Anniversary Mania

Tomorrow will mark the tenth anniversary of the death of Princess Diana. Many who know me know that as a hobby, I enjoy studying pre-mid-20th Century European royal history. However, it ends there. As sad as her passing was, I have always believed that had she worn her seat belt that night, she would be here to continue the freedom she had just begun celebrating after her subsequent divorce and new found success as the "People's Princess". Not to be cynical. It's not at all about that. I mourn for her children and truly believed she would have done so much had she lived. It was a mistake. A mistake that unfortunately, Diana paid dearly for.

Many have already been asking that time honored question - Where were you when you heard of her death? My story is probably a bit unusual. I had just returned home, shook up, because I had been in the subway when a person fell to their death in front of an oncoming train. The mayhem which ensued after that incident rattled me so much I canceled all plans and went home. I happened to turn on the TV and saw the breaking news about Diana. It was only several minutes later when they came back on and announced she had died. What an interesting contrast of events that night. Two deaths. One nameless, another famous.

The next day, as I lay flowers at the doorway of the British Embassy here in New York, I stepped back, and began to really examine the chaos and ghoulishness occurring in my midst. I left with feelings of regret that I had even bothered to get involved with such a nonsensical faceless outpouring of grief. To this day, I cringe when I see any impromptu displays of memorials at accident sites and the like. I have nothing against those who choose to participate in the creation and/or adoration of them, and I certainly would never think poorly on those who do. But, I came to believe that the money that was poured into buying flowers, candles, and stuffed animals to adorn doorways and the front gates of palaces, should have instead poured into the bank accounts of the charities Diana had worked so tirelessly for.

In the mean time, I won't be around for all the fanfare of the tenth anniversary of her death. We're visiting dead relatives and their previous homes for mom's genealogy hobby. Anyone who knows me knows that I loves me my Boston. If I had to, I'd move in a heartbeat and never look back. Something about the city vibe, mixed with those classic New England sensibilities, runs deep within my soul. I am a New Yorker, but ethnically, I am New England.

Another plus side of the trip is that last year when we visited, I didn't know about the NPS Passport program. Bummed that I missed out on an opportunity for many stamps after the fact, I'll be able to play catch up. Now that I've got my mother addicted, we'll make the rounds along the Freedom Trail. Trust me, we're not going out of our way considering most of the cancellation stops coincide with the areas we need to be.

So bye for now! We've got a lot planned and it looks like beautiful weather will be on our side.

Happy St. George's Day

"Cry God for Harry, England and Saint George!"

Today is the day of St. George, who forced all the snakes out of...um, no.

Today is the day of St. George, where you eat haggis and...um, no.

Today is the day of St. George, where you wear either a daffodil or a leek or a...um, no.

I guess what I'm trying to convey is that many people really don't know whom St. George is. He is the patron saint of England. He also slayed a dragon. Top that one St. Patrick! The others I mentioned above in order of claim-to-fame are St. Patrick, St. Andrew, and St. David. No. I didn't put St. David last as some sort of cruel joke.

My sociology professor once told us this riddle:

Why don't the English have a parade down 5th Avenue?


Because they don't want to.

I think that sums up why poor old Georgie boy is a mere footnote in British history, while his other compadres get their own honors and celebrations in each of their respective countries. Yet, his cross graces part of the Union Jack, the flag of Episcopal church, and the front doors of BNP members. Ouch on that last one!

There is a campaign building steam over the pond in jolly old England to bring him back. Not from the dead silly! Back into the limelight, and with his very own bank holiday. This, I am completely for. It's about time the English dropped the PC attitude towards this dude and embraced something other than Celebrity Big Brother.

Since I am in the US, I decided to celebrate today by cooking a traditional English dish - toad in the hole. I got the recipe from How to Boil an Egg. It was decent, but the batter wasn't cooked all the way through on the inside. It wasn't runny or anything, just a bit "moist". I blame the fact that I partitioned too much of it out into a muffin tin, like many use for Yorkshire Puddings. Or it could have been the fact that I cooked it in a toaster oven. Yeah, could explain why. Lesson learned.

I figure by the time I perfect this dish, St. George will be a holiday over here.

But Does He Pay Bus Fare?

From the Daily Mail -

Mystery cat takes regular bus to the shops

Bus drivers have nicknamed a white cat Macavity after it has started using the No 331 several mornings a week.

The feline, which has a purple collar, gets onto the busy Walsall to Wolverhampton bus at the same stop most mornings - he then jumps off at the next stop 400m down the road, near a fish and chip shop.

The cat was nicknamed Macavity after the mystery cat in T.S Elliot's poem. He gets on the bus in front of a row of 1950s semi-detached houses and jumps off at a row of shops down the road which include a fish and chip shop.

Driver Bill Khunkhun, 49, who first saw the cat jumping from the bus in January, said: "It is really odd, the first time I saw the cat jumping off the bus with a group of passengers. I hadn't seen it get on which was a bit confusing.

"The next day I pulled up on Churchill Road to let a couple of passengers on. As soon as I opened the doors the cat ran towards the bus, jumped on and ran under one of the seats, I don't think any of the passengers noticed.

"Because I had seen it jump off the day before I carried on driving and sure enough when I stopped just down the road he jumped off - I don't know why he would catch the bus but he seems to like it. I told some of the other drivers on this route and they have seen him too."

Since January, when the cat first caught the bus he has done it two or three times a week and always gets on and off at the same stops.

Passenger, Paul Brennan, 19, who catches the 331 to work, said: "I first noticed the cat a few weeks ago. At first I thought it had been accompanied by its owner but after the first stop it became quite clear he was on his own.

"He sat at the front of the bus, waited patiently for the next stop and then got off. It was was quite strange at first but now it just seems normal. I suppose he is the perfect passenger really - he sits quietly, minds his own business and then gets off."

Actually, I Quite Prefer Limey Town

So the Brits and their American counterparts are coming out in support of renaming the block of Greenwich Avenue between 12th and 13th streets "Little Britain". This little enclave in the West Village celebrates all things British.

Stores and businesses in the West Village have banded together to get their neighborhood around Greenwich Ave. officially renamed "Little Britain" - putting it in the same category as other famous ethnic enclaves such as Chinatown, Little Italy and Spanish Harlem.

Now wait a minute. Hardly a "ghetto" in its more correct term, especially since there is already criticism and charges of conduct unbecoming on our own shores, and it doesn't involve taxation without representation (that's just so 1776).

While I think the idea is brilliant, I hope that the many people behind it realize that there can be no comparison to these other neighborhoods mentioned in the article. If that is the intent, it would be quite insulting to compare British expats to the other immigrants who have settled here. The West Village is not and will never be comparable to the trials an tribulations of the immigrant communities of say Jackson Heights or East Harlem. There are no British people fleeing war, poverty or starvation. British immigration to the Americas is strictly financial and/or artistic in nature.

Since I am a halvsie, I had already considered this area to be Little Britain, or "The Ghetto" as I lovingly call it. And I giggle a bit because it reminds me of the show of the same name. I do have reservations only because I want it to remain my own little secret.

So, anytime you need your fill of anglophilia, you can just head over to the West Village and stock up on fresh pies, Bird's custard and Ribena all at Myers of Keswick. Head over to Tea and Sympathy for Sunday roast or afternoon tea, and go next door to the chippie for some faboo greasy fish n' chips.

And Bob's your uncle!!

Tartan Week

Tartan Week kicked off today. Actually, this year it's more like Tartan Week(s), as the annual Tartan Day Parade is not until April 14. Since it was absolutely beautiful outside, I walked the twenty five blocks up to Grand Central where the Scottish Village was set up.

While the layout is always the same, the exhibits change. A few years ago, we were able to view William Wallace's sword there. This year, the main exhibits were paltry at best. However, its saving grace were the established vendors that appear to be non-changing.

Last year, I recieved a free mouse pad of the Scottish flag. This year they were handing out hats with the flag on them. I just love free stuff!!

I was especially interested in the Loch Ness Monster exhibit. I'm not into conspiracies or a major believer in legends, but, if there is one thing I believe in, it's Nessie. Don't mess with the Ness! Of course, there are always the contests, and travel pamphlets galore. I must have entered about three of them to win various trips to Scotland. Don't discount sweepstakes, I certainly don't. I won a trip to England one year through one.

Other than that, visiting the vendors was fun. There was Best of Scotland, which has very beautiful and very expensive cashmere sweaters. Ancestral Scotland allows one to research their Scottish roots on a computer. Thistle & Broom sells luxury clothing, and uses only resources from Scotland. Of course, no visit was complete without a stop at the Scottish Gourmet! I managed to stay away from the tablet (um, tablet!), but ended up purchasing lavendar shortbread for my grandmother, and some pinhead oatmeal for myself. There were many others there, but the ones I listed were the vendors I spent a considerable amount of time visiting.

Walking around, I got a great feeling about myself. A sense of pride. Although I'm English first and foremost, I am deeply proud of my Scottish heritage. Especially since I can trace my ancestry back to the Massacre of Glencoe.

Overall, the atmosphere of the village was one of fun and good times. Regardless of what exhibits are there, each year I manage to have a great time.

If I Had The Dosh...

You'd be calling me "HRH Queen Gramercy" by now.

The "independent state" of Sealand, which is off the coast of England, is up for sale.

When I first saw the headline, an island the size of Gilligan's Island came to mind and I had visions of coconut drinks in bamboo cups. I figure the passports would be a nice shade of dark teal and the coins would profile only my good side. Also, I’d run the place like Stalin. Kidding! I kid with you all.

In reality, Sealand is kinda ugly. It’s all metallic and stuff.



Oh well. Delusions of grandeur aside, it was nice to ponder my new country while it lasted.

But, you can still call me "Your Royal Highness" and curtsy in my presence if you still wish to.