Whither Must I Wander


She's Losing It

Days like this I wish I drank coffee, even if it tasted like washing-up. The panic of the past few days has been replaced by a sort of numb terror, but I've embraced it and made it my own. Even though I got an email from Tara telling me that due to crazy goings-on in her flat, we may all have to stay in a hostel. Not exactly in our plans, but it's all about flexibility, or so I keep telling myself.

11:30 pm, last night. Jack Bauer is givin me the stink eye for the empty suitcase...

2:00 am

But I finally blocked this. If you can point it out in upcoming photos, you'll get a prize. For real.

I am clearly secure with myself to post such a flattering picture - post concert with smudge-y eye makeup and sweaty hair. I never said this was a happy place, folks, I just tell it like it is. And by the way, who told the under 18's that "moshing" = bouncing around and jamming elbows in my ribs? Seriously, guys, enough already.

Geez, I gotta get outta here.



Fortunately, this panic is not quite on the streets of London yet, rather, the panic I feel on the streets of Calgary as I imagine all the things left to do. Like fill that big empty suitcase in my apartment. And the 9 million things left to buy. But excitement is starting to edge out the frantic terror. Which is good.

I would do all my packing tomorrow night, but it's the Death Cab/Franz show which I've been waiting for for sometime. I discovered The Pants also has tickets, which we found out after we'd both bought our respective sets. She says if she sees me she'll glare and shake her fist at me. This is not an uncommon occurrance. So packing will happen after the show, which should be interesting.

28 hours. Sweet merciful crap.


West Side, Yeah?

Okay, so we’re still in Calgary, obviously, but for your viewing pleasure, here are some photos of my 2005 travels. (Think of them as the crappy preview before a mediocre movie) I didn’t go very far in the grand scheme, Victoria and San Diego, but they were new to me and highly enjoyable. West Coast Rules! I wish I had the pictures of when I, the lone gringa, got lost in the barrio, or that time Carla and I saw a monk pushing an empty shopping cart down the street, but you can’t win ‘em all.

Hiking in the East Sooke region of Vancouver Island, we made our way down to the ocean. As we wound through the trees we could hear seals barking. Oddly enough, that never happens in Alberta.

There were some excellent cliffs here. I wish I'd had family members around so I could've 'pretended' to shove them off.

The Victoria Day parade in Victoria. And it was my birthday. It was pretty much the most magical day ever. In theory, anyway. There really aren't enough marching bands in the world. Or enough bagpipe bands. Sadly, our seats in the parade happened to coincide with the point where the bands just marched in place instead of playing their instruments. What a gyp.

Carla Rae and Warren behind a castle-y type thing in Victoria. Crap, I can't remember what it was. I think it's a school? Objects are always better when covered in ivy or kudzu or something, no? Anything, really. Buildings, cars, people, animals...

I thought I would hate California, but I freaking loved it. If things don't change around here career-wise by next spring, SoCal might find itself a new resident helping retirees improve their trikonasanas. Unfortunately, my San Diego pictures stink. Seriously. This is the only one that even remotely conveys the splendour of my trip. Being that I was solo, I felt like a moron taking pictures in the first place so the ones I do have were snapped in a furtive state. And I was without a digital camera at the time, too, and forgot about the airport x-rays. Stupid LAX. Actually, the best picture from the trip is on my phone. Sweaty concerts when you're two feet from the ground-level stage = bliss. Fortunately, there are no pictures of my breakdown in the San Diego Airport. Nor of the sweet flight attendant that offered me a ride to LA so I could catch a plane home. And she took me to In n' Out Burger. Sweet merciful crap, was it great.

Eight days. The hysteria (read: panic) is starting to set in.


The List

Things We Shall Eschew:

- Union Jack printed paraphernalia
- Anything to do with Jane Austen. I’m sure the books are very clever and witty, but it’s hard to notice amongst all the snoozing. The movies are much better. I’m not entirely sure how that works.
- Berets. (I can’t speak for The Pants on this one.)
- Gwyneth Paltrow, Chris Martin, Apple, et al. We know they eagerly await our arrival, but I don’t see how we’ll fit them in.
- Loch Ness. Oh please, let me travel for hours to see a big lake that may or may not house a big fish. Boo-urns.
- The IRA, hopefully. We don’t want no trouble.
- Beefeaters. It’s just weird.

Things We Shall Embrace:

- Our cousin Tara when we arrive in London.
- Portobello Market (We’ll refrain from singing.)
- Wellington Boots
- Th’moors
- Th'sheep
- Tramping about th’moors in Wellington boots whilst herding th'sheep.
- Anything to do with the Brontes. Wind wuthering ‘round a draughty auld mansion? Hoo-ah!
- People who sell us cheap food.
- Rosslyn Chapel. But NOT because of its mention in a poorly written, over-hyped crap book.
- Saying "Och, aye" a whole lot.
- Irish pubs due to the sheer volume.
- The sea
- Parler en francais. Mais pas exactament.
- Yeats’s grave, hopefully. But not literally. That would be weird.



Are you ready? Okay, here goes. My kid sister and I are throwing caution, work and high school into the wind and trekking around the United Kingdom and Ireland (with a brief pit stop in Paris) for just over three weeks. I've set up this travel/photo blog at the behest of friends and family (okay, two friends and one family member) and while I consider blogs in general to be slightly vainglorious, the show-off in me has won. That being said, I have no idea how often we'll be able to update as who knows how connected we'll be on, say, the Dingle Peninsula or whilst tramping o'er th' moors.

My sister, The Pants, is completely against this blog altogether, however, she doesn't realize that her resistance will render her defenseless against any depictions of her antics, be they written depictions or pictoral. And I virtually guarantee the antics.

If you're unfamiliar, The Pants and I bookend a set of five siblings, so there's a significant age gap which I'm sure will make for an interesting few weeks. Our relationship is tempestuous at best and I hope that I, as the elder, can compose myself. Not to paint an unflattering picture, of course - she is nothing short of delightful and being the younger sister she is tres fun and much more cute.

Tally ho.