Hampstead Heath--by Aggy Brown (Beagle Extraordinaire)

Humans.  It has come to my limited attention that I have been discussed and exposed on this blog without input or consent.  I have spoken to my lawyers, but, in the meantime would like to set the record straight.  First of all, I am not fat. I am beagle shaped.  Secondly, I am not just the family dog. I am the family MASTER.  Through my actions, I control many, many things. I control sleeping patterns, by increasing or decreasing my snoring. I control moods by choosing when and where to poop (inside proves very disruptive, especially if someone steps in it). I control eating by sitting by the family dinner table and staring lovingly into the eyes of whoever is closest to me.  If I am sitting next to a child, I usually just take their food, but I have mastered the art of mind control and can usually get the adults at the table to hand over their morsels too.  If I catch the morsels in mid-air, I get more, so I have perfected this 'trick.'

So, humans, do not doubt my vast knowledge or dismiss me as a 'dumb dog' or a 'cuddly beagle.'  I am a liberated and modern day bitch and I also have a powerful nose, which tells me more than you'll ever know.

Today I would like to enlighten you with some information about my favorite local green space: Hampstead Heath.  I spent my formative years in the English countryside, where I frequently lolled about in the sun and rolled in cow pats.  I roamed free of collar or lead and howled with my brothers and sisters.  Ok, so THEY howled and mostly I lolled in the sun. I never was one to follow the pack, being stubbornly independent.  I also never agreed to poo and pee outside of the house and occasionally I destroyed small pieces of furniture for sport.  It was this that led me to my current situation--Life in London.

Now, don't get me wrong. Life in London isn't all bad.  Once I got used to the collar and the lead and the buses and riding in the car, I actually grew to like it.  In London, I still am able to loll about--on the couches!  I am still quite liberated and way more modern.  I am quite the city bitch, actually, riding the bus and standing outside of the school gates as children and adults shower love and affection on me.  It's a good life.  But I have to admit that, occasionally, the country calls.  And I still am on the fence about peeing outside of the house.

So, Dear Human Readers, let me take you on a tour of my favorite urban countryside, Hampstead Heath. Sadly, Kenwood House and its grounds don't allow dogs off of leads, so I can't recommend them, although my family does seem to like to use their toilets a lot and, if the queues aren't too long, to drink their coffee.  They have nice flowers...and occasionally good scraps of food are dropped.  And I hear there is some pretty incredible artwork inside.  But that is of no interest to me! Food is my top priority and  I have much better luck with food when I am free of the lead and can barge right up and steal it from unsuspecting small children or lovestruck couples having picnics.  This is always quite embarrassing for my family, particularly when the child I have stolen food from shrieks in despair. 

 Something you should know about Hamptsead Heath is that it is pleasant no matter what the time of year.  There are always intriguing things to look at and to smell and there is no shortage of fox poop to roll in or eat, if you are so inclined (I am).  There are open fields to run in, ponds to swim in and hills to climb.  There are rather vicious swans about and lots and lots of mud to run through.  If you happen to be the type of dog who likes to cause your family great anxiety by disappearing and not coming when they call you, Hampstead Heath is the place for you! 

Hampstead Heath is also full of the most exhilarating smells!  On my last walk I smelled rabbits and hot dogs and smelly socks, urine and fox poop (but was prohibited from rolling in it by my overly attentive humans). I smelled sweat and the scent of tulip bulbs beginning to unfurl under the earth. I smelled quite a few rats and moldy bathing suits. I smelled dirty nappies and lots and lots of dog bums. The heavenly scent of swan poop drew me towards the pond and the sultry smell of fungi emanated from under a log.  

 And, I smelled the undeniable scent of my own kind.  A beagle! Perhaps a long lost relative or at least a kindred spirit!  One mustn't waste time when it comes to these rare chance encounters and so I took off at high speed to find her, my ears flapping in the wind, my nose in the air, my tail at attention!

My nose first led me to an unsuspecting pack of inferior types, who sniffed around the recently renovated ponds area listlessly and with no purpose.  Clearly, no self-respecting beagle would have mixed with that crowd, but they did take time away from their bum sniffing and incessant barking to confirm that, yes, there had been a rather elegant looking beagle walking by a few minutes earlier.

I carried on over hill and vale (the Heath has a very lovely area called the Vale of Health, which I highly recommend), nose to the ground, determined to find the other beagle.  I searched at all three swimming ponds (off limits to dogs, but open to people. Not that I swim.) and climbed to the top of Parliament Hill, where I took in a breathtaking view of the city, despite the fog.

 The mud was a little bit of a hindrance, masking the trail, ever so slightly...and I also must admit that I got distracted by an empty crisp packet, which some litter bug had left on the ground. There was also the distinct scent of fried dough,  which I was certain was a sign that I was headed in the right direction, but which led me, ultimately, to the Hampstead Heath caravan park, where there carnival people were having a break between stints.

 The fog was getting denser, but my nose always knows...and we were gaining on the other beagle. My heart was beating with excitement!

 And suddenly...there she was!  Clearly she's not the master of the food in her house, given her scrawny state, but it was a joy to connect with one of my kind.  Together we sniffed the perimeter of the pond, careful to get just enough smelly mud on us to ensure we stunk up our cars on the way home, but not so much that we would have to have a bath.  We shared our best locations for fox poo and barked and howled melodiously together. It was great fun!  She chased the swans, but I am aware that they are strictly off limits after nearly having been pecked to death by one last year for looking too closely at it.  Sniffing with another beagle was a lovely way to end the day.

Oh, yeah. And here are some pictures of my family, who also enjoy Hampstead Heath immensely, despite their inability to actually smell anything much.

The End

Camden Market (with kids)

 When we first moved to London, Camden Town was a place where we went to see people with piercings and multicoloured mohawks.  We wandered around, buying junk at the colourful stalls, eating street food and trying on 'vintage' clothes.  We went there for Halloween costumes and to hear music.  We ate at the Green Note, a vegetarian restaurant featuring, among other good music, a bluegrass band from Hastings. We wandered through en route to Whole Market and bought fairy lights  and rag rugs for our first baby. We dangled our feet off the bridge over the canal and skirted around vomit and other unsightly things left on the ground.  Camden is not a clean place. Camden is not a kind place...and now Camden is a place where we take our kids.  

On our last day before school started again and the coldest day of the year so far, we took the tube to Camden for a visit to Camden Market with friends.  Camden Market is pretty much the opposite of Selfridge's.  It answers Selfridge's unattainable luxury with pretty much all the crap you can ever imagine crammed into maze-like stalls that go above and underground.  Where at Selfridge's the attendants are cool and aloof, in Camden Market, everyone, from the enthusiastic sellers of Chinese food to the guy who really wants to convince you that the inappropriate belly shirt is perfectly appropriate for your seven year old, hustles.  

We started our Camden visit off with lunch at a New York Style bagel place, which luckily had a glassed off, separate space where the kids could conduct their lunch in chaos.  The adults, above, enjoyed our bagels and coffee while pretending that we couldn't hear our offspring causing havoc down below us.  The 'everything' bagels were divine and the staff were not American in any way, shape or form, which I found kind of funny, considering their schtick was the New York bagel.  But they were nice and tolerant of our hyper children, for which we were grateful.

There really is only so long you can keep five kids confined in a bagel cafe, so we headed out into the cold weather to let them burn off some of their cream cheese induced energy.  The original idea was to tour the Camden street art, but we got distracted by the call of Camden Market and that really never happened.  Here is the only picture of street art that I actually took:

It doesn't have to be summer to lounge in lawn chairs in Camden Market.

(photo by Aviva Raichelson)

And you don't have to eat overpriced, imported cereal to stick your head through the Cereal Killer Cafe sign either:

Dancing outside a Vintage Shop is absolutely acceptable as long as you don't touch the display (or expect anyone to smile or think you're cute):

 Horse butts are hilarious (especially when their genitals are anatomically correct):

 And if you're more into dogs than you are into horses, there is a plastic St. Bernard to cuddle outside of a bar set up to resemble those you would find on the slopes in the Alps. 

 There are secret messages written in the handmade clothing:

Really, with all this in Camden Market, who needs to go skiing, to visit real horses or to contemplate your relationship?!  You can also get hippy clothes, rave accessories, overpriced, but worn out overalls, wigs, piercings, old books, 'antiques,' tiny balls that grow with water, incense, jewellery, tee-shirts, candles, art, essential oils, alcoholic beverages, doughnuts, drugs*, lemonade (in January), lights, furniture, interesting, if not particularly happy looking people....and pretty much anything else that may or may not be your heart's desire.

Eventually, we got overstimulated and just had to leave.  But not before we met Muthy at the Hammer Silver (https://www.facebook.com/thehammersilver/).  Friendly and talented, he made us a handmade necklace for a friend while we stood there, patiently answered all our questions, happily let the girls help themselves to far more small bags than they needed and cheerfully offered to let us come and watch him at work anytime. I spotted more than a few of his pieces that I am lusting after, so another Camden Market visit is in my future soon!   

Until next time...

*for the record, no one associated with this blog has ever bought or been offered drugs in Camden Market....

The Lights of London

Due to prohibitively priced flights and prohibitively short school holidays, we have settled into the routine of spending Christmas in London.  At first it was very difficult to be away from our family during such a family-focused time, but now that we have our own family and we're used to it, being in London for Christmas is something we look forward to.  

Of course, we never plan to actually stay in London.  We always start the holiday planning off by talking about where we want to go.  I usually long for someplace warm and sunny. Jim and the girls always want to go someplace snowy and Christmas-like.  Austria usually is discussed. As is Amsterdam (more for the Christmas-like than the snow).  I secretly research 'beachy' European destinations, which are all far too cold at this time of year.  Then we talk some more about where we want to go, weighing the options, looking half-heartedly on Airbnb for affordable places to stay. And at some point we just stop talking about it and resign ourselves to staying here, never regretting the decision.

This year, like always, we decided to haul ourselves off the couch, stop eating cheese for a little while, and go into Central London to see the Christmas Lights.  We started by eating some more:

Then, after eating far too much, we headed down to the epicentre of last minute Christmas shopping: Oxford Street.

 And to the epicentre of the epicentre: Selfridges.

While we visit Selfridge's every year, thanks to its fantastic (and sometimes creepy) window displays and general festive air, I would like to point out that we have never actually purchased anything there (with the exception of food...do you see a theme?).  We are way too cheap to shop at Selfridge's, but we love to go in and wander around and look at the designer clothes and shoes and ridiculously over the top toys. Plus they usually have people singing and disco balls hanging from the ceiling and it's kind of a walk down memory lane because we used to go to Selfridge's to see Santa when the girls were little.  Unfortunately,  Santa's grotto got turned into a Cinema, so now we can only dream of Santa in Selfridge's.

In we went, stopping first in the makeup department, where we dipped our eager fingers into every single brightly coloured or spangly makeup sample at the NARS table.  The tired-looking, young makeup people working the counter were busy putting makeup on people who actually were going to buy something, so we took liberties without interference. (Thanks to the fact that Jim and I have outrageous American accents, we get away with being tourists very easily.  We are invisible to the haughty salespeople, who look down their noses at us with disdain.  It's great being classless, touristy Americans who let their children play with high end makeup!) 

From the makeup section, we moved on to the toys, bypassing Men's Fashion ('too boring' and 'Oh please, as if you would wear any of that stuff' were a couple of comments as Jim gazed longingly in that direction). Unfortunately, Selfridge's had the EXACT GIANT UNICORN that M had written to Santa about.  We were sweating in our boots because, although it was giant and cuddly, at £100 Santa wasn't planning to deliver. 

Fortunately, it was just at this point that the girls in sequins and solid gold roller skates rolled by, distracting everyone from overpriced unicorns and other giant temptations.  

I would just like Selfridge's to know that if they ever need any slightly older people to roller skate around their store, I'm happy to oblige. I love wearing sequins, will happily put glitter all over my face and can ever roller skate!

After ogling the pretty girls on roller skates (and expressing envy at their sequin bodysuits), we moved on to ogling shoes.  While the girls' enthusiasm for all things glittery and ridiculously expensive wasn't waning, Jim's was, so after each deciding which pair of £400 shoes we would like to have purchased, we all headed back out to the streets to finish looking at the lights.

Carnaby Street had ice block looking lights:

It was too early in Soho to see anything REALLY interesting (like young, muscly men in their underwear dancing in windows of clubs...always a highlight for me!), but they were projecting a nice message of peace and love and acceptance through their lights display:

And, thankfully, Regent's Street wasn't using its lights display as a way to advertise for Disney this year and had some really beautiful Angel Wing lights draped above the Christmas crowds.  Elsewhere there were peacock feather lights and, down the little alleys of Soho, stars and twinkling fairy lights were strung over couples drinking wine.  It was all very magical, really, and a fun evening out enjoying time together in this fabulous city.

The End!

A Revival? We'll see.

About once a year I decide that I'm going to attempt to revive this blog, which I lost track of once life got busy with kids and work. When I made it a priority, writing the blog was something that I always enjoyed and looked forward to and also a nice way to keep track of the exciting things that were happening in our lives here in London.  And so much has happened! 

These days, I use my Facebook account as a way to remember what we have done. It has captured snippets of life across years: pictures, comments, expressions of frustrations and humor.  I've documented travels and reunions with family, relationships with new friends and old.  But it's not the same as my old blog.  So, again, I'll try.

I'm about to turn 40, which is a milestone!  I don't feel anxious or middle aged. I don't feel like I've wasted precious time or that this is the beginning of the end. I'm constantly amazed at how much we have done and how unpredictable my life has been. I'm lucky to have spent more than half of my life with someone I love--someone I met when I was teenager growing up on a farm in Louisiana, in a time a time of my life when the biggest adventure I had to look forward to was finishing high school and going to college. I'm proud to have two amazing, strong and confident girls, to have created a life and a family in a city that is international and exciting, despite that fact that it's so far away from so many people we love. I'm lucky to have parents and siblings and in-laws back in the States who love us and support our choice to live here, but still wish we would come home.  I'm fortunate to have incredible friends all over world, who have acted as surrogate family when family has been too far away and who have become our 'international community.'  And I'm proud not to have lost my sense of humor along the way.

 Turning forty is good!  And turning forty requires extreme celebrating. So we decided to start with a family weekend away in Suffolk.

Something that has happened since the last time I was serious about this blog is the Air BnB phenomenon of renting out a room or a spare house or a caravan or a tent or a couch online.  We're jumping on the bandwagon late in the game and have hit the jackpot with a two bedroom converted barn on a farm, with horses and chickens and access to beautiful walks in the countryside across the street.

And, anyway, how can you not love someplace that has a sign like this,

with apple trees and magical bridges across their ditches,

 and a pond with stone creatures in it?

 It's like being in a country wonderland. I'm surprised this horse (Maddy) didn't start talking to us!

 Down the road a few feet, was an entrance to a Circular Walk, which started in a field (luckily nice and dry).  The city girls donned their finest crazy, clashing outfits and their rarely worn hiking boots and trekked across the crunchy clots of dirt, swatting at invisible bugs and collecting rocks.

 The handsome honey and dog, looking similarly stylish, kept the pace.

We were on the lookout for green woodpeckers, but only saw a Kestrel, lots of Starlings and a number of frantic Pheasants (one of which nearly gave us a heart attack when it came crashing out of the hedgerow). 

A small wood held more magical bridges and streams, before which to take a haggard picture.

 

There were ample opportunities for sister loveliness and for a game of 'We're going on a Bear Hunt.'  There were also a lot of cow pats to be assessed and stepped in. Fortunately, the canine member of the family showed no interest in rolling in cow pats, so that potential crisis was averted!

 

Love was in the air!

 
Food at the local family run pub was yummy (and Aggy got a few nibbles), but we had to sit outside, which was a little cold. 

 And on the way home, everyone showed off their best stile crossing moves:


We couldn't get enough of crossing fields...

And by the end, we all needed a little rest (some of us needed a nap!)

But there's always time and energy for a friendly horse who has a mustache!