Word to the wise (and this one comes courtesy of Amanda) ...Never be the exception!

I had a large list of required items to bring back from the UK, because us 'canajuns just don't get stuff from our U.K. motherland like we would like. Many chocolates and special chips, Fortnam and Mason's marmalade and some Mark's and Spencer's pork pies.

An uneventful, if loooong, flight brought me back to Ottawa and to customs. Being the honest Canadian, I checked off the little box for meat on the customs form, big mistake. I ended up in the "RED" line rather than the whisk right through blue line. Waited for a few minutes before I was called over, a very serious customs officer donned rubber gloves and started to go through every bit of my bags, my dirty underwear, everything. Luckily nothing incriminating to be found, except the properly declared pork pies. If I had had drugs or Korean immigrant children (note: for any customs agents out there reading this, of course I would not be trying to smuggle small highly skilled immigrants or china white into the country in my dirty gotch!) in my bags I would have understood, but all this over pork pies!

Long story short, they gave me a receipt as the pork pies were very much contraband and needed to be destroyed and sent me on my way with a stern warning.

The bizarre end to a nice week in the U.K.

OK, Kings Cross tube station and the whole underground...scary! Verry confusing, how to get tickets, name of different lines, hearing announcements, all of it. But I have soldiered though.

St James park, Buckingham palace, French and German school groups taking pictures of squirrels, Big Ben, London theater scene, the Tower of London, the Tower bridge and for god sake...look right!.

Amanda will appreciate this but English food, despite what you have been led to believe is great, stodgy, but great. Lamb and mint pie, wild boar and something I really envy, a great fast food place, Pret a Manger, all natural, no crap, fantastic salads and sandwiches (had crab, avocado, brie cheese and vinegrette salad on good lettuce and a hommus and roast veg sandwich on fresh bread!!!) Scruptious!.

I have walked the city this way and back, and it is cleaner, less polluted and actually slower than expected.

On to climb St. Paul's cathedral, Ta.

Reflection while away from home is always great, nothing like being pulled out of routine (kicking and screaming sometimes - give me a home phone!) and exposed to so many new things. So a couple of things I have learned or relearned.

Look both ways many, many times before crossing streets- cabbies, busses and bikes don't care where you come from or how crazy the whole "dirve on the left thing" is to you, they are late.

400 pound men should NOT, I repeat NOT wear kilts on windy days (in the al fresco tradition I am afraid) nor carry a little pink lunch pail - I can tell you this now from first hand experience, and it will haunt me...shudder.

The London underground is a scary rabbit warren of a place and being able to read a map will not really help your primitive non-Londoner brain.

If a guy with a machine gun garding the Prime Ministers residence tells you to stop... You stop. A delivery man (who spoke little English I am guessing) misunderstood directions and started to drive through a check point. Much to the dismay of his boss and the undercarriage of his car, some traffic block thing sprang up and bounced his car 3 feet in the air and stopped it for him pretty damn quick.

Finally the human brain, despite any amount of training, will begin to smoke when trying to figure out time zones and time changes during travel. My secret weapon, thwarting the dasdardly attempts by that Canadian railroad standard time guy to mess me up, is to carry the trusty crackberry with home time displayed prominantly, far less thinking required.

Dragging myself out of bed and walking over to breakfast I heard a voice behind me and turned to find an African in full moomoo (sp?), and head gear no less! asking where the breakfast room was located. We walked there together and I asked him where he was from, he told me he was Nigerian, next what his background was, he simply gave this sly smile and said "actually I am a king". You just don't hear that every day!

At the table (in the Great Harry Potter hall) were the Nigerian King, an Iranian Ph.D, an American politician from Texas no less!, a German and me. Breakfast was spent with my.self and the German basically sitting quietly watching the show and nodding politely but staying the hell out if it. The discussion started with renewable energy and the conference I am at, but devolved to oil of course, with Nigeria, Iran and Texas at the table, but then it turned to Nuclear power and the mood shifted. The American was berated by the Nigerian King for dictating to others how to run policy, the Texan shot back that maybe the Nigerian didn't understand politics, wrong thing to say! He slammed the table and said, "I am a King, I AM politics!", the Texan looking surprised, not knowing this guy in the funny hat was a king then turned to the guy beside him (not knowing the guy beside was Iranian) and said in a great big Texas drawl, "Hey we got the big guns we get to tell countries like I-Rack and I-Ran what to do!" Without missing a beat, the Iranian in the most polite strangely broken brittish persed-lips accent "I have not introduced myself, I am Saeed from Iran" The Texan litterally coughed up a bite of egg onto his plate like right out of a movie and the German guy laughed out loud! It was great, I could not write this stuff.

The Texan finished breakfast in less than a minute and left, leaving the rest of us to enjoy ours. This is the exact reason, I am afraid, why Americans get the name they do worldwide. The German and I then talked to the Iranian and said we were not in favour of the agressive Iranian approach on nuclear and the Iranian agreed saying it was mostly for show to look strong internationally, but we could all actually have a conversation.

International politics over the full english breakkie (who fries tomatoes, I mean really!).

Oxford is quite a city. The architecture and art and buildings are wonderful, but since students get a month off for Easter (what are they doing? Transcribing bibles by hand to celebrate Easter?) There are no students in robes walking about and providing atmosphere...but I digress! In the "you learn something new category", on a sign outside Oxford's New College (founded 1379!):

William Spooner, warden of New College from 1903 to 1924. He spent 62 years of his life here and became one of Oxfords best loved characters.

Supposedly he was an Albino, with poor eyesight and famously remembered for "spoonerisms" - accidently switching the initial letters of words... Now you know the rest of the story.

Morning came waaay too early on Monday morning. Not having brought an alarm clock, my Blackberry woke me at 7:30 being what, 2:30 to my internal clock! Dragged myself out of bed in a fairly lonely, freezing room. I am staying in the Christ Church Oxford college residence which is fun, but central heating and maybe windows installed after Beowulf was written...might be nice. Breakfast was in the Christ Church great hall where Harry Potter was filmed. OK that was pretty neat! Had a full English fry up, served by waiters in full white coat with white gloves no less, who turn the plate after setting it down. Seems odd to be serving the greasy fried everything breakfast with such formality. Breakfast was spent with a true international group at the long tables right out of harry potter. An Italian from Rome, a Argentinian from the southern tip, a Norwegian from above the arctic circle, an Iranian, two Africans and a German from tiny Inzell no less (where Amanda and I spent a relaxing week on our trip. He was a Dufter, a cousin of the people we stayed with no less. How fricken small is this world!!!!). Breakfast highlights: Roman and Iranian scoffing at the oldness of the 1660s building, since they come from 3000 and 5000 year old societies! The Argentine and Norwegian talking about sunlight since the Argentine is coming out of 22 hour sunlight days in their summer and the Norwegian hasn't seen the sun at all from December till February! The Africans looking shocked at the breakfast. The very specialized world intersecting between the two conferences we were attending Photovoltaic power on one side of the table and scholiosis on the other. Me translating from French to english and the Itanian translating from English to German so everyone could understand. Quite and interesting scene. As I am known to do, I started trying to describe and explain Quiddich from Harry Potter in french and English with some intesting translations to German and Italian. Amanda's eyes would have bugged out. She always looks at me like I have two heads when I start trying to describe something in foreign languages.

This morning was worse as it was spent with Americans tutting about the environment and trying to figure out where Ottawa was. I think they were shocked to find there were lots of people north of the great lakes.

Oxford raced Cambridge in the 250 year old "The Boat Race", the rowing race through London on the Thames on Sunday afternoon. I knew I would be too tired to stay in London and watch the race, but I did walk into an Oxford bar to watch it on tv. I didn't know it till afterward, but it was the Bear, the first Oxford University bar, opened in about 1200. They really get into the race and I joined in, drinking a warm beer and cheering Oxford on. Easy to do since a quarter of the Oxford team is Canadian. Oxford smoked Cambridge. I cheered them on then crashed a half hour later from the jet lag.

Is it distance or absence that makes a heart grow fonder? Don't remember? But I am many thousand miles and too many time zones away from Amanda. Bring the lights down low, flick the Bic lighters and cue the guitar solo for a sappy moment but something is wrong. We travel together, that's what we do. 12 checks for tickets, passports and wallets (especially after I left mine on the Ottawa airport counter the day we left for a month in Italy) and the we both get on a plane for an adventure. That's how it is supposed to work. So being on a little trip to Oxford and London, by all rights, should involve more of Manda than driving me to the airport. Only a week I guess, but wish she was here!

Here is a bleek grey concrete world. I am waiting for a bus at the Heathrow bus station (shudder!) In an area Architects seem to be boycotting, or have given up on, since the buildings are aweful!

The Oxford bus cometh, on to Oxford and the houses of higher learning and snazzie gowns and scarves.

Gotta motor(coach)n more L8r.