Chapter One

My grandparents took me to a pub today and tried to get me drunk. OK, that's a lie but at least I've caught your attention now.

I landed yesterday a bit after ten. Nothing really exciting happened on the flight except for this one man who kept having nightmares in his sleep. He even stood up at one point, thrashing about. I don't think the stewardesses were too pleased about that.

When I got off (after immigration and all that bananas), I was greeted by my aunt. We had a bit of trouble finding the car but once we did, she realized she forgot to get the garage ticket so we had to walk back to the entrance. Oddly enough, this little excursion made me feel at home, as if I were traveling with my dad. 

Anyways, we got back to her place and I got to go on the trampoline with my little cousin. She taught me some games too, like crack the egg, cat and mouse, clock and balloon. Of course I lost each time.

After she wore me out, I was escorted to my grandparents place where I completely crashed after 24 hours of traveling and jumping on a trampoline.

So that was yesterday.

Today I was given a full blow by blow account of the local village history. I visited a blacksmith who didn't make swords or shields which I was disappointed about, but did make some extraordinary decorative works. 

I also saw two graveyards. On these two trips I've decided that I wanted to be buried with small headstone that reads, "Madeline Louise Linnell, 1994-3001, says, "Welcome to my burial! To your right are my flowers of mourning from my youngest sister, Phoebe Kennedy. To the left, I believe, should be a pot with the label "Donations." So if you could please just put some money in there, that would be great. This was a hard spot to get, I really had to go at it with a few cancer patients, so it would simply be lovely if you could donate your generous change to compensate for my trouble."

I got to go in a pretty old church as well; it was partly built in the 1300s and had some beautiful stained glass windows. There actually was a sign reading that a pastor, Henry Whitfield, traveled in 1639 to New England to escape the church reforms King Charles I endorsed and start a Puritan church in the "New World." He actually founded a colony which is now Guilford, Connecticut.

An English pub seems like a fun place to be (nice transition, I know). It was an old pub, a local buzzing place, built in the 17th century. I enjoyed a nice tart and a sip of my grandfather's cider (Mother: sip, NOT chug, sip).

I think thats enough of that though, don't you think? Or should I go in more detail. Perhaps talk about my epiphany in the bathroom this morning: that flush is a funny word because it can describe both someone's facial appearance and the formal farewell of someone's excrement. Astounding.

I guess I'll leave it with that lovely picture. 

Pinkies UP!