We have no water again, so

I am currently breakfasting on muesli. Out of a large plastic tumbler. With a fork.

There's no place like home

And now that I’m back, I seriously need a vacation.

I feel totally responsible

Apparently Boris is about to win the election? Due to foolishness, I didn’t set up an absentee ballot. I do hope he wins by more than one vote or it will be entirely my fault.

I feel quite sick. 

My kind of town

Now that my parents have left my native climes (and the family home) in upstate New York, and it is thus unlikely that I’ll ever return, Chicago feels like the next-best-thing in terms of something approaching a sense of roots and home in America. I flew in last night for my grandfather’s 90th birthday party (on which more later), reading The Adventures of Augie March, which was loaned by a more well-read friend than I who recommended it to get me in a properly Chicago mood. As a result when I stepped off the plane, I was feeling quite a lot of love for America.

I arranged my trip to arrive a day early so that I could catch up with old-dear-friend Ross who is doing his PhD in politics at Northwestern. And living above a sex shop. He is not, I might add to protect his dignity, particularly involved in the sex shop, but it’s pretty hilarious:

One can imagine how a customer might be distracted by the appeal of unbeatable prices to wantonly park at the doughnut shop, so it’s very thoughtful of them to encourage parking vigilance, twice.

Today I am making him go with me to the diner which featured in an episode of This American Life, because I am just that lame and also because I really want a ridiculous amount of pancakes, possibly with a side of cheesecake and a sense of closeness with Ira Glass.

But we are also going to the Edward Hopper exhibition at the Art Institute, for the sake of a little cultural redemption.

Another thing that should have existed in the 80s

One of my Glitterditch colleagues has discovered chess-boxing, which is coming to a North London boxing gym. If only this sport had existed when my brother (far right, top row, handsome) and I were young, he would have been much happier - he tended to punch me when we were playing chess, anyway (mostly because I was rubbish at it and he thought I wasn’t trying hard enough) but this led to serious consequences, instead of praise for his athleticism.

The next leg

When my mother heard my travel plans, she remarked, “you’re going to be grumpy!”

Ah, Mum. She knows me so well.

I am now in London until tomorrow morning, when I leave for Chicago to celebrate my grandfather’s 90th birthday/see most possible permutations of the Edelfam/catch up with old dear friend Ross.  Although I am currently grumpy, I have high hopes I’ll get over it in the company of all of these nice people. Even though I have to fly economy class - hey, eight hours seems like a doddle.

Returning

En route back to London, I am currently chillaxing (as Seb would say) in the Qantas/BA lounge of fanciness. It is nicely designed with windows so that you can gaze over your aristocratic schnozz at the economy class passengers down below and think, ‘Hm. I shall have another glass of champagne now, I think.’ Of course, on Wednesday, en route to Chicago, I will once again assume my rightful place amongst the teeming masses.

Anyway: you will have to read the riveting account of my trip in the magazine I am travelling on behalf of. I don’t give everything away for free, people.