Debra was trying to get as many typically British experiences as she could during her visit so 1: fish and chips and 2: pub lunch got ticked off the box at the Green Man after a bit of a hike around the University, our old neighbourhood, and Harborne. Yum. We all had it but she was the only tea totaller.
Back in the Olden Times, if you wanted to see a television programme sometime after it aired you had to record it on VHS tape. PBS often had programmes scheduled to finish at the top of the hour but the actual documentary/foreign drama/what-have-you ended 15-20 minutes before then.
We recorded a show once that put a short film to fill the space afterward and, because there was a lot of tape remaining, we continued to use that cassette for other shows. As a result, for about two years every time we rewound to see the recent recording we would catch only the last 20-30 seconds of Tater, Tomater . I don’t think we ever watched the American Playhouse episode we taped it along with it (my link is to a copy from after it got picked up by a cable channel).
Our friend who visited in May lived a couple miles away from us just outside of Athens GA at this time and had also seen this a couple of times and finally insisted we watch it. It is a masterpiece of modern cinema and I implore each and every one of you to set aside 15 minutes for this.
The busboy in this is one of the guys from Jump Little Children. Phrases that have entered the lexicon of Tater Tomater-heads include:
“Oh I cut myself. I’m alright!”
“Can I help you with some bread tonight butter margerine?”
“Ladies what got har gots to wear a har net.”
“This sticky stuff won’t stay stuck.”
Then, there’s Doris’ moment of glory. This will make sense to you, once you’ve witnessed ‘the incident’:
It’s alright. You should remake it and listen to it (we sent this to Our Debra our first year in Amsterdam).
Playlist:
1) Bobby Darin – Mack the Knife
2) Debra Note
3) War – Low Rider
4) Kate Bush – Brazil
5) Robert Earl Keen – The Road Goes On Forever
6) Rancid – No Woman No Cry
7) Elvis Costello – You’ve Got To Hide Your Love
8) The Beatles – Baby It’s You
9) Chet Atkins & Les Paul – Brazil
10) David Allen Coe – Marijuanaville
11) David Lindley & Ry Cooder – Mercury Blues
12) Django Reinhardt – Brazil [I think a theme has emerged]
13) George Clinton & Parliament Funkadelic –
14) John Lee Hooker & Ry Cooder – Big Legs Tight Skirt
15) New York Dolls – Stranded in the Jungle
16) Peggy Lee – Mack the Knife [and, another theme rears it’s head]
17) Phil Ochs – Draft Dodger Rag
18) The Ramones – Have You Ever Seen The Rain
19) ‘Punk Covers’ – Paint It Black
20) Rancid – Ruby Soho
Me, Jackie, and Jimi are all going to miss our Debra. But, her week overseas came to an end today as two of us rode with her to Manchester Airport to start the journey back to North Carolina.
We figured that the last time we saw each other was during the 2016 election. I was at Debra’s on the front end of that trip and a Hilary Clinton campaign worker came to the door and was confronted with the two of us demanding he go and fetch us some Bernie Sanders paraphernalia. Drugs may have been a factor.
She hadn’t been on a bus in decades and never a double decker; nor, ever a tram; nor, ever a train. She knew cricket existed but none of the rules and had never seen a game. She’d never had fish pie, a pub lunch, or any proper Indian food. She thought our talk of canal walks meant we would be hiking dry canal beds. We set a those things to right and still she was like a newborn marvelling at the variety of people and things about England she was, pre-trip, misinformed about.
Her cat had to be put down about a year after our last visit to the States and she still grieves; but, Jimi warmed her heart and, after acclimation, her cot. She returned the favour with all sorts of affection and a couple of seagull feathers she found on canals.
And, so she’s gone. It’s back to work for us tomorrow while Debra is off until Sunday. It will be nice to have the house back — we haven’t spent a night in the mostly finished pile alone yet — but I already miss her. Safe journey, sister.
She’s funny, our Deb. Everything seems to overwhelm her, anyway, and now everything is cuckoo-land. Trying to see our home through her eyes the last few weeks is nothing compared to seeing her see it through her eyes in person.
The trains, trams, and buses amaze her as does the landscape, the agriculture, the vast variety of people and the way things are done. It also is kind of cool that she’s been stoned to the gills since exiting the airport.
So, after a cookout and catching up on old friends the first night, we took her to the Bull Ring Market to dunk her into one of the most chaotic places in town (although, on this day it was especially civilised).
More as the trip progresses but I don’t see here vocabulary expanding much past, “wow!” for a day or two. “Wow, fish pie is amazing.” “Wow, I’m on a fucking tram!” “Wow, I nearly got run down by a car!”
Note to Debra the day before she flies: “We’ll ring you when Jackie is home from work but in the meantime if you go out for any last minute shopping then pick us up a 50 pack of Goodies powders. I just used the last one from about 5 years ago. Also, if you have room, bring me one of these shirts:”
We’ve done as much work on the house after work the past three months as we had planned to do for the whole year, our focus sharpened by our Debra who is finally making good on her threat to come visit. She’s never been out of America and we really wanted her to have a home from home as opposed to a hovel (although I suspect she’s just overwhelmed by the experience).
It was much more effort than this sounds:
Note from Jackie replying to my note to Debra: “Jesus, don’t tell her that, you know she’ll try to find one!” I answered that she’d have to travel back to the 70s to get one and Jackie aptly noted that she won’t travel closer to the 70s than spending a week in West Brom. It begins.
I had some deliveries coming in related to Debra‘s impending visit. I’ve visited with a number of people who’ve come from the States for their own reasons but haven’t been able to cajole any of them to come to the house…visitors in Oxford couldn’t be bothered with a twenty minute drive to Swindon, or those stopping in London for a week or so couldn’t take the Tube out to Ruislip, and so on.
But, our Deb actually isn’t interested in the touristy things and just wants to hang out with us her entire trip — cooking, partying, hiking, boating. But, when it comes to sleeping we didn’t have a second bed in the second bedroom. This probably wouldn’t have fazed her in the least as she would be happy to snuggle in ours with Jimi and both (or either) of us; alas, we are all too old for such shenanigans so we ordered in a futon.
It and some other items key for this trip (it is still a couple of months off) arrived between 7 and 10 the morning I had taken annual leave to work on some of the interior trim so, after tidying, I had the afternoon to myself. I decided the day was too pretty to waste indoors and suited up for a run, had a shot of Bulleit to brace against the windy cold, and headed toward Dudley for a bit of lunch and a couple of beers.
Just past Great Bridge I sensed a presence and realised I was being shadowed by another runner, a fellow in his mid-40s (why wasn’t HE at work?) jogging easily at my pace. He was speaking in my direction and, after checking that no one else was at my other side, I removed one of my earbuds so I could answer with out interrupting the storyline of my podcast. He asked how far I was going and I told him Dudley and back ‘there’ whilst pointing vaguely toward West Brom or, possibly, Barcelona. He told me where he was going but I wasn’t listening and just said, “ooo, that sounds nice” and replaced my earbud. He said something else and I bit my lip and nodded in my least reassuring way then he said loudly to have a good day. He sped off and I hope he realised that my pace would have probably caused him injury had he kept to it.
In Dudley, my target pub, the Castle, has closed down so I got some fish at Sofi’s Plaice across the street and ate it as I wandered toward the Dubliners about a fish gobble away. After there, I headed toward the canals via Bunns Lane (a name which makes me happy) and stopped en route at The Wonder. But, the canal path I intended to use is closed and under repair so I had to make my way back through an industrial park.
On my return, Jimi had already claimed the futon as his. At least Debra will have someone to cuddle.
Hey man,
Got my second AstraZeneca and am about 12 days away from bombproof. Sick yesterday but not as bad as the first dose.
-redacted-
We’re off for the next several days working on the last big room and I’ll send updates. We’re off till Wednesday with Monday a Bank Holiday (national thing, there are several of these spread out throughout the year, and everything shuts down).
Planning to trip hard on Sunday morning (you know, early, at sunrise, like 4 am) and go for a run whilst in the cosmos. Six hours to answer the question, “is this any way for a man in his 60th year to comport himself?”. I may not be able to report on this because I’m deep diving into the ‘heroic dose’ realm: I have 28 grams (an ounce or near enough) of dried fungal material that, for my weight, yields a stage 4 experience at 4 to 6 grams. I’ll tell you something, rest assured, but you know how these things are.
Love you, see you soon (relatively, you know, in the next year or so),
Bunny
Letter to our Deb
The previous text was sent to our oldest friend who is now fully vaxxed and newly in possession of a passport. I hope she uses it to come here.
The birthday dose did not pan out but the birthday involved tequila and I think further explanation is superflupus.
New paths for the last two weeks in red, below. Fines and fees for this week = £58.50. Peace and love, y’all.
Approaching one third of the way through the year and just over 13 months since the first lockdown, we received emails out of the blue from two old friends wanting to plan visits. Our Debra is applying for a passport with an aim to come over next year for a canal boat vacation and a friend who led the exodus from Oxford wants to hang out for some barbecue and informal discussions about psychedelics in July. These welcome bits of normal threaten our current state of affairs.
We got a new mattress from Hypnos. It is the one they make for Premier Inns (where a good night’s sleep is guaranteed) and is similar spec to ones that sell for 4 times as much at John Lewis. Our old one has been increasingly saggy the last 2 years (we didn’t really expect it to last 8 years and 5 house moves seeing as we got it for a song at the Swindon Market, but I’m hoping this new one is good for at least the next 10 years).
The return to running is becoming a bit less tentative. Just in time, too, since Severn Trent Water is clearing a giant fatberg in Birmingham and I’m basically indistinguishable from one of those after 2½ months averaging 11½ miles per week. To be fair, it probably wouldn’t be the first time I’ve run around with an industrial hose sticking out of one or another orifice (but I’ve been feigning dignity the last few years).
Fines and fees: £98.50. Accounts still in the black since I paid these off to the early mortgage fund.
There was a commute Friday and a trip to Harborne Saturday so the West Brom and work maps have become as one (back to smaller, more detailed ones next week):
Endless British Pub Crawl (Part 3) 