Back in Blighty

After a hellish drive (how about 6.5 hours instead of 4? How about repeated construction delays? How about insane NJ drivers going 80mph and changing lanes like Danica Patrick?), We arrived in Newark and began the process of removing our shoulders from our earlobes.

Dinner? Well, we planned on driving over, havinng dinner at the airport, then wandering about in a leisurely manner before convincing the lovely young lady behind the Virgin Atlantic desk to give us a nice pair of first-class seats, gratis.

But no. Thanks to traffic, we arrived late enough to worry about timing. So we went straight into the secured terminal. There, we chose among: a repulsively seedy bar/restaurant, aged sandwiches in a cooler, and candy at the dirtiest magazine shop I've ever seen. Grrr...Newark.

Of course, I see my mistake. I told Mother, on Saturday night, "Newark used to be a dump, but now it's nice!" MIS-Taaaa-aaaaake. Turns out that the arrivals area from the international terminal is nice, but when you're heading out of NJ, it's more like "don't let the door hit you..."

So, one bag of Combos and some Jordan Almonds later, having read enough about Nicole Richie's pregnancy and Stars: They're Just Like Us! to feel American again, we finally boarded our crowded plane, took our tiny economy seats, and settled in.

And now, a word for my new best friend. The woman who has taken my heart and made it her own. Her name? unknown. But she's a princess. How do I know this? She moved across the aisle, in flagrant defiance of the flight attendants, before the flight began. This left Charles and me with an empty seat between us. I gave her my blanket and would have given her much more. Wherever you are, Miss, I hope you win the lottery. Also, your jean jacket is totally cute.

The flight proved uneventful, and catching the bus to Oxford was the easiest thing ever. We rode back to town in a haze, just biding time until we could lay down our heads on the pillow.

So here we are, six hours of jet-lagged sleep later, one trip to Tesco accomplished, with the first cup of British tea with British milk (excellent!) sitting here on the table. Delish, and so, so welcome.

Syracuse?

Um....

Observed on a church billboard near Sylvan Beach: "Afraid of Burning? Try some Son Screen"

And that's all I have to say about that.