Hi everyone!
I just wanted to invite you all to In Choro Novo’s “Spring Rhapsody” concert on Saturday, May 3 at 8pm (at Marsh Chapel on the Boston University campus). This is going to be my last In Choro Novo performance for awhile. It's sad to go but I'm looking forward to focusing on recording. We’ll be performing our usual varied program ranging from classical to pop including: “Bohemian Rhapsody,” “Flight of the Bumble-bee,” “Misty” (I have a solo in this one!) and “Over the Rainbow.” Tickets are $18.00 at the door but I have advanced-sale tickets available for $15.00. Contact me if you’d like to purchase advanced tix. Hope to see you there!

To say that I learned to ski this Winter would be a gross misstatement. Given the circumstances and my poor coordination, not to mention my fragile emotional state (see my previous entry entitled "breaking the silence"), I can only accurately say that I attempted to learn how to ski.

What was supposed to be a sweet little pre-Valentine's Day excursion "up-country" was painfully tainted at the onset of a flu I managed to pick up prior to leaving. But plucky little go-getter that I was, I grabbed two giant boxes of kleenex and a full bottle of advil and suffered my way up to Bretton Woods, New Hampshire.

The lodge was a quaint little inn bedecked with typical northern flair and enough cozy fireplace-heated nooks to accommodate almost every guest. I sniffled my way through North Conway thinking that it would be wholly unrealistic to expect that I would be able to ski at anytime this weekend.

Funnily enough, the next morning I felt fine, so I decided to give it a shot. We lugged our gear across the street to the Bretton Woods Ski Resort and got all the accoutrements and classes that we needed. I was going to learn how to ski. Feeling utterly foreign in a set of boots that limited any kind of mobility, I was curious if I was going to make it through the day with my limbs intact. I showed up for my class and was rather excited to learn something that most of my friends and family have been doing for ages. How hard could it be?

My morning class went better than expected. We learned our basic stuff and even took a run on the bunny slope before breaking for lunch. I got in a couple more runs during the break just so I can get the hang of being utterly incapable of controlling my own movement. I was feeling pretty good. Then the afternoon happened.

I reported for the second half of the class, knowing full well that I was the dunce of the group but I was coming along slowly but steadily. My instructor certainly had plenty of faith in me. We took a couple more runs on the bunny slope after which our instructor confidently announces, "okay! let's go skiing." Um...ok.

We make our way to the chairlift and hop on for a ride that seemed to be going on forever--never mind that I noticed that what started out as a bright and sunny day was quickly growing colder and grayer. By the time I quickly snapped my focus back onto the long chair ride, I realized "this bugger's taking us to the top of the friggin' mountain!" After nearly killing my chairmate coming off the lift, we convened at the top of the mountain (I exaggerate, it was probably the next highest point). "Follow me," our confident instructor bellows and darts off with the other students happily in tow. Fuck.

We take our time coming down this two-mile trail, not due to leisure but because Rene can't seem to hold her effing balance. Once I slowly get the hang of things, we manage to make it about a third of the way down. Then, the sky went eerily black. In a moment of pure serendipity--when all I really wanted was get back to the bunny slope for some more practice--a squall rolls in. Excellent. Snow and ice are pelting us as we shimmy our way down the mountain. So now, I'm already embarrassed to the hilt--fighting off a vision of my friend Dan (an accomplished skier since the age of four) doubled over in laughter at the sight of me praying to our Lord and Saviour to just get me off the mountain in one piece and in as much haste as He could muster--and trying to pull myself together so as not to hold up the rest of the class who had to have been growing impatient with me. On top of that, my cold/flu thing decided to resurface and my nose was running like a spigot. Just get me the fuck down.

I manage to look up the mountain only to find a fleet of expert skiers whizzing past me, trying to get off the trail so they can sit out the squall from the warmth and comfort of the base lodge. Here I am thinking, now would be a good time to send out for reinforcements. It is clearly dangerous for us to be up here. At which point our plucky little instructor says, "Ok! Let's practice our turns!" Had the joints in my jaw not frozen stiff in the icy weather, it most certainly would have plummeted to the ground. So now, there's a sheet of ice on what was once a decent snow pack for beginners and we're trying our best trod on. But now I have even less control than before and the only maneuver I have left was to fall. The only thing was, our instructor never taught us how to fall. So, nose gushing, joints freezing and ego shattering, I simply invent my own way. I was quite certain that if there was any solution here, it was to just tumble the rest of the way down. What was even more irritating was the sight of these 5-yr-old kids coasting their way down with no poles, no cares and no fear. But along with that was no clue on how to get out of the way of a shamefully inexperienced skier. So, I'm bombing out of control and upon seeing one of these little runts coasting by but not making any attempt to change course, I took a dive into the side of the trail. Mortified and livid, I plucked my face out of the snow, gave a look to the child's mother bringing up the rear who couldn't be bothered to coach her spawn to get out of the way, pounded my fist into the snow and so crudely yelled "FUCK!" Eloquently put.

So an hour and a half and several falls later, I made it to the bottom of the mountain having realized that I was the evidently the last one down. But saints be praised, all my limbs were still connected and the only injury I suffered was intense humiliation.

So, would I attempt this death-defying feat again? Jury is still out. I perhaps should try one of the lower anthills in the area and attempt another lesson; hopefully on a sunnier day and when I'm in much better health. :P

Okay, so now you've gotten an idea of the biggest event of the start of 2008 in a comprehensive and er..probably more revealing format than you expected. But now it's time to fill you in on the rest of life in the first quarter of 2008.

The "contract from hell" finally ended in mid-January and I am savoring the fact that not only do I no longer have to spend an hour and a half every morning in traffic but I can now do my work from the comfort of my pajamas and accompanying monkey slippers. :P Some smaller projects have kept me relatively busy but mostly I've just been putting together more notes and research for the notorious (and probably foolishly ambitious) book project.

The first step in my research was a return to London. My friend Therese and I went back to Londontown for a few days. As always, I felt like I was right at home--without the loud family supper. We managed to see some West End shows (an accomplishment considering my sour West End experience during my first visit to London), including The History Boys, Lord of the Rings and Absurd Person Singular--the last being delightfully hysterical and highly recommended to the theatre-going crowd. I even managed to spot Jane Horrocks (some perhaps may know her as Bubble from AbFab) outside the theatre where her own show was playing. I was lucky enough to solicit a cute smile (as only Ms. Horrocks could do) when I said "Hello, Jane." The rest of our short London visit was spent visiting museums and pubs, taking tea (and Welsh Rarebit!) and sharing a pint while we visited with an old friend of Therese's. Even managed to get ourselves reprimanded to the point of near expulsion from the National Gallery.

I spent a good portion of one day on my own in Greenwich visiting the National Maritime Museum, hoping to scrape up some information that might prove useful for my book. Sadly, I arrived there only to discover that the library was closed that week for their annual audit. And the only relevant information available was the Lord Nelson wing, though fascinating it was hardly enough to satisfy my craving for information. Nevertheless, I made the most of my time not only in Greenwich but sauntering around the city on my own, taking pictures and just relishing the fact that I was even in London. Camera in one hand, a bag of flame-grilled-steak-flavoured crisps in the other, I ventured down the South Bank and crossed the gorgeous Millennium Bridge over to St. Paul's Cathedral while I made my way over to Leicester Square.

We managed to sneak over to Hyde Park on our last day, which is quickly becoming a ritual every time I visit London. Even when the trees are bare and the grass is a paler green than I've seen it before, it still is such a comfort and safe haven for me. From the moment I pass through the park gates, I seem to check my issues at the entrance and simply suck in the tranquility. Again...my Zen.

As always, it was so hard to leave but I like taking a little more with me every time I go. This time, it happened to have been in the form of a sampling of choccies and meat-flavoured crisps from Sainsbury's (supermarket) that I can never get back in the States. ;) Cheers.

*humongous sigh of relief*
Well, the first quarter of 2008 turned out to be an interesting one. About a thousand updates are shamefully overdue and I will get them to you. I apologize for not keeping better tabs on my journal but as you start to hear about my trials over the last few months, I think you'll understand. First and foremost, I'll clue you in the recent scare. (yuh, it's a frickin' book)

Back in January I had my annual checkup, normally no big deal. My doctor looks at my file and says, "I don't think you need one yet, but you can get a mammogram if you like." I shrugged. There's no history of breast cancer in my family but I'm all for preventative measures. After all, I like my life the way it is.

So I made an appointment, went down to the hospital annex and had me a mammogram. For those who haven't had to experience this delight yet, everything you hear is true. So I had my breasts squished to the size of pancakes and was told that if I get a call from the Breast Care Center (affiliated with my hospital), I shouldn't panic. Most mammos get a redo and it's common for people to be asked to come back for a second set of pictures.

My ordeal was over and I went home honestly thinking that I wouldn't get the aforementioned phone call. Nope. I was dead wrong. I got a call just a few days later to set up the second shoot. I head down there only to see the films from my first shoot up on the lightboard with a red circle around an area on my left breast profile. I didn't think anything of it at first. I just shrugged and thought "ok, let's just do this and get it over with."

More pictures and then it was off to the waiting room to sit it out while my next films get developed. Then they come in and cart me off to the ultrasound room. I simply cocked one eyebrow and followed the technician. I'm now down on the table with one arm up while she does an ultrasound of my left breast. I'm watching the picture on the monitor with pretty much a blank stare as I have no clue what it is that I'm looking at. Well, then she starts to run the wand over a particular area...several times. She's definitely found something. By this time, I'm starting to get a little nervous. She takes a couple of stills and marks the "trouble spots."

I'm carted back to the sitting room to await further instruction. Then I'm brought to a nondescript doctor's office where I'm seated (quite nervously) with one of the doctors where I'm told they want to do a biopsy. The rest of the discussion probably had some importance to it, but to be honest I didn't get a word of it. All I heard was "biopsy." In a flash, I'm now trying to listen to this woman whilst contemplating my own mortality at the same time. I simply got a "don't call us; we'll call you to arrange a time for the procedure."

I simply left the office feeling numb, trying to comprehend what it was that she said. What was supposed to be just a normal, routine mammogram ("a baseline" they called it--just so I could have a clean picture to compare future pictures to when I start getting these tests regularly) turned out to be a smorgasbord right out of the gate.

Now mind you, at this time I was also battling the flu and was also preparing to leave for a ski weekend that very next day. So my body and mind were taking quite a beating. The entire ride home was spent fielding an astounding number of tumultuous thoughts; anywhere from how I was going to tell people to what I was going to do before I died.

But before I let myself get too carried away, I had to get control and figure out what I was going to do until I got the procedure. The obvious thing would have been to tell my loved ones. But I was convinced that if I had, we would have all been focused on it and frankly, I just wanted to put it out of my head until the procedure. So I decided that until I got the answers I need, I was going to keep mum about it; put it out of my head and simply continue on with my life--no easy task. After a day of keeping this bottled up, I decided to tell one of my friends (someone who had to deal with a cancer scare of their own) and I'll confess it felt better at least to tell another human being.

I returned from my ski trip (worthy of a blog entry all on its own) and got my call from the Breast Care Center. I would have to wait a whole month before I could get the procedure done. A month. I was expecting a few days. No. A whole fucking month. That was going to be torturous. Utterly resigned, I made the appointment and resolved to put this mess out of my mind once and for all. Even my dear friend who I had confided in resolved to not even mention it unless I did--what a good soul. But that didn't stop me from wondering what I was going to do with the last days of my life.

Perhaps that reaction may seem a little overly dramatic. But considering that I haven't been in the hospital since I broke my wrist in the third grade and the most severe diagnosis I had ever gotten from a doctor was a bout of bronchitis while I was in college, my first instinct was to suspect the worst. I had even planned to retire from design and do what I could to finish my book or record some more songs. Time was of the essence. I had speeches planned out for when I finally got around to telling people. It was utterly morbid. As the weeks went by, I had managed to simmer down my thoughts a little bit and resume my life and work the way it was before this mess.

Finally, the wait was over and I met my assigned breast doctor and had a little chat before the procedure. He did his own exams and looked at the films. He was a cheerful fellow and had a demeanor of someone that can put your mind at ease with nothing more than the tone of his voice. While pouring over my pictures, he said "we must have given you a hell of a scare there." I'm guessing this isn't the first time one has freaked out over this. I could feel myself tearing up until he threw me a curve ball. In his spritely brio, he quite happily gave me the option of foregoing the procedure and simply having a follow-up in three months. Suddenly, the "I'm dying" speeches I had so carefully composed in my head had vanished. If this mass was serious, he would not have just given me that option. But I wasn't about to tempt fate. I'm here. Do what you gotta do. So, in his happy, ho-hum kind of way, he sent me over to the ultrasound room for my biopsy with instructions to follow up with him in a couple of weeks. Already, I was feeling loads better.

So back in the ultrasound room I was, on the table, arm up and facing a kind-looking woman with a large needle who is doing her "college best" to keep me calm. I couldn't even look at the monitor this time. Just the idea of her doing whatever she was doing was enough to keep my eyes pinned to the ceiling. She numbed me up and went to town. Guided by the ultrasound wand, she stuck the first needle into a cyst (one of two issues they discovered on the films) and drained it. One down, one to go.

The next task--and probably the more involved--was the mass. She stuck another needle in and via a series of clicks (the sound of which was more jolting than the sensation), pulled a few samples out of the area in question and threw them into a petri dish. Upon given the opportunity to examine the samples taken, I was presented with what looked like five pink little tadpoles swimming around in solution. And that was it; about 10 minutes total and I was wrapped up and sent in for one last mammogram (at this point, I think my left breast has now been photographed more times than the British monarchy). The good thing about this method was that after they had sampled what they needed, they inserted a tiny little metal clip into the mass so that they could identify it on future mammograms. Finally, I was sent home with a wealth of ice packs and feeling somewhat hopeful.

A few days and a couple bruises later, I got the call. The cyst was completely drained and the mass was nothing other than benign fibrofatty tissue. I hung up the phone and simply sighed--a breath I was never more grateful to have. All my speeches were discarded; my retirement postponed; and my life plans thankfully restored to their rightful schedule.

I've reposted my "Silent Night" up on MySpace (http://www.myspace.com/renecgagnon) for your holiday listening enjoyment. I so badly wanted to do another holiday song this year but the day job pretty much sucks up every second of my waking hours. The big bummer was that over the summer I was actually writing my own holiday song but it never got to see the light of day after I returned from Minneapolis. Gah! So, here is something to tide you over until I can get my ass back in the studio. Lots of little musical thingmebobs to do after the New Year! Happy Holidays all! xx rcg

Awww yeah!!! It's a great day to be in Boston. Well done, Sox! There's something to be said for birthday luck, huh? Read my previous post if you have no idea what I'm talking about...

Who rocks more than the sox right now? Beckett's dangerous curveball is serving us well so far. Food for thought: In 2004, when the Sox won the World Series, they actually won the ALCS on my birthday. They won the World Series on my birthday again this year. Are they gonna go all the way? After watching tonight's game, it kinda makes you wonder, don't it?

It's interesting that my birthday happens to fall on the day that Lord Nelson perished in the Battle of Trafalgar, a pivotal (if not the most significant) event in Britain's (and Royal Navy's) history. It makes it kind of bittersweet, but then I think of the fact that his death was a worthy sacrifice for the greater good. The victory is made all the more glorious by the demise of the very man who saved Britain. Profound musings by a vulgar American. LOL.

It's shaping up to be a great day. The sun is shining, the cold is warded away for my special day and my BoSox are poised to do something great--provided that our very expensive Daisuke delivers.

My friend, Therese, took me to see Loreena McKennit in Providence last night. I have to say it was a wonderful show. She had a nice 9-piece ensemble behind her, delivering that incredible layered, full sound you hear from her studio albums. How cool it was to hear that hurdy-gurdy sound in all its amplified splendor after wondering for years what the hell that mysterious noise was on her songs. Her intonation is astounding when she goes into that delightful falsetto that has become her calling card. Caroline Lavelle, who I've adored since her work with Sleepthief and BT, was amazing. It's such a treat to watch her make her cello sing. The show was very energetic despite that a lot of her repertoire is actually considered relatively down-tempo. But when the big spots kick in, they blow the roof off the joint. My one lament is that she spent a lot of time talking at points during the show. I love that she makes such a strong connection with her audience but her soft-spoken dialogue rambling stories about her journeys through Asia Minor discovering the mysteries of the caravanserai is a little hard to withstand when I really came to hear her sing and play. Usually most performers with that kind of history behind their music leave those lengthy anecdotes to their program notes. But I refuse to let that spoil the performance. She was absolutely enchanting as her music can be. She played some songs off her latest studio release, "An Ancient Muse," but really delighted the crowd with a healthy handful of her older pieces, "The Mummers Dance" ("we bring a garland gay") and "The Mystics Dream" being the most prominent in my view. It was a terrific night and a worthy continuation to what seems to be a two-day birthday extravaganza. How wonderful it was to get into my car after the concert to hear of a crushing 12-2 win at Fenway last night. Now my fingers, toes and all internal organs are crossed for the piece de resistance...

For those who so desperately need to break up their work day, like I did today:
http://youtube.com/watch?v=6-OnKakA8TY&mode=related&search=

I'm shoveling in my oatmeal as I type this with one hand. I've only got time for a quickie update as I'm submersed in client-project madness at the moment. But on Friday I saw "The 39 Steps" at the Huntington Theatre which was absolutely brilliant! It's supposed to be a take on the Hitchcock movie but from what I've heard, the only resemblance to anything Hitchcock is the noirish feel of the production and the occasional name-dropping of many of Hitchcock's other classics ("I can't go up that high. I have...'Vertigo!'"). A cast of 4 plays 150 roles, including a handful of Scotch countryfolk ("git oot of my hoose!") that left me in stitches. It's very Pythonesque in its delivery, right down to the secondary male actors donning breasts and make-up to make themselves look like pepperpots from "Flying Circus." It's on its way to Broadway fast, so if you're in Boston and have a chance to see this play, you absolutely MUST check it 'oot'...er...out! Mmm..oatmeal...

i actually posted these for a friend yesterday but i figured i would share them with you lot. aren't they just beautiful? oh, i love them so much. *kisses* http://www.flickr.com/photos/voxdesigns/sets/72157601970547532/

Having two new buddies in the midwest is certainly opening my eyes to regional colloquialisms. Besides the obvious ones like "pop" (soda) and "club" (gym), I have been enlightened to the term "parking ramp." No idea what a parking ramp was until I met B&T. I had pictured someone riding up a 45-degree incline, putting it in Park, setting the emergency brake and leaving. Well, it turns out a parking ramp is no different than our "parking garage" and London's "car park." Furthermore, I've learned that it's a term that is relegated solely to Minnesota and to a somewhat lesser degree, Wisconsin. So now having entered that into the record I have since learned another word: "geegaw." Okay, so I thought it was just another colloquialism. Oh no, it's just my sad, limited vocabulary at work. For those in the same predicament, a geegaw (or gewgaw) refers to a bauble or trinket. And with that shamefully long-winded introduction, I present to you a few geegaws for your consumption. 

I've finished the "Heroes" box set and I am so unbelievably stunned. This show is fantastic. I think I've found a worthy successor to the calamity that was "Lost." Every character on this show is so cool: the cheerleader, the japanese time-traveler, the politician, the invisible man (yes, Christopher Eccleston--i love you!)...all of 'em!! And Sylar...oooo man, that guy is eeeeevil. It's amazingly shot and wow, the music was done by Wendy & Lisa--anyone who's suffered through the 80s will recognize them from their work with Prince, specifically the "Raspberry Beret" video (and I still to this day devour their contribution to the "Toys" soundtrack)!

Music has come to a screeching halt now that the freelance practice is in overdrive. I'm taking on a 4-month contracting gig (eww, back to commuting) beginning next week so I have to sew up a few things before that gets underway. But music isn't suffering totally, I have a holiday song (christmas? ugh! not ready for that!) that I've got churning around my brain but I need a few hours to sit at the piano and siphon it out of there. But since I have a piano with a couple broken keys, that's going to have to wait awhile. I'm also back singing with In Choro Novo on Tuesday nights, which I regard as a bit of an aerobics class for the voice. 

Speaking of aerobics, I have become somewhat of a slug since I left for Minnie. I haven't run or lifted in weeks and my once toned bits have all become somewhat squidgy. So, I went for a 3-mile run this morning...and I have to say it was brutal. I'm feeling those half a dozen rice krispy treats that I ate at my inlaws on Saturday. Ugh.

Okay, there is probably not one of you who have read this far--you probably slipped into a geegaw coma around paragraph 2. So, thanks for reading, all and I will keep you posted on the goings on. Ciao. -rcg

Minneapolis was great! I'm tired now after all that singing. It was great to see B&T again. Poor B was a little under the weather though, but what a guy: he toughed it out and put on a game face while listening to me sing all the bits of 3 songs for a handful of takes each...poor guy. I got to see a tiny bit of the wreckage from the devastating bridge collapse. My heart jumped into my throat. What an absolute travesty. So three songs are done after singing with some new gear. We'll see how that pans out. Who the hell knows when this thing will be released. But as soon as I know more, you'll know more.

Now the summer is coming to an end, which means I'm gonna be all bummed out for awhile. Apart from my trip to the UK, it seems like I didn't have much of a summer. Captain Gilles has been shamefully neglected and with a 3-month freelance gig on the horizon, I'm terrified that I won't be able to touch him again until after the New Year. *sigh* My poor captain...

Another rant from Rene...I pay $45.95 per month for my Comcast internet service. I've got my modem set up nicely in my office, my router behaving beautifully, my vonage securely connected to that. All was well for awhile. Now I've decided to get some construction work done in my office which requires me to transfer my modem and all its connected gear to another room. In the old days, you simply plugged in the modem into another coaxial cable outlet in your house and voila, you get service. Fine. I can do that. I'm not an idiot--contrary to popular belief. But nooooo! I moved the modem to the livingroom and plugged it into the wall. Nothing. Tried another bedroom. Nothing. Went back to the office and boom: it worked again. wtf? So I call the lovelies over at Comcast. "What gives?" They have graciously informed me that my internet now only works in my one room and that I'd have to wait 24 hours for a technician to come to my house and install internet in another room at the healthy cost of $37!! WTF. According to the representative at Comcast, they have to come over and remove the internet signal filter from my line in the ONE room I want to move it to. My guess is that they have to go into the little panel that only Comcast has the tools to open. Am I an idiot after all? Shouldn't I be able to get a $45/month internet connection in any room in the house? Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Get a freaking wireless router. Yeah, smartass--I've got one of them. But my desktop tower with all my design applications on it doesn't have a wireless NIC. So where the desktop goes, the modem goes. And, God forbid, what if I want to switch my office space? Nevermind that I actually run a freaking business out of my house. But my $45.95 a month gets me service in only one room??? I remember getting an email from Comcast awhile back whoring that I can get faster bandwidth for another $10 a month. At that moment I thought, why the hell should I have to pay a premium for faster service when I'm supposed to be getting the highest bandwidth already?? I seriously started thinking about FiOS. Today's debacle was the proverbial nail in the coffin. But of course, FiOS isn't available in my little hamlet yet...but as soon as it is...watch out. *shakes head*

EDIT// 1:07pm: I just found out that FiOS is finally available in my town! If anyone has any advice, I'm listening.

Wheeee! I'm off to Minneapolis this week! Watch out! Rene is coming to town! I've finished one more song to try out when I get to Minnie and see my sweeties! B & T won't know what hit them. 

42 Megabytings! Got another installment of Fonejacker for you. I think you are wanting to sign!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ekIIvfyfD8

I've finally posted my travelog of my recent trip to the UK. You can read each day's account below. Enjoy. At least it'll be good bathroom reading. *wink*

Day 1 (28 June) : http://voxdesigns.livejournal.com/16129.html
Day 2 (29 June) : http://voxdesigns.livejournal.com/16802.html
Day 3 (30 June) : http://voxdesigns.livejournal.com/16980.html
Day 4 (1 July) : http://voxdesigns.livejournal.com/17330.html
Day 5 (2 July) : http://voxdesigns.livejournal.com/17630.html
Day 6 (3 July) : http://voxdesigns.livejournal.com/17783.html
Day 7 (4 July) : http://voxdesigns.livejournal.com/18130.html
Day 8 (5 July) : http://voxdesigns.livejournal.com/18350.html

And photos can be found at my Flickr page here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/voxdesigns/sets/72157600688413035/

I just got back from a wet but glorious week in London. I'm still speaking with an accent despite having been back in Boston for a couple of hours now. Got lots to tell you but I've got to get my blog in shape first. It's funny how anything I see or hear in London is almost always processed in the context of Monty Python. Seeing a sign for the Chief Constable, I immediately thought of Luigi Vercotti, who when describing his experience with Dinsdale Piranha mentioned that "the lad with the thermonuclear device was the Chief Constable for the area." Then I saw the toy helmets in the souvenir shop which made me think of Palin in one of the last episodes of the series talking about the validity of policeman's helmets resting on its number. Of course, signs for Hounslow and Surbiton brought to mind Mr. Wrong-Way Norris's adventures in EBW 343. I almost wanted to seek out the Tolworth Roundabout to see if I could spot Pablo Picasso painting whilst riding his bicycle. *grin* As soon as the blog is finished, I'll post it up to Vox and give y'all an update. Until then, I really must dig myself out from underneath the millions of emails that have backed up in the queue. xx rcg

Here I am at Heathrow waiting to fly home…*falls to knees and sobs*
It is such an incredible bummer to leave England. I can feel the depression setting in. I’m not ready.

This morning was spent doing some last minute things like catching up on some last-minute tchotchke shopping. We grabbed an early bite (coffee & pasty) at Gregg’s before going back to home base to pack everything up. After one-last hop on the internet to check in with BA, we grabbed a crepe and smoothie over at Fresh. Then we went for one last quickie walk into Hyde Park. We visited the ducks over at The Long Water and took in all that lush greenery in the park over by the Peter Pan statue. Hyde Park/Kensington Gardens has become one of my favorite places in Britain. The scenery and the accompanying tranquility are so inspiring. I could write volumes there, in verse or in music.

Alas, I bid a somber adieu to England as I sit here typing with one hand and digging into a bag of Oriental Ribs-flavored crisps with the other. Dave has just run off to W.H. Smith to buy some more. Cheers.

Happy Independence Day. Back early to the hotel room today. Got a little too pooped during the afternoon to continue. But at least we were here to learn that BBC journalist Alan Johnston has been freed after 114 days of being held in tense captivity in Gaza.

We started the day by abandoning our habit of having breakfast on or near Queensway. We went over to Covent Garden via The Wellington, a convenient pub offering All-Day full English breakfast. After a cholesterol-packed meal of eggs, toast, beans, bangers, we made a caffeine pit-stop at Starbucks before heading over to the Covent Garden markets. All the stalls were out in full glory peddling everything from jewelry to scarves to paintings to wooden neck ties—wooden neck ties?

We popped into a bargain bookstore and HMV before hopping back on the tube at Leicester Square to head over to Baker Street. Interesting enough, we were in search of the London Beatles Store on Baker Street only to find that it was located next to No. 221: the headquarters of one Sherlock Holmes.

From Baker Street we hauled on one big fecking walk. We walked Baker to George St. to Sussex Gardens—where the skies opened up again—to Spring St. to Eastbourne Terrace to Bishop’s Bridge Road to Westbourne Grove. That’s from the Regent’s Park area all the way to Notting Hill.

By the time we reached our destination at Westbourne Grove, we were ready to collapse. That destination in question was an activity known throughout London societal history that we had not partook until now: afternoon tea.

Feeling utterly knackered, we returned back to home base and crashed on the bed while Serena Williams tried unsuccessfully to beat Justine Henin in the Wimbledon quarter-final.

It’s absolutely depressing to think that we leave tomorrow. I have such an attachment here. When everything looks so familiar and I’ve begun to figure out the tube routes in my head, this place feels like home to me. I’m going to be very disappointed to leave here.