ticket up the correct way and the ticket went through to the little top slot where you are supposed to remove the ticket to open the barrier.  Did Shirley realise this?  No.  Having been conditioned to look at the reject slot for her upside down ticket, the concept that if you put the ticket in the correct way, the ticket would move through the barrier was completely alien.  So everyone (including the billions of people behind her) waited for the penny to drop.  But the penny didn’t drop at all and eventually a strong and handsome looking man in the line behind Shirley stepped forward, grabbed the ticket from the machine, placed it into her hand, and when the barrier opened, propelled Shirley straight through it.  Shirley almost tripped over herself as she swooned at the rugged features of her helper and, simpering “thank you” to her new suitor, we were off once more.  You may ask, dear reader, why we didn’t help?  That’s because the three of us were hysterically laughing our heads off the other side of the barrier…..as we do.

James and Margaret

So with that done we navigated the platforms, found our trains, and without losing anyone successfully completed the journey to the tube station of Mansion House, near the Tate Modern.  A short walk over the fabulous millennium bridge led us to the doors of the museum where we stepped inside.  We spent a pleasant hour and half at the museum, wandering from floor to floor, looking at all manner of works, ranging from Tacita Dean’s video installations, to Taryn Simon’s photography exhibition, and taking in a bunch of Abstract Expressionist paintings in a special painting gallery.  Was it interesting?  To me it most certainly was.  I did find that my expensive education seems to be paying off, and while there was a lot that passed me by there was a lot more that I certainly now understood.  Shirley provided the group entertainment in loudly exclaiming that everything was very strange looking and that she didn’t understand why people called this art, though even she agreed that the sheer volume of people tramping through the museum probably indicated that she was the odd one out in not getting it, a result of sorts I suppose.

After we had exhausted ourselves and had made the requisite trip to the bookshop we headed out into the brisk November afternoon in need of sustenance.   Rather than dealing with the trains again Margaret decided that we should take a black cab for the next leg of our journey.  So without further ado we hailed a cab, stepped inside and requested the driver to deliver us safely to Fortnum and Mason for afternoon tea.  Swishing through the streets of London in a taxi is such a great experience.  Unlike some other cities in the world, the cabs are always spotlessly clean and exceptionally comfortable.  We marvelled at the crowds as we sped along the Strand, our driver clearly understanding that we were both hungry and thirsty, and, after whizzing around Trafalgar Square and up Piccadilly, we arrived at the doors of F&M, England’s most hallowed grocer.  For those of you unacquainted with this fabulous emporium, you can find them at Fortnum & Mason .  Check out the hampers!

The Millenium Bridge and Tate Modern

Galloping up the steps we entered the tea room and, after being seated by a particularly handsome maître d’hôtel, we eagerly scanned the menu.  It took only a moment for us to settle on the special menu of the day, Smoked Salmon sandwiches, scones with clotted cream and jam, together with pots of tea.  With much fabulous swishing of the wait staff, four silver towers appeared instantaneously on our table crammed with delicacies, together with four shiny silver teapots, all heavenly!  I urge you not to miss the chance to experience this if you are in London at all.  It may be a little on the pricey side, but as with all things in life, you get what you pay for, and the experience and food is just fantastic.  We spent a pleasant hour being suitably refreshed and topped the whole experience off with some shopping time, picking up some Lapsang Suchong tea for the journey home to the US.

Tea Time at Fortnum and Mason

Stepping outside at 4pm we realised that we were conveniently close to Jermyn Street, perhaps my most favourite street in London and home to one of two Alfred Dunhill stores.  Could we just walk by and not peek in?  Of course not, so in we went while leaving the ladies to wander into some of the shops that were nearby.  James handily exchanged the cufflinks he bought earlier in the trip for a pair he preferred and I succeeded in escaping the store without spending anything, a very sad state of affairs indeed!  I was not, however, to be so lucky at our next port of call, Floris, one of the world’s oldest perfumers.  James was on a mission to pick up some fragrance and some shower gel, and I was there to just browse….or so I thought.  It wasn’t long before the handsome salesman, Karim, had persuaded me to purchase a bottle of Santal for myself.  How could I refuse such a dashing Turkish man?  The answer, of course, was that I could not.  So with yet more bags, James and I paid the bill and headed on our way once more.  Rescuing Margaret and Shirley from the ladies section of the store, we sailed back out into the night and headed toward Green Park tube station to begin our journey home.  It was 5.30pm and for those of you unfamiliar with travelling on the London Underground in the height of the rush hour it was a busy affair.  Hoping that we wouldn’t lose Madge and Shirl in the melee, we held on tightly and rocked our way at high speed through London’s tunnels, emerging at St Pancras safe and sound and ready for our drive home.  Once in the car, we pointed ourselves firmly northwards and, with a sigh of relief and contentment, headed back to Ware with thoughts of dinner firmly in our sights!

Bland English Food.....

After arriving back at “Chez Madge”, we dropped our bags off and rushed off around the corner to “The Vine”, our chosen eatery for the evening.  Maria joined us soon after and with Martini’s in hand, always a risk with Shirley on board, we studied the fabulous menu, happily discovered that all wine was 50% off on Monday nights, and settled in for the evening.  Dinner was quite fabulous and proved to be a fitting end to our trip.  I enjoyed some venison, something that I have not been able to have since I left the UK, all washed down with some fabulous wines offered to us by the wine waiter who appeared to have a “thing” for Shirley.  She’s always trouble….have you noticed?  But that is why we love her so much.  There is never a dull moment when she is around!  We talked about life, our friends back in Menorca, what we were all going to be doing over the next year or so, and generally made merry, enjoying the glow of friendships that warm the heart and strengthen the soul.  A good time was had by all…..especially by Shirley, who, radiant from her Martini, spent the entire evening winking at the waiters as they bustled around.

With that, dear reader, our story comes to a close.  The rest of our trip was made up of packing, heading to the airport, and heading home where we arrived at approximately 10pm the following day.  It had been a whirlwind trip but one that had been worth every minute.  Filled with warmth, love, and yet more special memories, we realised how fortunate we are to be able to do the things we do and to have such wonderful people to share it with.  We also enjoy sharing our tales with all of you and I was astonished to see that one day we received over 90 hits on the blog.  Fame and celebrity at last!

So I bid you farewell, dear reader, until the next time.  Who knows when that will be?  We will let you know the next time we travel somewhere.  But until then, big love to you all!

D&J

Friends, Foxes, and Are You Being Served?

Greetings BlogPickers!

Sunday morning came quite quickly for your little disco bunnies.  We could be found peeking over the covers at around 7.30am at the Zig Zag Cottage, wondering what there was to eat for breakfast!  Yes, dear readers, we are always ruled by our stomach and the memory of the previous days breakfast was still shining brightly enough to make us leap out of bed (well, David anyway), shower, and be downstairs in time for the fabulous Mary-Ann to deliver more grub.  The breakfast was just as splendid as before and the setting just dolly.  The little pots of Tiptree jams and jellies, together with a bottle of fabulous Tiptree brown sauce, even gave me the idea for making my own and selling it.  My imagination at breakfast is clearly at its best, especially as I even came up with a name for the comanpy, “Poofters Purveyors”.  Ah the stuff of morning…..

With breakfast done we packed up our belongings, paid the bill, leapt into our trusty Vauxhall Corsa and sped off into the distance.  As always we had places to go, people to see, and things to do!  There is never a dull day in the travel life of your intrepid friends and today was to be no exception.  We were first heading to Ware in Hertfordshire to meet up with two beloved friends, Margaret & Shirley, their daughters (also beloved), and then the whole lot of us were heading to the pub to meet up with more friends in a sort of wedding reunion bash from last year.  What fun, I hear you cry!  We dashed across country, marvelling at how fast the trees seem to be going, and came to a rest in the car park at Tesco’s, somewhere outside of Hertford.

You will know (if you have been keeping up with our blog over the years) that one of the things we always do in England is to stock up on food stuffs to take back to the USA.  Having stopped at Costco earlier in our trip for some of the bulk items, we now felt compelled to pick up those little delights that just make our hearts sing while we are away from England, namely OXO cubes, spice mixes, Pizza Express salad dressings, Sharwoods egg noodles, digestive biscuits, and other goodies.  We grabbed a cart and entered the fray.  With only about 15 minutes to spare, it was a little like we were in an episode of “Supermarket Sweep”, but with concentration and  without lingering to long over the snow peas, we were in, out, and back on our way in no time, complete with bunches of flowers for Madge and Shirl too.

20 minutes later we finally arrived at our destination.  Margaret lives in a fabulous old mews house, built in the 1600’s and there awaiting us was Margaret and her daughter Maria.  We deposited bags, kissed everyone in sight, and then all piled into Margaret’s car for the drive to the pub to meet the rest of the gang.  I had chosen “The Beehive” in Epping Green for us all to meet as it was highly recommended in the Good Pub Guide and seemed to be a good location for all to reach.  Maria, driving Margaret’s car, deftly whisked us through the woods in her chariot (well, a Ford Fiesta) and after 15 minutes we were there, gasping for a drink and eager to meet the rest of the gang.  Entering the pub we found that Janet and Stuart, Alison, Martin, and their two children Mia-Louise and Luke, together with Shirley, Sarah and Claire, her two daughters had already arrived.  There was much more kissing and hugging to be seen, and before long we had all grabbed drinks and re-arranged the entire pub to accommodate all of us for lunch.  A few moments later, Louise and Andrew, together with their daughters Natasha and Francesca arrived to complete the party.  Eloise and Stephen were unable to attend due to other commitments and were sorely missed.  But otherwise we settled in for an afternoon of catch-up, food and fun!

Everyone was on fine form for the afternoon and once everyone had ordered lunch people started to move around and chat even more, swapping stories of the past year and talking about upcoming plans too.  It is times like these that make me realise how much I value the friendships that have stood the test of time.  We all get to see each other so rarely but when we come back together it is as if no time has passed at all.  Truly magnificent!  Everything was going swimmingly until the smell started……

A smell, I hear you cry?  Yes, dear reader, a smell of the highest magnitude indeed.  It almost certainly seemed to be emanating from our collection of tables too.  The pub was dog free (apart from a few moments earlier when Rodger, Sarah’s Jack Russell, had made a surprise entrance into the bar, having slipped the leash from outside and leapt all over Janet and James) so everyone quickly did the very strange looking dance of lifting their shoes up and looking at the soles but to no avail.  The smell continued, at times strong (deathly so), and at times receding a little.  But most definitely it was there and with us, a little like the Holy Spirit if you will, present (or so you think) but impossible to know for sure!

After a while, said smell was narrowed down to the area of the table occupied by James, Maria, Claire, and Sarah.  It seemed to be stronger whenever James was talking, which was a trifle alarming to say the least, and certainly was very off putting.  James was banished outside to verify this, and instantly the pong was gone.  Upon his return, the pong returned.  It soon became evident that the culprit was James’ fleece.  Sarah suddenly realised what it was.  Rodger, little darling, had found some fox droppings, something that Jack Russell’s are apparently fond of, and he had rolled in them.  When he had made his dash into the bar and leapt onto James’ lap he had transferred this country delight to James’ fleece, thereby allowing the whole pub to participate in the fox poo craze.  It was on one sleeve only, so when James had been talking and gesticulating, the scent had been wafted across the table.  With the problem solved, James’ fleece was banished to the car, along with Rodger, and the afternoon commenced once more.  Never let it be said that all of us are not capable of creating mirth and merriment wherever we go.  The country just provides so many more opportunities for us to make memories.  Thanks to Rodger and Reynard we now have a new story to carry us through the years!  Sadly, though, it was soon time for all to depart once more.  We paid our bills, kissed and hugged, and departed The Beehive, burnished with the glow of alcohol, food, and conviviality, an afternoon well spent in fabulous surroundings with fabulous folks.  Huzzah!  With that, we piled into Madges car once more and sped onwards through the countryside back to Ware for the evening. 

Once back at Madge’s a quick nap was had by all and then we all repaired to the fireside with some more food, wine, and begun the process of catching up some more.  Rodger re-appeared, freshly bathed, and smelling of lavender and pine, and Margaret and Shirley regaled us all with stories of what they had been up to since we saw them last.   Maria filled us all in on how her horses are, the latest happenings with her husband Bob (a pilot, temporarily based in Russia), and her business activities, which seem to be going well, and Sarah told us all about her hypnotherapy sideline too.  And then there was a knock at the door.

Enter Vivienne.  Newly moved into the mews was Vivienne Johnson, actress and wife of a QC (Queens Counsel (Posh Lawyer)), and she swept into the house wearing full make up….and a full length blue velvet snuggie (for those unaware of the item, google it), clearly the outfit du jour for aging actresses.  For those of you who are unfamiliar with the name, Vivienne was the nurse in “Are you being served” for many years who looked after Young Mr Grace.  This is her most famous role, though she has also played many other parts over the years too, including appearing in many Carry – On Movies.  Now a drama teacher at school, she is just about to be re-launched by her son and management company, a story that we were treated to for the next three hours.  It transpires that Vivienne is very much in demand, has been signed to a top London agency, and is currently going through the auditioning and “putting it out there” process once more.  Now that her husband has retired, she has decided that she needs to get out of the house more, hence the re-launch.  Vivienne is, however, rather nervous at her re-found fame on the London circuit and so felt it necessary to have us all live through it with her.  She told many hilarious stories about actors and actresses that she had worked with, all washed down with large glasses of white wine and interspersed with random breakouts into song in her husky alto voice, honed by years of smoking.  Life is never dull with us, dear readers, is it?

About halfway through “An Evening With Vivienne”, said actress decided that she needed to go and fetch her dog from next door.  Enter Boadicea, an exceptionally large Wolfhound…….who smelt of fox poo.  I kid you not.  Feeling a rush of nostalgia, deja-vu, and alarm, we all tried to fend Boadicea and her noxious fragrance off, while trying to persuade Vivienne to remove the splendid but whiffy hound.  Vivienne, however, had had far too much wine to care, and so we all had to endure both the smell and stories for a little longer until Shirley announced, at 12.30am, that it was time for bed.  This triggered one more round of stories from our illustrious thespian friend, about Kenneth Williams and Vanessa Redgrave (an odd combination) and then off she swept, Boadicea in tow, exiting in the same formidable style with which she had entered.

And that, dear reader, was that.  Our day was at a close once more.  We did the dishes, tidied up the fireside, and furiously sprayed air freshener everywhere before climbing the stairs once more to duvet heaven.  The next day was to be our final one in England and we had all planned to go into London for the day.  David, James, Madge and Shirl do London town!  An episode not to be missed!

Big love to you all!

D&J

Homos at the speed of light - on the dancefloor, in the car, and in the air.

Greetings dear readers!  Blogmeister David here, and finally I have some time to write up a few notes about the last few days.  Sitting here on the airplane on our way home from England has been the first chance I have had!  This has been one of the busiest trips that we have ever been on and opportunities to write have been, for me, non-existent.  The reason for this is twofold; first I was the driver in England, so didn’t not have my normal chance to tap away on the keyboard while James was whizzing us across the land, and secondly we were just so busy that there was nary a moment to think let alone write!  But now, ensconced in my minute seat on American Airlines, typing with my thumbs because the seat pitch and spacing has been reduced so much that I cannot even fully open the screen of my 13” laptop, I thought I would catch you all up on some of the excitement that has been occurring in the Martin Koschoreck family.

As you know, dear reader, we arrived last Wednesday on the fabulous transatlantic daylight flight from Chicago (the timing was fabulous, the flight itself far from, as always), and spent a few days whirling around the north country, seeing my sister, her partner Mike, children, along with the famous “Top Tottie from Tottington” Christine.  You know all of this because you read James’ blog post on Saturday morning.  So I shall pick up from where he left off, because I am sure you are just gasping for more of our gripping adventures.  I’d hate to disappoint you all so, without further preamble I’ll move swiftly along…..

After breakfast in the fabulous Zig Zag Cottage in Harwich, which was sitting on top of the previous night’s Chinese feast of Sweet and Sour Prawns, Beef and Broccoli, Chicken and Mushrooms, special friend rice, Prawn Crackers, and Spring Rolls (eaten at 1am in the morning I may add) we decided that we would like to go to the seaside.  Harwich, pronounced “Harritch” for those unacquainted, is about as far as you can go without falling off the edge of the world in England.  Located in the county of Essex, just above London and to the right, it is a favourite place for sun, sea, and splendor.  Except in November, when you get just sea.  Still, undaunted by the looming grey clouds and ominous looking sky, we picked ourselves up and swept off towards the seaside town of Clacton.  We had only a few hours before we had to go to the wedding so we spent a pleasant time wandering the pier and watching the natives shuffle along the sea walk looking thoroughly miserable in the mist and murk.  It was then that I spied a little stall selling fresh seafood, another ever present feature of the English seaside.  We rushed over and proceeded to marvel at the offerings available to us.  And that was just the lady who was working there, who had on rather a lot of make-up, a brassy blonde hairdo, all topped off with a violent gash of red lipstick.  After the initial alarm of the scowling and rather uncommunicative seaside wench, we started to peruse her wares, chiefly, Cockles, Mussels, (alive, alive oh!), crab sticks, pickled eggs (yuck), and the ultimate….jellied eels.

Now, dear reader, I am always concerned about broadening the horizons of my darling husband James when it comes to English culture, so what better opportunity could there be than to have him try jellied eels.  I am sure that most of the English people reading this blog are at the moment hurling into a bucket, but for the sake of the Americans who have no idea what this is all about, let me enlighten you.  Jellied eels are considered a very traditional London delicacy (chiefly an east London and Essex one I believe), and are eels caught from the estuary of the river Thames, cooked, chopped up, and then chilled in aspic/jelly.  They are, dear gastronomes of the blog-o-sphere, quite vile in my opinion.  Cold, slimy, gelatinous, lumpy, and well, chewy, are just some of the words I will use to describe them.  But seeing as I was not going to be eating them, I proceeded to sell James on the idea of trying them anyway.  My reputation for being able to sell an Eskimo snow is there for a reason, however in the spirit of full disclosure I did tell James that I thought they were fairly horrid and that I wouldn’t eat them.  But I also impressed upon him the fact that this would be a significant cultural and culinary milestone in his assimilation into English culture.  After a moment’s hesitation he stepped forward and handed over the sum of three pounds and was duly presented with a large pot of eels and a plastic fork.  I played it safe and had a pot of cockles in malt vinegar……

It only took one mouthful.  After shoveling in a hefty portion of the jelly and icky, cold, lumpy, gelatinous, slimy (are you getting the idea yet?) fish into his mouth, a rather alarmed look developed across my husband’s normally cherubic and gorgeous visage.  This was followed by a grimace and determined look, that brought on perhaps the largest swallow that has been seen this side of Pamela Anderson on the casting couch.  It was to be the only swallow as James then declared himself an avowed member of the “Jellied Eels are cock-a-do-do” club.  Spinning on his heel like any good homosexual with a pot of fish in his hand should be able to, he marched onto the beach and proceeded to feed the remains to the seagulls.  The seagulls swooped down from the sky to investigate and then as one performed feats of acrobatics and peeled back around and swept off into the sky shrieking in horror too.  I guess no-one really likes jellied eel.  So with that little escapade complete it was time to head back to our hotel to prepare for the wedding of Alan and Phillip!

Speeding our way through the country lanes brought us safely back where we changed into our finery and within 30 minutes we were back on the road to Colchester where the ceremony was to be taking place.  Colchester is about a 30 minute drive from Harwich and for those of you interested in such frippery is the oldest recorded town in England.  Never let it be said that this blog is a waste of your time, as without such gems of learning, you, dear reader, would be so much poorer without such nuggets of information to toss casually into the conversation at your next dinner party.  30 minutes later we arrived and after securing a place in a very large car park full of determined looking Saturday shoppers, we walked to the registry office where we met our dear friends Colin and David who we had not seen since our wedding last year.  We took our seats and sat back and enjoyed the wonderful ceremony that followed.

In a rare moment of seriousness from your Blogmeister, I have to say that this was a special occasion for many reasons.  Alan is a dear friend who I had lost contact with when I moved to the USA and we only rediscovered each other a few years ago thanks to Facebook.  So it was particularly lovely to be able to witness and celebrate such a super affair.  It should also be noted that the opportunity to see two people of the same sex legally join as a couple in law is a remarkable testament to how far certain parts of the world have come.  It fills my heart to see it and the sooner the rest of the world gets their heads out of the sand and realizes that love is valid in all shapes, sizes, and sexualities the better.  For those of you investigating elections next year remember that equality is important and I urge you to support candidates who are fair, just and who support equality, regardless of their party affiliation.  So there.

After the ceremony was over we all went out to the lovely courtyard behind the office and posed for the obligatory photographs.  I busied myself with snapping a few of my own; once a wedding photographer always a wedding photographer it seems.  It was a very jolly affair and a short while later we were off back to Harwich for the next part of the day.  Alan had arranged for a small group of us to congregate at The Tower Hotel for a few hours and we duly sat on lovely big sofas with gin and tonics, wine, and spent a very wonderful few hours in a small group catching up with each other and marveling at how fabulous friendships are, especially ones that seem to be able to survive long periods apart.  It seemed only yesterday that so many of us were 20 years old and heading down to The Euston Tavern in London to dance out little whatsit’s off to “The Boss” by Diana Ross.  Ah, the stuff of legend…..

At around 7pm it was time to head onward to the main reception part of the evening.  Held at the Royal Oak pub in The Acorn Suite, we arrived to find a veritable feast laid before us and a fabulous disco.  With both Alan and I sharing very similar musical tastes I was looking forward to the opportunity to dance the night away and I was not disappointed.  Before long your intrepid blogger was busting out some spectacular moves on the dance floor to S’Express, Kylie Minogue, Lady Gaga, YMCA, ABC, The Human League, and other such luminaries of my youth.  James and I took to the floor on many occasions and were also joined by new friends Sharon and Adam who were both fab.  Sharon was very popular on the dance floor and was at one point spotted being Paso Doble’d around the floor by a very dapper gay man while Adam strutted his stuff with an array of very well synchronized dance moves that were the envy of many.  We sat with Colin and David and had a totally stupendous evening.  I of course couldn’t resist grabbing my camera on many occasions and, sneaking off into the fray, snapped some photos which I will duly process and dispatch to Alan whenever I get a moment to breath, likely when school is finished in mid-December.

And with that it was time for a taxi ride back to the Zig Zag cottage and to bed.  We picked ourselves up, dusted off our jackets, and in no time at all found ourselves back in bed, sleeping the sound sleep of those who have acquitted themselves well on the dance floor.  I don’t know about James but I dreamt fabulous dreams of love, life, friendship, and of winning the mirror ball trophy in Dancing With The Stars/Strictly Come Dancing with a spell binding quickstep that would knock your heels off.  Ah, the stuff of legend!

So with that, dear reader, I bid you farewell.  I’ll post more later in the week.  The blog posts will continue for a while after we return as I try to catch up.   We’ll see you soon!

Big love!

David and James.

A quick snapshot...

Greetings blogpickers!  A quick snapshot to show you James blogging...a rare and wonderful occurrence!  I'll write more later.....

Big love to all!

DMx

Breakfast at the Zig Zag Cottage

Hello, folks!

In the immortal words of Willie Nelson, we're "on the road again" - this time to celebrate the wedding of our friends Alan and Phil in Harwich, England. We arrived late Wednesday night at Heathrow, hired a car, and drove about an hour to spend the night just outside Oxford. As it was after midnight and all the good Englishpeople were tucked in their beds, I (James) decided to try my hand at driving in this everything-is-reversed-if-not-upside-down country. Motorway driving, check. Since there was nary a soul on the road, I never had to worry about the nasty rule of no undertaking. Driving on the village roads outside Oxford, check. Reverse parking into the minuscule space at the hotel, disaster. Well, not a disaster really since I didn't actually hit anything - just more of a frustration for having to have four or five goes before settling into an acceptable position.

After morning breakfast - and before you ask, yes it WAS the FULL ENGLISH - we headed directly to the Bicester (rhymes with blister) Village Outlet Shops to stock up on some new duds from the Dunhill Store. I'll let David fill you in on all the details.

We left the shop 900 pounds lighter and headed into the scary North Country (just kidding, Christine) to spend the night with Jane (David's sister), Mike, Jack, and Harry. Wonderful company, great visit, and scrumptious homemade chili - a perfectly relaxing evening.

Breakfast at Marks and Spencer (Really? Is it ALWAYS about food?) with the obligatory slice of Victoria Sponge, and then we were off on an official school visit at the Bolton School (even deeper into the North Country) to visit our Christine in her native professional habitat. She treated us to a delightful lunch of sandwiches, sushi, fruit, and homemade apple cake!  The visit was way too short, and soon we were on the road again - this time heading southward once more to the coastal town of Harwich in Essex.

The four hour journey took actually 7-1/2 hours, what with bad weather and crowded motorways, and we arrived at the Zig Zag Cottage at about 10:30. Quick check in, and off to find some victuals. At that time the only choices were fish and chips, kebabs, or Chinese take-away. We settled on the latter.

So that brings me to the point of this morning's photo of breakfast at the Zig Zag. Paul and Marianne run a well tended and very clean bed and breakfast in an 18th century cottage in the village of Great Oakley just outside Harwich. After another full English, I can barely move. And now David wants to force to go for a morning walk along the beach. When the choice is to walk or to stay in eating Galaxy chocolates all day - well, I'll leave you to guess what I've chosen.

Until next time.......keeeeeeeeep traveling!

Sent from my Windows Phone

Galena, your blogmeisters new union suit, and the way home.

Greetings, Blog Pickers, Blogmeister David back again! It’s Sunday and we are in Illinois, about 60 miles from Normal (such an odd name for a place…..but I guess it is better than having another York, Springfield, Peoria, or other such multi state name). We left Galena around 10 am this morning and have been driving for about 2 hours already. CyberBitch, the voice in the GPS, tells us that it will take about 7.5 hours to get home so I thought that this would be a good opportunity to wrap up the blog for this trip. We are sitting here (driving here?) listening to the Glee- 3D The Movie soundtrack and Lea Michelle has just belted out Don’t Rain On My Parade, the song we had at the opening of our wedding last year. I am also watching yet more corn whizz past the window. I just posted a question on my Facebook page asking where all the wheat is grown in the America. All I ever seem to see is corn……and LOTS of it. Ah well…the multiple uses of social media. I look forward to hearing the responses!

We pulled into Galena at around 3 pm yesterday and checked in at the Aldrich Guest House. It is an absolutely gorgeous pre-civil war era home owned by Brian and Fran. It had taken some time to find somewhere with availability and who would let us stay for just a Saturday night as most have two night minimums at the weekend. We also had to find a place that would be welcoming to two men as well, something that straight couples are fortunate enough not to have to worry about. Having already discovered a few places that we didn’t think would welcome us due to wording on their websites, we were relieved when we actually spoke with Brian on the phone and he assured us that it didn’t matter one bit to him. Just another equality issue for you all to think about in the coming election cycle…..

Anyway, after checking in and having a quick tour of the house, we headed off to downtown Galena with a spring in our step after having spent 7 hours in the car. For those of you who have not been to Galena it is a beautiful place filled with tremendous history. We really didn’t have time to do it justice from a history perspective so shall have to return some time in the future. But for the few brief hours that we did have we busied ourselves on the main street. We found a bank, I withdrew $50, tucked the receipt away, photographed the bank, and had the bills changed into a $50 bill at a little store across from the bank by a young lady called Lauren. With that, we headed off to find our antique store for Illinois. Right across the street was a suitably run down store called “La Belle Époque” and so in we rushed. At the farthest end of the store sat a man with wild hair, wild beard, and wild eyes. I went over and said hello and asked him his name. “Buz”, he replied. I asked him if he was an Illinois native, at which point he got a little shifty in his chair but responded yes. I guess he may have thought I was from the IRS or something so I quickly stuck out my hand, told him my name, and that I was a photographer. I explained to him the project I was working on and he got really excited! He asked me what sort of stuff I wanted and I gave him the same answers as I gave Joan. Well, Buz lit up with the biggest smile ever which made him look even wilder than before and said he would love to do it. He even said he would throw in the box as well. So without further ado James and I departed and left Buz excitedly hopping around his store rooting through boxes and junk like a man possessed. I wondered what on earth we were going to get this time and we headed off to the shops.

Walking around Galena was a very different experience to the previous week of vacation. Garrison had been a very down to earth, sort of homey vacation experience. Galena was all about smart gift shops, antique stores, and expensive little boutiques. The contrast was really quite marked and made for an interesting hour as we wandered along the very crowded main street, seeing people decked out in Ralph Lauren, Gucci, and other assorted designer brands. But everyone seemed in a holiday kind of mood so we mingled in and had a good time. I also made the ultimate purchase of my vacation in a strange little shop selling t-shirts, sweatshirts, caps, and underwear. A bright red up to date Union Suit! Yes, dear reader, you can see it now can’t you. These are an updated version of the traditional Union Suit and I can’t wait to wear it. You can check out my purchase at www.lazyone.com. I am tempted to take a picture of me wearing it when I get home, but I have a feeling that it might be just a little too revealing and I wouldn’t want to scare any of you silly. So you’ll just have to look at the website and image yours truly standing there posing for you. James is really not too sure about this new purchase especially as I am threatening to wear it with my new woolly hat from New Glarus….ah well.

All too quickly we found that it was time to return to see Buz. As I entered the store he was sitting there waiting for me. He presented me with a small cigar box that contained just three objects. Was I a little disappointed that we hadn’t received this enormous container of things? Maybe, but I had set the parameters of the project and it was up to Buz to choose. Buz, however, was like a little puppy. He was SO excited and I took advantage of the moment to do his portraits. We found a great spot next to the window of the store and this time I had him hold the box of stuff together with the $50 bill. I took a couple of shots, some where he was smiling like a mad axe murderer, and some where he was looking serious and really rather menacing. He was a good guy and told me that I was the highlight of his week. He was thrilled that he been a part of my project. That in itself makes the whole thing work for me. It is becoming clearer that I may need to continue to tweak the project, so when I return to school tomorrow I’ll start the process of discussing the concept with a few folks and see where it leads.

We had dinner reservations for 8 pm at The Goldmoor Inn, a nice looking place outside of Galena, so after stopping off for a quick glass of wine at the DeSoto Hotel in Main Street we headed back to the hotel to have a bath (David) and a nap (James). I was eager to use the beautiful old claw-foot tub in the en-suite bathroom and so threw a handful of bubble bath salts into the water and disappeared under a cloud of heavenly lavender bubbles for 30 minutes while James snoozed on the beautiful iron framed bed, surrounded by fluffy blue and white pillows like the bearded renaissance man that he is. Then a quick change of clothes and we were off to eat. I had been looking forward to this meal but was also aware that I was approaching my dining limit. Although all of my clothes still fit I am fairly sure that I have gained around 8 pounds or more on this trip. Seeing as I had just lost 17 pounds on weight watchers this, dear reader, is not good news. So I resolved to eat sensibly tonight.

Dinner was lovely. The location was a modern constructed inn, which, as my nephew Jack commented on Facebook, looked like it had been constructed out of flat pack materials. Still the location was outstanding in that we were overlooking the river as the sun set in the distance. We dined on caprese salad, crab cakes, pork tenderloin, and beef wellington coupled with a lovely bottle of Domaine Chandon Pinot Meunier. It was all very nice and as you can see, the eating sensibly concept failed to even get started. So feeling like we had each eaten a Zeppelin, we headed back to the guest house and lay on the bed groaning with gluttony until we fell asleep, sleeping the sleep of those who have eaten too much and will pay for it in the morning.

Awakened by the smell of bacon and coffee at around 7.30 am we showered and headed down to breakfast. It was a lovely affair and Brian and Fran cooked up a storm and presented it all in front of us (groan, more food). This was my first experience of a bed and breakfast in the USA, although they are a staple of the UK, and I can honestly say that it was a fantastic experience. The standard was very high and provided almost the same quality as some of the hotels we have been staying in, although in a very different and extremely comfortable way. Next time we’ll certainly be looking at more of these places to stay and can whole heartedly recommend Aldrich in Galena. There was even a little guest book in each bedroom for you to write about your experience as well. I took great pride in writing both of our names in the book as we were the only same-sex couple to have done so. I love the fact that it will cause some people to no doubt have sleepless nights due to the horror that two men have been sleeping together in the very same bed…..ha!

And there, dear reader, you have it all. We are now 3.5 hours away from home. We just stopped for lunch at Hardees where I felt an almost uncontrollable desire to get up on the table and do a solo “Flash Mob” style routine when Lady Gaga’s “Just Dance” was played on the tinny restaurant music system. But, seeing as we had stopped at El Paso, IL, I took a quick look around me at the other patrons of the restaurant and reigned myself in. Probably a shrewd move considering the rather large and scary looking truckers, seated at the table next door, devouring mountains of burgers and fries. Instead I am contenting myself with typing to you while listening to “The Very Best of Judy Garland” in the safety of the car as we pass yet more corn. Such is the life of the passenger on a road trip.

So our vacation is almost at an end. It has been a great trip. It has been quite different for me and I certainly have enjoyed myself immensely. I feel privileged to have been able to share in James’ reminiscences and have had the opportunity to see and do things that would not normally have been on my radar. “Homos on the Road” has been a riot of fun and splendor in many ways. From the Four Seasons to Cabin Number 6 and everything in between it has been a merry and dare I say it, a gay old time. I hope that you have also enjoyed keeping up with our crazy activities. I often get messages from people saying how much you enjoy the blog and that is one of the things that keep me going with it. I look forward to the next trip where we can travel with all of you by our side once more!. I hope you have also enjoyed all the pictures that have been posted through Facebook and the micro-blogging with pictures through Twitter as well. It’s been a blast! School starts back for me tomorrow with my first meeting taking place at 7.30 am in Lexington. So I’ll be up at 5 am and on the road by 5.30 am, this time on my own with only a cup of coffee, a banana, a hardboiled egg, and maybe a few pieces of toast on a plate to keep me company for my commute. James will be heading off to the University for some Meetings. So think of us both as we return to our version of reality.

And with that, dear reader, I’ll leave you with a line from a song by The Beautiful South which is “You can’t have too many good times”.

So Big Love to you all. It’s been a blast!

D&J

In search of Paul Bunyan and his chopper....

Well, dear readers, it is time for some catch up on the blog. It’s now Saturday and we are on our way to Galena, IL for the next stage of our trip. We left Rolling Hills Resort early this morning (6.15 am) and hope to be in Galena around 3 pm or so. But first, let’s head back to Thursday and pick up the trail….

After our day of fishing we decided that we wanted to do something a little different that involved some exercise. It was time to bring out the bikes and head off to do some sightseeing, exploring, and riding. Armed with a trusty old copy of Lonely Planet USA we headed off to the village of Walker about 2 hours north east of Garrison. We threw the bikes onto the rack, grabbed our water bottles, and headed out, keen to see some more of Minnesota. I loaded up the rooftop canon on the Pathfinder just in case we saw Michelle Bachmann fly past on her broom and off we went. The drive through Northern Minnesota was really quiet beautiful and reminded me of when I spent time in Canada back in 2000, hardly surprising considering the proximity. It seemed that as we drove further north the pine trees got bigger, the grass became greener, the log cabins prettier (as did the men). What was really nice to see was how some of the usual suspects of fast food chains and stores like McDonalds, Wendy’s, and Walgreens, had risen to the occasion and actually built nice log cabin inspired buildings. It was a welcome change from America’s endless, featureless, obsession with dull strip malls and cookie cutter stores.

Arriving in Walker we decided that we would take a walk around town and have some lunch. Lunch was bagged in “The Outdoors Café” which was basically just a greasy spoon serving quite good burgers, and then we headed off for a wander. It was “Market Day” in Walker, which in reality appeared to mean that all the shops on the main street had dragged out all the things they couldn’t sell onto the sidewalk/pavement and were hawking them there instead. Flip Flops, bric-a-brac, “art”, t-shirts, walking boots, and other goods could be purchased at bargain prices. The local Tupperware store were even having a sale too, though we declined to purchase, despite James being attracted to a natty plastic salt and pepper shaker set. We flitted in and out of some of the stores, pausing to spend some time in an antique/thrift store as well. Here I had an idea for a new art project, revolving around items that have been previously owned, that would encompass all 50 states over a period of time. But I am getting ahead of myself…..more of that project when we get to Friday!

After we had tired of endless numbers of flip flop shoppers and people pushing buggies over our toes we decided it was time for our bike ride. We headed back to the Pathfinder and set out for the Paul Bunyan Trail. Having seen various paintings and statues of this particularly dashing lumberjack and his chopper I was eager to see the countryside that had been nominated as his “trail”. In reality I am sure lumberjacks are hot, sweaty, smelly, and poorly dressed, unlike the pictures of Paul Bunyan that portrayed him as handsome, clean, with well manicured hands and smelling of manly cologne. So off we peddled up his trail. The ride was really lovely and very uneventful (apart from a brief rain shower). There were no lumberjacks to be seen (smelly or otherwise) and I really couldn’t see any connection between our surroundings and Mr. Bunyan other than a shrewd marketing department. We rode for about 12 miles each way and returned to the car a little pooped out and ready for home. A quick stop for a vodka and tonic at a local watering hole in Garrison helped refresh us, and we spent a pleasant and relaxing evening at the cabin, dining on more of James’ kill from the previous day before turning in, saddle sore and tuckered out.

Friday found us in the mood for a more relaxing day. It was to be our last full day in the area so we decided that we would kick it off by cycling into town for breakfast. On the way I started to contemplate the seeds of my idea for my new art project. It must have been something to do with the peddling as all of a sudden the idea burst into my head and started fleshing out really nicely. I have always been fascinated by people, their stuff, and what it means to them. I am also fascinated as to how people and their stuff relate (or don’t relate) to their surroundings and geographic locations. What better way to explore stuff, relationships, and location than through antique stores across the country. The idea is still pretty much beginning but I felt that I had enough to go on to at least start the process off. So with that, I told James what was in my head and off we went to put my plan into action. Bear in mind, dear reader, that this is still a fairly fluid outline and I have learnt enough to know that my art projects usually always turn out different from what they started as! So expect this to change and develop over time.

We started off at the local bank. Bearing in mind that I want to do this over the entire United States if possible, there has to be a few set parameters to work within – the artist materials if you will. The main tool was to be a $50 bill. I took $60 out of the ATM and then headed inside the bank. There I was met by a lady called Bonita. I explained to her that I would like a $50 bill, which she duly gave me. I then photographed the bill and the ATM slip on a spare piece of counter. Then, upon leaving the bank, I took a photograph of the bank itself, made a note of its location, and set off on the next leg of the journey. Getting the $50 bill may be different in some states, as that may be challenging on weekends, but I will always be taking $50 or $60 out of the ATM, recording the ATM receipt and location, and also recording from where I change it into a $50 and the name of the person who does it.

Next stop was to find an antique store. Aware that I need to make sure that I allow the creative process some room to develop, the only criterion I had was that the store had to be owned by a native of the state, obviously, in this case, a Minnesotan. So we headed into the nearest town, Brainerd, to find an antique store. There, we found a whole street full of them, and after a few enquiries we found one that was owned and run by a native Minnesotan, Joan Cooper. Her store was called Antiques and Accents and was veritable treasure trove of “stuff”. Joan didn’t know what was coming, poor love, and was mightily suspicious of me. Here is what I asked her to do. I showed her the $50 bill and asked her to pick out $50 worth of stuff from her store. The only condition was that the items had to have been previously owned (i.e. not new). If she wanted to pick items that related to Minnesota in anyway, by her own judgment, that was fine, but it wasn’t necessary. She could pick as many items as she wanted to make up the $50 or as few items. I just wanted it to be her choice and not mine. I also said that I wanted to be able to take her picture with the $50 bill, along with a couple of pictures of her store, inside and out. She looked at me like I was mad, but then said yes. She seemed more comfortable when I left her a business card and that we would go and have lunch while she picked out the items. With that we left a puzzled looking Joan behind us, stepped back out into the sunlight, and went in search of lunch.

We settled on the North Wind Café, just a few doors away. As we entered I noticed a sign on wall by the counter. It said “No out of town” on it. A little perturbed I asked James if that meant we were not allowed to eat here as we were from somewhere else. He laughed at me and pointed out that if you lifted away the picture frame that was leaning against the sign it revealed “checks accepted”. I scowled at everyone in sight, and, just like when a cat falls off a fence in front of you, picks itself up and saunters off with an air of “I meant to do that all along”, marched off to a table, to drown my sorrows in pepsi and French fries.

Soon it was time for us to return to see Puzzled Joan in her antique emporium so we paid the bill and hurried out. I was excited to see what she picked for us. As we entered the store there she sat, beaming at us looking very proud of herself. “Do you want to see what I have picked for you to make sure it is okay”? she said excitedly, all trace of Suspicious Joan having evaporated. “Sure”, I responded. “But whatever you have chosen is fine”. It was fascinating as she still didn’t get the concept that someone was asking her to be the person who was making the choice. It was all about her, the native Minnesotan, and her view of the stuff. With that she showed me the collection she had put together. She had chosen about 6 items and they all still had their tags on (I made a mental note that all future items had to have a price tag or sticker on them too).

I also wanted to buy a box to hold the objects all in as well. I would like to try and buy roughly the same size of box in each store for consistency, but had already decided that the box should not be bought out of the $50. If they wanted to donate a box that would be fine, but I felt that it had to be kept separate from the main purchase. James was duly dispatched to the back of the store and came back with a charming wooden box to carry it all in. All the items were put into a brown paper bag, placed into the box, and a receipt written out to MKphotographers for $50. Next I took a couple of quick portraits of Jean holding her $50 bill (I may in future also take a picture of them with the box of items too), a couple of pictures of the inside of the store, a few from outside, and we were off and on our way. James peered into the bag and asked if there was $50 worth of stuff there. I said that I thought so, yes, but it really didn’t matter. If someone swindled us, that was all part of the piece. It would be documented along with everything else when the work is displayed. Likewise, if someone chose to give me some old piece of crap that they had been dying to get rid of for 25 years that would be fine too. This is all about representing the people through an artistic piece, good/bad, nice/ugly, and about all the connections that can be drawn and created through the interrelationships. I have no idea what I am going to do with all the stuff, but I would like to display it in collections, maybe photographed as a typographical piece as well. The project will no doubt continue to evolve, but I remain very excited about it and plan to do Illinois when we are in Galena today (Saturday)

Having finished with my art for the day, it was time to go and see some other people. We had spied a sign pointing to a pottery store off the beaten track earlier on our travels and we wanted to go visit to see what it was all about. So off we went, down some little dirt track, to Brown Bear Pottery. There we met the fabulous Haddie, a 50ish woman who sits making pottery to feed herself and pay the bills, and making ceramic sculptures to feed her creativity. We spent a lovely hour talking about pottery, Cat Stevens, politics, Nicaragua, and parties before purchasing some of her lovely pieces and heading on our way. I also continued on my series of taking pictures of artists in their locations too. She sent us off to see Bob at Ripple River Wood turning studio where we found more kindred spirits to chat with and pass the time. We bought a few pieces and I took Bobs picture to add to the collection. Maybe this will develop into another project over time….who knows! But for those of you at the University who are reading this blog I am continuing to try and think a little more broadly in my work….so there.

Over the course of the week we had cooked at the cabin most of the time for a few reasons. 1. There were not many places to eat in Garrison. 2. Everywhere that we found dished up either burgers or sandwiches or frozen pizza. 3. We had been trying to eat a little more healthily as we are both expanding on this vacation. 4. We had a mountain of fish to eat, courtesy of James, fisherman extraordinaire . We were moaning about this terrible state of affairs to Haddie at Brown Bear Pottery who suggested that we try The Lonesome Pine (cue chorus of Laurel and Hardy singing “The Trail of the Lonesome Pine” one of my faves!) Wow, we thought, a recommendation! We asked if it served burgers and she said yes, but that there were lots of other things too, including fresh fish, pastas, salads, and veggie options. So with dinner plans set we went back to the cabin to pack for our early departure and, after taking a quick nap, we headed out for dinner.

The Lonesome Pine was FABULOUS! It was filled with lovely people, great atmosphere, and importantly great food and wine. We sat at the bar drinking Gin and Tonics for an hour while waiting for a table. James wrote postcards to his blisters and brother, while I sat watching the world and all the people go by. For dinner we both had fresh walleye, one breaded and fried, and one broiled with garlic and lemon. Everything was washed down with some super wine that we didn’t finish so took home with us for later. A definite winner of a place and a big thank you to Haddie for pointing us in the right direction.

Arriving home at around 10pm I thought it was time to sit by the shores of the lake and finish up two of the almost empty bottles of wine we had ended up with. So we grabbed the camping chairs, some glasses, and headed down to the shore of the lake. Thunder was rolling in the distance, lightning darted around in the sky, and there were breaks in the clouds that let the moon shine down on us. We could hear people laughing in their RV’s and caravans while we sat and thought about how lovely the night air was. Protected by bug spray (we had learned!) we spent a wonderful hour or so while James remembered more stories and happenings from his previous visits to the lake. He talked about fishing, swimming in the lake as a kid, rowing out on the lake, and a myriad of other memories. It was a wonderful and fitting end to our time at Rolling Hills Resort. Who knows if we will ever be back again but I am very pleased that we went and had the opportunity to do so many different and fun things.

So now, dear reader, as I mentioned earlier, we are back on the road again. Our destination is Galena, IL which will be our halfway stopping point on the way back to the Martin Koschoreck homestead. We are just passing over the Mississippi as we I type….so stay tuned for the final installment of the blog a little later!

Big love to you all,

D&J

Of fish and of men.....and the ones that got away.

Wednesday morning arrived early at Camp Rolling Hills Resort. We had to be at Garrison Sports by 7.30am to obtain our fishing licences and to pay for the morning’s fishing trip. So James had set his iPad for 6.30am to give us enough time to shower, get our fishing outfits on, have coffee, and be off. 6.30am on vacation? For fishing? The things I agree too…. Still, once showered and with a cup of coffee in front of me, I wondered why it was still dark outside. I could have sworn that when I had been up early the day before it had been sunrise by now. So I look at my watch. It was 5.40am. Ouch. It seems that James’ marvelous iPad was not capable of picking up and synchronizing the time. NTP Apple? Ah well, at least it meant that we could enjoy coffee and the sunrise, which was still 30 minutes away…

At 7.30am we rolled up at Garrison Sports already for a mornings fishing. James was a little nervous about the whole affair, still remembering his childhood experiences that had seemingly scarred him for life. I was wondering what the other people on the trip would be like and would we be sharing a boat with some thundering, loud, obnoxious, fishing people, bedecked out with hats, fisherman vests( all covered with hooks and feathers) while all the time talking about the one that got away (ran away, more likely). My worrying was in vain. Accompanying us on the trip were a bunch of middle aged ladies and their husbands, a father and his young son, and Bette, the famous lesbian daughter mentioned in a previous post. It would, at this point, be an appropriate moment to mention that, with the exception of Bette (for obvious reasons), nearly all women that I have seen in Minnesota seem to have the same hair-do. It’s a sort of short thing, all clipped, bobbed and curly. It looks a little like a bathing cap pulled up over the ears and lifted at the back. The curly aspect is a little reminiscent of a water spaniel, and, I must be honest, It is odd how many people have it. I think it is a cult thing really, sort of like the masons but with hairdryers and a shampoo and set thrown in for good measure. Anyway, I just thought I would mention that….

Once we were all on the boat, Bette whisked us up to the front and handed us our rods. She introduced us to Greg, her brother in law, who would be the captain, and also explained that we would be heading out along the lake shore. We’d be looking for the “weeds” as that is where Northern Pike hang out. Super, I thought. Here I am, again likely to be thrashing around in the weeds. It would be just like returning to corporate America in so many respects. Still, the engine turned on, we turned into the breeze and off we went, a motley and rag tag collection of fisherpeople all intent on landing the big one. Or, in my case, hoping that James would land at least one fish so that we could move past this particular paternal scarring event.

After about 10 minutes, Captain Greg decided that we were in a suitable place and parked the boat. Now it was time for action! Bette informed us that she would bait our hooks (such a quaint expression) and with that she plunged her hands into a bucket and pulled out two live and thrashing fish. “Minnows” she proudly proclaimed. These “minnows” were about 9 inches long! I always thought that minnows were small little fish, but it seems that I was wrong. These “Super Minnows” were to be the bait that would catch our Northern Pikes. At this point I started to feel a little uneasy over what we were going to be doing with our bait. Swiftly, Bette grabbed my hook (hey now…) and shoved it into the mouth of the minnow and out through the top of its head. With that, she threw it over the side of the boat, and told me to let out some line. I, an ever obedient and instruction driven person, did as I was told and flicked out a hefty amount of line. My minnow, thankful to have been returned to the murky depths of the lake, swam off into the weeds, presumably where the Northern Pike were waiting to gobble it up, hook and all. And so began the long processing of waiting. I was waiting for my poor, defenseless, little minnow to be devoured by some big hungry monster fish that I would then haul (in a manly way) into the boat. I felt a little like I had gone to the zoo with a bag of pork chops and was just dangling them through the bars of the lion cage. It didn’t seem particularly sporting to me. But one look over at James, who was staring intently at his “bobber” (float for the euro zone), almost as if he were willing all the fish in the lake to just hurl themselves at his hook in some sort of aquatic hari kari, told me that I should just sit there and keep my mouth shut (a tip that would have served my minnow well if you ask me).

And so we sat, and sat, and sat. Periodically we would pull our line in to make sure that the minnow was still there and alive. Then the poor thing would get thrown back into the drink again to wriggle itself attractively. And so we sat, and sat, and sat. In fact we sat for four hours straight. Apart from Greg moving the boat to a few different locations, the only movement was that of the little kid down the other end of the boat catching the only fish. He reeled in a 24 inch Northern Pike (with the help of his proud dad), and that was it. Clearly the fish were unimpressed with my minnow and had either all gone shopping or had decided that they were too smart to fall for that old bait on the hook routine. So we headed back to shore with nothing to show for our 4 hours other than a credit card slip.

As we had dreams of glory in our heads, what do you think we did dear reader? Did we slope off into the distance to lick our wounded pride? Or did we jump into the car and go and kick some kittens around in frustration? No, like lambs to the slaughter we went back inside Garrison Sports and signed ourselves up for the afternoon fishing trip instead. Never let it be said that we are without either ambition or perseverance for we were determined to empty the lake of fish that day…or go broke trying. With that, we went and ate pizza and drank beer, something that all successful fishermen do, or so we thought.

At 2pm we returned to the dock to be greeted by Bette and her wife, Lisa. We were also joined by Shelley, Greg’s wife, and Greg himself, who was still in charge of the boat. I gave Greg a stern look as we boarded, which just made him smile broadly back at me in an alarming fashion, and, with a roar of the engines, we headed back off to find a fishing spot. This time we went to the other side of the lake and it seemed that we were heading for Canada before Greg stopped. Our minnows were retrieved from the buckets, re-speared onto the hooks and hurled over the side over the boat to strut their stuff in front of the predators of the deep. And we sat.

In fact, we sat for only about 10 minutes before James’ bobber disappeared. Bette instructed him to pay out some line to see if the bobber would come back up. Apparently if the minnow has decided to go for a snoop around the weeds, as they are wont to do, the bobber will come back up again. But it didn’t. Aha! It seemed that James had caught something…or rather his minnow had. I tried to put the vision of the minnow fighting for its life in a fight to the finish with the demon of the deep out of my mind and instead reeled mine in, stowing my rod and minnow out of the way, and reached for my camera (of course). Meanwhile, James was being instructed to pay out more and more line which would allow the fish that he had caught to retreat off with the minnow in his mouth. This he did and we waited with bated breath for about 3 minutes which, we were assured, was all it would take for the presumed monster on the other end to swallow both minnow whole and hook.

When James felt the line tighten, presumably when the monster had eaten the minnow and had decided to work off dinner by taking a little swim, Greg yelled out “STRIKE!” James whipped his rod up, creating a beautiful arc while in the process scaring the pants off me and everyone else and began to frantically wind his line in. The rod bent over, and James, now a man on a mission, hunched over his reel like some possessed maniac engaged in the battle of his life. “WIND IT IN” yelled Greg, and James wound faster and more manically. I wisely stood to one side, a little perturbed at the change in my husband into mad fisherman, and Greg reached for his landing net. By now, the bobber had resurfaced and was speeding toward the boat. Behind it was a trail of foam and sputum, giving the impression of a surfer being towed upside down. Closer it came, everybody watched, and waited, and then Greg stuck his net into the lake at the appointed time. He hauled out this massive Northern Pike (26.5 inches long), removed the hook from its mouth, and dumped the whole thing into James waiting arms. We named the fish Don, after James’ Pa.

Like a duck to water, James knew exactly what to do next. He broke into this big smile and thrust the fish out in front of him, eerily reminiscent of the creepy monkey holding Simba out at the opening of The Lion King. Everybody roared, clapped, and I pressed the button on my camera like a stage mother happily capturing her infant prodigy’s proud stage debut. Suddenly the fish gave a shudder, jerked a little, and a dead, slimy, and very chewed minnow shot out of its mouth and landed on the floor in front of us. Nice. With that the Northern Pike was carried off by big burly Greg and dumped into a holding tank to presumably reflect on the error of its ways, not to mention the stupidity of not noticing that the Minnow had a hook through its head.

Did you think that was it, dear reader? No, of course you didn’t. A demon seemed to have been awakened in James who, with new minnow on the end of his hook, threw his line out once more. About 10 minutes passed and James’ bobber disappeared again. Yes, he had caught another one. Over went the rod, manic winding James re-appeared, Greg roared, and another hapless Northern Pike was hoisted from Mille Lacs Lake into the holding pen. This one kept his lunch down and was carried off scowling to join his new friend in the sin bin. Then it was my turn. But I am sad to say, dear reader, that I was not quite as successful as James. My bobber went down, I paid out my line, but my strike was too nellie it seems. My fish just laughed and swam off with his free lunch. When I reeled the line in my hook was bare. Do you think I learned? No, because an hour later the same thing happened again. I lost my fish once more. Ah well. Who wants a big old slimy thing flopping around in their hands anyway I said, shrugging off defeat with ease. James was bringing home the “bacon” so what did I care? I was happy that he was finally dealing with the past. We named his second fish Darline in honour of his mother.

To add insult to injury only moments later James did it all again. I sniffed disdainfully as James and Greg hoisted a Bass over the side of the boat. Everyone cooed and clucked appreciatively. The bass was 20 inches long, which meant that it had to be thrown back (Bass,it seem, have to be 21 inches or longer to keep, proving once and for all that all fisherman are size queens). But Greg informed James that it was one of the most beautiful fish he had seen caught. It seems that not many people catch bass any more on the lake so it made James even more proud of his achievements. We named this one Kate, after James’ eldest sister, and throw it back into the lake where hopefully it will have learnt that in fish land there really is no such thing as a free lunch.

With that, Greg turned the boat around and we headed back to port. I dutifully took pictures of James holding his prizes on a string and then we delivered them to the sport shop for cleaning and preparing. In no time at all they were handed back to us in a large plastic bag. Dinner for the evening was assured….well for the next four days in fact. We actually ate it for two nights and donated the rest to Orin, the resort owner who seemed very honoured and pleased with his gift. For the epicurious amongst you I provided the cooking services and that night we ate fillets of Northern Pike, sautéed in butter with garlic, diced spring onions, a small chopped chilli, and a white wine reduction, served with potatoes, and carrots. It was delicious, even if I say so myself.

And with that, our day of adventure was over. We polished off the wine, did the dishes, and headed off to bed. James slept the sleep of the master fisherman, no doubt dreaming of his Pa, proudly patting him on the shoulder (and then demanding to know why he only caught 3), while I dreamt about the ones that got away…..sniff.

Big love to all,

D&J