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Pippa the Chipper Nipper swallowed a nail Clipper…

Monday, March 13th, 2006

The British Government has decided that, for tax purposes, Christmas 2006 will be celebrated on July 16th.  Nah, I’m joshing with you.  But I did go to a “St Patrick’s day festival” in Central London yesterday, a full 5 days before St Patrick was born, died, made a saint, killed a dragon etc. (I admit that my only knowledge of this Irish holiday is that people drink stupid amounts of Guiness and wear silly green hats).  The free leaflet that listed all the bands I’d never heard of, singing songs I couldn’t hear because some cheapskate buraeucrat didn’t hire enough speakers, had a little message from Red Ken, London’s mayor, harping on about London’s diversity and how happy he was to be putting on this shindig on St Patrick’s day.  Except…it wasn’t St Patrick’s day.  Oh well.

So my first impression upon arriving back in Britain after 6 months or so abroad are that it’s grey.  And cold.  And I was quite happy about that – I got to put on my coat and my gloves and and my hat and wander around feeling chipper.  The British are better about feeling chipper than any other country in the world.  It’s all bound up with our love of tea.

Mildred:  “Hello Agatha, you’re looking quite chipper”

Agatha: “Yes Mildred, I’ve just put the kettle on.  Would you like a cuppa?”

4 hours after touching down at Heathrow, I pulled on my Tottenham shirt and walked up the road to my mate Dave’s house. Dave has a satellite dish that picks up signals sent from North London and then sends them right back to North London. Then we watch them on his telly.  Great stuff.  Tottenham were, however, beaten by the champions Chelsea in the last minute of the match.  This is a sad thing.  I was sad.  Dave was sad.

So yeah.  Back in Britain.  Although this is technically a travel blog, it will continue as long as interesting things happen and I deem them worthy of typing out and uploading to the web.  If no new posts appear, it will be because no interesting things have occurred and I am sitting in a large purple crate knitting the worlds second biggest poncho.

Mildred:  “Agatha, are you an octopus?”

Agatha:   “I feel poncho-tastic”