The Oche...

Well, the US embassy has failed to return my passport so I continue to be a *prisoner* in my own country… thankfully it’s more of an administrative prisoner than anything else… but it is frustrating! I stopped working in the London office last Wednesday, thinking that my passport HAD to arrive no later than the weekend. Unfortunately, the US embassy seemed unsympathetic to my weekend plans of cycling the entire length of the California coast and so I remain stuck in England. As well as leaving the office last week, I left my apartment in London, so I’ve been *holed* up at the Metropolitan hotel all week, ordering eggs benedict from room service for breakfast, eating at Nobu for dinner and climbing the walls of my hotel room in between the two meals! After three days at the Met, I decided to relieve the pressure on the expense account and take the train home for the weekend to visit the family, including my little 5 week old niece, Grace.

Just to give you some insight as to how desperate I am to get back to California… as if the above description is not enough. I am spending my Sunday evening watching the World Darts Championship, televised live from a cabaret venue (basically a large pub) in the South of England. The two contenders for the World title are two British 50 year olds with beer guts that a pregnant woman would be proud of… To reach the hallowed oche (pronounced ocky – the mat where darts’ players stand – 9ft from the board) they have out-thrown a bunch of other Brits, plus the odd Dutchman. Two nations universally known more for their beer-guzzling than athleticism… Ill leave you to make the connection. Globally-speaking, the World Championship is to Darts, what the World Series is to Baseball, a local affair! That is not the end of the American sporting comparisons, as our darts world title contenders are dressed in shirts that any local bowling team in the US would be proud of… probably even more proud when they realize that the sponsor logos are almost exclusively beer companies!

My godparents are also visiting for dinner but I am playing the outcast role (that I have always played) in the family by eschewing my father’s menu of chili con carne on a baked potato, with rice (seriously – rice is considered a vegetable in this household), and made myself some baked chicken in tomato sauce and salad, swilled down by some NZ sauv blanc that my dad picked up from the local offie (colloquialism for off-licence sales). Thank goodness he picked up two bottles ;-)