All the right moves.

Not one to let decapitation ruin his day, Piglet diligently worked on his tan.

I feel like a part time resident at 1000 Peaks, as lately I've been there a lot practicing turning my board to the right. On the right turn scale I'd say I've made it to veering toward...... which is progress indeed. In fact yesterday I was twice able to turn enough to stay on the wave with another paddler by changing direction. Satisfying, would be an understatement.

An advanced student.

Ufff, just looking at this gives me elevator stomach.

Meanwhile, Renata, Meesh and me clearly enjoying each other, our beers and an in depth bra conversation. Cheers!

Two non-working days.

It's been a beautiful weekend on the Valley Isle with a south swell drawing distinguished men (and woman) of all ages to the water. Personally, I got spat out almost as soon as I entered the water, low tide, a 10ft board and my talent are definitely not a match.

But hey, it happens to the best of us, two words: not positive.

The plump pumpkins are betraying the time of year, for without them you'd never know it was an autumnal October day. Confession, those of us who live in perpetual sunshine gloat (ever so slightly) when it's gorgeous here and ya know, praps not so fabby on the mainland.

A flat tire on my bike prevented me from increasing my heart rate via a casual Sunday morning ride, but all was not lost. I hopped in my truck and headed to Grandma's for breakfast where I downed a large latte that did the job for me!

You'd be forgiven for thinking I was at a La Liga match watching Barcelona, (ah la fantasia), but no....

....it was the free Ukulele Festival, show casing many of Maui's keiki.

Talking of which, I attended a home brew tasting last night where one of the brew masters was actually a brew teenager and (once again) men wore lederhosen. With a weekend like this, there's no need for Europe for a while, Prost!

Back to my routine.

I saw a high speed chase on the water yesterday. Right in front of me a little mother of pearl fishy flew out of the ocean, pursued excitedly by a stunning long nosed, blue bellied, tail flipping, ruler lengthed fish. They skimmed over the ocean just the way you want your flat stones to, but mo' better. I watched until they disappeared from sight and became giddy from the magical show "wow"-ing out loud, until the next wave came along and made me giddy for another reason.

Did I mention it's good to be home?

Earlier in the day I'd paddled out at Kanaha when a bloke came over nonchalantly on his SUP. "Hey my buddy just had a 10ft tiger swim right under his board, so we're all going in". "Bloody hell, thanks for the heads up", I said and got back to shore dry as a bone. All lubed up but not ready to give up, I jumped in the truck and headed to the West Side and scored some perfect little waves.

Never say never, but I can say I'll never get barreled....except outside of HighTech.

Longing for London.

......well it would have been, had I moved my water bottle ever so slightly to the right.

Quite the juxtaposition.

For the umpteenth time that day, the elderly gent who collected three pounds from anyone who wanted to climb up The Monument heard the same droning question, this time from me, "how many steps is it to the top"?, "311", he said. Go on, guess my next question because this poor man must hear this all bloody day long, altogether now; "how long does it take"?, "takes me five minutes", he said, and with that the gauntlet was thrown.

While I left Jules having a swift half at the bottom, I cockily said to Gramps "time me", "no need" he said, "I'll see you when you get to the top, give us a wave" and with that I confidently took two stairs at a time, until I couldn't. It took me about 5 minutes with the added bonus of feeling slightly queazy at the top, where I waved weakly.

Trying (as one does) to eat St.Pauls, where we whispered in her gallery and viewed London from just below my boob!

Gotcha!

"I don't wanna worry you girls or nuffin", said cockney Rob as we whizzed up The Mall in his cab, "but this is what I'm reading right now"!

11:00pm Piccadilly Circus. If it weren't for the fact that it was dark, lit up like Blackpool Illuminations and a woman was puking from too much booze behind a phone box, it might have well been 11:00am. Busy is an understatement.

I've been lazy and dragged out these posts as we were just in London for a week. It was way too short a time and the days simply weren't long enough to fit in everything that my mind wanted to do. Still, I left deeply satisfied and thirsty for more, Perfect water anyone?

Keep your Eye on the ball.

The beauty of London is that no matter where you go, you stumble across the sights, old and new. I wasn't pulled to go on the Eye but oddly it's become as big an attraction as any in the city.

The karma gods were shining on us as my friend Jane (four days prior), had just moved to London from her home in South Africa. We used to work together on Maui and it had been seven years since we'd seen each other, I think it's safe to say only she has aged!

Meanwhile, (when in Rome) Jules and I were determined to see a footy match and as luck would have it Chelsea V QPR were playing in the Carling Cup. While we couldn't get decent tickets on line, we went with the high intention of scalping good seats, which we did. The elderly chap who sold us our contraband not only got his cash but grateful kisses (he warned Jules not to slip him the tongue) and we joined the heaving masses to watch the beautiful game.

A bold warm up manouver in front of 37,000 people.

Gotta protect ya lady bits in the wall.

A couple of things struck me. Stamford Bridge holds 42,500 people, but if we hadn't glanced to our left whilst going to dinner the night before, you wouldn't even know a stadium was there. No signs, no shops selling merchandise, no indication in the tube station and I loved that lack of advertising. Upon exiting Fulham Broardway station on game night the contrast to the previous evening was insane. Streets were blocked off, police were everywhere in riot gear and on horse back and yet, one block off the main drag we stood and drank a beer and short of peeps wearing Chelsea kit, you wouldn't even know a game was on.

Inside it was a sea of testosterone, fueled by passion and rivalry. I felt the need of a hymn sheet as the singing was non stop, coupled with humorous gesticular goading. Waaaaaaay fun and with the lure at half time of a pie and a pint for six quid, the experience just kept getting better. Oh....and not to mention the ladies loo was not only empty but had Dyson airblades, bloody luxury!

We stayed until the final whistle and figured the journey home would be interesting (to say the least). In a exiting wave of people we surfed down to the tube and squashed ourselves on to the first train which arrived in minutes. We stood armpit to armpit with other library quiet, civilized and extremely well behaved fans and then changed lines at a heavily policed Earls Court. Our next train also arrived within minutes and was half empty and to our total astonishment we found ourselves putting the key in our front door not 15 minutes after leaving the stadium. The staggeringly well organized crowd control that gave me hope the Olympics won't be a complete balls up (no pun intended).

All the world's a stage.

"It's beautiful", said Jules "if you've never been, you've got to go". Well with that endorsement we zoomed off to Stratford-Upon-Avon to see Anne Hathaway's cottage. "Did it hold up to her description"? I hear you ask. Well, it did, but while the cottage and grounds were picturesque there was tinge of British naffness attached to the whole experience. For example; we couldn't locate the 'sound system of Shakespeare quotes' as we sat in the garden arbor. "But wait fair maiden, what's that in yonder corner"?, "tis a Tupperware box is it not"?, "make haste then friend and bust it open"! Bloody hell we laughed our arses off as we broke into the box and pushed 'play' on the ancient tape recorder, which barely played anything audible from the one sad little speaker. British ingenuity at work!

However, the cottage was a veritable haven in comparison to the Americanized exhibit that is Shakespere's birthplace. Interesting yes, well maintained yes, helpful staff...very, but it just didn't feel right that this historical site had become 'attractionized'. Let's just say it wasn't our cup of tea and worst of all, I bought into it (let me confess right now) and overpaid for a Shakespeare Christmas ornament! Agh....

What are a pair of girls to do but go to 'The Old Thatch Tavern' for lunch and order EVERY appetizer on the menu!

The next day, assuring ourselves that we'd now stick to our tired and true 'follow your nose' plan, we found ourselves much more at home on the Portobello Road.

As we sipped coffee we leisurely meandered in and out of some proper fabby antique stores. We perused the market stalls, all the while eavesdropping on conversations spoken in every accent under the sun and generally basked in being tuned in, tapped in and turned on.

Talking of antiques.......

We had to do it....

All I can say is this, if you're in London I highly recommend you go and make a fool of yourself to get this idiotic iconic picture. As traffic is constantly being halted by fake nitwit crossers (as shown above), the laughs at yourself and others are totally worth the humiliation.

I couldn't have said it better myself!

London and Windsor.

Despite the Mercedes Benz Jules had rented and parked in front of our flat, it took the purchasing our Oyster cards to make us feel like we'd 'arrived'. However, using it took careful observation of another commuter to figure out how to swipe it (we are indeed strangers in our own land). Yes, yes we all know, mind the bloody gap!

The Long Walk at Windsor was one of our few 'must do's'. It's a three mile stroll from the castle to the statue of King George III and as we walked in a delightfully empty park, I believe the potency of our contentment (for a moment) made the whole world a more peaceful place.

Spectacular.

Polo anyone?

As luck would have it, we started our return journey as the only working hackney cab in the park came clopping up behind us. "Can we grab a ride" I asked...."well, I am a taxi" he said. "how much then"? we asked, "Twenty Quid", he replied and with an unspoken unequivocal yes, Jules and I climbed into a 100 year old horse drawn cab and 'lady mucked' our way back into Windsor.

We'd been fantasizing about the perfect man and possible perfect park moments, but hadn't had the foresight to conjure up this spectacular experience.

One last look......

After buying provisions grown on the castle grounds at the Windsor Farm Shop, we hopped off the bus in Eaton to browse through the antique stores, sip beer by the river and congratulate ourselves on a magnificent day. Jules will be going home with a Victorian bread board and myself, a silver tipped cane!

Back in London after a hard days meandering we pondered if we should have a Snog, but decided against it.....down boys!

Yorkshire pride.

Yorkshire is brilliant. It's as rough as it is smooth, as beautiful as it is plain and more than anything it's real. It was a great week filled with simple family visits, amazing walks and runs in the park, together with the merging of my palate as a grown up with my taste buds as a spog. Yes, yes, yes, gray is the cliche colour for English weather but when the sun comes out.......well......you have to be here to delight in the jewels that are illuminated by the late morning sun.

I walked into the green grocers and what hit me was the wondrous smell.......Jesus, it's been years since I smelt veggies as good as those. In comparison, Safeway is just a sanitised odor free zone of cleaned, packaged and ready made food. Convenient for sure, but the olfactory joy of sniffing out what you want to eat is hard to beat.

Nature doing it's thing.
A ginger inspired Rooney....bless.

Ducking for cover.
Mummy in the zen of her embroidery.

Anyway.....I have left the tranquility of the North and headed down South (like a migrating Loiner) to London. I can't bloody wait to trog around some of my old haunts, catch the tube, gasp at the architecture and have a damn good time with my best mate Jules.