Cold in London

Poor us. Stephen and I have had two weeks of cold and flu. Stephen got hit first and I followed a few days later. Each of us has had different symptoms so I think we aren't suffering from the same bug. Then again, it could just be our different styles of being sick.

Stephen being sick:
Fester unwashed in bed for days. Read or listen to Lord of the Rings trilogy. Barely eat or drink. Take no medications.

Amy being sick:
Constantly repeat, "I am so sick, I am so sick..." even if home alone. Drink gallons of tea, throw used tissues all over the bed and floor, make a daily trip to the store and regret it later, continuously lubricate nose with Clinique products, smother neck with tiger balm, shower for 30 minutes mid-day, and take cold medications.

I would say that Stephen has the Scottish approach while I use the US East Coast Jewish techniques. However, what we both lay in bed surfing the internet and watching tv on demand programs. Of course Stephen's will be sports or history and mine will be cooking.

You should be happy to note that I still have not checked any gossip blogs.

O Canada!

Its official, people think I'm from Canada. Three times over the past two weeks I've been asked if I'm Canadian. Is Connecticut close enough to the border to pass as Canada? Apparently I "don't have a harsh American accent." Interesting.

I've explained to all these folks that they can tell if someone is from Canada if they pronounce "about" as "a boot" - its that Scottish accent peaking through.

One woman who mistook me for a Canadian apologised repeatedly because she knows how insulted Americans become if they are called Canadians. Really? Frankly, I never think about Canada. How Central North American of me.

Things That Go Bump in the Night

In the middle of the night I heard a loud thump and then a distant scream. Stephen jumped out of bed and looked out to the street. Then he went to the living room for a better look. So, being the jaded city dweller that I've become I put the pillow over my ears and went back to sleep. Why get up when I have previously slept through car crashes, gang fights, police investigations and all sorts of late night happenings on our street in London? Heck, we lived through this in Oakland, San Francisco and Houston too.

In the morning Stephen opened the curtains to our back patio and there was a purse, business cards, money and a wallet spread all over the wood flooring. Again, being jaded I said, "probably someone stole the purse and threw it up over our balcony" (three stories over the street). Then Stephen pointed out the obvious, they hadn't taken the money.

Stephen, being the good samaritan that he is, called the number from the business cards. Five minutes later, while I was blow drying my hair, I looked up to see a stranger in our flat, a young woman who looked like she'd had a sleepless night. "Thank you so much for calling me," she said, "My purse and school bag fell over the balcony last night."

So, Stephen in his pajamas and me in my half frizzy, half dried hair, walked the mystery woman out to our balcony and then we looked over the scary edge into the abyss below. There, amongst years of yuck, was her school bag. The people downstairs, who are very mysterious, had told her that they didn't see any bag in their little pit of doom.

Now here are some mysterious bits of info...

1. Why was she on the balcony?

2. What balcony was she on? She said she was at a different address too buildings down the block.

3. Why did the people downstairs say they couldn't see any of her stuff when it was clearly visible?

4. Who are the people downstairs?

When you live in a big city you go anonymously on your way, usually. But this morning it was quite a pre-work adventure. The woman was able to get the folks downstairs to retrieve her bag.

Prologue...

When looking up the phrase things that go bump in the night I discovered that it is an old Scottish prayer.

From ghoulies and ghosties

And long-leggedy beasties

And things that go bump in the night,

Good Lord, deliver us!

Whenever we hear mystery sounds Stephen recites bits of this prayer. I had no idea what he was saying until today. Maybe I should just recite this and accept the mysteries of our downstairs neighbors and the story of the woman whose things went bump in the night.